Her chest hurt. Her breath was short and she was trembling, sweat pouring down her face and into her eyes. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, she forced herself to lie flat on her back on the floor, waiting.

It wasn't a heart attack or anything equally fatal. It just felt that way.

She tried to breathe deeply, but her lungs weren't working with her yet, still dragging in shallow breaths, chest heaving as she hyperventilated. Her hands trembled uncontrollably and she balled them into fists, but all that managed to do was send the tremors up her arms.

Eventually the panic faded away and she slowly opened her eyes, feeling drained. After another moment, she used the backs of her hands to wipe the sweat away from her face and slowly sat up, every muscle aching and sore. Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth for so long.

Looking at the TV, which was still on the news, she found she'd only been incapacitated for about ten minutes. With a small moan, she folded her legs up until she was sitting cross-legged, then she buried her face in her hands, rocking back and forth slightly.

It had been years since she'd last had a panic attack.

She tugged up the neck of her tank top, using the material to wipe the last of the sweat away from her eyes and off her cheekbones. After another moment, she was able to get to her feet and pull herself up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister.

Still feeling like she was in a bit of a daze, she trudged into the first bathroom she found, peeled off her sweat-drenched clothes, turned on the shower, and stepped under the chilly stream. She gasped in a sharp breath as the cold water hit her, sweeping the sticky feeling on her skin down the drain.

After another moment of letting the cold ground her in her body, she reached behind her and turned the temperature over to a more bearable warmth. The water almost instantly heated up, and she caught herself marveling over that a little bit.

Back when she had been living with Grayson, they had gone a month or two every now and then with cold water because it was a choice between paying the water or paying the electricity bill. And before she'd moved in with Grayson, it had been an even more common occurrence. 

The heat and the water pressure were small miracles to her, and she hated them.

She hated him.

Shaking her head, wet hair slapping against her face, she quickly washed, then stepped out, looking around for a towel. A sour frown twisted her mouth when she didn't see one, staring blankly at the white, sharply sloped ceiling. She stood on the bathmat for a moment, dripping wet, then shrugged and walked across the cool marble floors, leaving a trail of water in her wake.

Praying to everything holy that he hadn't decided to come back, she made a quick dash down three steps and across the hall and dug into the boxes she had brought up here earlier. After a moment, she extracted a slightly damp towel and her frown turned to a scowl.

It was apparently just going to be one of those days.

She quickly dried off as best she could and dressed in jean shorts and a plain, red t-shirt, not worrying about hair or makeup. There was still an hour and a half until she had to be in class anyway, so she could let it air-dry, and she just purely didn't feel like wearing makeup. Her skin was nice enough that she could get away with it. 

Maybe she'd put on a little mascara before walking out the door, but she doubted it.

It was tempting to start painting again, but she knew that she'd inevitably get more paint on her, and would have to shower all over again. So she settled for curling up on the soft, mocha-colored suede couch that had been pushed into the middle of the room. It was more comfortable than it looked, and she sat up to avoid accidentally sleeping through her Medical Ethics class.

With a smirk, she thought she could probably pass that class whether she slept through it or not. It beat the hell out of her bio-chem capstone class, anyway.

She stared blankly at a story about a wildfire in Colorado, then turned off the TV and slipped on a pair of flip-flops to spare her injured heel. Looking down, she concluded that her legs were reasonably smooth, though she probably would only get away with one more day without shaving. 

Going upstairs once more, she grabbed her bag—which was just a satchel from an Army-Navy surplus—and slung it over her shoulder, double checking that her books and wallet were there.

The sight of the wallet made her scowl, but she couldn't very well leave it. 

With a sigh, she picked up the keys Moira had given her, looked around at the half-painted living room, then shook her head before walking out the door. She shut it quietly behind her, then started to walk toward her school. 

The August humidity pressed down on her like a ton of wet wool, and she could feel more sweat bead up on her forehead and a few other, much more uncomfortable places. Glad she hadn't wasted her time with makeup that would have just been sweated away, she walked down Saint Ann, heading for Tulane Avenue and LSU's campus in the middle of New Orleans.

She inhaled deeply, letting the walk and the scent of the Confederate jasmine calm her down even more. A small frown puckered her brow as the thirty minute walk gave her plenty of time to think, something she honestly could have done without. 

You remember what out would mean?

Charlie shook her head, people giving her strange looks as her knuckles turned white where she was gripping the strap of her bag, and her expression turned dark. Her steps quickening, she tried to outrun her thoughts, but it wasn't much help.

Maybe she'd go by the gym after class.

A good workout had always done wonders to clear the cluttered mess her mind sometimes became. It seemed like a good idea, considering it wasn't just her mind that was a swamp right now.

Then she scowled, swearing under her breath. She'd left her gym clothes back at the house.

