The crisp scent of textbooks and the soft hum of hushed conversations welcomed me back to the sanctuary of academics. Tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair behind my ear, I cracked open a dense volume on European Economic and exhaled a contented sigh; the weight of the world felt lighter within these walls.
I had pressed pause on this life three weeks ago, necessity pulling me away to navigate the chaos of job transitions and personal crises. The decision to block Alarick's number from my phone had been a central one, severing the wisps of distraction that had once bound my attention hostage. Now, with each swipe of my highlighter across the key points laid out on the page, I reclaimed a piece of myself, reaffirming my dedication to my studies. My main goal.
My classmates, always a reliable network, had forwarded me lecture notes and recordings, bridging the gap between where I left off and the present. Yet, assignments still loomed like specters over the remaining months of the semester. My daily rhythm found its beat in the ebb and flow between lectures and part-time work, an intricate dance of time management that left little room for extracurricular drama.
Contemplating the go home, the echo of Sara's earlier confrontation with Joy replayed in my mind. Empathy tangled with frustration; how could I cast judgment when I, too, had recently severed ties with someone toxic? There was no desire to wade into their turbulent waters; my plate was a mosaic of obligations and deadlines as it was.
Resolute, I skirted around the library's perimeter, exchanging the island of quiet study desks for the bustling café nestled in the corner. The hiss of the espresso machine scored the soundtrack of my evening as I ordered a black coffee—no sugar, no cream—and a turkey sandwich on whole wheat. Balancing the tray in hand, I retraced my steps and claimed an empty table amidst the stacks.
The library, with its tall windows ushering in the ever-lengthening shadows of the summer evening, became my refuge. I spread out my materials, the pages whispering promises of productivity. Here, I would remain blissfully until after dinner, granting Sara the space and peace to navigate her own emotional labyrinth without the added complication of my presence. It was the least I could do—for her, and for myself.
The library's clock tower tolled nine times, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of diligent students. I glanced up from the dense pages of my textbook; the numbers on my phone confirmed the hour. Nine o'clock already? With a resigned sigh, I began to gather my things, feeling the weight of each second slipping away into the night.
Outside, the summer sky clung to the last vestiges of twilight—a gradient of deep blues and purples. The air was still warm as I made my way home, the neighborhood bathed in the soft glow of street lamps. My mind raced through the tasks and hurdles that were awaiting me tomorrow, but above all, I longed for the simple comfort of my bed and the chance to shut my eyes, even if just for a few hours, before facing another day.
As I turned the corner to our appartment, the tranquility of the evening was shattered by raised voices. One distinctly male and somehow familiar, the other unmistakably Sara's. My pace quickened, a sense of foreboding knotting in my stomach. By the time I reached our front door, the argument escalated, the words indiscernible but the tone undeniably heated.
Key in hand, I hesitated for a fraction of a second, hoping against hope that I could slip inside unnoticed and appease the brewing storm. But as the key turned in the lock and the door creaked open, that hope evaporated like mist.
"Please, just stop!" Sara's cry sliced through the tension like a blade, her voice laced with fear. It was a side of her I'd never heard before, and it propelled me forward.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, a jarring contrast to the calm focus that had filled my hours at the library. As the living room came into view, time seemed to compress, every heartbeat thundering in my ears. There they were, just beyond the threshold, locked in an intense confrontation that sent a shiver down my spine. I wasn't prepared for this—not for the scene unfolding before me, nor the instinctive need to protect that roared to life within my chest.
The metallic taste of fear clung to my mouth as I stumbled into the room, the scene before me splintering reality into a nightmare. Joey's form hunched over Sara, his head jerking rhythmically as he bit into her neck with what could only be described as fangs. Blood, dark and damning, trickled down her pale skin, mingling with the silent testimony of her tears.
In a blind rush, my fingers grappled with the first weapon within reach—a floor lamp, cold and solid under my touch. Self-reproach lanced through me for not having called for help, but there was no time now for anything other than action.
"Get off her!" The words were torn from my throat, raw and desperate. With all the strength my trembling arms could muster, I swung the lamp at Joey's head. He loomed large and formidable, muscles coiled beneath his skin like steel cables. Yet his focus on Sara had been so complete that my presence registered only as the lamp connected with a sickening thud.
Joey's head snapped to the side, the impact breaking his monstrous embrace. Sara slumped forward, gasping for breath, her skin smeared with crimson. But Joey, though momentarily stunned, remained upright. His eyes, now fixed on me, burned with an inhuman fury that told me the battle was far from over.
