Cat stopped by the little gym shack she normally did on every Thursday. Hardly anyone was in it, but she grabbed a heart rate monitor to check out before she strapped it on and took off. Might as well get credit for this.

To her immense dismay, the track that circled the football field was full of some sort of marathon trainers or something. Matching shirts, lukewarm cheers. She was in no mood to be around anyone, least of all people like that. Her only other option, really was to run around the perimeter of the athletics department, around the fence that closed off the pools, along the backside of the baseball field that was currently being used for kickball, around the gym and indoor basketball courts, the weight rooms. She hadn’t actually gone this far into the athletics department before; she had no need. But it turned out that there were tennis and volleyball courts, too, so that was a nice distraction as she ran.

Cat opted to completely ignore the thing strapped to her wrist, and to just focus on going as fast as possible for as long as possible--ideally, until she passed out and woke up from this awful nightmare.

But when would she even wake up, if this was all a dream? To just a couple days ago? Weeks? Would she wake up at home to her little brother yelling at the TV screen because his favorite team did the wrong sporty move?

Her chest ached; she wasn’t sure when it stopped aching from whatever overreaction she had and when it was because she was probably pushing herself too hard. Sure, she let herself take small breaks to walk, but the moment her mind started to rubber band back to why she was out here, sweating more than she’d ever done before in the hot sun, she forced herself to start running again. The more she ran, the more she could attribute the feeling of her face burning to exhaustion rather than this weird...sadness.

Halfway around her second lap of the athletics department, just passed the pools and approaching sight of the football field, Cat allowed herself to walk again. Her lungs burned, her legs wobbled weakly. Every part of her physically ached, from blinking against the cold and dry wind, to her skin from being outside without sunscreen, to her shins from running. Even under her arms started to chafe from her compressed shirt rubbing against her when she pumped her arms.

Maybe this was enough. Maybe this was all the torture she really deserved for now. While others gathered on the lawn to play some sort of Ultimate Frisbee game, her eyes skipped to the duck pond, her old resting spot. She hadn’t been there since she hit her head. Since Peter--

This thought would have been the signal for her to start running again, to count her steps and feel nothing but the impact of her shoes against the asphalt and the wind cooling her sweat, but her legs refused. Alright. Well. Good enough.

Walking felt more like falling. Through pure will, Cat dragged herself to the shack to return her heart rate monitor, and finally looked at the results. Well, at least something good came of today. She managed to shave half an entire minute off her initial mile. The subsequent three were nothing to write home about, but the fact that she pushed herself to run that much in one burst was a testament to how great of a motivator anger was.

Her blood struggled to pump through her veins fast enough: exactly what she needed to get the oxygen away from her brain, to stop feeding any thought. It was just barely over an hour of exercise, really. But it felt like she’d been disconnected for days. Now, maybe, she could handle things better. Or just pass out and sleep through it all. First, a shower. Then, a text to her boss to claim she got food poisoning to cover her ass. Then maybe a nap.

The day was hers again.

Still panting, Cat dragged her feet to the dorm building. She kept picturing the warm water, the soap--motivators to keep her legs moving. But they started to twitch by the time she’d even gotten to the doors of her building, and cramping when she tried to pass by the lounge chairs.

Okay. Sit first. Rest. Then shower, then text, then nap.

She nearly tripped into the chair. If she wasn’t completely covered in sweat, she might have cared about how many other people had just done what she did: drop themselves into a communal chair that had never seen a fabric brush or Fabreeze bottle. She was too tired to be grossed out.

As her heart thumped away in her ears, she let her legs melt against the green fabric, arms on either side of her. Maybe this made her feel slightly better now, but tomorrow...oh, she was going to hate life.

Cat didn’t intend to sit here for very long. She wasn’t even sure how long she did. But she leaned against the back of the chair, her head tilted back, eyes closed and struggled to breathe. Twelve hours ago, she stood in Peter’s room, trying to convince him that he was normal enough, that he wasn’t alone in his struggles. Why did she bother? She should have known he wouldn’t remember. She literally watched him chug even more rum when they got in. And even then--what if he did remember? What did she think would happen?

So what if she learned some giant secret? Peter would have never told her if he had the choice. That was that. She should have just pretended like nothing happened. It wasn’t like they could magically get along, just because of one conversation. That wasn’t how things worked. Not that she wanted to get along with Peter. There was no point.

She couldn’t place an accurate description on the way his words affected her earlier. The only thing that made sense in her mind was when she repeatedly told herself how stupid she was. Why did she spend her hours at work, crafting this world in her mind where everything suddenly became so much easier? On what planet did ever finding out a person’s history make them any easier to deal with?

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Cat sighed to herself. A friendship with Peter would be impossible. Maybe for a moment, she thought she could see what everyone else did. What Hannah and Cam and Kelsey saw when they were with him. How come she was the only one that got his sour, hateful side? Why did he reserve the acidic insults, the frustration, just for her? And the moment she thought that maybe she’d earned what everyone else got...it wasn’t even real. Or maybe it was. But he just took it right away. She wasn’t sure what was worse. She wasn’t sure if she could justify why this felt like a betrayal, or like she was being punished.