It would seem the walk would have to suffice. Idly she thought she'd have to look into the streetcar schedules between Saint Ann and the campus. If she didn't have to walk everyday, she certainly didn't want to.

But today, the movement helped her feel more in control, navigating the foot traffic around her a good excuse for not thinking about him right this very second.

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, fluttering against her ribs as she remembered the feel of his body pressed up against hers. How warm and solid he was. The way the callouses on his hands scratched her skin—not enough to be painful, but rather pleasant.

Fighting not to think about it, she soon lost the battle, her mind thrusting the memory of his mouth on hers to the front of her conscious. His words had been soft. His kiss was anything but.

He never kissed her softly, though. It was always a hard press of his mouth on hers and his tongue in her mouth and his fingers tangled in her hair, holding her to him.

The very thought sent a hot flush through her body, warming her core, and Charlie frowned. That really was not what she needed to be thinking about, and she jerked her mind back to the reality of Remi Robicheaux. 

She had signed herself away to a crime boss. She had agreed to work for a man who got rich off the blood, death and suffering in the streets. Who supplied the blood, death and suffering, and then got rich.

Looking around at the still sketchy Tulane Avenue—which, despite the addition of LSU's medical complex, was still comprised of crumbling sidewalks and a hint of its nighttime patrons—she wondered if Remi was responsible for its bad reputation.

She wondered if any of the prostitutes that worked this street were his. She wondered if any of the dealers were his.

That sick feeling in the pit of her stomach bloomed once again and she nearly ran the last few yards of Tulane and onto Bolivar.

Her steps slowed as the Health Sciences building came into view, checking the cheap watch on her wrist. She still had fifteen minutes before class. 

Unlike other campuses, which were usually comprised of brick buildings, sprawling lawns and ancient trees, LSU's medical campus here in the middle of New Orleans looked a little more... modern.

More glass and concrete than brick and mortar. Lawns and trees were squeezed into any available space, the university's effort to bring a little loveliness into an otherwise ugly part of the city.

The campus hadn't done much to revive Tulane, even with the jobs it brought. Crime was still an everyday occurrence. Charlie had never necessarily felt unsafe, but she also took certain precautions like never walking by herself at night when she could help it. 

She never lingered. She went to class, maybe the library, then went home, not wanting to get caught after dark.

Cool air washed over her as she stepped into the air-conditioned insides of the academic building. Mindlessly, she made her way to her classroom, finding it empty when she peeked inside.

With a sigh, she took her normal seat near the middle on the right side of the room. She took out her book, flipping to the reading assignment she had neatly highlighted four days ago, then opened her notebook, placing a pen at the top of the page her notes had left off on from the last class.

"I have to say no," she muttered to herself.

An uneasy feeling trembled through her as she remembered that look of pure rage he had given her before he left. Granted, she had just thrown a paintbrush at his head, but still.

I'm not going to threaten to break every bone in your hands.

Unconsciously, her hands balled into fists and she wondered if it would be that simple. If all she had to do was go to him, tell him she didn't want the job, and then just... walk away.

Just disappear into the city, never to see him again. Hands figuratively clean and the man himself nothing more than a memory she would try to bury.

He had seemed sincere when he told her that she could do that, if she wanted to. He always seemed sincere.

She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead on her notebook, various memories playing out in the darkness behind her eyelids. Some had to do with Remi.

Others were much older. 

Those she flinched back from. She didn't need to go over the litany of long faded bruises and the profanities and doubts screamed into her face when she'd made the mistake of letting her parents know she wanted to be something more than what they were. She'd been told all her life that she was nothing more than a failure, nothing more than a mistake, nothing more than another poor kid who would just have more poor kids.

Until him, something whispered in the back of her mind. Goosebumps prickled over her bare arms and she sat up, just as two other students she vaguely recognized came into the room. She avoided eye contact like usual, not interested in painfully awkward small talk.

She had never viewed school as a social event anyway. It was just a place she needed to be to learn the things that would get her to the places she wanted to go.

The looming threat of medical school tuition suddenly and inexplicably raised its ugly head. Her breath caught in the back of her throat.

She would do well in her last interview, just like she'd done well in the last seven. Then she'd get a letter congratulating her on her acceptance. And after that, she'd get the emails and reminders asking about payment plans and how she would like to uphold her financial responsibility to the school.

It's about what you're willing to do to get what's rightfully yours.

His words whispered through her head, and  it saddened her that she wanted this chance more than she wanted those figuratively clean hands and a unweighted conscience.

More students filed into the room, filling in the seats. Another moment saw the professor striding across the front of the class to the computer. He rapidly logged in, then scanned through his phone as he waited for the system to boot up, the projector showing the whole class that the computer was thinking.

The little blue circle continued to spin next to the mouse for another minute, then the desktop screen appeared. He rapidly clicked through several logs of folders, and Charlie wondered how he could possibly have so many files. As far as she knew, he only taught two other classes besides this one.

