Wrecked (32 page)

THE FALL

“Lorrie, get up! You can’t
skip today. We have an exam!”

Daniela’s
muffled yelling stirred me from a dreamless sleep. I reached over to my night
stand and looked at the time on my phone: 8:00 AM. I had slept a long time, but
I still felt exhausted. What the hell happened? What day was it? Why didn’t my
cell phone alarm go off?

My friend
burst into my room, making me realize I neglected to lock the door. “Your alarm
was going off forever. Are you feeling okay? I wasn’t even sure you were here
last night until I heard your phone beeping.”

I was
aware of her words but couldn’t form a response. It felt like my jaw was glued
shut. Something bad had happened. There was a reason I was supposed to be
unhappy that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Something in the back of my
mind.

The
letter.

My
stepfather had sent me a letter begging forgiveness. Slowly, it came back to
me: Marco, the letter, the murder, his dead eyes in the courtroom when he’d
been sentenced. I had fallen asleep after I’d read it.

Daniela
was staring at me, confusion on her face. “Lorrie, wake up! What’s wrong?
You’re white as a ghost.”

I threw my
covers off and sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Go on, I’ll be there,” I said quietly.
I scanned my room, thinking of what I wanted to wear.

My friend
watched me for another minute, then spun and left. I sighed as I watched her
hurry back to her room to finish getting ready. As I absentmindedly packed my
backpack, dropping books and papers in the process, I realized this exam was
going to be a disaster.

The walk to the exam had
been a daze. It felt like my head was a balloon loosely attached to the rest of
my body. The sensation was familiar—I’d felt the same way when Dad told me with
tears in his eyes that Mom passed away.

Daniela
and I made our way through the crowded aisles of the auditorium, until we
finally found two empty seats. One of the teacher’s assistants handed us test
packets. Moments later, the professor at the front of the auditorium explained
the exam was scantron multiple choice; eighty minutes for a forty question
test.

I breathed
a sigh of relief when I heard the exam would be multiple choice, figuring it
wouldn’t be too bad.

But I did
not anticipate using every ounce of concentration just to focus my eyes enough
that I could bubble in the letters of my name. Every thought that flickered
through my brain felt like it was traveling through mud. Holding my pencil
correctly took effort. My muscles did not want to listen to what my brain was
trying to make them do.

I stared
at my test blankly:

1. What
   anxiety disorder—characterized by its link to one or more specific
   events—is said to affect over 6% of women in the United States at some
   point in their lives?
   
2.  
   

The words seemed to pass in and out of my
mind without processing. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, trying
to follow the technique Dr. Schwartz had taught me to manage my anxiety.

Gradually,
I became aware of being kicked in the shin. I opened my eyes and turned to see
the coffee brown eyes and receding hairline of my stepfather, Marco.

My heart
slammed into my chest, knocking the breath out of me.

I blinked.
It wasn’t Marco. It was Daniela, and she was looking at me out of the corner of
her eye suspiciously. I turned to study her. What did she want? How long had
she been watching me? As I tried to put together the pieces, there was a cough
at the front of the classroom.

Startled,
I nearly jumped out of my seat. Did Muller think I was cheating? I looked at
the front of the classroom and saw he was sitting at the table, reading a
newspaper like he always did during exams. Nobody was looking at me.
I had
overreacted
.

My heart
still pounding, I went back to my test and realized I had lost my pencil. It
must have flown out of my hand in my panic. I looked at the floor and saw it
had rolled under the feet of the girl in the row in front of me. Why had I
ignored Daniela’s advice to bring an extra?
God, this sucks
.

I stared
at my fallen writing utensil in despair, knowing it was too far away to reach
it with my foot. Suddenly, I felt a kick at my shin again. I turned my head and
saw a pencil on the table. Daniela met my eyes briefly, then went back to her
test. I smiled at her, but she was already focusing on her exam. That girl
wasn’t letting anything get in the way of an A in this class.

My case
was different. I looked at the exam and tried to answer the first question. The
words might as well have been in a different language. The sound of a metal
chair grating against the floor from the front of the room caused me to jump
again.

After an
hour of futilely reading and rereading the first damn question, I realized that
it was hopeless. I bubbled in C for every question just so I’d have something,
then struggled through the rest of the exam period trying to find some question
that I had a clue on. It didn’t work. I had studied for this exam the previous
day, but even understanding the questions was too much to handle at the moment.

After the
exam ended, I told Daniela I wasn’t feeling well after all. She looked at me
quizzically, but nodded and let me go without asking any questions. I headed
back to my dorm and to the comfort of my bed. As I slid miserably under the
covers, I thought about what was happening. Why had he picked now to contact
me? Why not when I was taking time off school? How had he found my address,
anyway?

I stared
at the ceiling and drifted off to sleep, hoping I would feel better when I woke
up.

A friendly hand shook my
shoulder, jarring me awake. I turned over lazily and looked up. It was Daniela
again. Even in the darkness of my room, I could see she looked worried. I
smiled and closed my eyes again. It was dark out. People were allowed to sleep
when it was dark out.

“I hope
you’re recovering well,” she said.

The words
were the same ones used in the letter.
Marco
. I jolted up and looked
around, my heart racing in my chest, my skin covered by a thin film of sweat.
Daniela stared back at me, wide-eyed.

“Lorrie,”
she said. “You’re starting to scare me. Are you sure you’re okay?”

My chest
heaved in and out heavily as I worked to catch my breath. Adrenaline poured
through my veins. “Sorry, bad dream,” I said unsteadily. I did my best to smile
at her, but it was hard to even meet her gaze.

