“And you’re really trying mine, riot.” I don’t call him cin bun, he’s not exactly giving me the warm and gooey vibes.
Maybe I was wrong with his little nickname.
“Riot?” There’s a dark laugh that spills past his lips. It has a deeper, more sinister undertone than I’m expecting.
I clear my throat. “It’s a more suitable nickname for you, because you make me ready for war.”
What I wouldn’t give to see his face, his expression, the look in his eyes. I clench the bedsheets in my fist.
“Ready to take up arms because of me? Charming, firebreather. Am I supposed to just sit on my ass and wait for something to happen to you?” It’s clear to me that he’s not sitting down. I hear his heavy breaths, his footfalls in the background, and something else I can’t quite decipher.
“Nothing is going to happen to me.”
“Yet you texted me, indicating something was wrong.”
My hand on the sheets opens and my fingers mindlessly search out something to touch, to stroke. My fingers graze the top of the sheets. “I texted and asked if you were busy.”
“You never text me before nine,” Liam says.
He’s right. I’ve made it a habit of not reaching out to him during the day, because I don’t want to seem like a needy girlfriend.
“Why are we fighting?” he asks.
Silence follows.
“Bristol?”
I sigh and glance at the clock. It’s still well before nine. “I’m sorry I reached out.” I end the call, turning off my phone, and shoving it on the nightstand.
Liam will inevitably be pissed but I need some space, some time alone. I turn on a movie and try to let my brain unwind.
An announcement blares over the speakers inside the dorm, informing us we’re on a hard lockdown.
I reach for my phone and turn it back on, wanting to know what is going on.
There are two texts from Liam, which I momentarily ignore and read the one from our campus emergency alert system, indicating that an active shooter event has initiated a campus-wide hard lockdown.
I silence the television and my cell phone. The blinds are already shut, and I turn off the lights in my dorm.
I know the routine. I’ve practiced active shooter drills countless times at school. It doesn’t mean I’m not freaking out.
I sit on the floor in the corner, hidden from the view of the door and scroll through my phone. I finally open Liam’s texts.
Liam: Why are we fighting?
Liam: Shit. There’s an active shooter on your campus. Please text me.
Another text pops up.
Liam: News reporting it’s at the Holmes Student Center.
My stomach drops.
Sophia.
Me: Sophia was supposed to head there to meet up with friends.
Liam: Are you still in your dorm room?
