1.

Everyone has their bad habits. Some people chew on their hair. Other people pull threads out of their sweaters. I pick at my cuticles.

It's not a pleasant habit. It's actually pretty damn painful most of the time; Ripping and tearing at the skin surrounding my nail beds, sometimes even to the point of drawing blood. It's disgusting and definitely not a clean habit. And yet, I've never been able to stop. I can restrain myself for a while, or I just might not pick for a few weeks. Then my nails actually look decent; They're not surrounded by raw, red skin. But it always starts up again.

And it's not even like I pick at them because I'm nervous or anything .That would mean I'm nervous basically 24/7. Maybe I am nervous 24/7… I don't really know. But today, I was most definitely picking at my cuticles because I was nervous. And tired. And more than a little scared.

"I stand here today because a terrible act has been done," started President Rodgers, standing at the front of the auditorium, hands folded in front of him, lips pressed into a thin line. "Last night, sometime around ten o'clock, a teenage girl was raped by a group of students from this university," President Rodgers said, pausing to let his words sink in. The students in the auditorium all started whispering, some sounding confused, most sounding frightened. I pulled harder, trying to shut it all out. "The girl, who will remain unnamed, was found by one of her peers and brought immediately to the medical center, and from there, the girl was sent to St. Catherine's Medical Research Hospital. I have been assured she will make a full recovery."

President Rodgers paused again, his eyes scanning the crowd. They met mine for a second before moving on, but it was long enough that I had to hold back a sob. I dropped my gaze back to my hands. Fucking cuticle. Just rip already!

"The perpetrators of such a heinous act have yet to be apprehended. It is now that I ask anyone who has any information on these events to please come see me immediately after this meeting." More whispering as President Rodgers paused yet again. What the fuck is up with all the damn pauses! Spit it out old man. I gritted my teeth, and yanked again, this time drawing blood. I stared at the red dot slowly pooling on the corner of my fingernail. "It saddens me greatly to think that any student of our great university would be capable of harming another human. Never has there been a greater need for compassion amongst students…"

I started to tune President Rodgers out, no longer able to take his righteous speech. I'd heard it all before. It didn't stop Brittany Halloway from being raped last night. It didn't stop the hooded figures from laughing as they held her hands above her head, forcing their bodies on hers. It didn't stop me from trying to beat them to an inch of their lives.

I stared at my finger as I tilted it down, watching as the blood wrapped around my finger, turning the skin under my nail red, before falling to the floor. Blood. There'd been so much blood last night.

I couldn't understand it. What made a group of college seniors think they had the right to force themselves on a high school sophomore? What made Alvarez think he could take away Brittany's right to choose? Was he petty enough to do it because her sister turned him down? Because I turned him down?

I watched as the blood began to clot and dry and congeal around my finger, but that wasn't enough. Not enough at all. I squeezed the finger, watching as more blood broke out and started its descent to the floor. Drip…drip…drip… I squeezed harder, trying to get more, more blood, more, more more more…. A warm hand covered mine.

I jumped, shocked out of my obsessive thoughts. What the hell? I stared at the hand covering mine, my mind slowly catching up. My eyes moved from hand to wrist to bicep to shoulder, and finally, up to the face of the person the arm belonged to.

I met a pair of hazel eyes staring at me intensely. "Stop," He said. His voice was commanding, the words spoken harshly, with no hint of apology. He squeezed my hand tighter, a cobra wrapping around its prey, forcing it into submission. "Stop," He repeated. I stared at him as he glared down at me for a few more seconds, before turning back to President Rodgers. He refused to let go of my hand and I stopped putting up a fight.

I felt tears prick behind my eyes as I stared at the rusty drops of my own blood on the ground by my feet and fought against them. Hell no! They don't get that! They don't get my tears! Don't you dare start crying. I bit down hard on my lip, digging the nails of my free hand into my palm. Instead, I tried to focus on my other hand, the hand currently going numb as he crushed it in his own. I focused on the numbness, and tried to make it spread and flow through me. I closed my eyes and thought only on what I felt.

