A/N:
Hello everyone 🙂 Yes, it’s been ten years since I last updated But this
chapter is over 12,000 words, so yeah, hopefully this makes up for my absence.
Before you read:

TRIGGER
WARNING: Mentions of suicide and homophobia. Take
care of yourself first if you’re sensitive to this type of material.

You can also read this here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12554533/1/My-Save-Year

Some of you have already sent me your theories about the
plot. I’m intrigued! If you have one, share it! Have a great day/ night!

                                             —————–

Classes had begun, which meant that the earlier
excitement of starting fresh was completely forgotten about. Early morning
lectures drained all energy from the student populace. All that was left was a
solemn, grumpy mood as hungover students and nerds alike tried to keep their
eyes open and listen to the lecturer standing at the front of the auditorium.

Syllabus week wasn’t a thing at this university. After
the first class, we were automatically expected to purchase our textbooks and
complete our readings for the next lecture. It all went by in a panicked blur,
as I thought that I would have more time to settle into post-secondary life, as
opposed to being thrust right into it.

Not being one to allow myself to fall behind, I had
stayed up late the past two nights to get one week ahead of my readings,
leaving room for upcoming writing assignments that were scheduled near the end
of the month. I was a very organized person, and easily got overwhelmed if I
wasn’t on top of things.

You can only guess how irritated I became with Francis for
constantly messing up my schedule. He was a night-owl, whereas I liked to get
up early in the morning and finish my work as early in the day as possible. The frog also had an insufferable
habit of partying, and we’ve only known each other for a week and a half. More
often than not, he would come home piss drunk, whining about how he wanted us
to be friends.

Hence, the reason I locked myself in my room most of the
time. I only came out to go to the washroom, eat, or leave for class. Francis
had taken primarily later classes, but unfortunately, we were taking the same
English literature 101 course, which was slotted at 2:30-4:00 PM.

The Frenchman was still adamant on getting to know me,
and although he was rumoured to be a clever and beautiful writer, he was as
dense as a block when it came to taking a hint. Well, it was either that or he
was a stubborn mule.

He kept trying to help me with things, insisting that I
wasn’t taking care of myself properly. Apparently, microwaved potatoes wasn’t a
sufficient enough dinner. Francis’s family was pretty well off, and since I was
practically disowned by my own, I was living on a strict college budget. I still
nonetheless refused any of Francis’s offers to share his food with me.

I didn’t like owing people anything. I looked after
myself, and preferred to keep a good distance from others. It was easier that
way, but Francis liked making things difficult by acting as the mother hen of
our shared dorm room, incessantly patronizing me. Everything I did was wrong;
how I styled my hair; how I dressed; how I ate; how I cooked; how I studied and
left little room to have a social life.

Though he may have meant well, annoying and grating as he
may be, Francis would soon come to realize that I wasn’t worth his time. I’ve
always been better off on my own. Of course, this didn’t mean that I couldn’t
be pleasant or polite when spoken to. Thing is, I liked my space, and wanted to
keep my interactions with people to a minimal.

I decided that I wouldn’t have friends. I would make
acquaintances, people who I spoke to only when we were in class. It required
much less emotional commitment, and that way I wouldn’t always be lonely. I’m
not delusional. I’m aware that humans are social beings and do in fact need some interaction.

However, friends entailed the possibility of getting
attached, being hurt, and suffering from painful separations. I was a very
sensitive person. I had experienced enough rejection to last a lifetime. I
simply didn’t have the energy to unequivocally trust people again, to give them
the benefit of the doubt and to let them into my life with out-stretched arms.

For me, going to class, ignoring Francis, and speaking
occasionally with Matthew when I worked at the library on the weekends was more
than enough for an introvert like me. Being out and about took a lot of energy,
and I would often come home exhausted and drained, only to force myself to
tough it through a textbook reading.

My first ten days here weren’t enough to pick up a full routine,
but I was managing well enough. The job at the library was relaxing, although I
often got headaches from all the spirits clouding the area.

Regardless, the library still acted as my safe place, as
hardly any students used the books there, preferring the available online PDF
versions instead.

What was most troubling was that I have yet to figure out
what was causing me to feel so uneasy on the library’s rooftop. It didn’t help
that Alfred was always there, screeching like a banshee the moment I came too
close and messed up his “writing mojo”.

The American sure was an oddball, confusing me to no end.
One minute, he would act panicked, his cerulean eyes darting back and forth
anxiously, and then he would become vibrant and cheerful, laughing and making
jokes as he tried to cheer me up and get rid of the frown on my face. He was
like Francis; constantly asking how I was doing, if I was okay, and if I needed
to talk about anything. Honestly, it was like my depression wasn’t even trying
to hide itself.

Still, whenever I attempted to move closer to Alfred, he
would vehemently refuse and ask that I not proceed forward. Extraverted as he
may play himself off to be, he was still very much a writer in the sense that
he liked his personal space. I respected his wishes, but couldn’t help but
notice that perhaps his anxiety was more of a phobia.

He became skittish around people, and the rooftop wasn’t
a place where many people came. Not to mention that he was enrolled in private
classes with very few students in it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Alfred had
mild anthropophobia. Obviously, I wasn’t a professional, but it really did seem
like he was afraid to get physically close to other people. If I sat on the
bench near him, he would fidget and avoid looking me in the eye. It was only
when I was by the edge of the roof, a safe distance from him, that he dared to
make eye contact.

Sure enough, I would figure out what was happening on the
roof and give him as much space as he needed. Alfred was as much quiet as he
was loud, shy as he was outgoing. He was a contradictory mess of emotions, but
was still very much a kind soul. I could tell he was trying to engage in
conversation with me, so, in turn, I tried to be extra patient with him. It was
just hard to when he constantly blurted out things at the top of his mind
without filtering his thoughts. I can’t even count the amount of times he’s commented
on my eyebrows…

For now, I would just have to put up with Alfred’s
nervous babbling. He wasn’t horrible company mind you, but he did have his
cocky moments where I had to repress the urge to throttle him.

If things went according to plan, I would find the spirit
in need of aid and wouldn’t have to bother Alfred ever again. I could only
stand on the rooftop for so long without getting a massive headache anyway, so
it was best to get this mystery solved and over with.

(There was always the possibility of this case lingering
for a much longer time, but I tried not to think about that.)

Speaking of headaches, I was presently sitting in my literature
101 class, forcing myself to listen to the droning voice of the professor
standing below. The auditorium we were in was colossal, hosting close to 200
students. Every first year was in this class, as it was the only slot
available.

The sunlight pouring in from the window at the back of
the slanted room only made me feel more tired. Hardly anyone was listening, but
the professor didn’t seem to care. He was paid to teach and do research on the
side. It wasn’t his job to ensure that us students were actually learning the
material.  

I took a sip out of my afternoon tea, hoping that the
caffeine would help me overcome my mid-afternoon slump. It was three thirty
(thankfully, my last class of the day), meaning that there was still a good
twenty minutes before the professor would let us out of the room.

I was diligently taking notes, although I wasn’t truly
listening, but rather, just typing everything that the professor said like a
thoughtless robot. My dream of taking hand-written notes were shattered the moment
I realized how fast and merciless the professors were when they went through a
lesson. They went at their own pace, which was unreasonably fast, and didn’t
give a damn if someone didn’t copy down the material in time.

Typing was my only way of salvaging everything discussed
in the class.

I moved to grab my tea again, but accidently brushed
elbows with the student next to me, who had also been reaching for his
caffeinated saviour, a cup of coffee from Starbucks. I couldn’t afford to
purchase something like that everyday, and was instead forced to make use of a stainless-steel
thermos that kept the tea I had brewed earlier in the morning decently warm.

