Free Infinite Fear by Jacqueline Abrahams

my legs over
the side of the bed. That dream, that damn dream. It haunts my
subconscious and screws up my days. I dream it so often that I
casually refer to its aftereffects as my dream hangover. When I
wake up, I feel like I’ve been slamming back tequila shots all
night. The time on my alarm clock reads 9.30am, which means that I
am half an hour late for Comparative Literature. Still, I decide
against rushing, since there’s only thirty minutes left of the
lecture anyway, and make my way to the bathroom at the end of the
hallway.
    My shower wakes me up sufficiently to decide
against crawling back into bed and continuing the day there.
Wrapping my hair in a makeshift towel turban and donning my
bathrobe, my shower caddy and I make our way out of the communal
bathroom. Halfway down the corridor a shout breaks me out of my
daze. “Watch out!” Without thinking, I press my body against the
hallway wall and my arms automatically fly up to protect my face,
still clutching my caddy. My heart is racing and an all too
familiar knot of anxiety has formed in my stomach. When I
eventually muster the courage to open my eyes, I’m greeted by a
stocky dude carrying a football. “Are you okay?” he asks with
obviously feigned concern.
    “Fine!” I snap. “But consider playing with
your shit outdoors!” I turn on my heel and walk towards my dorm
room. I soldier forward indifferently, but my hands shake
uncontrollably, ever so slightly, and I swallow repeatedly to quell
the nausea that my anxiety has spawned.
    Clearly after my disturbed sleep last night,
this day is not going to improve at all. I reach my door and
strongly consider climbing back into my pajamas and reading Jane
Austen until the sun comes up tomorrow. Turning the handle, I
realize that I had forgotten to lock the door before my shower.
Just as well, because I also forgot to take my key. “Oh shit!” I
yelp as I’m greeted by the sight of an unknown male seated on my
roommate, Jade’s previously crease-free bed. The male’s face is a
mixture of shock and amusement, although the glare I give him
should shake him out of his reverie and should send the strongest
of men running for the nearest hills.
    “You’re not Jade.” That’s
all he says. No sorry for scaring the shit
out of you or you
may be curious as to why I’m in your room .
    “Well obviously not,” I retort. I’m well
beyond the ability to fake pleasantries today. I haven’t had my
morning coffee yet. “What the hell are you doing in here, and why?”
I snap.
    The guy stands, and I notice the crease he
leaves on Jade’s bed. Little Miss OCD is going to be slightly
pissed about that, but to my surprise, before answering me he turns
to spread out the offending wrinkles with his hands. He obviously
knows Jade well. In the four months that Jade and I have known each
other, I’ve never seen a guy on her side of the room. I’ve never
actually seen a guy with her at all. This may well be her new man.
As he is perfecting the bedding, my eyes can’t help but do a once
over of his body. He’s tall, maybe about six foot two, with skin
the color of perfectly cooked caramel, and his dark hair is cut in
a neat crew cut with impeccable lines. As he angles his body to
skim the bed’s edge back to its earlier neatness, I notice that his
arms flex tightly under his white t-shirt. His frame is lean and
athletic, and I can just make out a tattoo on his left bicep, and
another of a musical note on his neck. His ass looks equally
impressive in his distressed blue jeans. I’m careful to avert my
eyes back to his face and resume my steely gaze before he turns
back to face me.
    “Well?” I ask impatiently.
    “Name’s Jackson,” he answers, raising his
hand politely. I leer down at his outstretched upper appendage as
if he has leprosy. He pulls it back, a quizzical look on his face.
“I’m an old friend of Jade’s so I decided to drop by and surprise
her. This is my first week at Brown. Glad to see the