Okay, so I feel warmth. Warmth and pain, crushing pain… but the good crushing pain. Like my fingers could snap in two. That's good. Focus on that, on the blood being pushed out of your hand. Whoever needed a left hand anyways. So what if that's the hand I write with, punch with. Who cares if it's already bruised from a nasty left-hook? Writing is stupid; punching… isn't stupid but I don't think I'll need to do it much anymore. Overrated. Numbness. Now that's of value. The way it travels from your hand, up your arm, and into your heart. Right into those four chambers and freezes everything over with ice. Yes. Ice. Ice is perfect. Cold, numb, ice.

And on and on.

It felt like President Rodgers never stopped talking. It felt like it was going to go on forever, but eventually he stopped. I looked back up just as he dismissed my peers and stepped away from the podium. He was looking at me, staring at me with an unreadable look on his face. I stared back, careful to keep my expression blank and defiant. I refused to break eye contact first, standing my ground, watching as his blue eyes slowly turned away from mine. I gritted my teeth and turned away.

I moved to walk out of the auditorium, following my peers back to the various dormitories, when I realized my hand was still being crushed. I turned to look up at him, giving him a blank look as he analyzed me. "Let go," I said, my voice hoarse from disuse and tears. I kept all and any emotion from my voice, from my gaze. My body posture was tight, tense, and anything but open, and I had a feeling my eyes were a more intense green than usual, glowing with a challenge I dared him to meet. "Let. Go."

"No," He replied simply, refusing to hide his emotions the way I was. His eyes were intense as well, a mix of brown and green burning with anger and annoyance. He squeezed my hand even tighter, practically breaking the delicate bones, but I let the pain swell inside me. I used the pain as fuel to keep me going, as a way to keep me sane and grounded.

His eyes scanned my face, probably looking for some sort of reaction, but I refused to give him one. I yanked on my arm, trying to free my hand, but he held steady. We stood there, glaring at each other, before I simply turned and started walking out of the auditorium. He trailed along behind me.

I was vaguely aware of the people surrounding me. Maeve and Hailee on my right; Sebastian and Tuck on my left; Patrick, Madison, and Ray just behind me. My own personal escort. How wonderful. I ignored them all, continuing on my way up to the tower. Let them think they're protecting me.

"Miss Everson." I stopped at the sound of my name, and turned. Dean McMiller stood just off to the side of the entrance to the auditorium, her face clouded with worry. "Miss Everson, would you please come with me," she said, her voice soft, yet firm. I nodded, and made to move out of my escort. They all moved to follow.

"Mr. Parkington, I need only Miss Everson," Dean McMiller said, looking at the boy still crushing my hand. Her eyes were dark, her tone unwavering.

Tuck made no reply, simply stood there crushing my hand and refusing to let go. Dean McMiller sighed heavily, and opened her mouth to protest again, but was cut off. "Daisy, it's fine. Mr. Parkington may join Miss Everson," President Rodgers said, appearing out of the shadows. Dean McMiller looked about to protest, before sighing and stepping back.

President Rodgers led the way up to his office, no one saying a word as we walked. "Patty," He said, nodding to his secretary as we reached the heavy mahogany door.

Once inside his office, he gestured for us all to sit down. No one did. Instead, we all watched as President Rodgers walked over to the window behind his desk, his hands clasped behind his back. It was another few moments before he spoke. "Miss Everson, I'm sure you know why I called you here."

I didn't bother responding; it was a rhetorical question. "I would like you to repeat the story for me one more time, if you don't mind."

I did mind. I didn't want to recount it for the third time in a matter of twelve hours. First to President Rodgers right after I'd found Brittany; then to Sargent Marcoson, the cop who questioned me about the attack; and now again, in front of Dean McMiller and Tuck. It was too much to ask, way too much. But I simply sighed, focusing on my numbed hand, and retold the story.