“Sorry mate,” I whispered an apology to Lovino.

Lovino shrugged in response, tipping back his cup of
coffee. His hazel eyes looked beyond tired. He was the kind of person who
preferred sleeping in until mid-afternoon. Despite his fancy dress wear, which
consisted of a strictly pressed olive blouse, a snazzy pair of black denim
jeans, and matching dress loafers, Lovino’s hair had probably seen better days.
He must have just woken up before this class, judging by how his reddish-brown
hair stuck up in all directions possible, especially this one unruly curl that
defied all possible laws of gravity.

I felt quite inferior in comparison with my plain green
hoodie, ripped jeans, and black trainers that were embarrassingly worn out.

Letting out a satisfied grunt, Lovino then leaned over to
see what I had written down on my laptop screen. “This geezer needs to learn
how to slow the fuck down,” he muttered bitterly, moving his own laptop closer
so that he could type out what he had missed while he had been finishing the
last of his coffee.

I smirked. “Easier said than done. The chap clearly loves
the sound of his own voice.”

“Che, true that,” Lovino grumbled, furrowing his brows in
concentration. As an Italian international student, English wasn’t his first
language. It wasn’t that he had trouble speaking or writing it, but it was hard
for him to understand and make sense of our Lit professor’s thick accent. I was
more than willing to help him out, as I wasn’t a total anti-social asshat.

Lovino and I had met on the first day of class. We had
been asked to introduce ourselves to the person sitting next to us, and he had just
so happened to be sitting next to me. I had every one of my classes with him,
so it was only natural for us to become classroom buddies. We weren’t friends,
as we didn’t speak much, but we helped each other out with notes, and sat next
to each other all the time.

We both weren’t very social people, swore a lot, and were
easily annoyed by how loud and over the top the rest of our classmates were.
Another trait we had in common was that we attracted annoying bastards.

Lovino raised his right wrist, pretending to check his
fancy Rolex wrist watch. It was code for us that we were being stared at by a
certain pair of imbeciles. We couldn’t talk in class, otherwise we would get
thrown out.

“Perverted bastard at two o’clock,” Lovino whispered.

I locked my laptop screen, catching Francis’s smug smile
from two rows behind me.

He was sitting with our floormate, Antonio, both of whom
were blowing air kisses at Lovino and myself. The pair, along with Gilbert, who
was for some reason absent from this lesson, had become close friends. Three
idiots together practically spelled nightmare. I had just about had it up to
here with them barging in on my apartment, looking for Francis without so much
as having the decency to knock.

I felt my lips and eyes twitch in irritation. Lovino’s
did as well. Antonio had taken a fancy to the fiery Italian, and no amount of
swearing, kicking, or screaming would scare the dopey Spaniard away. The only
reason they were sitting so far from us was because we had all almost gotten
kicked out yesterday for causing a disturbance in class. Said disturbance had
entailed Lovino violently kicking Antonio in the shin.

Not long after, I received a text from Francis. I should
mention that he had stolen my phone number before I had even had the chance to
give it to him. We were roommates, so it was necessary to be able to have
constant contact with him. Francis, however, liked physical contact a lot more,
pushing his stupid well-groomed stubble-covered mug in front of me at every
possible opportunity.

Bonjour,
mon petit hedgehog ;))))))

Would
you care to share your notes with moi?

I do
not understand ze black sheep accents.

The
professor is tres confusing.

Putting on my deadliest glare, I briefly turned around
and stuck up my three-most inner fingers at Francis.

Antonio cocked his head to the side, reminding me of a
ditsy puppy. Two seconds later, his attention shifted to the back of Lovino’s
head and quickly reddening neck again.

Satisfied with Francis’s own confused reaction, I looked
away and resumed paying attention to the lecture. Expectedly, I was interrupted
a mere thirty seconds later with another text from Francis.

Quoi?
What does that hand gesture mean?

I evilly pursed my lips. Discretely, I shot Francis a quick
reply: Read between the lines, you
insufferable baguette tit.

In other words, I was politely telling him to eff off.

I didn’t receive another text from Francis after that.
This wasn’t surprising, seeing as how there was only ten minutes of the lecture
left. Most professors liked to take this time to passive aggressively cram all
the important information in, screwing over those lazy students who had chosen
to leave early.

When the class was dismissed, Lovino and I exchanged
knowing glances before bolting down the aisles, heading for the auditorium’s
exit with two literal devils on our trails. We had packed our stuff fifteen
minutes in advance in preparation for this mad-dash.

Tragically, Lovino and I weren’t successful in our grand
escape. A yelp behind me indicated that Antonio had caught up with Lovino.

“Let go, you fucking bastard! Haven’t you ever heard of
personal space?!” Lovino snarled, sticking up his sharp nose to the air. He
aimed an elbow at Antonio’s ribcage, procuring a pained oomph from the
Spaniard.

This still didn’t stop Antonio from wrapping a friendly
arm over Lovino’s shoulders. “Come on, Lovi. Let’s go out for lunch, my treat.
I know you take good notes, so consider this as your payment. Also, that blush
on your face isn’t fooling me. You didn’t seem to mind me when we made out at
that party two nights ago, hmmmm? Don’t think you can walk out on me like that
so easily,” he purred, his voice as smooth as velvet.

“Fine, but only because I’m starving, you hear me?! Oh,
for the love of fuck, wipe that smug-ass smirk off your face. I’m doing this to
humor you. What happened at that party means nothing, absolutely nothing!”
Lovino fumed, sourly letting Antonio lead him towards the opposite exit of the
building, the one that led towards the restaurant strip area of the campus.

I didn’t have time to send up a prayer for Lovino, even
if it did appear that something intimate between him and Antonio had happened,
as I was attacked by a certain rabid Frenchman.

I could hear the clack of his dress shoes get closer, and
then… I blacked out.

“Arthur~!” Francis squealed, wrapping an arm around my
shoulders. My knees buckled under his weight, causing me to fall forward
slightly. My feet moved of their own accord; I was numb, no frozen. Not even
the putrid scent of Francis’s cologne could provoke a reaction out of me.

“What do you say to going out to dinner this Friday?
We’ve lived with each other for nearly two weeks, and I have yet to see you go
out and enjoy yourself! University is supposed to be the time of our lives, mon
ami! You won’t have any interesting experiences to look back on if you never
leave our apartment,” Francis chided, leaning his face closer so that his hair
tickled my right cheek.

“Francis,” I whispered. “Please, let go of me.”

Francis didn’t hear me. “I’m thinking about dinner and a
movie, actually. Then we can go back to our apartment and enjoy some wine as we
chat away into the night, revealing our most intimate secrets to each other. I
want to get to know the lovely mystery that is Arthur Kirkland,” he mused.

“Francis,” I grit my teeth. “I don’t like being touched.”

Francis heard me loud and clear this time. That didn’t
mean he was truly listening, though. He wasn’t looking at the fear in my eyes,
nor was he paying attention to how rigid my stature had become. “No worries,
Angleterre,” he tried to reassure me. “I won’t ever take advantage of you if
that’s what you’re concerned with. You’ll warm up to me eventually. You see, I
enjoy being close to other people. It’s how you form bonds and friendships that
will last a lifetime.”

“Well, I don’t,” I warned. My hands began to twitch; I
had no control over it. It was a defensive mechanism that I had acquired a long
time ago.

“Oh, come now, surely I’m not bothering you that much,”
Francis sighed. “This shyness of yours is unreasonable. I’ll never understand
how one can live holed up in their room all the time. It’s healthy to have the
occasional company and-”

“BUT IT IS!” I screeched, stopping in my tracks as I
practically flung Francis’s arm off my shoulders. I spun on my heels to angrily
confront his stunned expression.

