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Chapter 1
POPPY
Snow.
In Texas.
I almost laugh.
It's the first week back from the winter holidays. My very first week in an American college, in the middle of the school year, thousands of miles away from home in England, and it's snowing.
When my dad uttered the words 'Groveton College' over a silent Christmas dinner for two. Me at one end of the mile long table, he at the other, and told me I'd be heading to Texas on New Year's Day. Snow was not really what I was expecting. And it wasn't here for the last week that I have been, although, it has been cold.
Blobs of cold, white fluff hit my face. Flakes clinging heavily in my shuttered lashes. Howling wind nips frostily at my exposed ears, long brown hair whipping my cheeks. I'm wet, cold, miserable, but I think I kinda like it, it feels a little like home.
More like home than my actual one does, anyway.
Snow is settling on the brick paved walkway leading back to my dorm. My heavy boots trudge through the slippery mess.Arms curling around my middle, my fingers tugging my too-thin coat closed. A fabric tote bag swings in the crook of my elbow, its contents thudding rhythmically against my hip. I keep my head down and keep walking, jogging up the slippery steps to the entrance.
I stamp my feet on the dark mat, banging off the snow. Sweep my hands back over my hair, getting the wet strands away from my face, fingers of one hand fluffing my heavy fringe out of my eyes. I flick my finger across my brows, one and then the other, clearing the beads of melting snow, wipe my hand down my jean-clad thigh and scan my student ID card. The device bleeps, little coloured light on the scanner changing from red to green allowing me access and I shoulder my way in through the glass door.
Warmth hits me as my boots hit the shiny white flooring, my icy cheeks burning from the rapid change in temperature. Blowing out a breath, I heft my bag of supplies up higher onto my shoulder, tucking it behind my arm, and head in the direction of the stairs. I live on the seventh floor, and that's a lot of steps, but I don't really like getting into lifts.
Enclosed spaces make me think of coffins. Dark, cold, earth. I can smell grave soil in my nostrils as I hit the fifth floor, my breath a little fast, heart starting to thud harder in my chest.
The railing is cold beneath my clammy palm as I latch myself onto it. Slumping my full weight onto the railings that are to stop me plunging over the side to my death. Fingers curling tightly around the metal, knuckles blanching. I stare at the back of my pale tattooed hand, study the finely inked ivy, breathing hard through my nose. Nostrils flaring, I suck in a sharp breath. Squeeze my eyes closed tight. Think of first thing this morning, when I woke to an empty room, the bed beside me still unoccupied. Blinds not closed all the way, the low sun casting its orange rays across the rough navy carpet. And I let myself thinkof her. For the first time in months, I let myself think of her and it has royally fucked me up.
I flop to my bum on the steel edged stairs, knees spread, I drop my head between them, let my hair dangle down around my face. Try to breathe deep. But this is what happens every time I let thoughts of her in, it destroys me.
Angling myself, I shift my backside up from the step, leaning on one elbow, thrusting my hips up into the air, fingers of my other hand reaching and wriggling inside my tight jeans' pocket. Fingertips catching on plastic, I snag the little bag between my scissoring fingers and drop back down heavily onto the step as I tug it free. Cloth tote bag slipping off of my shoulder, I unthread the handles from my arm, place it on the step beside me, and finger the little clear bag of round white pills.
Sterile white walls, bright strip bulbs, thick straps, locking cuffs, scratchy paper gowns, clipboards, tapping pens, clicking tongues, screaming, screaming, screaming.
BANG.
I jump to my feet. Shoving my second pill of the hour onto the back of my tongue, swallow it dry as I stuff the others back inside my pocket, just as a door below me in the stairwell slams closed. Feet start pounding their way up and I take that as my cue to leave. So in the same rhythmic rush of steps as the person below me, I jog the rest of the way up to my room.
Chapter 2
LYNX
There isn't supposed to be someone else here.
A frown settled deep between my dark brows somewhere in the last twenty minutes since I stepped foot inside my newly assigned room. I was promised I would be alone and not have to share, and yet, there are fresh linens on the bed by the window. The side I favor. Needing the fresh air, the view, to not feel cramped. I don't like small spaces.
I am hesitant to accept my situation,thatside of the room. I want the window.
The left hand side of the room is what's been left bare.
For me.
The latecomer. The unknown twenty-two year old roommate starting right in the middle of his first year.
Again.
The empty side of the room has a cream painted wall, free of marks or blemishes, no leftover tape or pins from whoever lived here last year. It's kind of admirable actually that the other occupant living in this shared room didn't take over this space too. Unless they were warned someone would be moving in and they had to move their shit.
I frown again.