I was coming back from the library, and was in a bit of a rush. I was late for my roommate Hailee's birthday dinner, and hadn't been paying attention to where I was going, when I crossed into an alley next to a house on Greek Row. I'd groaned at my stupidity, trying to figure out the quickest way back to Belmont Tower, when I'd heard laughter. And it was not happy-class-is-cancelled-tomorrow-I-get-to-sleep-in or omg-we're-totally-going-to-get-caught-with-your-hands-up-my-skirt type laughter, but rather malicious laughter. Like I-just-got-away-with-murder type laughter. Chilled to the bones, I'd shifted my bag more comfortably on my body and pulled out my phone, moving towards the sound. As I peered around the corner, the sight I saw made me almost get sick.

There were three black hooded figures, standing over a girl being crushed by a fourth hooded figure. I watched as her head whipped back and forth, her cries muffled by a gag, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her dress had been pushed up around her waist, and she had a gash on her head that was bleeding pretty badly. "My turn," one of the figures grunted, hands moving quickly to his fly. He shoved his friend out of the way and knelt in front of the girl. She looks only about sixteen, had been my only thought, before I charged onto the scene and tackled the kneeling figure. I only managed to get Alvarez, running back for the football team, hitting him square in the jaw with a left hook, his head hitting the pavement and knocking him out, before his companions turned, looking at me from behind ski masks, and disappeared down the avenue. Once they'd disappeared, I'd hurried over to where Brittany was convulsing on the floor, her eyes rolled back in her head as she foamed at the mouth, having some sort of seizure. Her hair was covered in red, and I could just barely make out bite marks and bruises across her chest and neck, before I had turned her on her side so she wouldn't choke on her own vomit.

It was pure luck another student found us. I hadn't gotten around to screaming for help yet, too busy trying to help Brittany and not go into shock myself to think of calling out. He'd looked up, gave a yelp and hurried over, dialing 911 as he did. It had been a matter of minutes before all the heads of the university and President Rodgers had arrived at the scene, taking Brittany to medical services and hauling a dazed Alvarez to his feet as I followed silently, trying to ignore the stench of blood and vomit radiating from me.

I was grateful neither Tuck nor Dean McMiller reacted to my story. Both remained silent and expressionless during my recount. President Rodgers continued to stare out the window, never once moving as I spoke. To myself, I sounded drained and distant, my voice dark and dull and monotone. It was like listening to the narrator from a boring documentary on television. When I'd finished talking, all I could hear was an echo in my head, as if my voice was bouncing off the walls of my skull and out into the room. No one moved. No one spoke.

Finally, President Rodgers turned, sighing heavily, and looked at us. His eyes were dark and cutoff, and his mouth was set in a straight line. "That was the last time I'll ask you to repeat that story, Miss Everson. Thank you," he said. I merely blinked at him. "I really called you in here because I thought you would like to know that Miss Halloway is awake. Her body suffered a great trauma, and her bruises were… extensive, but the doctors are confident she'll make a full recovery."

"What about her mind?" I asked, remembering Sargent Marcoson saying sometimes rape victims sometimes suffered from PTSD.

"Her mind is… mostly fine. It's still functioning normally, meaning she can talk and is aware of her current situation and what happened to her, but she has some gaps in her memory now. She remembers very little from the attack, and is having some difficulty recalling small events from her past. There is hope that those will return with therapy though," President Rodgers told me, his eyes softening slightly as he gazed at me. Tuck squeezed my hand even harder than should've been possible. His grip was already vice like. "Brittany would like to see you."

At those words, I felt panic start to set in. The numbness that had set in as I retold the story for the third time disappeared. Having told it so many times, it felt unreal, like something I hadn't been a part of. That, combined with the pressure on my hand, had made it easy for me to just go numb; to just stop feeling. But now, hearing that Brittany wanted to see me, it all came crashing back. The fear and panic and shock I'd felt last night wrapped their hands around my windpipe and made it so I couldn't breathe.

"No," I choked out, backing away from the desk. All three heads turned to look at me. "No," I repeated, sounding deadly and hysterical. Dean McMiller looked confused, Tuck looked concerned, but President Rodgers seemed to understand. He nodded his head in acceptance as I continued to back away. It was all I needed. I wrenched my hand violently from Tuck's, spun on my heel, and fled from the office.