“Are you dense?!” I shouted. “I told you three times to
let go of me and you didn’t! Did it not come across to you that I was
uncomfortable? Stop acting like you have the right to be my friend. You’ve done
nothing but piss me off and belittle me constantly. I don’t need you or your
miserable shitty company, so you can fuck right off!”

Students passing by in the hallway outside the lecture
rooms stopped to stare at Francis and I, wide-eyed at my outburst. Embarrassed,
I turned my back to Francis, biting my lip.

Francis chuckled nervously before walking up to me again.
I was shaking, the hand that wasn’t carrying my laptop case clenched into a
tight ball, puncturing the surface of the skin with my nails. Francis reached
out to touch my shoulder, but thought better of it when I flinched away from
his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I snapped, holding back tears. “I just don’t
like it when people get touchy with me. It makes me uncomfortable. I just wish
that I didn’t have to yell at you and make a total ass out of myself to get
that through to your thick skull.”

“Oh Arthur, I’m so sorry to have made you uncomfortable.
It’s the last thing I intended to do,” Francis apologized. “It’s not your
fault. I didn’t realize I had gone too far. I won’t do something like that
again. Are you all right, you’re shaking? Is there anything I can do to help?
There’s no need to feel ashamed, I pushed you when I shouldn’t have. You
weren’t being an ass at all. Ah, mon dieu. Arthur, speak to me, please. I must
know if you’re okay,” he rambled.

I refused to look at the concerned sapphire blue eyes
that were burning holes into the side of my face.

“I’m fine, just leave me alone,” I said, stomping
forward. “Just don’t expect me to talk to you when I get home. I’m still
furious with you.”

“Wait, Arthur!” Francis called after me, but I was
already pushing through the crowd of students, intending to get as far away
from the English building as possible.

I felt utterly humiliated. Several tears streaked down my
face, which only drew more attention to myself. I hated how weak I was. It’s
just, when Francis leapt at me from behind, I was reminded of several horrible
memories that I’ve worked so hard to repress.

At home, I was hardly spoken to. I was constantly hip or
shoulder checked if I got in the way. To them, I was just a waste of space,
unworthy of being respected. I was thrown around like a rag doll,
unacknowledged. I was broken and beaten on the inside, with several old bruises
on the outside from the times where I had ‘accidentally’ fallen down the stairs
or bumped into something. My family lied when they said that they had accepted
me for who I was.

It was a betrayal and hurt I would never forget,
something that I would always carry with me. What they did tainted every future
relationship or interaction that I had with other people and I despised them
for it. The wounds may have faded, but the harm to my character and pride would
haunt me for the rest of my life.

SLAM!

I pushed open the entrance doors of the Literature
building.

I blinked harshly at the sunlight outside, scowling.
Rather than typical rainy English weather, the campus was known for having most
storms pass right over it – I had learned that fast in my short time spent here
thus far. What I needed now was darkness, something to make me feel better… to
hide away from my foul mood and not see how miserable I looked.

As if the God’s were testing me, Alistair decided to call
me. I ignored him and put his call to voicemail. It wasn’t the end of the week
yet, and I wasn’t nearly in the right state of mind to be speaking to him. I
knew my brother. If he heard how high strung I was now, he would be here in no
time, ready to check me into some bullshit psychiatric institution. Living in
another country wouldn’t stop him; he was just as stubborn as I was.

He was worried about me, but he didn’t need to be that worried. I would never even think
about committing suicide or harming myself. Instead, I closed myself off and
avoided others, choosing to drown in self-hatred as a safer but no less
healthier alternative to projecting this loathing onto myself and on others.

I needed a distraction right now, anything really. I
suppose that’s why I found myself standing in front of the library. For the
past two days, I’ve been going there to study and do my readings.

Although I wasn’t scheduled for work today, I wanted to
do something, to be productive in the hopes that it would take away the guilt.
What I had just done was shitty. I shouldn’t have yelled at Francis like that.
Yes, he was a complete dunce for not listening to me, but… he had looked so
hurt when I raised my voice at him.

Shit.

Everything was just going so terribly wrong.

I raised my sleeve to wipe at my eyes before entering the
library. A cool blast of the building’s air conditioning hit my face, causing
me to shiver. My anxiousness lessened considerably, as I knew that there
weren’t as many people to stare at me in here.

I had hoped to find the front desk empty. That way, I
could grab a few cleaning supplies and get to work on cleaning the bookshelves
without being hindered or having to speak to anyone and explain why I was
crying.

Preposterous as it was, cleaning was what I did most as a
library assistant. Books were hardly taken out, and the building was old enough
that it had accumulated a ton of dust and cobwebs that were in desperate need
of being cleared up. I had five floors to go through, and would likely be
spending my whole undergraduate degree cleaning the space. It was an oddly therapeutic
activity; it kept my mind busy.

It was just my luck that Matthew was sitting behind the
front desk, clad in his typical baggy wool sweater that was a different shade
of red every day. He stood up immediately when he caught my gaze, parting open
his lips in concern.

“Arthur?” he asked.

I ignored him, opening the side door to let myself behind
the front desk. I bent over, placing my laptop case in the shelf where we kept
our personal belongs. I then grabbed several cleaning supplies, consisting of a
rag, a windex bottle, and a feather duster.

I stood up, looking at the ground as I addressed Matthew.
“I know I’m not on shift. I had some extra time, so I thought I would help out
and clean. I won’t record my hours, I’m doing this for free.”

I moved to leave the area behind the front desk, but
Matthew stepped in front of me. “Now, wait a minute, Arthur. I don’t want you
going anywhere just yet. Why don’t you sit down for a bit? You look really high
strung. Take a chance to relax a little, eh? You’re always pushing yourself so
hard, it can’t be good for you, let alone anyone.”

Numbly, I allowed Matthew to sit me in the leather swivel
chair placed before the main computer log.

Meanwhile, Matthew leaned against the side-wall of the
front desk, his hips resting near a wooden shelf. “Would you like a cookie, or
should I say, ‘biscuit’?” he asked, cocking his head towards the counter, where
a plate of ‘cookies’ lay, a wry, shy smile on his face.

“Don’t question it, just eat. I’ll explain later,” he
encouraged, smiling as he grabbed the plate and offered me a biscuit.

I accepted one, taking a half-hearted nibble from it. It
was delicious; chocolate chip. Once I was finished eating, the silence between
us became unnerving.

I didn’t appreciate how Matthew was staring at me either.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?” I snapped, thoroughly irritated
by how quiet he was being. “The whole rest of the school seems to have no
problem being nosy.”

Obviously, that was an exaggeration. I was angry and
wasn’t making any real sense.

“I wasn’t going to unless you wanted to talk about it,”
Matthew answered. “I think it’s safe to say that you came here to keep yourself
busy. I don’t mind you cleaning, I just hope that whatever’s bothering you
works itself out. I’m here if you need to talk, though, don’t get me wrong. I
just don’t believe in forcefully confronting someone. Whenever I’m feeling
down, sweets always cheer me up.”

“Oh,” I huffed, my face flushing. I felt awful for
lashing out at him like that, especially when he was nothing but kind and
patient to me. “That’s so… sweet of you. Thank you, I respect that a lot. I
just might take you up on that offer one day… The world seriously needs more people like you.”

I didn’t know what else to say. Even admitting that made
me feel anxious. I nervously fidgeted with my hands.

Matthew timidly shook his head, his cheeks painted a
light pink. “Who, me? I’m not really doing anything all that important. It’s
not that hard to be a decent person to someone. I’m just glad you’re feeling
better now. Ah, you are feeling better, right?”