She put
the back of her hand to my forehead. “Jesus, you’re having cold sweats. You
should go to the health center.”

I shook my
head. “I’ll be fine, just need to sleep.”

“Didn’t
you have an Econ exam this afternoon? Did you go?”

My heart
felt like it had been mashed into little sinews. In my rush to get over what
had happened during my Psych exam, I had totally forgotten about the Econ exam
I had later in the same day. A few hours ago.

“No, I
forgot,” I said softly.

Her face
didn’t move as she studied me. She just nodded slowly. “Okay . . . Well, I’ll
let you sleep. When’s your next exam?”

It took a
long time to remember, but eventually it came to me. “I have sociology tomorrow
morning.”

“What
time?”

“Ten.”

“Okay,
I’ll come wake you up. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Daniela woke me up on
Thursday to make sure I went to my exam. As I got dressed and ate a granola bar
for breakfast, my head still felt like it was filled with a hazy cloud. All the
muscles in my body were tensed in frayed knots. Dammit, I felt awful—why
couldn’t I just put the letter out of mind long enough to take my exams?

Backpack
over my shoulder, I left Floyd Hall with my mind swirling. Everything on campus
looked slightly off; I kept asking myself if the campus always looked this way.
The detailing on the street lamps, the flyers on the bulletin boards, even the
way the sun looked—everything seemed to belong to a strange photograph rather
than real life. I kept waiting for a tug at my shoulders to pull me out of this
nightmare, but it never came.

Passing
the student union, I sighed. After bombing a test yesterday because I was so
upset I couldn’t read properly, it was looking like the same thing would happen
again. A storm was still thundering inside my head. I had a hard enough time
with sociology when I was at my best so I knew that taking the midterm in this
condition was going to be a disaster.

Hot tears
welled up in my eyes before rolling in thin lines down my cheeks. I tilted my
head toward the ground and wiped them away, hoping no one would notice.

Dammit.
It was unfair how he could ruin my life
again, and this time by a simple letter. I just wanted a fair shot at being
normal and not having to deal with something awful for a while. A few months of
a normal college life: passing my classes, figuring out my career, working on
my relationship with Hunter. Being in my twenties in college was dramatic
enough without fresh reminders of the dear loved ones I had lost.

I looked
up at the clear blue sky as I entered the arts quad. The sun reflected
painfully against the tears in my eyes; I shut them and turned away. My chest
heaved as the tears began coming more freely. My life was taking yet another
shitty turn. What was I doing even taking this test when I knew I had no prayer
of passing?

I tried
wiping my eyes with my sleeve but I couldn’t stop the fresh waves of tears from
flowing. I was forced to stop near a large tree to collect myself. As I unslung
my backpack and sat against the tree I noticed people were staring at me. I
covered my eyes with my hands and cried harder. Each choked sob led to another
one I didn’t have the strength to stop. I could try as hard as I wanted, but
the crying continued no matter what. Too much was pent up inside.

I
reluctantly peeked through my fingers and saw students craning their necks,
trying to get a glimpse of my face.

Yes
, I thought,
that girl is really crying
in the middle of the quad. Uncontrollably.

Groaning
in frustration, I picked up my backpack and turned toward Floyd Hall instead of
the exam building. Who was I kidding? There was no way I was passing that exam.
I decided to spare myself further embarrassment by going back to my room.

As I
dragged myself back to Floyd Hall, something that had been in the back of my
mind since I failed my psych exam came to the front: I might have to withdraw
from the semester.

I spent
the rest of the day Thursday locked in my room. Daniela knocked on my door that
night to check on me, but went away after I called out that I was still sick. I
was thankful she left me alone. There was nothing to say about how I was
feeling. I didn’t want to talk to her about the possibility of withdrawing from
another semester. Not yet.

Friday was
more of the same. I skipped swimming, deciding that there was no point in
splashing around in a pool when I already felt like I was drowning. As I lay in
bed I realized with more and more certainty that I would have to withdraw from
Arrowhart again. The thought depressed me: I had been doing so well, but then
that damn letter derailed me, causing me to already fail two classes. Now there
was nothing I could do.

I texted
Hunter in the afternoon asking what he was up to before rolling over for a nap.
It was weird we hadn’t been in contact since Tuesday, but we both had a lot of
stuff going on. Maybe he was just extra busy with exams.

Daniela
came in that night and made me swear that if I still felt bad the next day that
I would go to the health center. I agreed, wanting to placate her so she would
leave. When she did, I rolled over and checked my phone. No response from
Hunter. I wrinkled my brows finding the situation strange. Frustrated and
tired, I burrowed into my pillow and tried to sleep, hoping I would somehow
feel better in the morning.

I woke up Saturday and sat
in my bed thinking about how I could recover. Even if I was going to withdraw,
I couldn’t stay in bed forever. I had to get up and eat, shower, and try to
pull myself together.

I looked
at my phone on my night stand. Still no reply. It was weird that Hunter hadn’t
responded to the text I sent him yesterday afternoon. What was he thinking
about the way I’d disappeared? Where had he disappeared to?

I thought
about calling him, but decided I wasn’t ready to talk to him about the letter
yet. The first person I wanted to talk to was my Aunt Caroline. I dialed her
number and put the phone to my ear. It rang four times before I heard her
voice.

“Hello?”
she answered. She sounded sleepy.

I did my
best to make my voice perky. “Hi Aunt Caroline. Did I wake you up?”