I had no destination in mind. My only thought was Away! I sprinted down the hall, pushing myself to go faster and faster, till I was flying. I ignored the students staring at me as I pushed past them on my way down the stairs. I passed the boys, and my roommates, presumably waiting for Tuck and me outside Hudson Hall, the main administration building on campus. "Ro!" Hailee called as I passed.

I skidded to a halt for a second, staring at all of them blankly, before dashing towards the main gates and out into the night.

It was in the early hours of the morning when I finally returned to Belmont. I'd run all the way down to the park five blocks from campus, my heart pounding and my breath wheezing in and out of me when I collapsed on a bench. I'd clung to the wooden seat with what little strength I had and sobbed. Let it all out. I'd howled into the night, the waxing crescent moon my only companion. Once I'd calmed down, I'd leaned back and stared at my hands. My ring finger was still covered in blood, though it was flaky and dry now. It had gathered underneath my fingernail, making it look like I'd been digging in a garden for hours. As for the hand itself, it was sore. Terribly sore, and slightly black and blue. Tuck had held my hand tight enough for it to bruise even more. But I didn't mind. I'd flexed my hand, hissing at the pain, but relishing in it. Good. That's good. Physical pain over emotional. Focus on that. Focus on your hand.

Finally, when I'd gotten too cold to sit outside any longer, I'd made the long trek back up to campus. I was surprised no one had gone looking for me. I mean, I was a transfer student and all; weren't they concerned about me knowing the area?

"Evening," I said to the security guard once up at the tower, swiping in. She'd looked at me and nodded without a word. I'd been looking forward to heading up to my twin extra long and sleeping until the end of time, but wasn't so lucky.

Sitting in our living room, huddled together and whispering to each other, sat the boys and my roommates. Just as I was considering tiptoeing to my and Hailee's room, Ray looked up. "Ro," He breathed, brown eyes filled with concern. All the other heads shot up, and I held back a deep sigh.

Patrick sat on the floor, chewing nervously on his fingernails, blonde head moving quickly as he glanced anywhere but at me. Ray sat on the futon Maeve insisted we buy ("It'll complete the room!"), regarding me with caution and concern. Next to him sat Hailee, dirty blonde curls atop her head in a messy bun, chewing her bottom lip nervously. On the coffee table in front of her sat Bas, looking as unconcerned as always, though there was a hint of hesitation in the way he sat, as though he was ready to tackle me should I move too quickly. Maeve sat in a chair next to him, blue eyes traveling over my body, probably making a mental plan on how best to handle me in the next few days. Madison sat on the chair arm, tears in her eyes as she huddled into her oversized sweatshirt. And standing next to the small television was Tuck, his face unreadable, but his body tense. Like Bas, he looked ready to pounce should I have another meltdown.

No one said anything for a few moments, until Madison stood up and walked towards me as though to hug me. I felt my panic rise again and took a step back, holding up a hand to keep her at a distance. She immediately paused her movements, looking slightly taken aback and hurt, until her eyes fell on my hand. "Ro! What the hell did you do to your hand?" She cried, her arms reaching out as though to grab my hand to examine it - Madison was studying to be a nurse - but stopping herself before she did.

My gaze met Tuck's for a second, his face unreadable and unapologetic, before looking back at my hand. I shrugged, flexing my fingers again. "You should see the other guy," I replied simply, before walking down the small hall leading to the bathroom. I paused outside the door, listening to their whispers, but unable to make out any words. I felt like child again, listening from the top of the stairs as my parents discussed things they didn't want me or Hera to overhear.

I peeled off my clothes, and turned on the water, letting the shower heat up. As I put my hair up in a bun, I stared at my reflection. I looked paler than usual, the pink normally mixed into my skin all but gone. There were dark circles under my eyes and my lips were chapped. My eyes looked huge and red, the green irises dull and dead looking.

I hopped into the shower, the water scalding hot. Perfect. I stared down at my hand again, watching as the water washed away the blood still on my finger. It occurred to me then that Tuck must've had my blood on his own hand. How disgusting.

