The sun is setting by the time I come out of it. It’s like my vision snaps back into focus. Like I’ve broken through some kind of barrier inside my own head.
I start shaking.
Goddammit. I was doing so good lately, too.
My legs are heavy when I push myself to my feet. I rub my thighs to get some life back into them and warm up my hands. I swipe the back of my hand under my nose before heading to the dorm.
* * *
SO HERE’S A thing that happens when my depression gets especially bad.
I start dissociating.
I write my name on my algebra midterm Wednesday morning, and the letters make no sense. Like, how does this mess of made-up lines spell out a word that represents my entire existence?
I spend the whole hour staring at my name and trying to see myself in it.
Delilah bumps me when she stands up and gives me a look over her shoulder as she heads toward the front of the room with her backpack and exam. Jade’s waiting for her by the door, and the room is almost empty.
Panic surges through my chest when I look down at my blank paper. “Shit, shit, shit,” I say under my breath, scrambling to get something done. I only manage two equations, probably not even right, before Professor Morris calls time. I put my face in my hands and breathe in deep.
Kill me.
There are two other people left in the room, and of course one of them is Cauler. He sets his test on the desk and looks at me. My eyes are heavy with the grimy feeling of unshed tears and lack of sleep.
Still, I manage to hold his stare. He tilts his head and gives this curious, narrow-eyed look to the paper clenched in my fist.
“I’ll take that, Mr. James,” Professor Morris says.
My heart lurches. I give Cauler one more look like mind your damn business and turn to face my first F of the semester.
“So, uh…” I start once Cauler’s almost out the door.
“I noticed a lot of staring,” Professor Morris says when I don’t continue. “Not much writing.”
“Yeah, I…” I look down at all the white space on my exam paper. “I have this … this brain thing. Going on. I guess.”
“What kind of brain thing?”
I can’t meet her eyes. She doesn’t look mad or annoyed or anything. More like concerned. It’s not something I’m used to.
“I’m not trying to push,” she adds. She leans forward and folds her arms on her desk. “Are you alright?”
There’s a lump in my throat. Like having this person I’ve never spoken to care enough to ask if I’m okay has me all choked up. I should lie. I can hardly talk about this with Nova, and I love her. The second I tell a person of authority what I’m dealing with, they’ll be checking in on me all the time and I’ll never know peace.
“I mean.” My next breath is watery. I look down at my shoes so she can’t see my eyes tear up. Like she can’t hear it in my voice. “Not really?”
“Have you been to the counseling center?”
I shake my head.
“You should consider it. Freshman year is tough, and being an athlete only makes it harder.”
I shrug one shoulder.
“There’s nothing shameful in seeking help. You can also let your other professors know you’re struggling and they should work to accommodate you better. We’re your teachers. We’re on your side.”
“Okay.”
She holds her hand out for my exam. I hesitate for a second before passing it over. She doesn’t even look at it. Just folds it in half and tears it up. “My office hours on Monday are eleven to one and four to six. Either of those times work for you?”
“Eleven, I guess.”
“Why don’t you stop by and take your exam then. I’ll make sure you stay focused. Sound good?”
I gape at her for a moment before stammering, “Uh, yeah. Good. Sounds good. Thanks.”
She gives me this sad smile. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I almost trip over myself in my hurry to get out. I keep my head down and skirt around people on the paths back to my room, heart palpitations making me feel light-headed and nauseous all the way. But at least I make it back to my room before breaking down completely, back sliding against the door until I’m sitting on the floor with my face in my hands, sobbing.
If I can’t make it through a semester of college, how am I ever gonna make it in the NHL?
* * *
PROFESSOR MORRIS GIVES me the number for the counseling center when I go in to retake my exam. Even offers to walk me there, but no thanks. I have the number typed into my phone later that afternoon, thumb hovering over the call button, but Dorian and Barbie walk in and I clear it out and don’t try again.