The sounds of the room around her shifted from their regular consistency. People continued their daily lives, but while Cat lay her head back and punished herself for her few hours of bizarre idealism, the energy shifted.

She knew who it was. Something about the way he walked near her, the way he shifted the weight in the floorboards, was different than everyone else.

“What?” she muttered with her eyes still closed. Peter hesitated, as if he was making sure she was actually awake, and not just snarking at him in her sleep. Cat lifted her head to stare at him, glaring. She repeated herself: ”What?"

The grass was out of his hair, now. He’d managed to clean up a little, take a shower, put some color in his cheeks. Maybe it was the coffee. But his eyes were still bloodshot, his jaw clenched when he looked at her. In his hand, he white-knuckled his phone.

“What did you say to them?” he asked finally. She tried to discern what sort of expression he was trying to hide from her, but she was too tired to think about it very hard. Cat shrugged, gesturing with her hand.

“What to who?”

“To any of our friends. To Cam. Hannah, Kelsey. What did you tell them I did? What did I do?” Now she saw. Worry. His flawless record with their friends was in jeopardy. Paranoia, that finally his dickish behavior would come back to him and he would actually see consequences for his actions. But that was just it. This was the one time that none of that was coming. There was nothing to punish him for.

“I didn’t say anything to anyone,” Cat said flatly.

“Why are they freaking out?”

“You look like the one freaking out right now.”

“Look.” He shoved his phone to her, which was a big indicator for how freaked out he definitely was. Let her touch his shiny life support? Cat rolled her eyes and grabbed it to see what he was talking about. “Scroll up.”

It was the group chat Cam started. Barf emoji, breakfast for dinner request. Apparently leaving her phone in her room was a good move. They’d spent the last hour blowing up the group chat, asking questions, hypothesizing, reacting. Really? To two text messages?

Kelsey: 0_o okay...

Hannah: Uh that was...

Cam: Yikes

Kelsey: wtf

Kelsey: did i miss something

Kelsey: what happened?

Kelsey: Hello?

Kelsey: Why is no one answering?

Cam: uh

Hannah: uh?

Cam: shit

Hannah: so like--no one gunna answer that?

Hannah: u guys OK?

Kelsey: what is going on

Cam: Peter, where you at?

Hannah: wtf Cat isnt answering

Cam: I got hit with the bitch button. last i saw peter went to get coffee an hr ago

Kelsey: well Cat works rn so why would she answer

Hannah: bc she did when Cam text and she left work half an hour ago. and i just passed by on my way back from the library and jeffrey says she went home sick. im on my way back now.

Cam: shit they killed each other

Kelsey: what am i missing

Cam: she killed him

Cam: she’s hiding his body

Hannah: Cam, stop.

Kelsey: for real what am i missing. Why is murder a theory?

Hannah: cat isnt here

Cam: she’s hiding peter’s body!

Hannah: Cam i will make that a group burial if you don’t stfu

Hannah: her phone is here too wtf

Cam: well i WAS joking but now maybe not...

Hannah: she left for work 2 hrs early this morning. she got a call in the middle of the night and didn’t come back.

Cam: uh she was with me n peter. got invited to go home after the party and we came back and passed out. or i did. i just remember her putting me to bed and i passed tf out.

Kelsey: “got invited to go home” aka kicked out

Cam: idk the guy that invited us to leave didnt even live there so idk

Hannah: and then what?

The texts were recent, now. As she finished reading, an alert that Cam was calling took over the screen.

“Gunna get that?” The more she read the texts, the more the anger from earlier returned from her memory, tainted her stomach again. If she was physically capable of moving, she’d get out of the chair and go back to running.

Peter pocketed his phone, staring at her.

“What did you say I did? Why are they assuming you murdered me?”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Shut up. It doesn’t matter. I went for a run without my phone and that’s all they’re freaking out about. Why didn’t you answer any calls?”

“I was looking for you," he snapped. “Tell me what happened last night!” The irritation provided just enough energy to her arms to push herself out of the chair. Her legs shook, threatening to seize. She needed water and food before she got cramps. Maybe this burning in her stomach was enough to get her to the shower. But when she went to try and walk past him, Peter called to her again. “You said it wasn’t a big deal....”

“It’s not.” She didn’t look at him, but she slowed down. The burning felt more forceful, now, but in a different way. Like when her best friend from middle school moved away and said she’d call, but never did.

“This--” Peter started to stammer, searching for something to get her to answer him. “We argue all the time...but this.... This feels different.” Well, he was right about that. “What happened?”

Cat stared to the door, considering his words for a moment. The wringing in her stomach twisted from knots to physical pain, now. The more he was around her, the worse it got. He just needed to leave her alone, to just...stop this. All of this was meaningless. He had so much other pain to sift through, so many worse experiences to lean back on. What was this to him? A blip under the radar, a tiny mercy. For a few hours, she imagined how in an alternate universe, she might have supported him--but the minute she actually saw him, sober and true to himself, it vanished.

It was better this way. In reality, it would take just one argument for everything to crumble anyway, and it would hurt more than this. She was stupid for thinking there was ever a chance for anything to be better.

“Cat?”

She blinked and glanced up at him, but could only handle the pressure of his gaze for a moment before she shrunk into herself. She sighed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she murmured before she shoved her way through to the hallway.