I slept in the next day, not caring that I would be late to my first class. I dressed slowly, taking time to button my jeans; to smooth out all the wrinkles in my shirt; to make sure my boots were buckled tightly. My hair was in a tight bun, not a strand loose.

My heals clicked loudly against the ground as I walked to art history, the few students still outside all scurrying past me in their attempts to make it to class on time. Idiots. I reached the hall about five seconds after class started, casually making my way to the classroom. Professor Ikedo gave me a sharp look that I ignored as I walked over to my desk and sat down. I could feel Hailee watching me.

I unloaded my bag, taking out my books, a pen, and paper. I moved to pick up my pen, but found it difficult to hold in my hand. I had been fine with my brush this morning, but the pen was too small for my bruised hand to mold itself around. I sighed as I regarded it. Tuck just had to crush my left hand even more.

I was uncertain what to do, and was trying to come up with a plan, when I caught Hailee's eye. I noted her small smile and sad blue eyes, but I understood what she was letting me know. She'd give me her notes later. I smiled back, or rather, tried to smile back, before turning my gaze to my hand.

To be honest, it didn't actually hurt that much. When I moved my fingers or flexed my hand, I was sore and achy, but otherwise I was fine. Somehow I hadn't broke it when I punched Alvarez. It looked much worse than it was, all black and blue, knuckles cut up and red. It amazed me that Tuck had a grip that strong; strong enough to make my hand bluer and blacker. Or maybe I was just that delicate. Either way, my hand looked deformed, swollen.

I tried to pay attention during art history but it was hard. How was I supposed to care about Japanese shrines at Ise when I had to worry about possibly being hunted? I hadn't really thought about it before, but Brittany's other tormentors had gotten away. They were still out there, and had clearly seen who I was. But even more than my own safety, the safety of other students was at stake here. Whoever the other people in the ski masks were, they were still out there, and they were dangerous.

Class seemed to pass quickly, Professor Ikedo sounding like the teachers from Charlie Brown to my ears (won won won wan won). I shoved my things into my bag and met Hailee at the door. I was absentmindedly picking at my cuticles again, when someone reached over and took my hand in theirs."That's a really awful habit, Everson. You should really try to stop it," said a deep voice.

I didn't bother looking up, already knowing who it was. "I'll stop when you do, Parkington." I slid my hand out of his, looking up at Tuck.

"I have no habits," Tuck replied, looking down at my left hand, which I had placed on my bag. He reached up, running his fingers through his hair.

"What do you call that?" I asked, pointing. He paused, seemingly unaware of what he'd been doing. He dropped his hand to his side and shrugged.

"Touché."

I offered him a half smile, or at least the one I was attempting, and exited the building. "Stalking me now?" I asked Tuck as he continued to follow Hailee and me. We were on out way to meet Maeve at the library.

"Only in your dreams, Everson."

"Then why are you here?"

"Hailee mentioned you guys were going to the library yesterday, and since I had class in the same building as you two, I figured we could all walk to the library together, where I'm meeting Bas. Friends do walk together, Everson," He cocked an eyebrow at me as I rolled my eyes. I was about to point out that we weren't really friends, but a pointed look from Hailee stopped me. Whatever. Too much effort to fight right now.

We met Maeve outside the library, where she was waiting for us, her books tucked under one arm, dark hair braided down her back. "Ready?" She asked, her voice overly bright.

"Oh yeah. Just dying to study for Latin," I sarcastically. I almost felt guilty when I saw her smile fade slightly, but I ignored it and made my way inside. I glanced back down at my bruised hand. We wouldn't see Madison until lunch, since she was working a shift in the medical center as part of her training. Looked like there wouldn't be any writing for the next two hours.

Maeve and Hailee kept up a constant stream of quiet chatter as we sat down: who was currently dating who, who had been caught at the Zeta party last Friday, whether Caroline Addler had actually been scouted by some modeling agency or other. For the most part, I ignored them. I had real matters to worry about. Like figuring out who were beneath those masks. The bastards can't get away with it.

