Chapter 3

There was no time to think it over. He forced the onlookers watching the commotion to scatter.

"What are you all crowding around for? Don't you have classes this morning?"

Once most of them had left, he looked down at me.

"Felix Coleman, what are you up to again?"

Why "again"?

Then I remembered. In my past life, I had asked the Advisor for help too.

On the first day off my medication.

This was what he had said:

"Felix, honestly, I don't see any problem with you not taking your medicine. Your professor even said today that you finally stopped dozing off in class."

His tone was full of the relief of having one less hassle.

He thought it was a good thing that I wasn't taking my medication.

With no hope of getting help, all I could do was beg Boris over and over to give my medicine back.

As I felt worse and worse, I bought a lot of fruit knives and kept them in my drawer.

But Boris was telling other people behind my back that I was faking it:

"He goes on about how sick he is. If you ask me, he's putting it on, just fishing for sympathy."

Another classmate let out a mocking laugh.

Now I seemed to hear that laughter in my ears again.

"Stop laughing."

"I'm not faking it."

"Give me my medicine. I need to take it."

My teeth were chattering as I glared at Boris.

"Sir, he's the one who sold my medicine."

The Advisor looked over at Boris.

Boris immediately fell back on the same old line:

"Sir, I didn't sell his medicine. He was drowsy every morning. As class president, I was worried he'd fall behind and drag the class down, so I swapped it for vitamins."

"Look, he's not drowsy anymore."

"I was clearly doing it for his own good, but he hit me and trashed the dorm room."

Boris sounded so wronged, as if he really did care about me.

The Advisor frowned at me.

"There's nothing wrong with what he did, either. Don't think you can relax just because you're in college. You're a student, and studying comes first. As for the rest, can't you just push through it?"

In my past life, I tried to push through.

And then I died.

My fingernails dug deep into my wrist, as if to tear the veins open.

Boris glanced around and moved to come pull me up.

I broke down.

"Get away!"

"Thief!"

"You sold my medicine!"

I saw Boris's phone lying on the table, snatched it up, and clutched it tight.

Tears fell in big drops.

Looking at the money transfer record in his chat app, I felt like I'd grabbed a lifeline, and pressed the voice-message button.

"Can you please give me my medicine back?"

"I'll pay. Any amount, it doesn't matter."

"Without the medicine I'm going to die."

Boris shouted:

"Felix Coleman, what are you sending from my phone?"

He panicked, and ignoring the Advisor standing right there, lunged forward to grab the phone.

Chubby didn't give him the chance. He stepped in front of me.

"Can you stop setting him off? If something happens to him, you're a murderer!"

"And you'd be an accomplice!"

He said that last line looking straight at the Advisor.

Once those words were out, the Advisor couldn't just stand there and let Boris go at me either.

He stepped aside to make a phone call, his voice urgent.

I curled up in the corner, dragging my fingernails across my wrist, over and over.

Both arms were covered in cut marks, so many and so dense it was frightening.

Chubby held my hands to keep me from hurting myself, and stayed there beside me.

"Felix, your mom's almost here. Hang on."

The Advisor called several people over.

But no matter how they tried to talk me down, I didn't budge.

I was waiting for my mom.

There was nothing they could do but close the dorm door so fewer people would see.

My mother arrived two hours later.

With a police officer.

She was drenched in sweat from running, and when she saw the state I was in, she nearly tripped on her bad leg.

"Felix!"

She couldn't crouch down, so she just sat on the floor and pulled up my sleeve to look at my wrist.

Seeing all the extra cut marks, her eyes went red with heartache.

"It's okay. Mom's here. Don't be scared, don't be scared."

In my mother's arms I felt safe, and everything I'd held in came rushing up like a tide.

"Mom, he sold my medicine."

"He said I'm not sick, that I'm just being dramatic."

"Mom, I'm not. It really hurts."