The crisp scent of textbooks and the soft hum of hushed conversations welcomed me back to the sanctuary of academics. Tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair behind my ear, I cracked open a dense volume on European Economic and exhaled a contented sigh; the weight of the world felt lighter within these walls.
I had pressed pause on this life three weeks ago, necessity pulling me away to navigate the chaos of job transitions and personal crises. The decision to block Alarick's number from my phone had been a central one, severing the wisps of distraction that had once bound my attention hostage. Now, with each swipe of my highlighter across the key points laid out on the page, I reclaimed a piece of myself, reaffirming my dedication to my studies. My main goal.
My classmates, always a reliable network, had forwarded me lecture notes and recordings, bridging the gap between where I left off and the present. Yet, assignments still loomed like specters over the remaining months of the semester. My daily rhythm found its beat in the ebb and flow between lectures and part-time work, an intricate dance of time management that left little room for extracurricular drama.
Contemplating the go home, the echo of Sara's earlier confrontation with Joy replayed in my mind. Empathy tangled with frustration; how could I cast judgment when I, too, had recently severed ties with someone toxic? There was no desire to wade into their turbulent waters; my plate was a mosaic of obligations and deadlines as it was.
Resolute, I skirted around the library's perimeter, exchanging the island of quiet study desks for the bustling café nestled in the corner. The hiss of the espresso machine scored the soundtrack of my evening as I ordered a black coffee—no sugar, no cream—and a turkey sandwich on whole wheat. Balancing the tray in hand, I retraced my steps and claimed an empty table amidst the stacks.
The library, with its tall windows ushering in the ever-lengthening shadows of the summer evening, became my refuge. I spread out my materials, the pages whispering promises of productivity. Here, I would remain blissfully until after dinner, granting Sara the space and peace to navigate her own emotional labyrinth without the added complication of my presence. It was the least I could do—for her, and for myself.
The library's clock tower tolled nine times, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of diligent students. I glanced up from the dense pages of my textbook; the numbers on my phone confirmed the hour. Nine o'clock already? With a resigned sigh, I began to gather my things, feeling the weight of each second slipping away into the night.
Outside, the summer sky clung to the last vestiges of twilight—a gradient of deep blues and purples. The air was still warm as I made my way home, the neighborhood bathed in the soft glow of street lamps. My mind raced through the tasks and hurdles that were awaiting me tomorrow, but above all, I longed for the simple comfort of my bed and the chance to shut my eyes, even if just for a few hours, before facing another day.
As I turned the corner to our appartment, the tranquility of the evening was shattered by raised voices. One distinctly male and somehow familiar, the other unmistakably Sara's. My pace quickened, a sense of foreboding knotting in my stomach. By the time I reached our front door, the argument escalated, the words indiscernible but the tone undeniably heated.
Key in hand, I hesitated for a fraction of a second, hoping against hope that I could slip inside unnoticed and appease the brewing storm. But as the key turned in the lock and the door creaked open, that hope evaporated like mist.
"Please, just stop!" Sara's cry sliced through the tension like a blade, her voice laced with fear. It was a side of her I'd never heard before, and it propelled me forward.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, a jarring contrast to the calm focus that had filled my hours at the library. As the living room came into view, time seemed to compress, every heartbeat thundering in my ears. There they were, just beyond the threshold, locked in an intense confrontation that sent a shiver down my spine. I wasn't prepared for this—not for the scene unfolding before me, nor the instinctive need to protect that roared to life within my chest.
The metallic taste of fear clung to my mouth as I stumbled into the room, the scene before me splintering reality into a nightmare. Joey's form hunched over Sara, his head jerking rhythmically as he bit into her neck with what could only be described as fangs. Blood, dark and damning, trickled down her pale skin, mingling with the silent testimony of her tears.
In a blind rush, my fingers grappled with the first weapon within reach—a floor lamp, cold and solid under my touch. Self-reproach lanced through me for not having called for help, but there was no time now for anything other than action.
"Get off her!" The words were torn from my throat, raw and desperate. With all the strength my trembling arms could muster, I swung the lamp at Joey's head. He loomed large and formidable, muscles coiled beneath his skin like steel cables. Yet his focus on Sara had been so complete that my presence registered only as the lamp connected with a sickening thud.
Joey's head snapped to the side, the impact breaking his monstrous embrace. Sara slumped forward, gasping for breath, her skin smeared with crimson. But Joey, though momentarily stunned, remained upright. His eyes, now fixed on me, burned with an inhuman fury that told me the battle was far from over.