Hollows In Time (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book Ⅱ

Chapter Thirty-Two

^ quick reminder that our girl is beyond gorgeous ^

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After my breakdown, it had been established that I would start therapy sessions. Again. It reminded me of that, after my breakdown back home, my parents had also found me a therapist.

I had a therapist; my parents thought I was dealing with post traumatic stress—it could've been that, or it could've been the fact that my best friend died at the hands of the man I loved, and then that life was stripped away from me.

The therapy sessions wouldn't start for a while since they had to employ someone externally. Meaning that they would come from the 'real world'. Meaning that they had to stay here forever, and never spread word of this place. It must be a high pay, or I can imagine a lot of people turning down the jobs the Academy offers.

I wasn't permitted to go to school today—for obvious reasons—and Jameson checked in on me every five minutes. I reckoned it was a tiring task, but he continued to carry it out anyway.

I heard a creak. "I'm fine." I spoke up before Jameson could pop his head into my room. I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just sick of Jameson's persistent worry. He has always been persistently worried.

But Jameson's head didn't come around the door. Nothing happened for a good few minutes. And then something hit my wall.

I jumped up from my bed and screamed, getting caught on my duvet and crashing down to the floor, yelling in pain as I bashed my knee into the hard floor. Jameson ran in and observed the scene in mega speed. Then he ran over to the window. He pulled out his phone. He dialled. I whimpered and pulled my legs up to my chest, scooting into a corner of my room, away from all the havoc.

Shouts were heard from outside and Jameson shoved the window open. "I don't think that's suitable behaviour on school property!" He yelled down at them and I jumped. Quickly, he turned from furious to down-to-business as he spoke on the phone.

I couldn't hear what he was saying. I was too busy cradling my injured knee. The phone call ended and Jameson slammed the window closed with such force that the cracks in the already shattered window started to reach out, flagitious fingers fanning out, seizing its next victim, proliferating out, until the window was completely besieged with clawing cracks. It reminded me of my mind. There were cracks in my mind. And something just as small as something bursting through my window can set it off. And then the terror spreads.

"We need a new window." Jameson turned around casually, phone still in hand. You don't say. Then he saw me. He forgot all about his phone, letting it get lost in my bed, and hurried over to where I sat, curled up in a ball on the floor. He reached out. I flinched.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He assured me.

Tears fell from my eyes. "I know."

Jameson did a double-take. "You do?" He asked. I was about to let my fifteen year old self roam free. But I wasn't ready.

Instead, I joked it off, "Yeah, it's your job." I had said something similar when I was fifteen, believing the only reason that Jameson could possibly want to protect me is because he gets paid to do it. And I used it now for the same reason. Because I didn't believe that he could ever be willing enough to put his own life before mine for absolutely nothing in return.