C14 ADALINE POV

Adaline Point of View

"You take me higheeeeeeeer, higher than I've ever beeeen!" I scream, letting Rihanna's Higher flow through me beautifully. The irony of the song, whoever takes me higher, feeling so high in love, all I can think is: it’s a long way to fall.

Nevertheless, I sing.

"Truth or dare?" Zoe asks, and I grin.

You see, we’re drunk. I’m on dark rum and she’s on vodka. We are stupidly drunk, but we have no worries, we can be stupidly drunk, eating pizza.

"Truth!" I yell, because yelling seems to be all I can do now.

"Mention the one time you were undoubtedly happy."

I take another bite of pizza, and I remember, I was sixteen, and in a river, swimming with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Elena. We splashed water on each other. Elena swam away, and he kissed me.I felt it in my toes. I wrapped my legs around him. I felt him push against me, and I wanted to sink into him. We kissed and kissed until our mouths went numb.

"Right now," I lie, and she nods, smiling.

"My turn. Truth," she grins, and I frown, thinking.

"What's your dream country? The best place you've ever been?"

Influenced by alcohol, she yells, "Romania, Poland, and Amsterdam!"

I smile, but it quickly falls.

I feel a prickling sensation. I lift my finger, and it’s bleeding. I see it, and I feel sick. Only then do I hear it. a chant, low and eerie. I walk to my window and look down.

I frown. Two women are standing there.

They're looking directly at me.

"Zoe, come here," I say, staring at her as she gets up.

"What?" she frowns.

I point down, only to find it empty.

The women are gone.

And the only proof they were ever there... is my bleeding finger.

What the fuck?

__

Spring Break is over, which is why I’m here, throwing myself into work.

I had the fight with Cyp last week. I haven’t spoken to him, and he hasn’t reached out. Understandable, we’re both busy. Zoe and I have gotten closer. I talk to her every day.

When we woke up the next morning, I could remember absolutely nothing. But I had a bruise on my finger, with no idea how it got there.

It healed fast, so I’ve chosen not to worry.

I’m wearing a crop top with high-waisted trousers, my feet in Air Jordans, and of course, a coat, the brown one I got from Ashley. I walk into class feeling hot, wiping my forehead with a handkerchief, dropping my bag on the desk. I set everything up as students begin to walk in.

The projector is ready. My notes are in place. I place the microphone into my top and test it out.

"You look beautiful, Miss Vulkov."

I look up to a full class and smile. "I know. But thank you."

I walk to the center of the podium, enjoying the feeling of towering over them.

"Today, we’ll talk about trauma," I say, smiling, then frowning slightly at the chill that settles on my skin.

"This is going to be as interactive as possible. Because I can assure you, we’ve all gone through at least one traumatic experience. Some of us don’t even know, because the word ‘trauma’ seems huge, feels like a label we don’t want. But by the end of this class, we’ll all understand what trauma actually is."

I rub my hands together and smile.

"How do we recognize trauma? There’s only one question to ask, and the answer will tell us: Are you hurting? This is a very deep question. It helps people get acquainted with the parts of themselves they hide from.

So, students, are you hurting? Are you in pain?"

I scan their faces as realization begins to dawn. I smile, because they are learning.

"Let’s define trauma. It’s the result of a painful event. It’s the aftermath, what’s left behind. It could be an accident where you lost someone, or maybe a part of yourself. It could be a breakup, your girlfriend cheats on you or rejects you. It could be the death of a loved one, a parent, sibling, lover… even a pet. It could be a friendship breakup, when your best friend becomes your entire universe, and then breaks your heart."

I take a deep breath, feeling a burn at the back of my throat, but I continue.

"Trauma is vast. There’s no limit to what it can be. There’s a popular saying, it’s even a song: ‘What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.’"

"Kelly Clarkson!" they yell, laughing.

I smile.

"I mean… that’s true. What doesn’t kill you might make you stronger, in experience. But it changes you. It makes you a different person. Some might say it even makes you weaker, more perceptive to certain things. A person who has gone through trauma may avoid specific triggers, something that could cause a panic attack, or even a psychotic breakdown."

I gesture, only to glance at my hands, and see them shaking.

Frowning, I continue, slipping them into my pockets.

"Trauma causes anxiety. Paranoia. Panic attacks. Psychotic breaks.

Insomnia. Even eating disorders."

I smile at the class and continue.

"This week, I want each of you to write me a 700-word essay about a trauma you’ve experienced, and how it has shaped or strengthened you as a future psychologist. It must be personal. I want to see into your mind when I read it. I want to see how healed you are. And do not use AI, I’ll know." I say, and they laugh.

I turn, then gasp. A sharp pain shoots through my arm. I try to push through, but my notepad falls from my hands. A stabbing pain pierces my waist.

I scream.

"Call 911!" someone shouts.

But all I can feel is blinding pain, like something is inside me, twisting, moving to my chest.

I scream again, collapsing to the ground.

I hear sirens. Rushing footsteps.

Then everything goes black.

__

I open my eyes, groaning, taking in the hospital room around me. I sit up, expecting a drip in my arm something dramatic. But there’s nothing.

I breathe in, touching my body, trying to feel the pain again.

But it’s gone.

Like I imagined it.

What the hell is going on?

The door opens. A doctor walks in, accompanied by Ashley and Daniel.

"Hello, Miss Vulkov," the doctor smiles. "I’m Dr. Malik. How do you feel?"

I lean back on the bed, smiling at Ashley and her husband.

"Uh… fine," I say, hoping my confusion shows.

"What happened to her, Doctor?" Daniel asks. "We were just told she collapsed, screaming in pain."

I frown. How are they here?

Where’s Zoe and Cyp?

"She had an ulcer attack," the doctor says.

"Excuse me?" I blink. That’s not possible.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asks.

I frown. "In the afternoon."

"What afternoon?" Ashley asks.

"Wednesday afternoon."

"Aurora, it’s Friday!" she exclaims. "Why haven’t you eaten?"

"I’ve been busy with work, and I sincerely forgot."

"And your boyfriend watched you starve yourself?" Daniel frowns.

I look away, overwhelmed by their concern and care. And by the news.

"You’re free to go if you want. I’ll write down some medication—ulcer relief and vitamins. For the next month, eat three square meals daily, with fruits. A balanced diet," Dr. Malik says, then leaves.

"Aurora..." Ashley says quietly.

"We were about to surprise you at school," she adds. "Then the paramedics wheeled you out. You have to take care of yourself."

I nod.

"We need to find you something to eat," Daniel says. "Some fruit . . "

"Rory!" Zoe bursts in, frantic and scared.