The bathroom light buzzed overhead, too bright, too familiar. I was sitting on the floor with my back against the tub, knees pulled tight to my chest. The door was locked. I could feel it — the weight of it, the certainty.

I’d been here before.

The orange bottle was in my hand. I didn’t remember picking it up. The pills rattled softly when I tilted it, spilling into my palm. Small. White. Harmless-looking.

I tried to count them.

Twenty. Maybe more.

Would that be enough?

My throat tightened. My fingers shook as I brought my hand closer to my mouth, like I was watching someone else do it. Like I wasn’t inside my body at all.

Stop.

I didn’t.

Stop, please.

I was scared.
 I was alone.
 Again.

—

I gasped awake, air tearing into my lungs like I’d been underwater too long. My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar — not the one at home, not the cracked dorm ceiling either.

Where am I?

I pushed myself upright too fast and the room lurched. Sheets tangled around my legs. I looked down, panic spiking, but my clothes were still on — the same tan sweater, the same jeans from yesterday.

The door opened.

White hair.

My chest seized.

No. No, no, no.

Lucas stood in the doorway.

“What the fuck?” My voice shook despite me trying to steady it.

“Hey—” he said quickly. “I didn’t know where else to take you. You passed out.”

His place.

“You brought me here?” I whispered, then louder, sharper. “To your apartment?”

My breathing spiraled out of control. I couldn’t slow it. My hands clenched into the sheets, fingers aching.

“I didn’t know where your dorm was,” Lucas said. “Dylan disappeared. You wouldn’t wake up.”

“What did you do to me?” The words came out before I could stop them.

He looked up, startled. “Nothing. Noah, I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t act like this isn’t what you do.”

He didn’t argue.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, dizzy but determined. When I stepped toward the door, he moved out of the way immediately.

“Please,” I said, quieter now. “Just let me go.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

I didn’t look at him again.

—

The walk back to the dorm was a blur. I didn’t remember leaving his building, just the sharp taste of adrenaline pushing through me like a second pulse. I passed people on the sidewalk, but no one looked at me, and I was grateful.

Back in my room, it was quiet. Dylan wasn’t there.

I didn’t know if that made things better or worse.

I stripped quickly, grabbed clean clothes, and shut myself in the bathroom. My fingers fumbled with the handle. The door clicked locked.

Only then did I let myself slide to the floor.

I wasn’t crying.

But I wanted to disappear.

The water in the shower drowned out the sound of my breathing. I stood there too long, letting the heat sting my skin, wondering if I’d ever be able to explain what was happening inside me without sounding crazy.

I wasn’t sure what had been in that drink.

I wasn’t sure how much of last night I imagined.

But I was sure of one thing:

I didn’t want to feel like this anymore.

—

By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, the sun had moved enough to light the dorm in soft gray. I hadn’t dried my hair. I didn’t feel like putting on clean socks. I just stood in the middle of the room and stared at my bed, half-wondering if lying down would help or if it would just bring the dream back.

The front door clicked.

I turned.

Dylan walked in, calm as always.

He didn’t pause when he saw me — just closed the door behind him, slipped his keys into the pocket of his hoodie, and glanced once in my direction.

“You’re back,” he said.

I didn’t respond right away.

He set a folded paper bag on his desk and sat down, opening his laptop like this was any other morning.

“You weren’t here last night,” I said, finally.

Dylan looked up, blinking once. “No. I wasn’t.”

Something about how easily he admitted it made my stomach tighten.

“I thought you went to the party with me,” I said.

“I did.”

“Then where did you go?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You ran off. Kind of dramatically, I might add. That guy was chasing you.”

I went still.

“What guy?”

“White hair. Purple eyes. Tall. Looked like he knew you.”

My mouth opened, then shut again. I sat down slowly on the edge of my bed, the air feeling thinner somehow.

“I followed,” Dylan added. “But I couldn’t keep up. You’re fast when you panic.”

I looked at him. “You saw him chasing me?”

“Everyone saw,” he said casually. “It wasn’t subtle.”

He took a sip from the bottle of water on his desk, as if this conversation was nothing. As if it wasn’t making me feel like my skin didn’t fit right.

“And you didn’t… I don’t know. Try to stop him?”

“I didn’t know where you went,” he said, shrugging. “You disappeared. I assumed he got you.”

The words landed wrong. Hard.

“I got back late. Crashed somewhere else,” he said, eyes flicking up to mine.

I didn’t say anything.

The silence stretched.

Dylan drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. “Megan likes you, by the way.”

“What?”

He smiled faintly. “Megan. The girl from the party. Blonde. Loud. She said you were cute.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to do with that. “She… made me a drink.”

“Yeah,” Dylan said, drawing the word out like it meant more than it should have. “How much do you remember?”

I looked away. The mattress dipped slightly under my hands.

“Not much,” I admitted. “Just flashes. The kitchen. The drink. Then—nothing. I woke up somewhere else.”

His voice shifted, subtle but pointed. “You were with the white-haired guy, right?”

My chest tightened.

“I woke up at his place,” I said quietly. “In his bed.”

Dylan didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then: “He drugged you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That’s what it sounds like,” Dylan said, like he was stating the weather. “You blacked out. You woke up in his bed. You were chased. You don’t remember anything. What else could it be?”

“I don’t know,” I said, barely louder than a whisper.

“Maybe he thought you were onto him,” Dylan continued. “Maybe he didn’t want you talking.”

I looked up sharply. “Talking about what?”

He shrugged again. “Whatever you know.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Dylan smiled thinly. “Then I guess he overreacted.”

I stared at him.

Something about the way he said it made my blood go cold.

Dylan leaned back in his chair, studying me.

“You don’t remember anything after the drink,” he said.

I shook my head. “Just… flashes.”

“And you woke up in his bed.”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly, like he was piecing together a puzzle I couldn’t see.

“I’m not saying anything happened,” he said. “I want to be clear about that.”

My stomach twisted.

“But,” he continued, “you were drugged. You blacked out. You woke up somewhere you didn’t choose.”

I swallowed hard.

“That’s usually not nothing,” Dylan said quietly.

The room felt smaller.

“I don’t think—” I started, then stopped. I didn’t know what I was trying to say.

Dylan tilted his head. “You didn’t know him, right?”

I hesitated. “I… knew him in high school.”

“But you weren’t close,” he said. “And you never thought he was into guys.”

“No,” I said immediately. Too quickly. “He’s not.”

Dylan didn’t argue.

He just watched me.

“People surprise you,” he said. “Especially when they think you won’t remember.”

Something cold slid down my spine.

“I don’t think he—” My voice cracked. “I would have known.”

“Would you?” Dylan asked gently. “If you were unconscious?”

The word hit harder than anything else he’d said.

Unconscious.

“I’m not saying that’s what happened,” he repeated. “Just… don’t rule it out. Not yet.”

He turned back to his laptop like the conversation was over.

I stayed where I was, staring at the floor.

My body didn’t feel like mine anymore.