Breakfast had been even more awkward than usual, and I could still feel the weight of their stares as I made my way back up to my room. My steps were slow, hesitant, my mind tangled in a web of unanswered questions. But I had no choice—I needed answers.
I reached my door and pushed it open.
Everything was as I had left it. The chair was still pulled slightly away from the desk, the book I had tossed onto the table before heading downstairs remained undisturbed, and the window blinds hung motionless, filtering the late morning light.
But the bed—the bed was empty.
She was gone.
I took a slow, measured breath, scanning the room again, as if I had simply overlooked her presence. But no—there was no sign of her. No disturbed sheets, no trace of movement, nothing.
How?
I had tied her up. I remembered the feeling of the tape wrapping around her arms and legs, securing her movements. Even if she had somehow freed herself, there should have been some evidence—a torn piece of tape, a struggle-mark on the bedsheet—but the room remained eerily untouched.
My gaze flicked toward the study table. The roll of tape was still there, exactly where I had left it.
The windows? Still locked.
The door? I had closed it before leaving, and if she had walked out, someone would have seen her. The kitchen was positioned directly in front of the main exit—if a woman dressed strangely had passed through, someone in the house would have noticed.
I ran a hand down my face.
I wasn't imagining her… was I?
My thoughts felt like a tangled mess, twisting and knotting until I could no longer tell what was real and what wasn't. A dull pressure built at the base of my skull, making my vision swim slightly.
This is bad.
Since childhood, I had always learned to cope with problems by ignoring them, pretending they didn't exist until they faded into the background. But this—this wasn't something I could ignore. The weight of it was pressing down on me, too much, too fast, suffocating.
I felt myself slipping—my grip on reality loosening.
Then, a voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
"What are you doing just standing there in front of your door?"
I blinked, grounding myself back into the moment.
Sugar stood a few feet away, her head tilted in confusion.
I forced my face into something neutral before turning toward her. "Huh? Oh, nothing."
She studied me for a moment before a grin tugged at her lips. "Well, wanna go search for doctors? I'm free today. How about you skip college and spend some time with me? You look exhausted."
There was a lightness in her voice, but my mind felt too heavy to match it. I hesitated, my brain sluggishly trying to process how to respond.
"Sorry," I finally said. "I have to go to college."
For a split second, her face fell, but she quickly masked it with a shrug. "Oh, okay." Then, she softened. "Cheer up, okay? You don't look good when you're all gloomy."
She paused. A flicker of hesitation crossed her features before she added, "And… don't go back to how you used to be. That doesn't suit you."
I said nothing.
A teasing smile replaced the seriousness on her face. "Then again, you don't look good even when you're not gloomy. Have fun."
With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into her room, leaving me standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space she had occupied just seconds ago.
~
By the time I stepped outside, the sun was high in the sky, its rays relentless. The brightness stabbed at my tired eyes, making them sting with irritation. My body felt heavier than usual, each step weighed down by exhaustion. The noise of the streets—chattering voices, honking cars, footsteps—pressed against my skull, a constant, grating presence that only amplified my growing discomfort.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my earphones, and plugged them in.
The moment the music started, a wave of calm washed over me. The soothing melody blended with the singer's voice, wrapping around my frayed nerves like a soft cocoon. The world dulled, the sharp edges of my anxiety smoothing out into something bearable.
Music really was like magic. The way it could alter emotions, control thoughts, and pull you into a different headspace—it was almost eerie. It was like a perfectly crafted spell, one designed to enchant, mesmerize, and sometimes even brainwash.
I let out a slow breath, allowing myself to settle into the moment as I walked toward my class.
Then, a hand tapped my shoulder.
I turned.
The person standing before me was familiar. He waved with his free hand, his mouth moving.
I blinked, confused.
I couldn't hear him.
The music was still playing.
Right.
Feeling a little slow, I quickly yanked the other earphone out. "Sorry—what was that, Goodwin?"
He chuckled. "Oh, nothing important. Just saying good morning."
I gave a small nod. "Morning."
Something about this felt… off.
Goodwin wasn't the type to approach me. We had been in the same college for over a year now, and yet, we had barely spoken more than a few words to each other.
So why now?
I resumed walking, but he fell into step beside me.
"You haven't been sleeping well, have you?" he asked, his tone casual but observant. "You look like a zombie."
A tiny laugh escaped him, like he found the whole thing amusing.
I kept my response short. "Yeah, kind of."
His gaze shifted to my earphones. "You listen to music a lot?"
"Sometimes."
Usually when I needed to drown out my own thoughts.
"What kind of music do you like?"
Music has… kinds?
I hesitated. I had never really thought about it. It was just sound—melodies and words that sometimes helped me shut out the world.
"I, uh… I only recently started listening," I admitted. "But there's this guy—Boo Boo Goobs."
Goodwin blinked.
Then, he laughed.
"Boo Boo Goobs? Who even is that?"
I frowned. "A singer. I think."
"Oh—sorry," he said, still struggling to hold back his laughter. "That wasn't what I was asking, but… sure."
I sighed internally. I wasn't in the mood for conversation. "So… did you need something from me?"
Goodwin raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think that?"
I gave him a flat look. "Because we don't usually talk."
He let out another chuckle, shaking his head. "Man, I don't need anything. You were walking in front of me, so I figured I'd come say hi. Also, you look dead tired, so I wanted to check on you."
He paused, then added, "To be honest, I always thought you'd be bad at talking to people. You're always so quiet in class, but here we are, having a conversation."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I'm not socially awkward—just mentally exhausted.
"Just because I don't talk a lot in college doesn't mean I can't hold a conversation," I said.
Goodwin grinned. He seemed oddly satisfied with that response.
Before I could question it, a voice called from nearby.
"Hey, Tobi! Over here."
I turned my head toward the sound. A small group of students stood a short distance away, waving at him.
Goodwin—Tobi—glanced their way. "Yeah, coming!"
He turned back to me. "See you around, Ahriman."
"Yeah."
With that, he jogged off toward the group.
I let out a slow exhale.
Finally.
For some reason, talking to him had left me irritated, though I couldn't quite pinpoint why.
I plugged my earphones back in and continued toward the hall.