“Yes,” I smiled faintly. “I am, thank you again. I
wouldn’t sell yourself short. There are plenty of people who don’t have an
ounce of kindness or understanding in them.”

Matthew’s violet eyes gleamed with warmth. I gave him a
sheepish glance, too shy to apologize. He reciprocated with a soft expression,
non-verbally communicating that he hadn’t taken my harshness to heart. He
really was such a sweet, amicable boy.

“No problem. All
right, I’ll leave you to cleaning then,” Matthew said, grabbing the plate of
biscuits. “I don’t see anything wrong with doing a bit of volunteer work,” he
winked in teasing.

I let out a light chuckle. “Here, let me get that for
you.”

I stood up to open the side-door for him. “What do you
plan to do with all those biscuits anyway?” I asked, furrowing my brows.

Matthew left the front desk area, turning around. “Thank
you. Oh, it’s for a ghost here. It gets hungry often, so I leave out food once
or twice a day by the fiction section on the fifth floor,” Matthew answered,
acting as if what he had just said was totally normal as opposed to bizarre.
“It’s really not that much trouble. The archive department always has left over
food lying in the lunch room. It would have gone to waste otherwise.”

“Okay…” I started. “That’s not my real concern… A ghost
eating food? Surely, you must be kidding?” I spluttered.

Matthew’s expression became serious. “I’m not lying,
Arthur. Food always goes missing from the dining hall too. My maman used to
leave food for the ghosts back when she went to school here. It’s sort of a
tradition in our family and for those who work in the library. Consider this
your rite of passage.”

“Are you sure that it’s not just a student?” I inquired.
I mean, it would make sense. Being a college student was rough. The prospect of
free food, especially for someone with such a small budget like me, was
enticing.

“Believe me, we all thought that at first too,” Matthew
chuckled. “Remind me one time to show you the security cameras. You won’t get
any sleep for a week. The food just straight up disappears. What’s funny is
that I always have to change the ‘menu’, otherwise it gets tired of eating the
same thing.”

“Oh…” I said, faltering. “That’s certainly something
worth looking into.”

Matthew began to walk away, slyly looking over his
shoulders, an impish expression on his face. “View it at your own discretion.
Only people with thick skins can work here,” he whispered to add to the spooky
effect of his anecdote.

I rolled my eyes at his goofy expression.

“I guess that’s my first lead,” I muttered to myself when
Matthew was out of hearing range.

What confused me most was how a ghost was able to pick up
an inanimate object. I had never heard of that happening before. Although, it
made sense that the security cameras wouldn’t be able to catch the ghost’s
physical form, as only those with the sight (like myself) could see these
entities…

Hmmm.

Perhaps if I cleaned and performed well in my duties
Matthew would let me take out the food for the ghost instead. Then I could
stake out whatever was eating it.

Actually, that wasn’t a bad plan at all.

…

After I finished cleaning an entire bookshelf, I grew
weary and retired to an empty study table, where I worked on a few readings to
pass the time. I wasn’t in the mood to go home quite yet, as I was still very
much riled up and flustered.

It was only when my stomach growled that I realized I
hadn’t had much to eat today. Other than a biscuit and the sorry oatmeal I had
made myself for breakfast, I had forgotten to nourish myself entirely. It
wasn’t that I was trying to starve, oh no, it was far from that.

Thing is, when I’m feeling anxious, I don’t experience
hunger. My stomach flops and curdles, and the basic human function of eating
isn’t deemed to be very important. It’s easy to forget things when you’re
overwhelmed.

Unfortunately, such an excuse wasn’t enough for Alistair,
who always used to worry himself about my poor eating habits. It appears that
I’ll have to write myself daily reminders if I wanted to maintain a healthy,
not to mention proper eating schedule.

The time was nearing eight pm, and having done enough for
the day, I stood up from my seat, intending to go home, eat a quick supper, and
go to bed without another word. I had already texted Alistair, promising that I
would call him at the end of the week as I was too ‘busy’ with school work to
do so today. Obviously, this was a lie, but I couldn’t be bothered to sit
through an entire conversation of him pressing me about everything I did like
he was a bloody therapist or something.

I had also texted Francis, informing him that I wasn’t mad
at him for his earlier stunt, and that I would greatly appreciate some space
when I got home. He responded almost right away, and just like Alistair, he had
asked me a string of unnecessary questions like a concerned mother hen. I
refused to tell Francis where I was though, as the library was a very sacred
place to me. Perhaps I was being selfish, but I didn’t want to share it with
others, especially with someone as obnoxious and loud as Francis.

Either way, I was glad that Francis had a tougher backbone
than what I had initially thought. Delicate in appearance as he may be, the
frog had a strong intuition and was able to recognize when people were being
genuine or not. What happened in the Literature building was a
misunderstanding; we wouldn’t be holding each other accountable for it. In
fact, it was best to just forget about it entirely.

I didn’t care if the other students were perturbed by me
now. All it meant was that I wouldn’t have to worry about them wanting to talk
to me, exactly how I preferred things to be. Sure, there was Matthew, and on
some occasions I could tolerate Francis, but for the most part, I truly did
favour keeping to myself.

There was also Alfred, which brings me to my next state
of action.

Before leaving the library, I wished to investigate the
fifth floor and roof again. It didn’t take me long to find the fiction section
where Matthew left food for the ghost he had mentioned earlier. The plate of
biscuits was still lying on the table, untouched. I made the obvious deduction
that the food-snatching happened when no one was in sight.

While I was still in the vicinity, I attempted to call
forth the spirits, receiving little response in return. For the most part, the
ghosts here were lingering memories, rather than the actual soul. I had asked
for answers, keeping my voice down, regardless of how massive the library was
and that I was likely one of a handful of people still residing in the
building.

Unlike earlier attempts over the past week and a half,
this time I was lucky enough to receive a clue about one spirit in particular.
I didn’t catch a name, face, or gender, but the energy clouding around this
specific area told me that it was relatively young.

Still, I had a lead, and sooner or later, I would find
out what it was. Spirits were often shy, so if it was watching me, I wanted it
to know that I meant no harm. I only wished to help it pass on. If it took time
for it to reveal itself to me, then so be it. I had an entire four years at my
discretion, not that I expected this silent chase to last that long…

It required a lot of patience to deal with these beings.

Death was perhaps the most sensitive topic of all.

Similarly, it was also the most drawing of subjects.

It was for this reason that I always found myself being
towed towards the library’s rooftop. I had long learned to ignore the memories
of those who had jumped to their deaths. It caused me much strain, but it was
manageable after some deal of practice.

It was the regret of jumping that often prevented me from
falling into a trance. If I wasn’t focused hard enough, I would see through the
eyes of the spirit, feeling the temptation to jump off the roof and end the
crippling, gut-wrenching string of emotions that weighed them down with every
breath.

Feeling what they had felt in their last moments made me
realize how bad loathing oneself could get. I wasn’t nearly that depressed;
selfishly, it lessened the guilt I felt about my own pitiful predicament…

I took a deep breath as I exited the glass tunnel leading
onto the roof. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky a
mesmerizing hue of pinks, purples and oranges. It was a rare sight for me, as I
wasn’t used to the night being so clear without any clouds in sight. Several
fairy lights strung across the gardening tunnel lit up the space, assisted by
the street lamps on the cobble stone pathways below.

The air was crisp and pleasantly cool. Too bad I lost my
cool when Alfred just about barked at me.

“Dude, what the heck?! You’re coming here again?!”

