Enough | ✔️

+ 13 +

"I'd estimate around 3,478 times to four significant figures," I recite to Hannah after she asks how many times, on average, I sigh per day.

She smiles at my reply, shaking her head, "Oddly enough, I don't think that's an exaggeration. If it somehow becomes possible, one day, you're just going to run out of carbon dioxide to breathe out."

I shrug, open to the idea.

Although we initially bonded over our involvement with an unnameable person, Hannah and I have become fast friends. Despite this, I haven't told her about my minor (well, major) meltdown earlier in the week. I've grown more lighthearted about it now that some distance has been out between me and the event, but every time I walk into my room I get hit with a flash of panic.

Speak of the fucking devil.

I spot a head of blonde hair and screech to a halt, grabbing Hannah's wrist. Warnings screaming at me in my head, I quickly stumble out an excuse, "Y-you know, I've actually got to... uh, go grab something from my room. See you later, y-yeah?"

Not waiting for her response, I turn around and walk back to the elevator, holding my breath and trying to walk at an unsuspiscious pace.

Please don't turn around. Please don't turn around. Please don't turn around...

"Quorra! Wait, please!"

I tense up like a deer in the middle of a chase, my feet thudding against the ground as I skid to a stop inside the elevator and hurriedly press the button to close the doors. Avoiding the gaze of Grant as he gets closer, the doors finally decide that it's about time to shut.

Sealed inside the claustrophobic space, I oddly feel more safe than I did outside. My heart slows to a comfortable rate as the elevator slowly progresses through the floors.

I pray that it doesn't stop before mine, fingers crossed so tightly that they were turning white.

To be honest, I don't know why I'm hiding from him. I know I've been dramatic about this and that girls have been through much more than a kiss on their neck and their chest being brushed. This is stupid. I'm so stupid. Get over yourself, Quorra, I scold myself. I'm so fed up with everything that I do.

Nonetheless, I exhale the breath that I'm holding when the digital screen above the doors displays the letter H.

The doors slide open and a pair of blue eyes pierce through mine.

Freeze.

"Q-"

Ah shit, why are staircases a thing?!

I shove him with inhuman strength and bolt for room H2, heart thudding like a stampede of elephants as Grant easily catches up with long strides. Though I long for the safety of my dorm, I force myself to hurry past it, knowing how easily he would be able to snatch me up if I stopped to hit my fists against the door.

Unwanted memories plague my mind in endless torment, taunting and mocking me like school bullies. My eyes meet his, wide with fearful anticipation.

He stays a few steps back as I press myself into the wall behind me, my dorm room too far to make a dash. I've cornered myself and as he takes a tentative step forward, I flinch.

"Quo, I didn't mean to do that the other day. I swear to god, Quorra, I don't know what happened. I'm sorry, but I just think I'm falling for you hard and fast and you just don't see it. Do I have to spell it out for you?" he speaks gently, as if to a child.

As he continues, my palms grow clammy, "I like you, Quorra, and it hurts to see that you don't reflect those feelings. I've never liked anyone like I ha-"