"Hey Tuck! Is it true?" Hailee's sudden loud exclamation made me jump, my attention turned towards her. Her blue eyes were mischievous as she glanced over her shoulder flirtatiously, ignoring the shushes following her cry. I followed her gaze to where Tuck and Bas were sitting behind us. They looked at each other, before grabbing their books and chairs and dragging them over to our table. Great.

"Is what true, Johanson?" Tuck asked, leaning back casually in his chair, hands behind his head, smirk gracing his lips.

"Did you really get with Brooke Murphy two nights ago?" Hailee asked, spinning a pencil in her hand and leaning forward so she could get a clear view of his reaction. Maeve rolled her eyes, though she leaned forward as well, clearly intrigued.

"No where would you get an idea like that, Johanson?" Tuck replied, though the smirk on his face grew significantly. Bas rolled his eyes, while Hailee opened her mouth in faux-shock, before subjugating Tuck to the third degree. Hailee was nothing if not a gossip. How she knew who all the people we attended college with were, I had no idea. But even I knew who Brooke Murphy was.

Maeve snorted as she watched Harper, before turning back to her notes. She glanced up at me and paused for a moment, cocking her head. "Okay there, Ro?"

"Just peachy," I replied, my voice sounding distant even to my ears. Maeve regarded me carefully, and I worried about what she was seeing on my face.

I couldn't fully understand why but for some reason, the thought of Tuck having sex with Brooke Murphy two nights ago made me want to vomit. The thought of people doing something so mundane as having sex on a night when I got punched in the face by reality made the room spin. I felt almost betrayed, which was absurd. Tuck and I weren't dating, and could barely be considered friends. We were acquaintances if anything, but the idea that he was running his hands all over some other girl while I was fighting to save Brittany's life… Well I guess he was lucky enough to not be running late for birthday parties and stumbling upon rape victims. Instead he was rolling around under the sheets with the most beautiful girl on campus.

I dug my fingers into my hand, trying to fight the dizziness and nausea I suddenly felt, glad I was sitting. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cool wood of the table. "Ro. What's wrong?" Maeve said, her voice sounding far away. I felt a hand on my shoulder and glanced up, seeing her reach across the table for me. I met her gaze for a quick second before laying my head back down. She would see too much in my eyes.

I heard the carefree chatter stop as Tuck, Bas, and Hailee caught on with what was happening. "Ro? Maeve? What's wrong?" came Hailee's panicked voice.

I flexed my left hand, inhaling a sharp breath as the pain grounded me. I took a few more breaths before lifting my head and meeting Maeve's gaze again. "I'm okay," I said softly. "Just tired." I flexed again. Pain. Pain is good.

Maeve's eyes bore into mine, as though she was looking for confirmation. I squeezed her hand, giving her my not-really-a-smile, smile. She blinked and dropped her hand. We all turned back to our studying in silence. I felt restless, not being able to write and all, so I got up and went to peruse the shelves. I trailed my fingers across the spines, ignoring the dust that arose as a result. Sometimes, I wished I could just jump into a book and escape my reality. I'd much rather be helping Theseus escape the Labyrinth then have to try to keep my brain from replaying the scene from two nights ago.

I was deep in thought and didn't realize I'd been followed, when I felt someone catch my left hand lightly. I jumped, a small panicked sound escaping my throat and spun around, ready to take down whoever it was. Tuck held up his free hand in surrender. "Peace, Everson."

I let out my breath slowly, glaring at him as he stepped close to me, my hand still in his. This was becoming quite the habit. I looked at Tuck, raising an eyebrow. His eyes were just as intense as they were yesterday, and I found myself unable to hold his gaze. "Yes, Tucker?" I sighed, staring at his chest instead of up at his face. He'd buttoned his shirt incorrectly this morning. Or maybe Brooke buttoned it incorrectly.

He dipped his head, trying to catch my gaze. When that didn't work, he caught my chin, tilting my face up to his. "What's really wrong, Ro?" His voice was soft, his gaze direct. I resisted the urge to close my eyes as his breath blew against my cheeks.

