Chapter Text
1 | ELIO HAYVEMEYER
I'm standing on the same ledge, my hands gripping the outside of the rail that's now behind me. My mind is racing with thousands of thoughts that I can't slow down because of the sheer amount of adrenaline rushing through my veins. Dried tears stain my cheeks as my stomach churns with the dinner my mother made that night. I feel the wounds on my wrists drying with blood from the amount of wind gusting through the air. I feel everything I've ever gone through at once.
I wake with a gasp. My fingers are clutching the comforter out of utter panic. I look over, still panting, to see my roommate, Marcus, still sleeping sound to my relief. I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and pull open the top drawer of my night stand, looking for the transparent, orange-tinted bottle with the white lid - my medicine. Dr. Kathy prescribed me these a few weeks ago because I've reported these recurring nightmares. She diagnosed me with PTSD two years ago and I still do not know much about the disorder. I don't like to look into my own flaws. I sigh and push and twist the bottle to open it, tilting it and letting two small, round pills spill out into my cupped palm. I open my mouth and let them into my mouth before dry-swallowing them. I cough as they fall down my throat.
I collapse back onto my bed, the moonlight hitting my face as I let my chest rise and fall repeatedly until I drift off to sleep.
. . .
The following morning, my body feels heavy with sleep and the vivid remembrance of last night's nightmare. Marcus said he'd be gone with Je'Niyah, his girlfriend, most of the day. I didn't have much else to do besides go to the gym. But going to the gym means seeing my ex. I can't bear to do that right now. We broke up about four months ago but she walks around campus just to see me with her little judgemental ass friends. I run a hand over the length of my face
and rise from my mattress, heading into the bathroom. I'd brush my teeth but I have coffee to drink. My body feels heavy. I throw some water on my face from the faucet and use the washcloth. I've always been very strict with my 'skin care' and oral hygiene. I can't bear to feel dirty. My shirt looks wrinkled, I notice. I must've sweat a lot in my sleep. These nightmares are really taking a toll on me. I pull off my shirt and throw it into the dirty clothes hamper, then I grab another shirt from the shared closet. My tie is on the floor, why? That's what I wish I could scold Marcus about.
I put on a button-up, long-sleeved shirt that's an egg-shell white color. Then, I throw a leather jacket over it, and put my tie on. Currently, I'm working on my writing. It's meant to be a retelling of the 'Dracula' classic. But the only issue is I have a sort of rival in the class I'm working on it in. I don't worry about it much but she's a pain in the ass, along with the fact that my medication is making me more drowsy and tired. I can't even fathom that I may lose this odd, unspoken rivalry we're in.
With a quick grab of my bag, I head out the door of my dorm. Long strides down the hallways lead me down to the lecture hall, where I'll face another day of yearning for something I can not reach as I learn from someone I have mere mild respect for. As I settle into my chair, I look out the window and watch as the trees blow through the breeze. I close my eyes before quickly reopening them as I hear my name being called, my last name. "Mister Hayvemeyer?" shouts Mr. Cardell. A tiny giggle echoes through the lecture hall, causing Mr. Cardell to turn to face another side of the room. "Is something funny, Miss Doestrov?" For fucks sake, Vivianne. This girl seriously can't shut her goddamned mouth for one minute, huh?
She clears her throat before speaking. "No, Mister Cardell." Her voice is so sheepish it makes me cringe. Mr. Cardell presses his lips together and sighs, returning to the lesson. I continue gazing out the window as he speaks. I've been studying novels recently. Ones by Dostoevsky, Kafka, et cetera. Some were assigned by Mr. Cardell, others by my own choosing.