37. Chapter 37

I shouldn't be here alone. A part of me knows that deep in my soul. It's not safe, not when four days ago, I received a threatening text message promising that he'd find me.

Especially after the scathing letter Grant sent him, threatening to report him to the dean and campus police. Hopefully, with the threat, Chad will back off. The letter was only the first step in our plan. We hope it will buy us some time until we can gather all of the evidence. A friend of Grant's is a pre-law major and is helping us formulate a plan. She gave us tips on what documentation authorities would need to proceed with legal actions.

We were able to comb through my phone storage and find enough damning evidence from text messages, voicemails, and photos of unwanted gifts Liv had sent whenever she found items on our front rug to present a case if need be. Grant is hoping the letter will be enough to have the small dick asswipe—his words, not mine—shaking in his boots.

Four days.

It's crazy how much can change in ninety-six hours. Everyone is out at The Eagles Nest one minute, drinking, dancing, and finally relaxing after a stressful semester. The semester was filled with fresh starts, new beginnings, stresses, and excitement. But with one text message, the blissful bubble we found ourselves living in bursts. Leaving nothing but pain, turmoil, and betrayal.

A panic attack so intense I thought I was dying had me calling out for Crew. Of course, it would. The terrifying feeling of not being able to breathe forced my hand to beg for the one person I knew who could save me.

I never realized how much I'd destroy the one person who always had my back. Who's protected me and only wanted the very best for me.

My chest squeezes as guilt threatens to consume me. Taking a few deep breaths, I try to ground myself before I spiral into a panic attack. One this week was more than enough. Wiggling deeper into the couch, I snuggle tighter into the thick blanket I'm wrapped in. Flicking through the channels, I search for the sports network where the game is.

The boys left yesterday afternoon for the conference championship game in Arlington. I promised everyone that I would be fine. Somehow, my voice wasn't convincing because they arranged for Cody to check in on me. Every fifteen minutes, I have a check-in text from Cody or Chloe. Occasionally, Hudson and Ty, Cody's roommates, will check-in, too.

While I appreciate the concern, I want to rot on the couch as I enjoy an evening alone to wallow in my emotions. The animosity in the apartment has weighed down on us like a crashing wave threatening to pull us under. It looks like the whole "doesn't do drama" line, the one I placed in the email I sent Tyler when I was inquiring about the apartment, was a flat-out lie. Since I stepped foot in central Texas, all I've caused is drama, just like I did in Arizona. Chaos seems to follow me, causing stress in innocent people's lives .

I like to think that everything is Chad's fault. However, I'm not na?ve enough to believe that the drama I've caused isn't anyone's fault but mine. I decided to transfer without telling my parents. I showed up at the front door of three guys, and I had led them to assume I was a male roommate. I decided to pursue Crew when I knew that it would only lead to problems, and it was my idea to keep our relationship a secret once again, knowing that the magnitude of that white lie would destroy everyone around us if it weren't handled correctly. Exposing our relationship amid a panic attack in front of our friends wasn't handling the situation correctly.

It turns out at twenty, I'm still as childish and immature as I was at sixteen. No amount of convincing on my part would prove otherwise. I thought I could handle things my way, but I couldn't. Instead, I made the wrong decisions and destroyed everything in my path like a tornado swirling through Oklahoma, ripping friendships off their foundations and flattening any semblance of independence in my wake.

Swiping at my cheeks, I wipe away the moisture that has gathered. My fingers itch with the desire to pack everything up and run. Run far away from Arizona, from CTU, and civilization. Maybe I'll find a college in Alaska. I'd welcome the frigid tundra with open arms.

The announcer's voice interrupts my pity party as I turn my attention to the game. Almost the whole first quarter has passed, which I've missed because I was lost in thought. Truthfully, it's hard to watch, knowing how much pain I've caused the team.

The cameraman pans to the Eagles' sidelines, where my dad stands in the middle of an offensive huddle. Anger radiates from his body as he screams at the players. The angle switches to Erica Adams, an ESPN sideline reporter. I'm too stressed to take in her always fashionable sideline outfits .

"This is not the same team we've seen earlier this year and last season. You can feel the tension. No longer moving in sync, but now as if they're fighting against each other, not with each other."

"I couldn't say it better myself, Erica. Something has clearly gone wrong behind the scenes, and it's tearing this team apart."

What happened was I blew into town and wrecked everything like a category-five hurricane. The wave of emotion hits me full force, and I find myself sniffling into the pillow. I watch through blurred visions as another missed catch has the team turning over the ball again.

A heated conversation occurs on the sideline between my brother, my boyfriend, and my roommate. An offensive coordinator moves toward the commotion as he angrily breaks up the quarrel. He grabs Crew by the jersey and pushes him toward the bench while he points down the sideline, where Grant follows his finger. Both guys stomp to their designated areas.

Minutes pass as the defense tries to salvage the shit show of a game. As time winds down and the halftime whistle blows, CTU is down twenty-four to three.

"You've got to wonder what will happen in the locker room. The chemistry that made this team formidable has all but vanished. How does Coach Campbell fire up his team and fix the turmoil among his players?"

"That's a good question, Stan. Erica Adams is on the field with the man himself."

The camera changes as my dad's tall frame towers over Erica Adams as she stands on the edge of the field while the team runs to the locker room. The worry lines on my dad's face seem more profound as his eyes reflect frustration and disappointment. Once again, the stress in someone's life directly results from my decisions .

Flickering on the edge of my vision, my flight or fight radar is flashing. My fingers twitch, my heart races, and my head spins. But as I sit here, the negative thoughts consume me as the desire to flee wins.

With bags packed and a note left on the dining table, I do what I do best…

I run.