Page 253 of Breathe Like Hell

How long would my student ID keep working? Would I still be able to get into Stanton after today?

I could come back, but I couldn’t come back.

I anxiously grabbed the plastic cord to request a stop and tugged it. The driver looked up into the convex mirror above her head, probably irritated with me, but she didn’t say anything. I hoped she would let me get off before we got to the next bus stop just outside campus, but she didn’t.

When we finally rolled to a stop, I sprung out of my seat and stumbled to the exit.

I have to go back just once.

“Hey,” the driver said, catching my attention just as I stepped off. “The busses aren’t going to be running through campus again until this evening. There’s a parade.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The doors swung shut and the bus rolled away.

A parade.

Vaguely, I remembered hearing about that, but I hadn’t expected to be on campus when it occurred. It wasn’t a thought in my mind for long, though. I walked purposefully towards Stanton Hall, never stopping or slowing when people were in my way. I could tell a few people were irritated with me for bumping into them, but they should’ve gotten out of the way.

I yanked one of the heavy doors open and went straight into the stairwell, jogging up all six flights of stairs to the top floor where Micah’s office was. I burst out of the stairwell into the light, ignoring the few groups of students who were sitting and chatting at the tables, looking out over campus. They were probably reminiscing. I had nothing to reminisce on.

I walked quickly through the area with the elevators, turning the corner into the hall and walking to the end where Micah’s office was.

The plaque with his name on it was gone. There was nothing on the wall in its place.

I tried the door to the office—locked.

Fuck everyone at this entire fucking university. None of you deserved him.

I wasn’t good at making myself invisible, but I tried my best. The cold, prickly sensation always distracted me and that was exactly what I didn’t need—distraction. I had to be completely focused to do almost anything Sigeian. It was actually really fucking hard.

I slammed into the door, and it burst open, my invisibility flickering and weakening until eventually it just stopped. I stood in the middle of his office, which was now empty. What did they do with his things? Throw them away?

I wished I’d taken everything when I’d taken his degrees. Nobody even questioned me then, and I could’ve kept going until they did question me, at which point I could lie to them and use my aspect to ensure they believed me. Mason sometimes implied that I wasn’t being an angel correctly, but he wasn’t teaching me well. I didn’t exactly give a fuck about my morals anymore. Why should I?

Standing in his empty office made the lump in my throat grow, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.

Like he never existed.

I could hardly stand to spend another second in the barren office, so I dashed out and headed straight for the stairs, racing down flight after flight until I burst out on the first floor, heart racing and hands shaky. The idea that his dissertation was probably still in the library populated in my brain, so I speed walked to the Archway next.

I frantically scanned the aisle with the past student dissertations, praying his would still be here. Eventually, I found it and snatched it off the shelf, then hid it in my robes and left the building. Nobody would care that I didn’t check it out, because nobody cared about Micah’s dissertation.

Nobody cared about him at all.

Since the buses were no longer running through campus, I had to walk quite a distance to get off campus to a normal bus stop for the city. I kept Micah’s dissertation and my diploma under my arm with my graduation cap, trying to ignore the sting in my eyes, the lump in my throat, the hatred in my veins.

I’d become such an angry, hateful person. A horrible person.

I despised almost everyone.

In one of my lectures, I’d overheard a girl talking to her friend about her breakup. She was very sad, almost to the point of tears. Long distance wasn’t working, or something. I wanted to fucking strangle her.

THAT DOESN’T MATTER.

WHO CARES?

I DON’T FEEL SORRY THAT YOU AND YOUR BOYFRIEND BROKE UP BECAUSE MINE IS DEAD.