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She shifts slightly in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her lips, and I freeze. But she settles again, sinking deeper. Trusting, even now. I stay there for several long minutes, my fingers resting lightly on her arm, memorizing the texture of her skin, the rhythm of her breath, the way her body unconsciously leans toward my warmth.

Eventually, I force myself to stand. I adjust the comforter higher around her shoulders, smoothing it with care, then back out of the room without a sound. The new violets wait on the counter like a promise. I take one last look around her space before slipping out the door and into the empty hallway.

The swipe card goes back into my pocket. The building remains quiet behind me as I disappear into the night.

Eleven

Sadie

Do I want to wake up today? No.

I didn’t sleep well. I think I slept about two hours, because I kept making sure there was no one by the window, and checking my laptop to see if the light was coming on. Now I think to myself, why didn’t I just close it?

I have no idea what’s happening. I don’t even have a clue who it is. I haven't really spoken to any guys in my classes, or around campus.

I should be calling the police, but I once read about this girl who had a stalker, and the police did nothing to help her, as they said they had not harmed her. I mean, where is the safety for women?

My fingers start to tremble at the thought of this person killing me if they wanted to. My heart hammers against my ribs. I take a deep breath, telling myself to calm down. If they wanted to kill me, they could do easily when they come into my dorm and leave the flowers for me. I mean, I don’t hear them come in or move around. I never thought I was a heavy sleeper.

I look around my apartment, and a cold sweat breaks out. What else is this person doing when they’re in my apartment?

I grab my sweatshirt and put it on as I walk out of my bedroom and stop. My arm is in the sleeve, with my head just popping out, when I see them.

New violets on the counter. The other ones still look fresh, and you can barely tell which ones are the new ones.

There’re six stems, they are purple-violets, sitting in the vase like they grew there overnight, like this is just what my kitchen looks like now.

I stand in the doorway, staring at them. I know there’s no point checking the door, because I know it’s locked. Looking around the dorm, I check to make sure nothing else is new. There isn’t. Then I look in my bedroom, making sure everything is the same. It is.

The rational thing to do, the correct, self-preserving, tell-someone thing, would be to go to the residence office this morning and file a report.

I walk to the kettle instead. I need coffee.

Walking to the sink, I stop and stare at my mug which is now washed and put to the side. Who is this man and why is he so interested in me? I don’t even think I’ve spoken to anyone to have any type of rection from them.

I stand at the counter waiting for it to boil, I look at the flowers, and I try to locate the fear clearly, hold it steady, and make it the loudest thing in the room. It’s there. I’m not pretending it isn’t, but underneath it, which is the part I have no interest in examining closely, something else keeps surfacing. Something that responds to the care I’m getting.

Someone’s thinking about me. Someone is taking time out in the middle of the night to give me flowers. That should scare me, but yet I make my coffee, take one last look at the stems catching the morning light, and then get dressed.

Maybe this morning I’ll tell the girls about what’s happening, but at the same time I’m not sure if they would even take it seriously. I’m still not sure if it’s all real. Grabbing my bag, I leave to meet the girls.

The girls are already mid-conversation when I get to Grounds. Now I’m not happy because Juno has the corner seat, my corner seat. She’s in the middle of something which involves a lot of hand gestures. Whatever she’s saying, she’s not happy about it.

I order a coffee, and walk to the table, and drop into the remaining chair. “What did I miss?”

“Juno matched with someone on the app,” Bree says, as if I’m meant to know what this app is. This is the first I’m hearing of it.

“He’s not just someone,” Juno says, almost shouting at us.

“She’s been talking about him for twenty minutes.” Bree shakes her head.

“Twelve. And he’s doing his Masters in architecture, Bree, that’s not nothing.” Juno starts waving her hands again, as if that’s going to make it less dramatic, but I press my lips together trying not to smile.

“Architecture means he can build things. He’s good with his hands,” I say, giving her a smile, and she rolls her eyes at me.

“That’s not why…” Juno stops then starts again. “Actually yes. Exactly. That’s exactly why. Imagine what he can do.” All of us start laughing, full on laughs, I quickly get up and grab my coffee from the counter, and I’m still laughing.

The door opens behind me as I sit down. “There’re no tables,” I hear Mason Crawford say.