Wrecked

I stared at the ceiling and drifted off to sleep, hoping I would feel better when I woke up.

A friendly hand shook my shoulder, jarring me awake. I turned over lazily and looked up. It was Daniela again. Even in the darkness of my room, I could see she looked worried. I smiled and closed my eyes again. It was dark out. People were allowed to sleep when it was dark out.

“I hope you’re recovering well,” she said.

The words were the same ones used in the letter. Marco. I jolted up and looked around, my heart racing in my chest, my skin covered by a thin film of sweat. Daniela stared back at me, wide-eyed.

“Lorrie,” she said. “You’re starting to scare me. Are you sure you’re okay?”

My chest heaved in and out heavily as I worked to catch my breath. Adrenaline poured through my veins. “Sorry, bad dream,” I said unsteadily. I did my best to smile at her, but it was hard to even meet her gaze.

She put the back of her hand to my forehead. “Jesus, you’re having cold sweats. You should go to the health center.”

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine, just need to sleep.”

“Didn’t you have an Econ exam this afternoon? Did you go?”

My heart felt like it had been mashed into little sinews. In my rush to get over what had happened during my Psych exam, I had totally forgotten about the Econ exam I had later in the same day. A few hours ago.

“No, I forgot,” I said softly.

Her face didn’t move as she studied me. She just nodded slowly. “Okay . . . Well, I’ll let you sleep. When’s your next exam?”

It took a long time to remember, but eventually it came to me. “I have sociology tomorrow morning.”

“What time?”

“Ten.”

“Okay, I’ll come wake you up. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Daniela woke me up on Thursday to make sure I went to my exam. As I got dressed and ate a granola bar for breakfast, my head still felt like it was filled with a hazy cloud. All the muscles in my body were tensed in frayed knots. Dammit, I felt awful—why couldn’t I just put the letter out of mind long enough to take my exams?

Backpack over my shoulder, I left Floyd Hall with my mind swirling. Everything on campus looked slightly off; I kept asking myself if the campus always looked this way. The detailing on the street lamps, the flyers on the bulletin boards, even the way the sun looked—everything seemed to belong to a strange photograph rather than real life. I kept waiting for a tug at my shoulders to pull me out of this nightmare, but it never came.

Passing the student union, I sighed. After bombing a test yesterday because I was so upset I couldn’t read properly, it was looking like the same thing would happen again. A storm was still thundering inside my head. I had a hard enough time with sociology when I was at my best so I knew that taking the midterm in this condition was going to be a disaster.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes before rolling in thin lines down my cheeks. I tilted my head toward the ground and wiped them away, hoping no one would notice.

Dammit. It was unfair how he could ruin my life again, and this time by a simple letter. I just wanted a fair shot at being normal and not having to deal with something awful for a while. A few months of a normal college life: passing my classes, figuring out my career, working on my relationship with Hunter. Being in my twenties in college was dramatic enough without fresh reminders of the dear loved ones I had lost.

I looked up at the clear blue sky as I entered the arts quad. The sun reflected painfully against the tears in my eyes; I shut them and turned away. My chest heaved as the tears began coming more freely. My life was taking yet another shitty turn. What was I doing even taking this test when I knew I had no prayer of passing?

I tried wiping my eyes with my sleeve but I couldn’t stop the fresh waves of tears from flowing. I was forced to stop near a large tree to collect myself. As I unslung my backpack and sat against the tree I noticed people were staring at me. I covered my eyes with my hands and cried harder. Each choked sob led to another one I didn’t have the strength to stop. I could try as hard as I wanted, but the crying continued no matter what. Too much was pent up inside.

I reluctantly peeked through my fingers and saw students craning their necks, trying to get a glimpse of my face.

Yes, I thought, that girl is really crying in the middle of the quad. Uncontrollably.

Groaning in frustration, I picked up my backpack and turned toward Floyd Hall instead of the exam building. Who was I kidding? There was no way I was passing that exam. I decided to spare myself further embarrassment by going back to my room.

As I dragged myself back to Floyd Hall, something that had been in the back of my mind since I failed my psych exam came to the front: I might have to withdraw from the semester.

I spent the rest of the day Thursday locked in my room. Daniela knocked on my door that night to check on me, but went away after I called out that I was still sick. I was thankful she left me alone. There was nothing to say about how I was feeling. I didn’t want to talk to her about the possibility of withdrawing from another semester. Not yet.

Friday was more of the same. I skipped swimming, deciding that there was no point in splashing around in a pool when I already felt like I was drowning. As I lay in bed I realized with more and more certainty that I would have to withdraw from Arrowhart again. The thought depressed me: I had been doing so well, but then that damn letter derailed me, causing me to already fail two classes. Now there was nothing I could do.

I texted Hunter in the afternoon asking what he was up to before rolling over for a nap. It was weird we hadn’t been in contact since Tuesday, but we both had a lot of stuff going on. Maybe he was just extra busy with exams.

Daniela came in that night and made me swear that if I still felt bad the next day that I would go to the health center. I agreed, wanting to placate her so she would leave. When she did, I rolled over and checked my phone. No response from Hunter. I wrinkled my brows finding the situation strange. Frustrated and tired, I burrowed into my pillow and tried to sleep, hoping I would somehow feel better in the morning.

I woke up Saturday and sat in my bed thinking about how I could recover. Even if I was going to withdraw, I couldn’t stay in bed forever. I had to get up and eat, shower, and try to pull myself together.

I looked at my phone on my night stand. Still no reply. It was weird that Hunter hadn’t responded to the text I sent him yesterday afternoon. What was he thinking about the way I’d disappeared? Where had he disappeared to?

I thought about calling him, but decided I wasn’t ready to talk to him about the letter yet. The first person I wanted to talk to was my Aunt Caroline. I dialed her number and put the phone to my ear. It rang four times before I heard her voice.

“Hello?” she answered. She sounded sleepy.

I did my best to make my voice perky. “Hi Aunt Caroline. Did I wake you up?”

“Lorrie? You did, yes. It’s five o’clock in the morning!”

I looked out my window and realized it was still dark outside. A glance at my phone’s clock proved Aunt Caroline had been right about the time—it had totally escaped me. I put the phone back to my ear, trying to think of what to say next.

“Is everything okay?” my aunt asked. She sounded very worried.

It started with a single tear escaping from my right eye and falling warmly down my cheek. As it fell from my face, the dam broke and I cried hard, my chest convulsing with powerful sobs. Tears poured from my eyes as if they’d been saved up since I’d walked home from my econ exam.