1
EVELYN
Breathe. In and out, Evelyn. In and out.
The last month of therapy had given me a greater understanding of the importance of breathing through pain and panic, but today, no matter how many times I told myself tofucking breathe, the terror of what awaited me on the other side of those fancy gates was all I could focus on.
Being back at college might be what broke the final hold on my sanity.
Running my hands up and down my denim skirt, I used the rough material as an anchor to keep myself calm.
“Almost there, Ms. Lewis. I’ll get your bags while you head in and speak to the dean.”
The driver was employed by the college and had given me a little introduction speech on the way from the airport. He kept calling me by my new last name–changed since the attack for my own safety–which was going to take some getting used to.
Once Evelyn Marie Cromwell, I was now Evelyn Marie Lewis, foster child of Karolyn and Mitchell Lewis and brand-new student at Meadowridge College.Nothing like switching colleges in your junior year of a four-year economics degree. But here I was.Living the dream.
Thankfully my guardians had made sure I got credit for most of my completed classes, and there were only a few prerequisite courses specific to this college that I’d have to catch up on. Better than a bullet in the brain, though. So I’d take it.
“Tha—thank you,” I managed to get out, the panic barely at bay as I continued to suck in breaths like a pug with a sinus infection. Dr Graystone had warned me I was far from ready to give up therapy. My trauma remained a driving force in my life, and until I could go days without nightmares or face new situations without panic attacks, I neededallthe trauma-coping skills from regular therapy sessions.
Too bad he was now over a thousand miles away from me back in Tennessee—I could have used his particular brand of tough love to get me through the next twenty minutes of hell.
The driver stopped before the gates, opening his window to chat to the security who emerged from a hut off to the side of the black, wrought-iron gates. I studied the entrance, taking in the impressive gold filagree and largeMCetched in the center. “I need your identification, Ms. Lewis,” my driver said, drawing my attention.
The process of ensuring I was a student took longer than I’d expected, as they checked my identification, ran a quick background check—I had no idea how Mitchell managed it, but I had an entire online history as Evelyn Lewis now—examined every inch of the car to ensure there were no unauthorized tagalongs, and finally declared we were free to enter.
“This college is reputed to be harder than Fort Knox to break into,” my driver said, picking up the conversation as he drove through the gates and up the long driveway leading to a Victorian-style building with creeping ivy along the red andblack brick walls. “I don’t know what your parents did to get you in here, but you’ll be taking classes with royalty, politicians, and the richest of rich in our country. Security is paramount, so you have nothing to worry about.”
He didn’t know about the attack. No one knew I was the sole survivor of that dark day at Tennessee Hallows College. My face and name had never appeared publicly, and I’d been swept out of there by my concerned guardians so fast, there was no chance to even say goodbye to the friends I’d made in my first two years. “That’s good to know,” I said, pressing my face closer to the window of his Chevy Suburban. “Hopefully I won’t have to move again before my degree is finished.” Or dodge bullets raining across a room.
When he pulled up, a welcome committee was waiting for me. Classes officially started tomorrow—I was late and had missed orientation, but I still earned a personal greeting and tour by the dean himself. A dean who knew my story, and I half wondered if that was what got me in here in the first place.
“Ms. Lewis,” the distinguished older gentleman said as he opened my door. “I’m Dean Henry Attworth. Welcome to Meadowridge College. We’re delighted to have you joining us this year.”
The Lewis family were solidly middle class. They hadn’t exactly struggled since my dad dumped me on their doorstepfor a weekwhen I was ten, and then proceeded to disappear for a good ten years after, but we’d also never had any excess. I hadn’t been in the headspace to ask how they’d managed to get me into such a prestigious college after the attack, but now, standing here and staring up at the imposing building behind the arched entrance, I found myself curious.
How had they managed this?
“I’m excited to be part of your college.” I was proud of myself for not sounding as freaked out as I felt. “I knowgraduating from here will open many career opportunities for me.”
In and out. In and out.
Breathing was an autonomic reflex for fuck’s sake. Newborn babies breathed when they were two seconds old. I could do this.
“All the opportunities, Ms. Lewis. Now, if you’ll follow me. You can leave your bags; our staff will bring them to your dorm.”
Pulling my gaze from the brick building, I gave Dean Attworth my full attention. He was a few inches taller than my five feet seven, with a head full of silver hair, piercing grey eyes, and a sharp navy suit with a blue-and-grey-checkered tie. There wasn’t a wrinkle to be found on his clothing, every line ironed to within an inch of itself, and even his face was strangely smooth when he was clearly well past his youth.
The rich probably weren’t allowed to look old. Nothing like mortality to remind you money can’t buy everything.
The first building we entered was unusually quiet, the dean pointing out the main office, guidance counselor, registrars, and where we sign up for clubs and sports. A few students emerged from the offices while we stood there but didn’t even bother to look my way, much more interested in their phones than the new student.
The rest of the tour took a few hours, as we visited the many different buildings that made up the massive grounds. A grounds that was fenced on all sides, with that same high, black, wrought-iron structure as the front gate.
“It’s electrified,” Dean Attworth told me, his final action being to run over the safety of the grounds. “Please don’t accidentally stumble into any of our security measures. The guards patrol twenty-four seven, and we have satellite imagery of the grounds beaming to a secondary company. If you have any visitors, they will need to go through the same checks youdid upon entry this morning. Your safety is of upmost importance to us here, and my door is always open if you ever feel threatened or unsafe.”
For the first time since we approached the gates, a semblance of calm replaced the abject terror that had been holding me in its grip. “Thank you. Safety is the first priority for my family. This will go a long way to alleviating their worries.”And mine.
