Lose you to Love me...

CHAPTER 2 ♡♡

My mind was racing faster than my legs as I sprinted to the store, fully aware that my mom would have a meltdown if she discovered I was living on a diet of instant noodles and the occasional snack. I wasn't trying to starve myself; it was just that cooking felt like climbing Everest—dishes everywhere, pots to scrub, and don't even get me started on the cutting board. Honestly, who has the energy for that?

Then there's the guilty pleasure of fast food, the siren call of greasy burgers that feel like a slow march to a cholesterol-laden doom. But let's be real, McDonald's will always be my ride-or-die! I realized my snack stash was looking a little too sad—where was my Nutella?

Once I got home, I tossed my groceries aside and checked the time—about an hour and a half before 5:30. Perfect! I collapsed onto my bed, shutting my eyes, hoping for a mini-escape from the day's chaos.

But, of course, I knew I'd regret it. An hour later, I jolted awake, gasping as the familiar shadows of nightmares clawed at my mind. My heart pounded like a drum, and my breath came in ragged gasps. It was time for the anxiety exercise my therapist taught me. Name five things I can see, I reminded myself, focusing hard: the white wall, my sneakers by the door, the door itself, my toes, and my MacBook sitting like a lifeline on my desk.

By the time I finished, my breathing had steadied, and my heart slowed to a manageable pace. I had grown quite accustomed to these little rituals; they were my lifebuoy in the stormy seas of panic and anxiety. But they didn't always work, which was why I kept my anxiety pills on standby.

Checking my phone, I saw it was already 17:15. Time to get moving. I headed to the bathroom, splashed my face with cold water, and brushed my teeth. I laced up my sneakers and stashed some cash in the back of my phone case because honestly, who needs a purse?

As I prepared to leave, a thought struck me: Shawn didn't even know which dorm room I stayed in. He didn't have my number either. I smirked to myself—my instincts were spot on; he truly was an idiot. Just as I contemplated a night of Netflix and chilling alone, a knock echoed through my room.

I opened the door to find Shawn, sporting a grin that could light up a dark room.

"You know stalking is illegal in so many countries, right?" I quipped, stepping back to grab my phone and keys without inviting him in.

He chuckled, leaning against the door frame. "I asked some girls after class, and they pointed me this way. Easy peasy!"

"That's not creepy at all," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Not really! I'd call it excellent investigation skills," he said, puffing out his chest in mock pride.

"Sure, whatever floats your boat," I muttered. "So, how many people are actually going to be at this gathering? I love being prepared, especially when it involves potential social awkwardness."

"Just a few—trust me, you'll love them. They're chill," he said, and I groaned internally, knowing he was about to give me the runaround.

"Let's play a game! Everyone knows the classic 20 Questions, but since it's a bit of a trek to Pizza Palace, we'll call it Questions Until We Arrive. You game?" He sounded too chipper for my taste.

"Twenty Questions? How cliché. And knowing you, I have no choice, do I? So sure, let's do this," I replied, pretending to be enthusiastic while wanting to crawl back into bed.

"Okay, I'll start easy. What's your favorite season?"

"Autumn," I replied.

He paused. "You're supposed to ask me a question in return! Get to know me a little."