I'm swinging the lamp in Riley's dorm, my arms shaking, my breath fast and ragged as it cracks against her shoulder. She yells, sharp, mad, stumbling back, the knife slipping from her hand and clattering on the floor. My chest burns, my heart slamming, and I don't wait, I drop the lamp, its brass base thudding on the carpet, and bolt, my boots slipping on the rug. Her hand grabs at my jacket, nails scraping my arm, but I twist free, slamming into the door. My fingers fumble the lock, cold, slick with sweat, and it clicks open, the sound loud in my ears. She's screaming, "You're dead, Jamie!", her voice wild, echoing, but I'm out, running, the hall blurring past me.
My legs hurt, shaky, weak, and my arm stings where her knife grazed me, a hot line of pain under my torn sleeve. Blood's dripping, slow, soaking into my jacket, but I don't stop, my boots pounding the dorm's tiled floor, the lights flickering overhead. Doors line the hall, closed, quiet, students asleep, and I shove through the exit, the night air hitting me hard, cold and wet from the rain. My lungs burn, my breath puffing white, and I stumble down the steps, my hand clutching my arm, the cut throbbing with every step. She's dangerous, really dangerous, and I'm alive, barely, my head spinning with how close it was.
I run, fast as I can, cutting through the campus, the grass slick under my feet, mud splashing my jeans. Streetlights glow dim, casting long shadows, and I duck behind a row of bushes near the parking lot, my chest heaving. My phone's still in my pocket, screen cracked from the fall in her room, but it works, the light weak as I check it. No calls from Casey, she was watching, lost me when I ran, and I lean against a tree, its bark rough on my back, trying to breathe, to think. Riley's losing it, knife in her hand, eyes blank, ready to kill me, and I've got proof now, her journals, pictures I snapped, but I'm hurt, alone, and she's still out there.
My arm's bleeding worse, sticky, warm, soaking my sleeve, and I press my hand over it, wincing, the pain sharp like a needle. My jacket's ripped, hanging loose, and my knees shake, threatening to give out. I slide down, sitting in the wet grass, the cold seeping through my jeans, and my head drops, my breath slowing. She's unhinged, those journals, years of Alex, "He was mine first," her hate for me spilling out, and I know it now, clear as day: she's not just framing me, she's dangerous, crazy, and Alex doesn't see it. He's blind, still doubting me, still letting her close, and it's killing me, the thought of her near him, twisting him more.
I close my eyes, just a second, the rain dripping off the leaves above, pattering on my hood. My mind's racing, her knife, her scream, the way she lunged, no hesitation. I got out, barely, lamp swinging, luck more than skill, and my hands tremble, replaying it. She's losing control, slipping, wild, and I've got to warn him, get him to see before she does worse. My arm throbs, my shirt sticking to the cut, and I grit my teeth, pushing up, my boots sinking in the mud. I can't stop, hurt or not, I've got to move, get to Casey, get this proof to Alex, make him listen.
I stumble forward, my legs heavy, heading for town, Casey's place, maybe Sam's, somewhere safe. The streets are empty, late, dark, rain shining on the pavement, and every sound, cars far off, wind in the trees, makes me jump, expecting her behind me. My jacket's soaked, clinging cold, and my arm's numb now, the pain dull but deep. I pass the coffee shop, closed, lights off, where she works, and my stomach twists, picturing her there, smiling at Alex, lying to his face. He's blind, stood there while the cops took me, said he shouldn't have trusted me, and she's got him, feeding him garbage, keeping him from me.
I stop under a streetlight, its buzz loud overhead, and lean on the pole, my breath shaky. My phone's wet, rain streaking the screen, but I pull it out, my fingers stiff, fumbling. I've got to call him, Alex, tell him about her, the journals, the knife, beg him to see. My arm's dripping blood, red mixing with the rain, and I wipe it on my jeans, smearing it, my hands shaking bad. I scroll, his number, top of my list, the only one I've ever needed, and hit call, my heart pounding, hoping he'll pick up, hoping he'll listen this time.
It rings, once, twice, my breath loud, the rain tapping my hood, and I wait, my legs trembling under me. Three rings, my chest tightens, and then it clicks, someone answering, but it's not him. "Jamie?" Riley's voice, soft, sharp, cold, cuts through, and my blood freezes, my hand gripping the phone so hard it hurts.