I jumped from shock, spinning around to find Alfred
sitting at where the circle of benches were. He was still wearing the same
bomber jacket and faded pair of denim jeans, which according to him, were the
clothes he worked best in to channel his story. His blond hair was messy, as if
he had been constantly scuffing it up as he rummaged his brain for the right
words.

Several pieces of paper from his notebook were discarded
and balled up on the cement floor by his feet. Although I had a preference for
books, typing my stories was far more efficient. Don’t try telling him that,
though. He stubbornly insisted that writing on paper brought out the most from
the experience.

“Yes, you twat,” I answered snidely. It was perfectly
normal for us to banter back and forth like cats and dogs. I came here every
day, and yet he still had the nerve to act surprised. “I came up here to get
some fresh air, but no worries, I’ll be all the way over there, so you don’t have
to concern yourself with me messing up your ‘mojo’,” I sarcastically muttered,
making air quotes with my hands.

Alfred sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe at them. My
sarcasm went right over his head as per usual. “Whatever man. It’s getting dark
out soon anyway. I won’t be able to write for much longer.”

I didn’t respond, knowing that Alfred liked his space. I
walked over to the edge of the roof, closing my eyes. I mentally called forth
any spirits in the area, but I received no responses. I had to hold onto the
ledge to prevent myself from becoming dizzy.

As I turned to leave, Alfred just had to have the last
word. “Yo, what’s up with you always interrupting me. Can’t a guy write in
peace?”

I snapped at him without any hesitation. “Listen hear,
you ninny. You don’t own this roof! I’ll come here if I damn well please! I
mean really, there hasn’t been a time where I haven’t seen you sitting on your
arse up here. Why is that?”

Alfred shrugged, his previous agitation being replaced
with a morose expression. It made me feel like I had just kicked a puppy. “I
know I don’t own this place… It’s just, I come up here because I don’t have
anything better to do. I feel calm here; it’s where I can take a break from
real life. Don’t get me wrong, I love getting to know people.”

“Uh,” he paused, wracking his brain as he bashfully
rubbed the back of his neck. “I like being around people too, but not when
they’re too close. I get nervous and blurt out embarrassing things. I want to
socialize and make friends, but I’m terrible at it…”

I furrowed my brows. “So you’re an introverted extrovert
then?”

“I guess you could say that. I don’t like being in crowds
either. Having company is nice though. Usually people don’t stick around long
enough until I overcome the initial awkwardness of getting comfortable with
them,” Alfred answered. “I really wasn’t lying when I said that I was open to
talking to people…”

I looked at Alfred, and I mean really looked at him. I
immediately felt sorry. From what I could tell, he was a nervous boy who wanted
to make friends, but was paralyzed by his own social anxiety. We were different
in the sense that he liked being around people, albeit not necessarily talking
to them, whereas I didn’t like being around any people at all.

For reasons inexplicable, I continued the conversation as
opposed to leaving. Our conversations had never lasted longer than the one when
we had first met. They mostly involved us snapping at each other, with him
childishly puffing out his cheeks until I gave back his precious rooftop.

“I can’t relate. I like being alone, and prefer not to
talk to people unless I have to,” I replied.

With the flip of the switch, Alfred suddenly became
exuberant. I had always found it hard to keep up with his mood swings. “What?!
Doesn’t that get boring for you? Man, I wish I wasn’t such a dork when it comes
to talking to people! That brings me to my next question; you always come here
with such a troubled look on your face. Get annoyed with me all ya want, but
there’s obviously something that’s bothering you. Is there any way I can help?”

“Not really no,” I shrugged, preparing a lie on the tip
of my tongue. “Being with people is tiring for me. And I hardly see how that’s
any of your business. Why would you be asking when you’re always so adamant on
me leaving in the first place?”

Alfred’s shoulders deflated, cerulean eyes wide in
apology. “Why don’t you just kick a guy when he’s down? I’m not scared of
people, you know. And I told you this already, if I’m not writing, I don’t mind
chatting. Why don’t you come here and sit down for a bit? It might help to get
some things off your chest. I won’t tell a soul, pinky swear. You already seem
tired from putting up with me, so dealing with me for a little longer surely
can’t hurt,” he winked, grinning so widely that I saw a row of perfect straight
white teeth.

Perplexed, I took Alfred up on that offer. When I
approached him, he began to fidget nervously. The fidgeting only stopped when I
moved to sit on the bench across from him, rather than on the same one he was
resting at.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Jones, but didn’t you say
that you’re nervous to speak to others? Why are you so willing to open yourself
up to me of all people?” I asked.

“I dunno, I’ve seen you enough times I guess. You’re not
exactly the most intimidating person out there,” Alfred added in sheepishly.
“And please, call me Al or Alfred. Mr. Jones seems too formal.”

I scowled, refusing to acknowledge his much larger
person, as it made me feel inferior. “Fine, Alfred,” I corrected.

“That’s the spirit, Artie,” Alfred beamed, clapping his
massive bear hands together.

“No, no, none of that,” I growled. “It’s Arthur, or Mr.
Kirkland. I don’t respond well to nicknames.”

Alfred whistled. “Geez, I can see why you don’t like speaking to others. You
probably scare most of them off. So…what brings you up here then? I know you
said you work at the library, but…”

I didn’t like what Alfred was insinuating at. A topic
change was very much needed.

“Hmmm,” I hummed. “Like I’ve told you many times before,
I saw the suicide posters, and wanted to see this place for myself. I didn’t
know that it would be so calming. The view is nice, even if there is a territorial
American who growls at me the minute I take a step too close,” I teased.

Alfred blushed a bright pink. “Dude, I told you not to
talk about that. The ghosts don’t like it. If you stay quiet, they won’t bother
you. And hey! I told you that I need an empty
space to write properly!”

“Just like you need to wear old clothing and write in an
old-fashioned notebook?” I countered.

“Duh!” Alfred retorted, again not reading the atmosphere
to pick up on my blatant sarcasm.

A comfortable silence fell between us.

Alfred was the first to break it. “How has your week
gone? You look pretty stressed.”

I still had no idea why I was pouring this all out onto
Alfred. The only explanation was that I felt compelled to; I trusted him and I
didn’t bother to question it. He just had such a vibrant and pure glow – his
genuine kindness radiated. His smile sent flutters in my chest, and the way
that he was looking at me with such real interest and concern forced me to
glance away in embarrassment.

“That’s an understatement,” I scoffed. “My roommate’s
hardly tolerable, I’m already drowning in classwork, not to mention that I have
to balance a job on top of that. I’m also constantly having to prove to my
brother that I’m able to live on my own. He has his doubts, and I’ve just about
had it up to here with being constantly scrutinized by others. I’m shit at
maintaining relationships, no thanks to my rubbish family who couldn’t wait to
get rid of me the moment I was old enough to leave. Nothing ever goes my way,
and I just want it all to stop. I want to be able to relax, to be satisfied
with my life, but according to other people, satisfied isn’t enough. I’m not
unrealistic. I know I’ll never be happy all the time. This is the year where I
want to set my own standards, and yet, there’s still people out there who have
the audacity to tell me that the way I’m living is wrong!” I huffed, widening
my eyes in disbelief.

I couldn’t believe I had just admitted all that, out loud
no less.

Alfred let out a noncommittal grunt. “Wow, I’m so sorry,”
he whispered. “And here I thought I had it rough. That’s not fair, people should
give you the benefit of the doubt. If you don’t want to do something, then they
shouldn’t force you to. But, even if they may annoy you, they probably do care.
It’s easy to interpret things negatively when you’re feeling so…how do I put
this, overwhelmed, nervous and scared all at once.

