The Unlikely Resident of Room 313

Chapter 8

I spent the next week navigating campus on crutches. Thank God for the campus bus system. Walking to classes in a giant boot with two metal toothpicks under my arms would have been a nightmare.

Most evenings consisted of doing homework and watching movies with Melody in my dorm room. We opted for the most iconic chick flicks of the 2000s. It was hard to be in the room alone and I welcomed every second of her company. I slept with all the lights on and refused to sit in silence longer than a few minutes. Sometimes I thought I saw shadows flickering along the empty bed across from mine. As if the dark figure from that night sat and watched me.

You're being dramatic, I told myself. You're just anxious. You had a nasty fall.

The thought about the shadow-filled darkness lingered into the weekend. Despite my best efforts to ignore the prickles on the back of my neck.

That tickling, teasing sensation on the back of my neck had always been around. Ever since I was a little girl, I'd dealt with the nagging feeling that someone or something watched me. When I was alone. When I was with other people. It never went down the road of the government-is-out-to-get-me route. But when I finally built up the courage to tell my parents in the eighth grade, I was certain their eyes were going to explode out of their heads.

They took me to three fancy doctors. Each said it was just anxiety. They insisted on a magical pill to make it go away. The magical pill dulled the sensation for a little while. And then it remained like an ache in the base of my neck until I became desensitized. And slowly, without telling anyone, the pills became more and more infrequent. This would be the first month I didn't take them in years.

"How's your ankle feeling?" Melody asked from her spot on the floor. She perched at the edge of the beanbag chair she brought from her room, a sushi container balanced on one knee, her laptop on the other.

"Itchy. I hate this boot with a passion."

"How much longer do you need to wear it?"

"I have an appointment on Tuesday so hopefully just a few more days." Wobbling to my door, I checked the thermostat on the wall. Two servicing requests and the damn thing still didn't show the right temperature. The soft ding of a text message echoed from my pocket. "Trevon and them invited us to a pre-game in their room tonight. Do you want to go?"

"Do you want to go?" Melody asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Heat crept into my face. "I don't think crutches and alcohol are a good combination."

"Don't you want to see Trevon?"

I might have wanted to see Trevon... if I didn't listen to him and Anna from have sex in the shower stall next to mine three days in a row this week. At least the disappointment came early this time. Limping back to my desk chair, I all but collapsed onto the cushy fabric. "I think I'll pass," I said, and added quickly, "Unless you want to go!"

"I can survive a night without partying."

"Don't let me stop you from having fun. I appreciate you hanging out with me while I'm–" I gestured to my boot. "Out of commission. But please don't feel obligated."

There were day parties and beach trips. I didn't want her to take pity on me, and for that pity to turn into resentment. I expected her to take my words and run out the door, but she stayed put on the floor.

"I'm not feeling obligated to do anything, silly. I like hanging out with you."

Something inside of me twisted—something bittersweet, yet relieved. Back home, friends were few and far apart. For as long as I could remember, it always felt like there was a glass wall between me and other people. No matter how hard I tried to break through it, the glass stayed put. And I remained a passing hello or someone to talk to in class. But never more.