Trigger Warnings: Trauma; PTSD

I WAS ELEVEN YEARS OLD WHEN IT HAPPENED. The cold wind was whipping through the trees, rattling the bare branches like bones. I had just been to dance class, and when no one came to pick me up, I took the initiative and walked home.

I remembered the coat that I huddled deep into as I walked home. The street was dark, the only light coming from the flickering street lamp at the corner of the block. I shouldn't have been out this late, but what choice did I have? I couldn't just wait there for the rest of the night. My mom told me that going outside in the dark was dangerous, but she managed to abandon me. She probably forgot to come and collect me after her binge-drinking episode.

Walking back home that night, I felt sick to the stomach. The sound of someone's footsteps echoed behind me, and I quickened my pace. I told myself it was nothing, just someone else walking home. But the footsteps grew louder, faster, and I began a brisk walk.

Don't run. Don't run.

For my small frame, it probably felt like the houses around me were closing in. The windows were dark by then. I knew I wasn't wrong when I saw a shadowy figure, too far away to see clearly, but close enough to make me run.

I broke into a sprint. I ran faster than ever in my whole life. I remember gaping when I rounded the corner to my house. I sighed in relief when my house was finally in sight. But, I wasn't the only person running. The figure was also running and they moved faster than I thought was possible. I heard their breathing near me, that's how close they were.

I think I screamed then. Once or twice. Some lights in the houses flickered, and I saw the lady from the opposite house look at me, and then switch off the lights. But, it was okay. I reached the front porch, and I fumbled for my key. My hands shook so much I could barely hold onto it. I was relieved when I heard the footsteps stop abruptly behind me, and for a moment, there was silence.

I glanced back, but the street was empty. No figure, no shadow, just silence. Eerie silence of the night. I almost laughed at myself for being so scared. I actually thought I imagined it.

Then, I felt the hand on my shoulder. It was cold and rough, but that's all I remember. I screamed my heart out, then. I dropped the key by accident and I tried to kick them and bite them but the hand didn't let go.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over. The hand released me, shoving me forward. I stumbled, falling hard onto the porch steps. My palms scraped against the rough concrete. By the time I got up, the figure was gone.

My mom found me minutes later, standing frozen on the porch, the key still in my hand. I told her what happened, and she said that I was imagining it. I told her I was definitely not imagining it, and she asked the neighbors.

That was the worst thing she did.

They resorted to labeling me crazy. And that I was making up stories. I read in an article that sometimes, our memories are flawed. Maybe I was imagining it. But, the nightmares? The hand?

I knew I didn't imagine it.

Over the few years after the incident, my "craziness" reached new heights. I never walked alone on the streets for a while. The lady who switched on the light still looks at me as though I'm a liar. The streets that used to feel like home felt scary. I don't know who followed me that night, and I probably never will. The news spread through the neighborhood like wildfire, and there are some people who still make fun of me. The night that still haunts me today, is nothing but a joke to them.

But, that wasn't what hurt the most. My mom didn't believe me entirely either. And that fear, that bone-deep terror, never let me go.

I never told Jax about this. I never will. I never told anyone else about it, either. I live far away from my high school. It helps keep my private life away from school life. But still, that's why I never applied to anything that involves talking to more people than necessary. I could've joined those mental health clubs, but I chose not to. Because, it would brand me crazy.

Like they did when I was younger.

Things like these...they stick. No one in the neighborhood can forget the little girl who "lied" about being followed by a mysterious guy all the way to her house. I try to get out of it and act like it never happened, but beneath all the layers I show people, it's there.

The fear, the pain and the sadness that no one would believe me.

Maybe that's why I never told Jax. I don't want him to see me like that, either. I know that Jax right now probably wouldn't judge me. Especially after what happened to Amelia. But, I couldn't take the chance. He's all I have. He's the only person worthy of anything in my life.

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

My instincts tip me over the edge, and I flinch, blinking and shuddering as my breath is caught in my throat. It's Jax's hand. I know that, but he can't know. I don't want him to know. 

The hand is still there. 

He notice his stare, and he notices my discomfort. My gaze refuses to look at him and instead, moves up to the large chandelier hanging by a small metal pole. I feel the hand leave my shoulder and I relax, but my eyes are stuck on the light from above.

I realize that sitting in his room, staring at the chandelier that was glinting viciously feels so out of place. I stare at the way it casts sharp, angular shadows across his room, refracting light in a way that seems so beautiful, yet so cruel. I guess, that's how some things are—pretty and dangerous. It's just a chandelier, a piece of glass and metal, but it feels like something that could come crashing down at any moment.

I don't know why I'm so fixated on a stupid chandelier. Probably because I'm not supposed to be here, in his fancy house, sitting on the edge of his luxurious bed, staring at a massively expensive chandelier when I can't even handle my best friend's hand on my shoulder.

Jax is sitting at the edge of his bed, flipping through the notes he made about Amelia and other Hall Monitors over the years, ignoring what just happened. I'm surprised to see how much research he's done. I've always known that it shattered him. He doesn't believe that Amelia was just a victim of severe burnout, and part of me agrees with him. But, there's no other reasonable explanation.

I can't focus on the paper in his hands. My mind is stuck on that night, on the rough hand that grabbed me, on the way everyone looked at me afterward—like I was the problem, not whatever, or whoever, had been out there. 

I haven't thought about it in years, or at least I've tried not to. But now, the badge in my locker brings it back.   The fear, the way I never felt safe again. Not even in my own home.

I glance at Jax. He's talking, his voice serious, but the words don't fully register. Something about finding a way to prove that there's more of a serious pattern to this Hall Monitor curse, that there's something no one else is seeing. He's being logical, but also, illogical. I know I should be listening to him. But all I can think about is how scared I am. How that fear has never really gone away, no matter how hard I've tried to bury it.