“Starting fresh isn’t easy…uh, the specialized classes I’m
in are requiring a lot of me too. I deal with it by keeping my head held high.
I just think about all that I’ve been through, and that what I’m experiencing
is only part of the journey. Things have to get bad for them to get better.
Also, not to be blunt or anything, but I think it’s pretty much a given that
all writers have experienced depression at one point; it’s how we’re so vivid
with our descriptions. You’re right, we all have our bad and good days, but
it’s totally unrealistic for others to expect us to be happy all the time. What
I’m trying to say is that your feelings are valid. It’s perfectly okay to feel
confused, we all are in some way, but you have a right to let others know that
you’re affected by it more.”

I sat there, listening to Alfred with parted lips. Never
before had I met someone who understood what I was going through so well. He
knew about everything. He spoke so confidently, so smoothly, completely
different from the basic slang terminology that I was used to him speaking
with. I wasn’t just speaking to Alfred; I was delving into his mind, getting to
know the nuanced, writer side of him that thought about and cherished every
detail, the side that was in tune with the feelings of others.

Stunned, I let him continue.

“I’m also sorry to hear about your family,” Alfred said,
his eyes warm with affection. This was the one time where he was daring to look
me in the eye, regardless of how close I was. “I at least have my twin sister,
Amelia. She’s probably the only person who truly understands me; she’s my
biggest supporter in everything. We, uh, talk to each other about everything.
Leaving her to study overseas was hard, but she plans to come here next year.

“Let me overstep my boundaries just a bit and give you a
suggestion. It seems like your brother is worried about you. I don’t think his
concern has anything to do with you proving your well-being to him, he likely
just wants to make sure you’re okay. Don’t do something you’ll regret; call him
every now and then, even if he annoys you with a ton of questions. It’ll make
both of you feel better, believe it or not. It’s important to let those who
love you know that you love ‘em right back.”

I nodded my head, still mesmerized by the amount of care
and thought that were put into his words.

“You’re right,” I admitted. “Alistair has always looked
out for me. He’s become extremely overbearing lately, so much so that I’ve
completely shut him out. It’s not right. Actually, I’ll call him when I get
home later. Thank you, Alfred. You opened my eyes. Thing is, I’ve just been so
wired and agitated lately that I’ve only been thinking about myself and not how
I affect the others around me. It was never about being selfish nor is it about
ignorance. It’s about getting your head out of your arse and pushing away those
negative thoughts, extremely difficult as it may be.”

Alfred’s eyes shined. “That’s good to hear. I’m sure he’d
really like that. And totally, sometimes you don’t realize how crippling these
thoughts are until you take a step back and see yourself from the perspective
of others. Not everyone’s out there to get you. The world can seem likes it’s
falling, but there will always be people out there willing to help.”

“You’re a smart lad, Alfred,” I remarked. “I’m glad that
we could have this talk. Pardon me for asking, but are you sure you’re faring
all right? It can’t be easy leaving your country to study overseas. Even if
most students here are international, it still doesn’t negate how nerve-wracking
this whole endeavor can be.”

Alfred waved his hand at me dismissively. “Nah. I may not
be dealing with it effectively by hiding up here, but I’m doing all right. I’m
talking to you, aren’t I? I’m sure I’ll make some friends eventually. Amelia
always says that I’m a charmer. The problem is that I need people to speak to
me first, then I can’t shut up,” he chuckled.

“I can tell,” I mused, allowing a small smirk on my face.

“Dude, way to ruin the moment. I’ll end on this. No
matter how bad things get, promise me that you won’t let life get you down.
It’s easy to feel trapped, and it’s even easier to let go of it all. Fight
back,  be stubborn, and you will
persevere. That’s what Pops used to tell me anyway.”

“Those are wise words from someone wearing an old
military jacket. It fits you,” I snorted.

“Haha,” Alfred said dryly. “Very funny.”

I stood up from the bench, grabbing my laptop case. “It’s
getting late, I should probably go. You know, if you’re up for it, you can
always find me in the library, either working or studying. I don’t talk much,
so you’ll be able to write just fine. It’ll give you the company you need, but
won’t do much for me.”

I had to add in that last part for the sake of my pride.
Alfred looked lonely. I most certainly wasn’t the best person for him to spend
time with. Surely, he would move on eventually, but I couldn’t just stand here
and willingly let him mope on his own. Honestly, I didn’t mind him. He was
actually quite endearing with his bashfulness, cheerful attitude, and
surprising wisdom.

“Mean,” Alfred pouted. “But, okay. I just might take you
up on that offer. But, fair warning, I get chatty when I’m nervous.”

I sighed. “I’m used to tuning people out, you can’t be
that bad.”

Alfred snickered. “Why don’t you just come up here then?
I don’t mind it, um, as long as you’re not like right in my face.”

“I’m confused? Weren’t you just harping at me earlier for
invading your ‘no-people’ zone?” I asked.

Alfred blushed again. “Man, don’t remind me. I’m trying,
geez!” he said, pursing his lips in a pout. “Besides, I like talking to you.
You can come here whenever you feel like it. I can’t boss you around either
since I don’t exactly own the joint.”

I pretended to cough, covering my smile. “Dually noted.
Take care, I’ll see you again sometime, likely soon.”

I didn’t want to say that I would see him tomorrow, even
though we both knew it would happen, as we both came here nearly every day.

I reached out to shake hands with him, only to falter
when I saw Alfred lean away from it. “Right, sorry,” I apologized. “I’m a very
forgetful person.”

“It’s fine, dude,” Alfred smiled, sending a pleasant jolt
up my spine. “We all make mistakes. I can’t promise you that I’ll get over this
aversion, but I want you to know that I would like to be friends with you. That
is, if you want to…”

The doubt in his eyes caused me to swallow heavily. I
didn’t want to disappoint him, not when had such a hopeful expression. Someone
had hurt him in the past, but his cheerful optimism was slowly poking through
the uncertainty that he held about himself and others.

“Friends it is, then,” I lied, turning on my heels. “Good
night.”

“Good night, sleep tight eyebrows!”

“Oh, sod off!”

“HAHAHAHA!”

I cupped my cheek, feeling warmth as I stormed into the
library.

Sooner or later, he would get tired of me.

The problem, is that I had yet to get tired of him. No
matter how grating or loud he was, he would always make up for it with his
sweet words, revealing a heart so big that I couldn’t possibly stay mad at him.
He reminded me of a child, no, a puppy, no both.

Whatever.

It didn’t matter anyway.

I ignored the warmth that spread from my face, to the
lump at the back of my throat, and then into my chest.

None of these feelings would be reciprocated, so why
bother?

…

It was Friday evening, one of the only times of the week
where I let myself relax and take some time off from school work. The first
week of classes had ended, but I still had many things to do.

Thursday afternoon had been spent preparing for Davie’s
funeral. I had already gathered an old photo of his, although it had taken some
time to find a shop on campus that sold blue daisies. Said flowers used to be
planted in the school’s gardens, but after the drowning they had all been
pulled out.

They were Alice’s favourite flowers, and the Dean at the
time had wanted them gone after the incident. He was a despicable man, and his
photo in an old year book that I had found in the library did my initial foul
impression of him justice.

I also chose blue daisies for the funeral because in the
photo I had of Davie he was captured smiling, holding up a single stem for the
picture-taker to see.

It seemed appropriate enough.

James Creek was a five-minute walk away from campus. It
wasn’t much of a sight these days, as it was where drunken frat boys came to do
their hazing rituals. This would explain the beer cans littering the grassy
marsh and soft soil along the streambed.

Unfortunately, I had spent a greater part of an hour
cleaning up the area where I intended to perform the funeral. I was trying to
be as respectful as possible.

