AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My original profile is gone. Back when everyone started posting hateful comments and sending death threats, I deleted every social media profile I had. When I started to look into the case, I created new profiles—first in my name, and then, realizing that was a stupid move, leaving whatever username the apps assigned. It didn’t take long for people to find the supposedly anonymous accounts, but I deleted the apps when I realized none of them gave me any new information.
After confirming the login, I’m not surprised to see notifications for hundreds of message requests, but I ignore them. Going back to Cole’s profile would be a waste of time now. My brother set his profile to private, so unless he accepted me as a friend on there, I wouldn’t be able to see his posts again.
But if I remember correctly, JP’s profile was public.
It still is. But after looking at the first few pictures, he’s clearly someone who thinks very carefully about what photographs he shares Everything looks so… posed. And not just in theLiving the Best Lifestyle of Instagram.
It’s moreI’m perfect and you won’t find dirt on me here. Which makes sense considering Penny said he wanted to run for president one day.
It doesn’t stop me from scrolling, studying each picture.
And then I find one of him and Syn. For reasons unknown to me, I click on the tag and find myself on his profile. Everything here feels just as fake, but the further back I scroll, the more genuine Syn’s smile seems.
He also has a pet lizard called Basil, which he features a lot. It’s kinda cute, but I’m also surprised. Surprised that Syn has a pet at all, but if he was going to have one, I expected it to be a snake. A python. He needs a good hug…
Unfortunately, social media doesn’t hold any new answers either. If JP really was serious about getting into politics, there wouldn’t be anything about it on any public profile. He—and Syn—probably have a second, secret accountifthey even use it.
My gaze drops to the newspaper again.
At least I know more than I did a couple of hours ago, but I’m not sure where to go now.
Other than my bed. I’m exhausted, and I’ve somehow spent hours scrolling Instagram. Thankfully, my dining hall shift is tomorrow evening and not tomorrow morning, but I’ve got midterms next week, and considering I’ve fucked up this assignment for my Comm class, I need to spend some time studying. Hopefully, grades from the other classes might be enough to keep my GPA high enough for my scholarship.
As I walk over to my bed, I quickly check the JKUFacultyApp, more out of habit than anything. And I’m glad I do because I was wrong, and my shift tomorrow is the breakfast one.
“Get it together, Tori,” I mutter as I plug the phone in and set it on my nightstand.
After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I change into the shorts and T-shirt I wear to sleep in, and pull back the covers on my bed…
Worms.
My bed is covered in damp dirt and wriggling worms.
I’m sure the pure shock is the only thing that’s prevented me from screaming.
I feel like everything has stopped—time, my thoughts, my body, my breathing…
My legs wobble, and I stumble into the bedside table. I grab the edge before I fall completely and take a few deep breaths.
Thiswas what my body sensed wasoffwith my room when I got here. Somehow, I’d been right when I thought someone was in my room. But whileno onewants to find anything in their bed, never mind worms, in the back of my mind, I’m grateful it’s not worse.
I don’t like bugs, but worms are harmless, and they’re still confined to the bed. It could have been cockroaches or snakes…
Carefully, I peel back the comforter, picking off any worm that’s stuck to the fabric and adding them to a writhing pile on the fitted sheet. The comforter is tossed to the side, and I focus my attention on the pillows. Although the worms are mostly in the center of the bed and none are on the pillows, I strip the cases anyway and drop them on top of the comforter.
Then I lift the sheet up, holding the neck of the bundle tightly as I take it off the bed. The worms and dirt are heavy, but after making sure my phone and key are safely in my shorts pocket, and my sneakers are on my feet, I grab the comforter and pillowcases.
Outside my room, I glare up at the security camera pointed at the door. After rolling my eyes, I walk as calmly and gracefully as I can with the laundry in my arms, down the corridor to the elevator.
Instead of heading to the basement, I go outside. It’s late, but not too late for others to be out. I ignore the eyes I know are watching me and walk into the middle of the flowerbed outside the dorm. Then I let go of half of the sheet and an avalanche of mud and worms descends onto the plants.
Once I’m sure there are no worms left on the sheet, I gather it back up and head inside, this time, going down a floor instead of up.
Of the many things the fees cover for this place, included is a laundry service. The university app has a function allowing each student to arrange for someone to pick up their laundry and have it returned a few days later.
Scholarship students, however, don’t have that option.
Instead, my dorm has a laundry room in the basement. There are a few washers and driers in here, available for any student to use, but in all the times I’ve used it, I’ve never seen anyone else in here. To be fair, if I had the option of someone doing my laundry for me, I’d use it too.
