But I’m too shaken to deal with him right now.
Somehow, I get to my feet. The world turns fuzzy at the edges as I walk towards the exit. Amala hurries after me.
“Lena, wait.” Her voice wavers with tears.
“Miss Williams,” Professor Hirst barks, but I ignore him.
I walk out of the building in a daze, making my way to the courtyard. Amala touches my arm again, and I flinch. I almost forgot she was shadowing me.
I turn and find that my friend’s cheeks are wet. She’s crying. Her chest heaves on shaky breaths. She looks like she’s on the verge of a panic attack.
Her distress helps me numb myself to the horror of Rich’s murder. Amala needs support. Comforting her will keep me from succumbing to my own panic.
“We should sit down,” I urge, taking her hand.
We find a bench in the courtyard, and her knees fold. She drops down onto it beside me.
“Breathe, Amala. You’re okay.”
“No, I’m not!” she says on a harsh sob.
I squeeze her hand. “I know.” My voice breaks, and I force my spine to straighten. “Breathe with me.”
I fall into a familiar pattern that I’ve practiced to keep panic at bay for years. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for four, breathe out for six.
“Keep going,” I encourage when Amala’s chest stops hitching on every inhale. “You’re safe.”
Her hand tightens around mine, but she manages to continue mirroring my breaths.
Suddenly, our course mates surround us.
“We got the news too,” a boy with curly red hair, Colin, says thickly.
“Professor Hirst dismissed us,” another boy, Samuel, informs us. “We’re going to the pub.”
“What?” I ask.
It seems wholly inappropriate to go out drinking right now.
“I need a fucking pint.” Colin rubs a hand over his shining eyes.
I look around at my classmates and realize many of them are on the verge of tears or are openly crying. They need to be together right now. The pub is a place for them to gather and support one another.
“Okay,” I agree.
Even though it’s not like me to let people in emotionally, I can see that this is necessary. I don’t have to lean on their shoulders and cry, but I can be there for them.
Especially Amala, who looks like she might be sick at any moment. She’s been kind to me, even though I barely know her.
I’ve dealt with the deaths of my peers before. I can endure her fresh pain to help her navigate this grief.
A flash of that night in the ruined stables assails my thoughts, and I quickly shove the bloody memories away. Now isn’t the time to spiral into my own nightmares.
Amala extricates her hand from mine to wipe her eyes.
“Here,” she says, offering my phone. I didn’t realize she was still holding it. “I think you got a message.”
I check the screen. The new message notification looks odd. There aren’t any contact details listed, not even a phone number that I haven’t saved.