"Nothing," I replied, making my eyes large and innocent looking. "I'm honestly just tired. I… I haven't really slept the past couple of days." I dropped my gaze from his again, staring at his shoulder.

His finger nudged my face again, and when I finally looked up, I could see the disbelief in his eyes. But he didn't press the matter. Instead, I felt his fingers dance over the back of my left hand, which he was still holding. He brought it up so it was between us, gazing at the bruises. It really does look bad. "Sorry about the hand."

"It's okay. It's not all from you." I watched as he slid his palm across mine, fingers tracing over the bones of my knuckles, the veins in the back of my hand, before he intertwined our fingers, his palm warm against mine. "The pain helps a little."

"The pain helps?" He was looking at my face again, eyes tracing over my features. We were standing rather close to one another, close enough that I could see each individual swirl of green and brown and gold in his eyes. I'm sure he could see each freckle on my nose.

"Well, it grounds me. When I get too lost in my thoughts, all I need to do with flex my hand, and it brings me back to the present." My voice was so soft, I was surprised he could hear me. He nodded, looking down at our hands again, before staring into my eyes.

I took a step back, shaking my hand free of his. "We should go back," I said simply, turning and walking away without waiting to see if he followed.

I took my seat next to Bas and spent the next hour trying to focus on Cicero's speech against Catullus. All the tossing and turning from last night, mixed with the confusion of translating a lost language, had my eyelids drooping. More than once Maeve had to poke me with her pen to keep me from drifting. Needless to say, I was relieved when the two hours were over.

"You are appalling at studying, Everson," Bas said, draping an arm around my shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to be an honors student or something?"

I elbowed him in the side, rubbing my eyes to push away my exhaustion. "I'm a transfer student, stupid. Totally different. " And I'd like to see how you sleep with nightmares haunting you all night.

I yawned hugely and leaned my head against his shoulder. "Jeez, Everson. If you wanted to get closer, you need only ask," Bas purred, dropping his hand to my waist and pulling me closer. I could picture his flirty smirk in my mind.

"Shut up," I replied around a yawn. "Pillows aren't supposed to talk."

"Impressive Bas. I always knew you'd aspire to great things," Tuck teased, coming up on my other side. His hand brushed against mine, fingers catching for a second before they were gone.

I opened my eyes, lifting my head from Sebastian's shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tuck walking casually beside me. He showed no sign that he even knew I was there, much less that he was touching my hand again. I sighed. It was too early to think about this. I could seriously go for a cup of coffee. That would be absolutely necessary if I was going to be able to function at all. Luckily, when we finally reached the quad, Madison had just that waiting for me. "Oh you goddess!" I cried, scurrying over when she held out the cup. She was leaning against a tree, a styrofoam to-go cup in her hand. I wrapped both hands around it and inhaled the scent, reveling in the warmth radiating from the liquid. "Where did you get this?" I took a long sip. "Mmmmmm"

"Stopped by Rodigue's on my way here. Also…" She took my left hand in hers, pulling out of her bag a tube of some sort. She squirted some onto her fingers and massaged it into my hand. A kind of tingly coolness spread through my fingers where the salve made contact. She wiped her hands with a tissue before pulling out some gauze and wrapping my hand. "It's just a numbing cream for the pain. You might need to ask people to take notes for you in class though, since it doesn't look like you'll be able to write for a while."

I flexed my hand, instantly noting a lack of pain. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that. My hand still looked strange, now wrapped in white cloth. "I've always wanted to be ambidextrous." I kissed Madison's cheek and took another sip of my coffee. "You're officially my favorite!" I declared, linking my arm with hers.

"Hey!" cried Maeve, looking offended. "What about me and Hailee?"

"Yeah! I took notes for you last class!" Hailee joined in, hands on hips.

"You're my second favorite," I offered with a wink.

"Excuse me, but I think I should be the favorite," interrupted Sebastian. "I did just act as your pillow."

"Hmmmm… This is true," I trailed off. "I'll have to think about it." And with that, I walked on, giggling with Madison.