Dorm Room 210 [Original]

Prologue

All Rights Reserved Copyright of Kapsie (previously Broken_Dream07), Nicole Kaps. All content from above and further on also belongs to the owner. This story is for pure fun, enjoyment and entertainment. All related topics are fictional. The university is fictional and events that happen between characters do not necessarily happen in real life. Don't plagiarise, they say. Don't disrespect the author and cheat by taking her story. You have been warned.

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DUE TO THE PROBABILITY OF BEING HACKED I HAD NO BACK-UP FOR THE PROLOGUE AND THEREFORE HAD TO CREATE A NEW ONE. 

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Instagram: @nicolekapsie

Twitter: @wattpadkapsie

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A/n: I started the edit 2.0 on the 3rd of May 2017. 

A lot of terrible things happen in this world, and feel that I am part of the problem.

How we live knowing our actions cause a reaction is based on what we feel and think most of the time. What we do about it is up to each individual. The good and bad moments of our lives are fragments of our independent upbringing. There's no limit to what we can do and say when thinking about the consequences. We savour the happier moments anyway or else we stray with the guilt.

I'm not oblivious to the chaos asleep in my heart, or the tornado flushing in my head. There's a hurricane wheezing around my lungs, a summer heat bubbling in my belly. Pent up frustration hovers beside my ears, and poison lingers in my mouth. My flaws make no mistake about who I am. For five years there has been something wrong with me, and I can't let it go.

Images of two black coffins and a room full of people causes a shudder. Staring. Mourning. Aunt Stacy with a faint smell of acrylic paint on her clothes and her messy blonde hair piled up. It was the same shade as mine; the same as hers; a darker shade to his. It made me breathless and woozy. Running outside to catch my breath never felt so right. Twelve, alone, confused. Christmas Eve never healed the damage it caused. 

A gentle, callused hand wakens me out of my subconscious state. Stacy looks at me like she knows I'm not listening again. I don't plan to tell her I zoned out on the drive here as well.

"I asked if you were okay, Lillian."

Quirking up a smile, I say, "I'm fine, Stacy."

She doesn't believe me, and I'm not surprised. "If you don't want to do this we can go back into the car and go home. We can wait for second semester."

I shake my head. University is what I ever talk about at home. Three years before I graduated high school, I knew what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go. My therapist said it was a good start to moving on, although that reason never occurred to me in the first place. Stacy supported me and we managed through it. I won't let her down with my anxiety running at me.

"I haven't had time off yet and I won't start. You told me to go after what I want. I want to do this. Besides, it's not the school that's bothering me."

Adjusting isn't a problem for me; it has more to do with people than the environment. Yet the longer I stand here convincing myself I can do this, doubt begins to form. I wonder whether moving into a dorm room for the next three years is a good idea now. The suitcases feel heavier than this morning. The heat of the typical early March tingle my bare skin.

Stacy hugs me but doesn't whisper the encouragement I need. I feel it in the way she tugs on my shoulders and sighs against my hair. It's not the same but it's enough.

"Call me as soon as you get your room and let me know how Orientation went," she says. "Are you all right with your bags?"

I meet her brown eyes with mine. I nod and she helps get my grip on the last bag. She rubs my shoulders despite the heat and leaves with a small wave of her hand. As soon as her back faces me, the smile slips off my face.

No one needs to tell me what's going to happen. I'll stumble and scrape my knee. I'll make friends and have crushes, and wish homework can do itself for once. I'll make memories; good ones, bad ones. It's history repeating itself again.

And I am no less naïve than to think if high school was a means to an end, then University will be too.