Chapter 4

The more reasonable Bryce sounded, the more unreasonable I looked.

I stood there like a joke.

Words piled up in my throat, but not one made it out.

I turned off my phone and hid in the dorm. At some point, I drifted off without even realizing it.

I dreamed of my first two lives, both of which began with that familiar mountain road and the bus jolting over the rough terrain.

Bryce held my hand and smiled. "My place is just ahead. My parents will love you."

But when we arrived, I learned the truth. His father had died long ago, and all that awaited us was a leaking mud house and five acres of thin, worn-out farmland.

"Life in the mountains is peaceful," he said. "It's perfect for building a good life together."

He took my ID and phone and put them away. "The signal is bad up here. I'll keep these safe for you."

I fought him, cried, and ran, but everyone in the village helped him. Every time I escaped, the villagers caught me and dragged me back to his house.

He never hit me. Instead, he would sit on the edge of the bed, watch me for a while, then sigh and ask, "Why can't you just understand?"

Slowly, I stopped trying to run. The days ground on like a millstone, one after another, as my life became an endless cycle of farming, feeding pigs, and raising the two children I bore, a son and a daughter. I never returned to the city, nor did I ever see the outside world again.

Before I died, I looked out the window at the mountains that stretched layer upon layer into the distance, surrounding me like a cage I could never escape.

I jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. The blanket was soaked through. The dorm room was pitch black, with only moonlight slipping through the window. I gasped for air as my heart pounded mercilessly.

No. I couldn't wait any longer. If I did, I would only repeat the same mistake.

He had already started closing in, step by step. Next time, I didn't know if I could hold out at all.

I had to fight back.

…

On Saturday morning, I dragged myself to the cafeteria with dark circles under my eyes. I hadn't made it two steps inside before I ran straight into Bryce.

He sat with his three roommates. The four of them occupied an entire table and blocked my path to the corner.

When they saw me coming, the roommate with dyed blond hair raised his voice, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, look who it is. You're here. Sit, sit. We were just talking about you."

The bespectacled roommate joined in. "Whitney sure thinks highly of herself. We've been waiting on you forever."

I ignored them and kept my head down as I tried to walk around. But all four stood at once, trays in hand, and hurried to the corner table before I could reach it. They sat down and blocked me again.

The blond-haired one patted the seat beside him. "Sit down. What are you hiding for? We don't bite."

I froze, my knuckles white around my tray.

"Move." My voice shook.

"Move?" The blond-haired one sneered. "Why should we? You own this cafeteria or something? We just want to eat here. Is that a problem?"

Bryce sat in the middle and said nothing. He simply watched me with a faint trace of amusement, as though he were enjoying a show.

I understood then.

They had done this on purpose. They had cornered me, pushed me, and forced me to give Bryce an answer in public. They wanted me to bow my head and admit I was wrong.

"I have nothing to do with him." I forced the words through clenched teeth. "Stop calling me."

The bespectacled one set down his spoon and leaned forward. "Nothing to do with him? Nothing to do with him, but you've been taking his water for half a month? Nothing to do with him, but he saves you a seat every single day? Nothing to do with him, but he asked the cafeteria ladies to give you extra food?"

His voice carried across the cafeteria, and people at the surrounding tables turned to look.

The blond-haired one picked up where he left off and tapped his spoon against the edge of his bowl. "I think you've just been stringing our guy Bryce along and playing hard to get. Am I wrong?"

The sharp, grating sound scraped at my nerves.

"Do you like him or not? If you don't, then say it clearly in front of the whole cafeteria. Don't string him along and waste his time when he could find someone better."

"Yeah, just give us a straight answer!"

The three of them hurled accusations at me one after another, as if they were interrogating a criminal.

More and more eyes turned toward me, and the whispers grew louder. I felt stripped bare in front of everyone, exposed for them to stare at and pick apart.

Humiliation surged through me like a tide and tightened around my chest.

I didn't want to deal with them anymore. I turned to leave.

Someone grabbed my wrist. The grip was light and warm, almost soothing.

It was Bryce.

He stood and looked at me, his voice gentle. "Don't go. Let's talk this through properly."

But the instant his fingers touched my wrist, memories of my first two lives exploded through my mind. The touch and warmth were exactly the same, and fear seized my heart like a snake coiling around it.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed and wrenched my hand free with too much force.

Soup sloshed out of my tray and spilled across the floor.

The entire cafeteria fell silent. Every eye turned toward me, filled with shock, contempt, and the thrill of watching a good show.

Bryce froze, his hand still suspended in the air. His face held exactly the right measure of shock and hurt.

"I only wanted you to sit down and talk this through properly. I meant you no harm." His voice was low and wounded, as if he were the one who had been frightened.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. In everyone's eyes, I was the one throwing a tantrum, the one making a scene, the one too foolish to recognize kindness.

My phone buzzed with a message. I opened it.

Then I laughed. "Bryce, since you say you meant no harm, why don't you take a look at this?"

I turned my phone around and held up the screen for everyone to see.