Page 6

Luckily for me, I took medicine, so I can still function.

But I can’t say the same about Cassidy. Hungover would be an understatement.

Cassidy looks like death warmed over as she slumps into her seat beside me, sunglasses perched on her nose even though we’re indoors.

She clutches a Grande paper cup of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. Which it probably was.

I shake my head at her disheveled state. “I told you to take it easy.”

She takes a huge gulp of her drink, wincing when the door to the class slams open and more students troop in. “Shut up. I feel like I’m dying.”

“That’s what you get for chugging down vodka like it was water.”

She groans, “Ugh! Don’t remind me. I don’t even remember coming home last night.”

Lucky her. I remember everything .

Wait, that will be my story. I blacked out.

While she’s nursing her headache, I’m stuck replaying last night on a loop, trying to focus on reality but failing miserably.

More and more students file into the room, some in a state similar to Cassidy–disheveled and barely functioning–while others more bright eyed, chattering away like they hadn’t spent the night in a haze of alcohol and bad decisions. It seems like everyone was at some party last night.

Just when I feel the tension in my chest threatening to suffocate me, the door swings open and Professor Jennings strides in, his usual calm, composed demeanor contrasting starkly with the chaotic energy of the room.

I watch him as he sets down his bag and runs a hand through his cropped auburn hair shot through with silver.

As he adjusts his glasses and takes off his tweed blazer, a sense of normalcy should wash over me, but it doesn’t.

Instead, the sight of him, so predictable and in control, only makes me feel more out of place.

Like I’m the only one carrying this unbearable weight while the rest of the world moves on, unaware of what I’ve done.

“I see you all enjoyed last night’s festivities,” Professor Jennings remarks dryly, his voice cutting through the tired groans that ripple through the room. He grins and surveys the sea of hungover students, his eyes settling on the slumped figures and bleary expressions.

Cassidy lets out a low groan and sinks down further in her seat, flipping her hoodie over her head. I manage a weak smile, trying to mask the anxiety still gnawing at me, my mind flashes back to the party again–the blood, the raw panic, the masked stranger…

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to shake the memory as the professor drones on.

“Luckily for you, today’s lecture will be more theoretical than practical, so you won’t have to exert too much brain power,” Jennings says, pacing to the front of the room.

But even as he starts discussing social behavior, all I can think about is how hard it is going to be to keep pretending that nothing happened.

The normal me in normal circumstances would have been eating this lecture up, taking notes and asking questions.

I’ve always been the type to engage, to throw myself into the material.

Social psychology, the study of how people think, feel, and behave in groups—it’s fascinating, really.

But today, I’m a shell of myself. My notebook lies open, blank, as my pen hovers uselessly over the page.

All I can focus on is keeping my breathing steady, forcing my face into a mask of calm while my mind races.

I can feel the walls closing in, every word from the professor barely registering as my thoughts spiral.

How am I supposed to care about group dynamics when all I can think about is the blood on my hands and the stranger who knows?

I try to focus on Professor Jennings droning on about conformity and social influence, but the knot in my stomach tightens with every passing second.

What if someone saw me jump out of the window? What if someone puts the pieces together? What if the masked stranger decides to go to the police? My heart races, and I try to slow my breathing, but it feels like the air in the room is getting thinner.

I can’t stay here.

The paranoia will eat me up if I don’t do something.

I can’t let this ruin my life, so at the very least, I need to find the person behind the mask.

Every passing second feels like a ticking time bomb, and I can’t live like this, constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I need to act, to get ahead of this.

I try to gather my thoughts, think of any clue that might point to his identity.

The tattoo.

An obscure band of words around his bicep.

It was quick, just a flash when he leaned out of the window, but I remember it clearly now—a series of letters in a language I didn’t recognize, looping around his arm like a secret message.

Was it Latin? Greek? My mind races, trying to recall more details.

The problem is that most guys are covered in tattoos.

It could be meaningless. But something about it felt…

off. Unique. Maybe it’s a start. A tiny breadcrumb, but it’s all I’ve got.

