Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Kinsley
After I've finished unpacking, I search up nearby places to eat. Ones that are within walking distance. With going out, I prefer to avoid anything that puts me on a road.
Like most residential students, I've signed up for the meal program. The university provides it, giving us access to three meals and various snacks daily. That, however, doesn't come into effect until Monday morning, leaving me on a mission to find a place. One that has a great burger and strawberry milkshake.
It's a tradition Jessa and I used to partake in. When she was still alive, that is. Every Saturday night before the school year began, we'd go out for burgers and milkshakes. Our favourite diner back home in Winnipeg had an eighties theme going on, making the experience feel vintage. Our outings were always fun. We would dip our fries in the milkshakes. Add too much ketchup to our burgers. We'd joke and laugh.
As I sling my purse over my shoulder, I try not to let the pain overrule me. Ordering a burger and strawberry milkshake without Jessa feels wrong.
I try to shake that feeling away.
I tell myself there's nothing wrong with continuing a tradition. Jessa would want me to enjoy a processed strawberry milkshake and a greasy burger. She'd want me to dip the fries in the milkshake. To let the looming excitement of a new school year blossom in my chest.
I just... I miss her bright smile and deep brown eyes. I miss my spunky fifteen-year-old sister. Living without Jessa has caused my heart to rupture. There's a tear that won't stop bleeding.
Now that she's gone, I'm unable to watch her grow up. To watch her become the strong, independent woman she was supposed to be.
Jessa deserved to live.
Flicking the light off, I step into the hallway and close my door. There's supposed to be an excellent pub on campus. No doubt it will be busy on a Saturday night, but that's okay. The busier the place is, the easier I can hide in the shadows. No one pays attention to the shadows.
I would prefer a location off-campus, but I'd be required to call a taxi. After today's drive to campus, my anxiety can't handle another vehicle experience. I'd rather limp across campus than risk my life in a vehicle.
Besides, I can handle a ten-minute walk. If Google Maps is correct, that is.
As I'm walking down the hallway, I start feeling conscious about my outfit. I know it's my anxiety belittling me. It makes me feel as though I'm doing something wrong.
Tightening the strap of my purse, I keep walking. My outfit makes me look like I'm heading to a yoga class, but it's comfortable. I like it. Black leggings and a feathery-pink long sleeve, tied together with white runners. My hair is tied up in a messy bun.
I take a deep breath. There's nothing wrong with my outfit. I'm projecting my problems onto another notion. What makes me feel like an outsider are the scars hidden beneath my clothes. The ones in my mind and heart. When I glance at other students strolling around campus, I see normal people. Ones that have families and good lives.