The marsh was wetter than expected, causing my feet to
sink into the muddy ground, soaking me up to my ankles. It was nothing a good
wash couldn’t fix, but it was still nonetheless grating to have these clothes
ruined for the rest of the week – I had a specific day where I did laundry. My
trainers were already worn down, so I didn’t care so much about that.

The sun was beginning to set when I finally got to doing
the ritual. I sent up a quick prayer for Davie, setting down the picture frame
I had placed his photo in. I wasn’t religious, but I had taken it upon myself
to learn what words were supposed to be said. I couldn’t be a real-life
ghost-buster without knowing that, now could I?

Regardless, I was relatively quick with the process,
eager to give Alice’s passed-on spirit the peace she so desperately deserved.
Once I was done saying my condolences, I placed the bouquet of flowers I had
bought into the creek, letting it swim along to wherever the current was taking
it, thus representing the progression of one’s life. Lastly, I found a
soft-patch of soil to bury Davie’s photo in, which had also taken a good deal
of time to dig with my bare hands.

I could have always just purchased a shovel, but with
rites like this, it was important to be as close to the Earth as possible. I
was severing what little ties remained of a soul; it was important to use the
elements of the Earth to nurture them into leaving what was before their home.

The wind became cooler as the evening progressed,
prompting a shiver from me as I washed my hands free of dirt and grime in the
creek.

Satisfied that I was at least somewhat clean, despite the
mud caking the bottom of my jeans and feet, I stood up with the intent of going
home and sleeping for a solid eight hours. Thankfully, my shift at the library
didn’t start until two in the afternoon the next day.

Just as I was about to leave the creek, however, a voice
echoed, whispering so gently that it could have just been a fragment of my
imagination. The rustling of leaves masked most of it, but I was able to pick
up on it well-enough.

“Rest
in peace, little guy.”

A small smile etched itself onto my face. This was why I
did what I did. Even though my life may be full of constant disruptions and
heartbreak, it was always a pleasure to relieve others of these problems.

As I left the creek and headed back to campus, the sun
had officially set. The sky was pitch-black, boasting a multitudinous constellation
of clear-cut stars.

Once my feet hit the cobble-stone pathways of the university’s
campus, the sky was no longer clear. Fairy lights and lamp posts lit up the
area, laughter bubbling and echoing in the air. It was a Friday night, after
all. Everyone was out and about, looking for a place to party and get plastered
drunk. The heavy scent of perfume and cologne lingered – I was presently
passing by a restaurant and pub strip.

I felt awkward, being covered in mud and dirt, as if I
had just come back from murdering someone, but thankfully this was masked by
the dim lighting outside. I wasn’t dressed horribly, oh no. I was wearing a
simple pair of ripped denim skinny jeans, a black hoodie, and had a Union-Jack
themed bandanna wrapped around my neck. Granted, the bandanna was something I
typically wore if I was going to a poetry event, wanting to appear more edgy.
Tonight, however, it was useful for first masking the stale stench of the
creek, and second, as mentioned before, the heavy scent of body odour mingled
with various perfumes.

Only when the pounding of music drifted into the
background did I let myself relax. This was exactly why I had refused Francis’s
offer to go out with him tonight. I didn’t like being anywhere loud, and going
to dinner with him, putting aside his wrongful insinuation of it being a date,
sounded like a nightmare personified.

Either way, the frog didn’t seem to mind after my initial
fifty rejections. He was out with our fellow blockhead floormates Gilbert and
Antonio, likely drinking their stress away at some club. Whatever, it’s not
like I cared. As long as he wasn’t loud when he got back to our apartment, we
could go back to ignoring and respecting each other’s spaces. I forgave him for
his stunt on Wednesday, but we still weren’t exactly on speaking terms.
Correction, I refused to speak to him, inevitably making things more awkward
between us, but my stubbornness wasn’t having any of it.

More than usual, I had been uptight these past few days.
I think it had a lot to do with me not being able to go to the library as much
as I would have liked to.

I hadn’t spoken with Alfred either, and for some
inexplicable reason, a tugging in my gut made me feel concerned for him. I’m
certain that it was just out of pity more than anything else. Alfred seemed
like the kind of lad who could really just use someone to talk to, even if it
was a person as stiff and snappish as myself.

I would likely see him tomorrow when I worked anyway, so
there was no point in bothering myself about how he was faring.

PLOP!

I looked up at the sky and let out a loud groan. All week
it hadn’t rained, but of course the one time I decide to leave my dorm room for
more than ten minutes, all of a sudden, the weather miraculously leaps at the
chance to punish me. Priceless, just beautiful.

I quickened my pace, drawing up my hood. I was unaware
that I was being followed. A drunken group of oafs had been trailing me ever
since I had cut through the restaurant and pub strip.

With the constant patter of the rain, I only perked up
when I heard someone let out a bark-like laugh. Confused, I spun around, my
eyes widening as they took in four tall and dark figures. It was their body
language that made me nervous; I felt like a bunny who had just encountered a
pack of wolves.

“C-can I help you there, mate?” I asked, trying to be
polite. I didn’t want to assume anything and play to stereotypes. My stutter,
however, revealed a weakness that only would end up biting me in the arse.

I could hardly see the figure who spoke, furiously blinking
rain drops out of my eyes.

“Yes, I’m looking for directions,” A strong male voice
grunted, his tone sounding like that of a leer.

“Oh,” I hummed, swallowing heavily. “Well, perhaps I
could help you then? I’m fairly acquainted with the campus. Where do you intend
to go?”

The next thing he said sent shivers up my spine. “I’m
looking for faggot central, and I think I just found it.”

I paled. “If that’s the case, I best be on my way then.”

I moved to sprint forward, but was immediately grabbed by
two other boys from the group. They held my arms and just about dragged me into
an alleyway at the side of an administration building.

I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

“Let go of me, I say!” I fumed. “What the hell is this
all about? What did I ever do to you?!”

My vision blacked out as I was slammed against a brick
wall, my head cracking painfully. Tears fearfully streaked down my face along
with the water droplets from the rain; I didn’t know which was which.

The leader of the group, the one who had spoke first,
told the others to back off as he grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them
above my head. I fruitlessly struggled, nearly choking from the smell of
alcohol on his breath.

The shouts of encouragement in the background felt like
stabs to the chest.

“You’re scum!” he yelled in my face, slurring. “People
like you don’t deserve to live, let alone shove your sinning cock-sucking faces
in public! I don’t need to see shit like that! It’s disgusting!”

I spat in the boy’s face, enraging him as he pulled away.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. “You have no right to judge! I’ll live and do whatever
the hell I want. If you don’t like it, then don’t look at me! I won’t look at
your ugly, ignorant mug of a face either. It’s not being gay that makes me a
disgusting person! If you’re going to attack me, at least bring up something
relevant, you Neanderthal!” I shrieked.

It was at this point that I began to scream for help. I
was quickly silenced when a large, sweaty hand was placed over my mouth.

“FUCK!” my attacker swore when I bit into his hand,
drawing blood. And yet, he still didn’t let go. The alcohol must have been
dulling his pain.

I spit on his shoes, getting rid of the foul taste in my
mouth.

“You little bitch!” he shouted at me.

Another angry voice was added in along the mix, but at
this point, I was too tired to care. My struggling was becoming weaker. The boy
holding me was stronger, taller, and weighed more.

I closed my eyes, waiting for a punch to the face. It
never came.

CRASH!

By a stroke of luck, a metal gutter resting against the
side of the building fell. The other group members leapt out of the way, yelping
in fright, while another voice erupted with angry shouts.

My hearing was dulled. I had completely dissociated. The
adrenaline was gone; I was left with nothing but exhaustion.

“STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!”

“WHY DID YOU JUST HIT ME?!”

