Page 28 of Mine To Hunt

The shame coils tighter, a serpent in my gut, whispering I'm ruined, exposed, unworthy. How many have seen? Downloaded? Shared with laughs or leers?

Ms. Rivera leans forward slightly across the desk, her expression softening just a fraction. It’s the kind of practiced sympathy administrators learn somewhere between policy manuals and crisis training. But when she speaks, her tone stays clinical.

“We understand this may be distressing, Iris.” Her fingers fold neatly over a stack of printed emails.

“Has anyone approached you about the video? Do you suspect who might be responsible?” She glances down at her notes. “We’ll need details for the report. Timestamps, the platforms it’s circulating on, any messages you received.”

Her eyes lift again, steady but distant. “Campus policy requires us to address disciplinary concerns promptly, especially when they affect the community.”

Disciplinary concerns.

The phrase echoes in my head with a strange, hollow absurdity. As if I’m the delinquent here. As if being humiliated in front of half the student body somehow makes me the problem.

“It’s a stalker.” I say.

The words come out flat, mechanical, like I’m reading them off a cue card instead of describing my own nightmare. “Unknown number.”

My hands tighten in my lap. “He installed a camera in my flat.”

A faint crease appears between Dean Hargrove’s brows.

“I tried reporting it to the police yesterday.” I continue quietly. “But they… wouldn’t take it.”

The memory burns fresh. The mocking smile. The dismissal. That humiliation stacks itself neatly on top of this one, doubling the weight pressing down on my chest.

Dean Hargrove exhales slowly and exchanges a glance with Ms. Rivera. Something unspoken passes between them. It feels a lot like judgment.

“We sympathize with what you’re going through.” He says carefully. “But unfortunately, our options are somewhat limited.”

He adjusts the papers in front of him.

“The video has already circulated widely through student forums and private chat groups.”

Ms. Rivera nods beside him.

“We’ve issued takedown requests.” She adds, “But as you can imagine, digital permanence complicates things.”

The words feel strangely detached from the reality of what they’re describing. Like they’re discussing a corrupted file instead of my body.

Dean Hargrove clears his throat.

“For the time being,” he says carefully, folding his hands on the desk, “we’re advising you to stay off campus while we review the situation.”

The words land slowly. He continues before I can respond.

“No on-campus events. No public academic activities until we assess the potential risk to the institution’s reputation.”

Reputation. The room suddenly feels too small.

“This isn’t a suspension.” Ms. Rivera adds quickly. “Just a precaution while we look into the matter.”

“Do you have a support system?” She asks gently. “Friends? Family?” She slides a brochure across the desk. “Our counseling services are available if you need them.”

The words blur together in my head. Reputation. Risk.

None of them sound like they belong to me. Like they’re talking about a faulty machine that needs to be shut down until someone figures out what’s wrong with it.

Fear crawls up my spine. What if they expel me? My scholarship. My degree. The fragile threads that have barely held my life together since the night Mom and Dad’s car went over that cliff.