She was still relieved to give her mind over to the task of writing notes. The subtle tapping sound of keyboards filled the air around her as the other students did the same, trying to keep up with the professor. 

They picked up where they had left off talking about confidentiality, which made her momentarily think about another confidential matter. She shook it off, missing something the professor said that elicited a laugh from the other students. 

Her mouth thinned into a grim line, then she bent all of her concentration on this new set of notes. This was the last class that actually contained learning material before a final review and the actual final. She knew from past experience that this professor liked to use the newest material as the bulk of a test, and she wasn't about to get a poor grade on one of the last tests of her undergrad career just because she couldn't focus.

The hour class passed by without any surprises, and Charlie sighed, setting her pen down and stretching out her hand as the professor made a few last minute announcements consisting of reminders about the final.

When he finally told them to get out of there, she carefully placed her books in her bag and slung it over her shoulder, waiting as other students filed past her toward the door.

She startled when something tapped her shoulder and whirled around.

"Whoa, sorry."

A guy maybe a little older than her gave her a small smile, holding out her pen. "I think you forgot something."

Charlie shook her head and managed a weak smile before taking the pen. "Thanks."

"Oh, so she does speak," he said, smile widening. "You know you haven't said two words this entire semester except to show everyone up with a genius answer that makes Webster look like he wants to give you a standing ovation?" 

A small laugh burst out of her as she started to walk down the steps toward the door. The guy walked next to her.

"Um," she said, her brow furrowing as she answered his actual question. "I'm just not here to make a bunch of friends I'll know for five months and then never see again."

"Wow." He raised an eyebrow. "That is the most depressing view I have ever heard of the college experience."

"Well then why didn't you just talk to me?" she asked, deflecting from that rather blunt observation from this complete stranger.

He shrugged as they walked down the first set of stairs to get to the ground floor and the exit. "You always had this look on your face that said, 'don't talk to me. I'm thinking about stuff.' So I just figured it was always something important."

Trying to be discrete, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. Deep brown hair that was maybe a little too long, not obnoxiously tall. He didn't tower over her like Remi did. Brown eyes and a nice smile, with a fair build.

"I've been sitting next to you this whole semester," he said dryly.

Now her cheeks warmed. Had she really seemed that cold and distant?

She tried for another smile, offering him a one-shoulder shrug. "Things have been sort of... much this past year. Sorry."

They got to the bottom floor and she slowed down, until they drew to a halt, other students flowing around them like water around a rock in a river. He glanced down and said, "You're not wearing a ring anymore."

"What?" She gaped at him, taking a small, unconscious step back.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. "I just noticed you weren't wearing your ring today. And I wanted to ask why before I lost my chance."

Charlie had no patience for this right now. She had no intention of engaging in any kind of romantic relationship for a long time now that she was finally free of the last one.

What about Remi?

Her brain teased her and she scowled, justifying that sleeping with someone was not remotely the same thing as having a relationship with them. She didn't know what signing that piece of paper counted as, but decided it could be thought about later.

"Oh, um..." she finally started when she realized she'd just been staring at him. "I—uh. I must have left it on the sink this morning."

The lie stung, but she figured that was easier than telling the truth and then fending off any advances. Besides, she'd see this guy exactly two more times in her life, with the possibility of any other run-ins slim to none.

"Ah," he said with a nod. "Well, it was worth a shot. I'm Tim, by the way."

He held out his hand. Charlie reluctantly took it.

"Charlie," she said, quickly pulling her hand out of his. There was a general discomfort at the unwanted attention.

"Nice to finally meet you, Charlie," he said, looking unperturbed by her odd behavior. He started to walk down the hall, in the opposite direction she needed to go and waved over his shoulder.

She couldn't believe that had just happened, and didn't know what she should think about it. It didn't necessarily have to mean anything, but recent events had made her penchant for paranoia skyrocket. Charlie shook her head and nearly bolted out the front door, just to groan in horror. 

This day just kept getting better and better.

Leon stood outside the door, putting his phone in his pocket. He gave her an equally displeased look and said, "We need to talk."

"No." She started to walk away from him. "He told me I had the rest of the day to think about it, and he can wait the rest of the goddamn day."

A hand grabbed her elbow, turning her back around. She glanced up at Leon in shock and he abruptly let her go with a muttered apology.

"I'm not here on Mr. Robicheaux's behalf. I'm the one that needs to talk to you."

This brought her up short.

"What do we need to talk about?" she finally asked, her words slow and unsure as she looked back up at the man, a small shiver running through her as she realized that he, obviously, was part of this criminal world of Remi's as well.

Leon looked around at the people walking by them.

"Perhaps we could do this somewhere a little more private?"

Fun Fact: There's a lot of research that shows that students who hand-write their notes actually retain more information than their computer note-taking counterparts. More retention leads to better test grades :)