Page 60 of Take Care, Taylor

“Full disclosure, I wanted to figure out why you’re always sitting alone during all the classes.”

“It’s not by choice.”

“That’s not what I heard…”

“Is it something I’ve done?” I leaned forward. “Something someone said?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s jealousy.” She laughed. “You’re rooming with—well, you know—and you’ve won tons of other national writing awards, so…”

I nodded, bracing for her to rush away like everyone else.

“Are you going to the beach party tomorrow night?”

“There’s another one?”

“Wow.” She smiled. “You really are out of the loop, Audrey. Want to go out for beers this weekend?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Me too.” She tapped my folder. “Let’s work so we’ll deserve the break by the time it gets here.”

She stayed with me for the next four hours, and we exchanged phone numbers. Around midnight, her boyfriend pulled her away, and I was left alone again.

Deciding to drown myself in another assignment, I pulled out my third coffee canister. The sky outside had turned the color of bruised glass. Lightning flickered at the edge of the horizon—a soft warning I tried to ignore.

Then came the thunder—low, close—and my whole body went rigid.

Shit.

There weren’t supposed to be storms tonight. Just rain.

Another crack split the sky, rattling the windows, and I slammed my laptop shut. My earbuds were dead, my hands were shaking, and I could already feel my chest tightening. This was how it always started—whenever I wasn’t ready, whenever I let myself believe I’d grown out of it.

I scanned the room for somewhere without windows. Bathroom—too echoey. Copy room—glass walls. Stairwell—metal railings that vibrated with every roar. No safe corner, no escape.

The thunder rolled again, louder this time, and I ducked behind the circulation desk, pressing my back against the wall. Knees to chest. Eyes shut. Just breathe. Just wait.

The air felt charged, like the storm had crawled inside the building with me. I counted breaths—four in, six out—pretending it was enough to slow my heart.

Footsteps. Slow. Steady. Then?—

“So, you’re still scared of thunderstorms…” Taylor’s voice. Close.

“No,” I said, too fast. “You can go away now.”

“I’m not scared of them,” I lied, without opening my eyes. “I just can’t focus whenever I don’t have my earbuds charged up to tune them out.”

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he crouched beside me, his shoulder brushing mine—solid, quiet. The thunder cracked again, and I flinched before I could stop it. He noticed—he always noticed.

“You just need to focus on something else,” he said, voice low enough that I felt it in my throat more than I heard it.

I started to argue, but his hand slid over my wrist, then lower, down the length of my thigh where my dress had already ridden up.

The warmth of his skin short-circuited every reasonable thought.

“Taylor—”