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“What?”
Mr Ambrose tilts his head. I’ve never seen such a pitying expression on his face. “He told me she won’t be going to university because she is moving to Russia to live with him.”
“No—no, but she’s going to university, she’s going to Oxford—webothare.”
“I don’t think so, Zachary. I’m so very sorry.”
My chest becomes suddenly tight, my heart hammering against the sudden constriction of my ribcage. I pull on my collar, stammering.
“She can’t go to Russia, she can’t—maybe, maybe he didn’t tell her, and—”
“She knew, Zachary.” Mr Ambrose sinks back into his chair, rubbing his hands across his face. He looks, for the first time in all the years I’ve known him, completely exhausted. “I suspect she didn’t tell you for the very same reason she didn’t tell me, the same reason she applied. Because she didn’t want us to know the truth she wished to deny.”
What was it Theodora had said to me?
Yes, my mind is free, but a prisoner in a jail cell, too, can think whatever they like—it still doesn’t make them free.
“She can’t go.” My chest is too tight, my throat is too tight. My words come out in a gasp.
“She’s gone, Zachary.”
My heart lurches, and my throat closes up. I clutch my chest, widening my eyes at Mr Ambrose. Realisation floods his face; he’s up in an instant. He’s at my side when I drop to my knees. My face contorts as I try to breathe, my heartbeat too fast, my mind a howling scream.
Theodora. Theodora. Theodora.
“Zachary, my dear boy, you have to breathe. You have to breathe, alright? You’re not dying, I promise you, even if it feels like you are. You just need to breathe.”
He squeezes my shoulder while I gasp and hiss. IknowI’m having a panic attack, IknowI’m not actually dying, so why does it feel like I am?
I fall back, writhing on the floor of Mr Ambrose’s office. Each breath is an overwhelming struggle, like trying to filter an ocean through a hole the size of a pinprick. I should be used to it, but I’m not.
I don’t want to die. I want Theodora. Ineedher.
When I regain my breathing, after what feels like an eternity on the brink of suffocation, I rear up. Mr Ambrose sits back, watching me.
“Zachary, maybe you should go to the infirmary.”
“No, sir,” I gasp. I climb unsteadily to my feet, almost fall, catch myself against the edge of his desk. “I—I refuse. I refuse to accept it. I refuse to let her go. She can’t go. I won’t let her leave.”
I stand. A tear rolls down my cheek, surprising me. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
“Zachary—” Mr Ambrose says, standing up, but I’ve already turned, wrenched open the door and lurched out of his office.
WhenIgetbackto my room, I text Theodora with trembling hands.
Zachary:Are you alright?
Zachary:Where are you?
Zachary:Please tell me you’re alright, that you’re safe. Please tell me you’re not gone.
Zachary:Wherever you are, whatever’s happening, I’m here for you. I’ll come get you, I’ll help you however I can. I’ll do anything. Come back. Please.
Zachary:Please. Theodora. I’m begging you. Please come back.
Zachary:I just want to know you’re alright.
Zachary:I love you.
