Chapter 2

Chloe

But after that? Nothing. Just a blank space where memory should be, and a throbbing headache that suggested my brain had decided to protect me from whatever came next.

"Did anyone get hurt?" I asked suddenly, the question bursting out of me with an urgency I didn't fully understand. "That night—did something happen? Did someone—"

"No," Leah said quickly, her hand finally making contact with my shoulder, warm and reassuring through the thin fabric of my t-shirt. "No one got hurt. Derek didn't mention anything when he brought you back, and I haven't heard any drama about anyone ending up in the ER or anything like that." She squeezed gently. "Why? What do you remember?"

I wanted to tell her about the figure in the hallway, about the spike of adrenaline and fear that had cut through my drunken haze, but the memory felt too fragile, too uncertain. What if I'd imagined the whole thing? What if it had been nothing more than a shadow and my own projected loneliness, given form by too much rum and not enough self-preservation?

"Nothing," I said finally, the lie sitting heavy on my tongue. "Just... worried I made an ass of myself, I guess."

Leah's expression softened into something that looked almost like pity, which somehow made me feel worse than the hangover. "You didn't," she assured me. "You were just drunk and tired. It happens." She stood up, smoothing down her shirt with nervous hands. "Derek was actually really nice about it. He made sure to tell me you'd be okay, that you just needed to sleep it off."

Derek Blackwood. Of course he’d stepped up to help, even if that surprised me. Derek usually kept most people at arm’s length, quiet and reserved, hard to read no matter how long you spoke to him. Still, he never struck anyone as cruel or unkind—there was just a distant edge to his manner with strangers. Even so, he carried a quiet, effortless charm that pulled every eye in a room without him lifting a finger to seek attention. Among all the rich kids on campus, his appeal felt the most unforced and genuine, which naturally drew hangers-on like Justin, desperate to leech off some of that golden-boy aura.

The fact that he'd personally made sure I got home safely should have made me feel grateful. Instead, it just made me feel small.

I pushed myself up more carefully this time, avoiding the treacherous bed rail, and swung my legs over the side of the bunk. My phone was charging on my desk, and I reached for it with a sense of dread, half-expecting to find a string of mortifying texts or photos documenting whatever I'd done last night. But when I unlocked the screen, there was nothing unusual—just a few messages in the group chat Leah and I shared with some other girls from our floor, and a notification from the campus bookstore about their used textbook sale.

No evidence of disaster. No smoking gun. Just... nothing.

I scrolled through my recent calls and texts, looking for something, anything that might trigger a memory. The last message I'd sent had been to my mom at 6:47 PM yesterday, letting her know I was going to the party. She'd responded with a heart emoji and a reminder to have fun, to let myself be young and carefree for once instead of constantly worrying about money and the future. My dad had chimed in with his standard "be safe, call if you need anything," and I'd promised I would.

If only I could remember enough about the night to know whether I'd kept that promise.

"Hey," Leah said softly, drawing my attention back to her. She was watching me with that concerned, analytical expression she got sometimes, the one that made me think she was going to end up being an amazing therapist someday if she stuck with her psychology major. "You should probably eat something and take some Advil. And maybe shower—no offense, but you kind of smell like a distillery."

Despite everything, I felt a small laugh bubble up in my chest. "None taken," I said, running a hand through my tangled hair and grimacing at the texture. "God, I must look like hell."

"You look like someone who had a rough night," Leah corrected, her smile gentle. "Which you did. But nothing that can't be fixed with some basic hygiene and carbs." She moved toward her closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a soft blue sweater. "I was thinking we could grab lunch at that diner off campus—the one with the massive pancakes? And then maybe hit up the bookstore sale. I know you've been putting off buying your Econ textbook."

The mention of textbooks made my stomach clench with a different kind of anxiety, the familiar weight of financial stress settling over my shoulders like a well-worn coat. The used bookstore sale was a necessity, not a choice—new textbooks were completely out of the question, and even used ones required careful budgeting and the sacrifice of other small luxuries. But Leah knew all of this, had watched me navigate this new reality for the past year with a kind of quiet understanding that never felt like pity, and I loved her for it.

"That sounds perfect," I said, meaning it. Food and friendship and the mundane task of textbook shopping—normal things, grounding things, the kind of routine that might help push away the uneasy feeling that something important had happened last night, something I couldn't quite remember but couldn't quite forget either.

As I gathered my shower caddy and a change of clothes, my eyes caught on the shirt I'd apparently slept in—one of my old, oversized t-shirts that I usually reserved for lazy weekends. It was clean, which meant Leah must have changed me out of whatever I'd been wearing at the party. I tried not to think too hard about how much of a mess I must have been, how much trouble I'd caused her.

"Thank you," I said suddenly, the words coming out more intense than I'd intended. "For taking care of me last night. I know that's not how you wanted to spend your evening."

Leah paused in the middle of pulling on her jeans, looking up at me with surprise. "Chloe, you're my best friend," she said simply, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did. "Of course I was going to make sure you were okay. That's what we do."

That's what we do. The words settled something in my chest, a small comfort against the larger uncertainty. Whatever had happened last night, whatever I couldn't remember, at least I knew I hadn't been alone. At least I had Leah.

I headed for the door, my shower supplies tucked under one arm, but something made me pause with my hand on the doorknob. "Leah?" I said, not turning around. "That person Derek brought me back with—did you see who it was?"

There was a beat of silence, long enough that I almost turned to look at her. "It was dark," she said finally, her voice careful. "And I was more focused on you. I didn't really get a good look. Why?"

I shook my head, even though she couldn't see the gesture. "No reason," I lied, pulling open the door and stepping out into the hallway. "Just curious."

But as I made my way to the communal bathroom, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.

I turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, letting the hot water wash away the physical evidence of my mistakes even as the mental ones remained stubbornly out of reach. And why does it feel like I should remember?

But there were no answers in the steam and soap, no sudden clarity to be found in the mundane ritual of getting clean.

At least, I thought as I rinsed shampoo from my hair, no one had gotten hurt. Leah had confirmed it, and there was no campus gossip suggesting otherwise. Whatever had happened—or almost happened—in that hallway, it had ended without disaster. That had to count for something.