I woke up to the sounds of birds chirping.

Immediately, I squinted toward the windowsill. Light snuck through the openings in the Venetian blinds. I rolled over, rubbing my eyes until they itched, and I felt like I had to get up.

Where was Cassidy? I remembered seeing her. I don't remember why.

The living room was cleaner than I'd ever seen it. A few textbooks I'd left out from studying were now neatly stacked on the shelf. The navy blue carpet looked like it had been vacuumed. The countertops were squeaky clean.

There was no sign of Cassidy. Her door was cracked, though. What day was it again?

Sunday.

Cassidy usually went running with a community running group every Sunday morning.

I was extremely aware of the absence of my phone vibrating in my sweatshirt pocket as I waddled toward our shared bathroom. Washed tiles, bath mat smelling like lilies, and an empty sink. Not even Cassidy's toothbrush was there.

I brushed my teeth, the silence eating at me. At least I didn't have to listen to an alarm. At least I wouldn't have to deal with hundreds of mixed texts from random men that I didn't know.

Because my phone was gone.

Shattered.

Every last photo, downloaded song, voice memo was just gone in the blink of an eye. What day was it anyway?

Sunday... What did I have to do on Sunday? Something nagged at me. There had to be something on my calendar. Something that was completely slipping my mind or...

Whatever. I shoved my toothbrush back into its holder and wandered out to make myself a cup of tea. Black tea. Something that would both wake me up and get rid of the massive headache that haunted me.

The kettle heated up quickly, smoke billowing from it's spout. Finally, it whistled as checked my reminders for the day on the fridge whiteboard. Study for Spanish. Work on project for econ. And many more.

There was a knock on the door.

It was a light knock, almost so soft that I would assume it was an accident. But the pattern was too rhythmic. Too intentional.

I poured the boiling water onto the black tea bag and shuffled toward the door. There came another knock, more firm, less time between each bang. The door rattled in its hinges and I yanked it open without even looking through the peep hole.

"Hi," Phoebe mumbled, then immediately engulfed me in a tight hug. A strong smell of lavendar wafted off of her, calming my racing heart. Uncertainly, I hugged her back, squeezing my eyes shut. Feeling her warmth spreading to me.

I never realized how cold I was until I felt her body heat.

"I'm sorry," she said into my sweatshirt, voice muffled. "I'm so sorry."

Huh?

"Sorry for what?" I asked. I stood frozen in her grasp. "For what?"

She nuzzled her head into my shoulder, keeping my body close to hers. Her hands clasped around the back of my neck. "Hm."

"What?" I asked again, panic rearing up again. I nervously stepped away from her. I clutched my arms close to my chest. My cup of tea sat steaming on the counter.

Phoebe hugged herself and the worry in her eyes scared me. She pulled out her phone and strided right past me to the couch. "Come sit," she ordered.

I didn't have the willpower to defy her.

I sat on the blue cushions, clutching my hands together in my lap. Phoebe tried to put an arm on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. "What is going on?" I asked.

Her hand sat outstretched next to me as if hoping I would move closer. Change my mind. Allow her to touch me again. But no. Not when she was looking at me like I was a kicked puppy.

"Have you checked your phone yet today? At all?" Phoebe asked, tenderly.

"No. I don't have a phone right now."

She squinted at me. "Excuse me?"

"I don't have a phone. I don't know," I replied, bluntly. She didn't know anything. She didn't know what David had done to me in the hallway.

"Okay," Phoebe said, mustering up her courage. "Okay."

"What? Can you please just tell me what happened?"

She stared at me for a couple of seconds, her phone turned on and open in her lap. It showed a couple photos of people I didn't recognize. Mid-scroll on Instagram. 

It didn't take me too long to put the pieces together.

"What did you see?" I asked, quietly.

She nodded, as though she were glad she didn't have to explicitly say it. "David posted a long thing on his Instagram story last night. Like a very long thing. And he posted a video. And proof. And everything."

So, she had seen everything. She had seen me standing in the hallway outside of Title IX. She had seen me push David away after he tried to attack me. How had that been recorded? David hadn't had his phone out had he? Had he? I didn't think he would. And why would he record himself attacking me? Because that had to be clear. He must be dumb to not realize that posting a video of him clearly assaulting me was social suicide.

"What did he say?!" I snapped, my composure shattering into many little pieces around my feet. "You saw the video, then. You know what happened to me. You know he shattered my phone."

Phoebe's nose scrunched up as she winced at every sentence. "Sure."

Probably the worst response she could have given. Because it meant what I thought it meant.

That something was wrong. That David would never post something that clearly made him look like an idiot onto social media.

"Can I see it?" I groaned. I sat back on the couch, feeling the cushion press up against my skin, sucking me into its warmth. I wanted to just sit there forever. Be absorbed by the cushions.

I didn't really want to see it. But Phoebe showed me anyway.

It was actually quite good that Phoebe had shown up because I was blocked by David on Instagram. I don't know when he did it, but I knew that whenever I clicked on his little icon it just showed the "no user found" type screen. Clearly, he had wanted to hide things from me. He was so scared of me seeing what he was up to. I had blocked him right back.

His profile photo was of him and two of his friends from one of the frats at a beach. I clicked on his story.

The first video was just something from the morning before. Him at a brunch event with some friends drinking a bright orange drink with a little pineapple stick in the top of it. I clicked again. Phoebe stayed a foot away as I clicked through his story.

It started relatively innocent. Him saying that he was tired and had a long day. Then, a black background with a long long paragraph. I had to press my thumb down on the screen to hold it in place long enough to read all of it.

"Sorry y'all, wanted to come out and party tonight but won't see any of you there," it read. First off, who cared? Why was he telling every single person who followed him as well as anyone in the public who found his account? Because his account was public. I could tell since Phoebe hadn't been following him. "But I got really hurt today. I was assaulted. My nose is broken. I spent six hours in the hospital."

My heart raced in my chest. Six hours? No way. No way I had actually broken his nose. Had I? I didn't think that was something I was capable of. But it had been in self defense! He had attacked me! The video would show that, wouldn't it? It had to.

The rest of the block of text was him droning on and on about how much he hated that he couldn't go out and "party with the bros" or whatever. I clicked past that story and to the next one, which was posted an hour after the first. This one was different. It was an image of his face with a giant bandage across his nose. Blood seemed to be leaking out of his right nostril. It was disgusting.

"Just to prove it happened," had been written underneath the photo. "Because some of y'all didn't believe me."

That had to be it right? I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I could tell there were two more slides in his story. Two more. That was it. He couldn't do that much harm, could he? Not in two photos.

But the next part of his story wasn't a photo. It was a video. As expected.

I watched myself through a camera lens, clearly not his camera lens. But the video was short. Too short. It was hard to see much but you could clearly see that I was there, standing across from David, and then David was on the floor. There was a shout. The camera angle became so horrendous that only the tiled floor was visible.

But the video had been blurry. You could see my hair and maybe Phoebe or someone else who knew me well would be able to tell but a normal person, someone I might  be friends with, they wouldn't...

Hope was a horrendous lie. 

I clicked to the last part of his story.

"Just an FYI: it was Kiera Elsher."