Jax looks up from his notes and sees the look on my face. He stops mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing. "Avra, what's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

"Don't lie to me," he says, "You've been off since the assembly."

I don't want to tell him. I don't want to bring it up. Ever.

"No, seriously. It's nothing. Just worried about all the stuff you're telling me."

Jax looks at me suspiciously. "You think I'm talking nonsense, don't you?"

I shake my head again. But it doesn't look very convincing.

His eyes harden as he tosses his notes onto the bed, the pages scattering. "You do. You think I'm just obsessing over Amelia, like it's some conspiracy I've cooked up."

"That's not—"

"Don't lie to me, Avra!" Jax cuts in, his voice louder now. "You've been weird all day. Just say it! You think I'm crazy too, don't you? Runs in the family or some shit?"

His words felt like a slap to my face. I push myself off the bed, stepping away from him. "That's not what I meant, Jax. I just—"

"Then what do you mean?" He stands up, taking a step toward me, eyes flashing. "You think I'm wasting my time, right? This is why I didn't tell you before. Now, I'm genuinely concerned for your safety, and you think I'm crazy. You don't believe me, just like they didn't believe you."

That stings. He knows the gossip that something happened. He didn't know what, but he's always known I hated that label—"crazy." Now, he was using it against me.

"Stop," I snap, my voice shaking, but I don't know whether it's from anger or fear. "Don't throw that in my face."

"Why not? It's the same thing! No one believed you then, and now you're doing the same damn thing to me." His voice cracks, and I know deep in my heart that if he cries right now, I would be too.

"No, it's not!" My hands ball into fists at my side, feeling my pulse jet through my veins. "This is different, Jax! I'm just saying we don't know if what happened to Amelia is what you think it is! You can't just throw out wild theories and expect me to—"

"What?" He steps closer, his face inches from mine now. I watch the tears form in his eyes as he screams. "Expect you to what? Trust me?"

I glare at him, frustration bubbling like inside me. "This isn't about trust! This is about you chasing something you can't prove, and dragging me along with it!"

For a moment, Jax doesn't respond, his chest heaving. We're now both staring at each other, daring one another to say the wrong thing. I try to calm myself, but it's too late. Something inside me snaps.

"Why do you care what happens to me?" I shout, my voice reaching volumes I never knew it could. "You could be around anyone else. So, why me?"

He needs to hear this. Why does the brother of the Amelia Arnault want to be around me? I remember how people used to come over to him and make small talk with him. It still happened when Amelia was admitted to the hospital. I'd even overheard people asking him why he wanted to be around me. I didn't bother much back then, so now, I need to know his answer.

He doesn't answer, though. He just keeps staring at me intensely with those light brown eyes that resemble Amelia's too well. It feels like staring at her hollow form again. Something about it makes me uneasy.

"I know what it feels like to be powerless. I know what it's like to be terrified, to not be believed. But that doesn't mean I can jump on every theory that might make me feel better. It doesn't work like that!"

Jax's face contorts. "So, what? You're saying you did imagine whatever happened to you? That, I should give up. Like you did?"

The words hit hard. I can't breathe here anymore. My mouth opens, but no words come out. He doesn't stop.

"Is that what you did, Avra? Let it go? Or did you bury it so deep that you're still running from it? Don't act like you've moved on when you're still living in that same fear."

"Shut up," I mutter, my throat tightening.

"Why should I? It's the truth." His voice is quieter now. "You can't tell me what's really going on with you. You haven't been honest with me about anything. But I...I stupidly told you what I've been working on for a whole year and you just shut me out. How can I trust you when you won't even trust me?"

"I do trust you!" I yell, but even as I say it, I know it sounds hollow.

Jax stares at me, shaking his head. "No, you don't."

He turns to walk away, and I realize I can't let him walk away. Not like this. I need to know why and before I can stop myself, I lunge forward and grab his arm.

"You're not walking away!" I shout, pulling him back toward me.

Jax spins around, ripping his arm free from my grip, his eyes blazing. "What do you want? Tell me more ways in which I'm making things up?"

I shove him in the chest, harder than I intended. "I'm not going to Principal Hastings' office tomorrow and I'm taking the job! Okay? I don't care what you say."

Jax stumbles back but quickly regains his balance. He steps toward me again, fists clenched. For a moment, I think he might shove me back. But then, he just stares at me, breathing hard, his jaw clenched tight.

"I beg you," he says. "Please, don't take the job. If you don't want to talk to me, fine. You don't even have to look at me anymore if you hate me that much. Just don't take the job. Please, Avra."

And with that, he turns on his heel and storms out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding crash that shakes the walls.

I blink, trying to regain focus. I decide to go run after him, and tell him that I'm sorry. That I didn't mean to make him feel like that. I'm not angry anymore. I run towards the door just as it opens again.

It's him, standing there with tears in his eyes, and he sees that I'm crying too. We don't say another word. We run towards each other, and he puts his arms around me. I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his racing heartbeat against mine.

I cling to him like he's a lifeline, burying my face in his shoulder as the tears spill over. We stand there, holding on to each other, forgetting why this happened in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into my hair. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, I'm sorry," I cut in, my voice muffled against his shirt. "I shouldn't have said those things. I was scared...I am scared, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

When we finally pull apart, Jax gives me a small smile. "So... does this mean you're still coming to the principal's office tomorrow?"

I laugh, wiping the last of the tears from my face. "Yeah, I guess it does. I'm still nervous about the whole thing, but I wonder what he'll say about it."

"Yeah." Jax stares at the chandelier above us. "Me too."