It’s still three weeks before I have to go back, but what I wouldn’t give for a week longer—hell, a whole month longer—where I didn’t have to answer a single email from a professor or explain the same concept to a student for the tenth time.
Where I didn’t have to sit in Ezra’s class, trying not to look at him, while every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire.
I could disappear—no forwarding address, no explanations.
Just… gone.
I picture the university scrambling, students whispering about the TA who ghosted the department, Ezra glancing at my empty chair during lectures.
Would he even care?
Would anyone?
Or would they all just keep moving, as if I were never there to begin with?
I could go anywhere.
Anywhere but here.
Some remote island, where the sun is warm and the breeze smells like salt and freedom. I’d be stretched out in a hammock, coconut drink in hand, the ice clinking against the glass as I sip lazily, not a single obligation in sight. No phones. No texts. No emails demanding my attention. I’d chuck my laptop into the ocean, watch it sink like a stone, and laugh as it vanished beneath the waves, taking all my responsibilities down with it.
But no.
I’ll be there tomorrow.
Of course, I will.
Like always. Like clockwork. Because that’s what I do. Because they expect me to. And because, despite every part of me that wants to disappear, I don’t know how to do anything else.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
A never-ending loop of fake smiles and forced enthusiasm—Oh, look how hard you’re working at school—as if I’m not barely keeping my head above water, drowning in deadlines and expectations.
The stilted small talk, the exhausting charade of pretending I belong. I’d honestly rather be buried under a mountain of coursework, no matter how drained I already am. At least there, no one corners me into debates I never asked for, pretending to ask my opinion on the political climate just to smirk when I say something they don’t agree with. As if believing all humans deserve basic rights makes me naïve.
But it’s nice to think about, isn’t it? Just… disappearing for a while. Slipping out of sight, out of reach.
I groan, pressing my palms against my eyes.
Snow beats against my face, sticking to my eyelashes, and I peer through the glass of the CPA office, catching a glimpse of the dimly lit Christmas tree in the empty reception area. The soft glow of the lights and the glittering ornaments almost seem to mock my predicament.
It’s the last thing I see before someone shoves a burlap sack over my head.
It smells like dirt and sweat, the stale odor making my stomach churn, and I scream as panic spikes through me, but the thick fabric muffles my voice. My hands instinctively claw at the material, desperate to tear it away, but they’re quickly restrained behind my back. I hit the ground face-first, the icy sidewalk biting through my clothes, shock robbing me of breath. The cold sinks into my bones, but it’s nothing compared to the terror pumping through my veins.
“Shut the fuck up,” someone growls when I make a sad attempt to scream.
A man, because, of course, it’s a man.
It’s always a fucking man.
I grunt, twisting like hell to try and get away from him. “You shut the fuck up,” I tell him, though I’m not sure he can hear me clearly through the sack over my head. “It’s not like I’d be fucking screaming if you weren’t trying to snatch me off the street like a fucking psychopath.”
On a normal day, I would probably not be able to find the wherewithal to scold someone trying to kidnap me, but it’s Christmas fuckingbreak, I’m too tired for this, and what the actual fuck?
I was busy contemplating running away from my life, and this is not at all what I had in mind.
I’m able to turn on my back, but it doesn’t make any difference.