“I DIDN’T HIT YOU, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“LET’S GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE. THAT FREAK PROBABLY
CURSED US OR SOMETHING!”

“YOU BETTER RUN!”

I didn’t even notice that my attacker had let go of me.
Wordlessly, I slid down against the brick wall, sitting on the cold, wet
ground. I was and felt filthy. Cold water poured down my neck and seeped into
my back and clothing, making me shiver uncontrollably.

I was used to this, being singled out for no good reason.
All it meant was that I would have to wait a few days for the bruises to heal
and then I could proceed as normal. It’s too bad I’ve normalized what had just happened to me…

This time I was lucky that there were no other injuries.
Perhaps just a sore head, but nothing requiring immediate medical attention.

It
could have been worse.

Shaking and numb from the cold, I buried my hands in my
face, letting out a dry sob. I had cried enough. Now all that was left was fear
and disbelief.

Why me?

“Arthur, oh crap! Dude, look at me? How many fingers am I
holding up?”

I released my hands from my face, looking up to meet a
blurry figure. I instantly recognized the familiar bomber jacket and wheat
blond hair. My vision cleared and I saw Alfred crouching before me, his
spectacles dotted with tears drops.

“Alfred?”

“Yeah buddy, it’s me. Now how about those fingers…?”

I was too stunned and disoriented to question how close
he had dared to approach me.

Similarly, I hadn’t noticed how it had stopped raining.

“Two,” I groaned. “I’m fine, just a bit shaken up…I
think…”

I glanced at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes. I was
humiliated.

“Dude, you are so not okay!” Alfred protested. “If I
didn’t show up those guys would have…!” he trailed off, a solemn expression
crossing over his face. “Arthur, what are you doing out here so late?”

“Oh cut it with that bullshit, will you?” I growled,
inhaling sharply. My body was frozen, refusing to work, but my mouth wouldn’t stop
spewing out garbage as if its life depended on it. “I will not be victim-blamed
here! I was just enjoying a walk outside, minding my own business when those
idiots decided it would be a good idea to attack me! It wasn’t my fault! And
what in the bloody hell are you doing out here anyway?”

Alfred leaned back, raising both hands in surrender.
“Whoa man, I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying that there are some pretty
sketchy people out here at this time. The alcohol doesn’t help either. Even I
feel nervous walking out here alone. I was just coming back from the library… I
was worried too. I haven’t seen you these past couple of days. And then when I
do, you’re almost getting your face punched in, in a grimy alleyway.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” I sniffed, rubbing at my
eyes with my sleeve. “Anyway, thank you, although I’m sure I could have handled
them myself just fine.”

Alfred scoffed. “I heard you screaming for help. No one
could have taken on that many guys. I wish I could do more, but those pissheads
probably won’t even remember any of this in the morning. I also didn’t catch
their faces…”

I didn’t say anything. I was beginning to drift off into
space again, wanting nothing more than for this horrible, horrible night to
end.

“It’s okay,
Arthur. I know you’re scared. You’re safe, and no one’s going to hurt you. I’m
here. Is there any place that hurts?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I croaked. “Didn’t you
hear what they said? Don’t waste your time on me.”

“Okay…you definitely hit your head too hard. I don’t give
a flying bunny about those things. You’re still same old grumpy Arthur to me,
just as stubborn too.”

I jolted when Alfred hesitantly reached out to cup my
cheek, bringing his face closer to mine. I didn’t realize that he was shaking
just as much as I was. “I’m going to get help. Can you stand?” he asked me.

His hands were cold, wet from the rain. I nodded my head,
still allowing him to help me stand up. I wobbled a bit, but was pretty decent
on my feet. The shock of the events prior was beginning to fade away.

These things didn’t bother me as much as they used to. It
was back to the repressing drawing board.

I felt like I was floating, like what I was experiencing
wasn’t even real.

“I thought you were too shy to be close to other people?”
I murmured.

“That doesn’t matter now, helping you is more important,”
Alfred grunted, his arm slung over my torso.

He leaned me against the wall. “Stay there, I’m, uh,
going to go get someone.”

“Wait, Alfred?” I croaked, but he was already gone,
leaving me behind in the mucky alleyway. I took this chance to breathe, calming
myself, preparing myself for the questions that would likely follow as soon as
campus security arrived.

My luck struck out again.

…

Desperation pumped through his veins as he thundered out
of the alleyway, his feet slapping against the ground, causing water to fly
everywhere.

The first thing Alfred saw was a man with shoulder-length
blond hair walking towards him. He was likely coming home from a night out with
his friends.

“Excuse moi, but are you all right?” the man asked, his
voice bearing a French accent.

Alfred paused, looking over his shoulder. The man was
looking straight at him.

“Monsieur, can you hear me? Are you all right?” the man
asked again, furrowing his perfectly arched brows in question.

When the man approached closer, Alfred could smell
alcohol on him, but he appeared to be relatively sober.

Once again, Alfred looked over his shoulder.

The man looked at Alfred with narrowed eyes, suspicious
at the latter’s tense demeanor.

The man knew for a fact that Alfred could understand him.

“Hallo? I am speaking to you!”

Alfred cleared his throat nervously, his eyes darting
left and right. It was as if he had forgotten how to speak; he was rusty at
socializing with people he was unfamiliar with. There were other reasons for
his social awkwardness, but let’s not get into that.

“Look dude, I think a guy just got jumped in that
alleyway!” Alfred shouted, pointing to his right. “He seems to be okay, but I
really need to be somewhere! Check on him, will ya? Kay, thanks!”

Alfred began to bolt away from the Frenchman, ignoring
the confused shouts that followed his departure.

Alfred was just as confused if not overwhelmed by what
had just happened.

His only solution was to run away, just like he had done
in the past before.

…

The next half hour passed by in a daze. Alfred left and
the next thing I knew Francis was shouting in my face, panicking about how
muddy, worn down, and dirty I was. He inspected me for injuries but found none.

I was still too tired to put up a fight. I gave him a
half-ass explanation of what had happened, keeping it short as I couldn’t stand
the smell of wine on his breath.

In my rush to get home and ignore Francis’s pleas to take
me to the campus’s clinic, I had somehow forgotten to mention Alfred entirely.

It didn’t matter in the end though. If I owed someone my
thanks, I would rather deliver it to them in person. For now, I wanted time to
wallow in my own misery.

Tonight was a perfect example of how the world hates me.
I was pathetic, and attracted harm and negativity like a moth to a flame. I
didn’t want to speak of it anymore than I absolutely had to.

What infuriated me was how Francis refused to let me walk
home without being helped. My disorientation had long passed, the evening air
doing well to clear my head.

If only I didn’t have a migraine from the two idiots who
had their arms wrapped around my torso and the third idiot who lagged behind.

“I told you that I could walk home myself!” I fumed.

“Ignore him,” Francis huffed to my right. “He could have
his leg blown off and he’d still rather drag himself to safety instead of
relying on another person. He has trust issues,” he explained.

“Ah, not to be like a total downer or anything, but
you’re not looking so awesome, Arthur,” Gilbert commented, his red eyes raking
up and down my muddy and dishevelled figure. “You smell like you’ve been in a
sewer.”

I ignored the tipsy German.

“Did your eyebrows offend someone?” Antonio asked me,
holding up the left side of my person. “That’s too bad, amigo. You were
probably in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Would you all just fuck off already?” I exploded. “Why
are you even bothering to help me?”

On miraculous cue, Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis spoke at
the same time. “It’s what friends do.”

I fell silent after that, thankful the night was dark
enough to hide my blush.

Friends…

Huh.

That word would never fail to faze me.

To be
continued…

Word Count:
12,933 words

21
Pages