I can’t shake the image of the tattoo from my mind.

Maybe it’ll lead me to him. But how? It’s not like I can just start asking around about a random tattoo without raising suspicion.

I bite my lip, racking my brain for options.

Cassidy might know, she’s always up to date on the campus gossip, maybe she knows something.

But would asking her raise any flags? She has no idea what happened last night, and if I start prying too much, she might get curious. Still, I need a plan. I need to know who that guy is before he decides to come after me, or worse…

“Rhea!” I hear my name, and my gaze shoots up. Professor Jennings is looking directly at me, his brow furrowed in concern. I realize I had been zoning out again and my face flushes with embarrassment.

“Care to share your thoughts on the topic?”

I swallow hard, panic slowly rising in my chest. My mind is a jumbled mess, and I can’t recall what we were discussing. “Uh…I…” I stutter, trying hard to grasp for a coherent thought. I can feel my classmates staring, some tittering in amusement at my speechlessness.

The moment seems to stretch on for eternity. Cassidy shifts beside me, her eyes on me, silently urging me to say something.

“I…I think it’s important to understand how social behavior influences group dynamics?” I blurt out desperately, more a question than a statement.

As the words leave my mouth, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being pulled into a spotlight I desperately want to escape from. What if my secret is written all over my face? What if someone sees through my mask?

Professor Jennings nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer, but my relief is short-lived.

His gaze lingers on me a moment longer, and I can sense that he’s still probing, trying to figure out what’s really going on beneath my facade.

“Interesting perspective, Rhea. It’s vital to consider how individuals behave differently in group settings,” he responds, shifting his attention back to the whiteboard.

I blow out a breath and settle in my seat, but as he continues his lecture, I can’t help but feel the weight of his scrutiny. I can’t keep acting like this.

I’ve got to get it together.

The panic swirls inside me, threatening to spill over but I force myself to swallow it down and focus on the words coming out of Professor Jennings’ mouth, trying to anchor myself to the present.

Cassidy shifts beside me again and I see a note by my elbow. Discreetly I open it and read the hastily scribbled words.

Are you sure you’re okay?

I glance at her, a lump inflating in my throat. She met my gaze, and although I can’t see her eyes behind the solid black lens of her sunglasses, I know that they were filled with concern.

I don’t want to lie to her. But I can’t drag her into this. I nod and force a small smile.

Her gaze stays on me for a minute before turning back to the Professor. I feel her hand on mine, giving a short reassuring squeeze. The warmth of her hand on mine sends a wave of comfort through me, momentarily easing the tightness in my chest.

I squeeze back, grateful for her support. When I see the subtle tension in her shoulders ease, do I turn back to the lecture.

I focus on the lecture, trying to absorb the words spilling from Professor Jennings’ lips, but my mind keeps drifting. My brain won’t stop replaying the night in my head.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to push those thoughts away, at least for the next hour.

I can’t let Cassidy see how shaken I truly am.

She has her own battles to fight, and I refuse to add to her worries.

Instead, I lean forward slightly, pretending to take notes, while I craft a plan in the back of my mind—one that will help me uncover the masked man’s identity and reclaim my normal life.

The class ends and I grab my things, moving quickly as if the faster I can get out of here, the faster I can shake the dread hanging over me.

I can feel Cassidy’s eyes on me as I stuff my books into my tote bag, but I avoid her gaze.

My mind buzzing, racing with half formed ideas and the sinking realization that I have no idea where to start.

I zip the bag and sling it over my shoulder, the plan still blurry but persistent.

I just need to get away, get some space to think.

Cassidy shifts beside me. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks quietly, concern lacing her voice.

I manage a nod, another lie. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just need some air.”

I move towards the door, but Professor Jennings’ voice stops me. He stands at the podium, shrugging on his jacket, his gaze cutting through the room.

“Rhea,” he calls out, his voice calm and even. “A moment, please.”

My heart skips a beat, and for a second, I freeze. Why does he want to talk to me? Do I look suspicious?