Darcy frowned. Quinn was within a pack, again. At this point, she had begun to think that he was doing it on purpose. Ever since that night, she hadn’t been able to talk to him at all; and he hadn’t tried to reach out to her, either (although he had said he would call her.) At first Darcy simply thought that he happened to be busy: he was either in a study group, or walking with ‘like, zillion people.’ She had also tried calling him several times, but he either didn’t pick up or hastily told her that he was a little busy. Seeing how he immediately looked away the moment their eyes met, Darcy was now convinced that Quinn was avoiding her for one reason or another.  She didn’t quite understand why he would. Even if he couldn’t stand her anymore, he at least had to talk to her about his missing friend, or take back Karl’s books, which, safe for the journal, Darcy had finished reading.

The second novella had no title at all, and Darcy had had a hard time figuring out the order of the pages, since they weren’t even numbered. Eventually she succeeded into establishing an order to the work based on how the plot developed. This one tells the story of two alter-egos of the same person. While one would thrive, the other would wane, and vice versa. Again, the characters were unnamed. The novella also had no ending. Karl had apparently disappeared before finishing it. The last page ended with the two alter-egos finally meeting one another. Darcy would have considered that as an ending in itself, but the fact that the final sentence was not completed convinced her otherwise. The work was either unfinished or had its remaining pages missing. All this she would have told Quinn, but he was avoiding her, so he ‘can go fuck himself.’ If Karl was reported dead, Quinn would have no one to blame but himself and his childish behavior.

During this same week, something else seemed to be bothering Darcy. She had a feeling that she was being followed by someone. She had assumed that she was imagining it, for, as of late, Darcy had not been able to sleep very well, and could not, therefore, completely trust her senses. Nonetheless, she couldn’t shake off this feeling of someone watching her. It was a very unpleasant feeling. Evidently, whenever she would look behind her, there would be no one at all; it was almost suspiciously empty. She had tried to convince herself that it was all in her head, and that she was not, in fact, in a thriller movie. However, even now as she glared at Quinn’s back, she felt shivers crawl across her spine at the feeling of someone right behind her. Her hazel eyes, paranoid, looked back. Again, nothing. Just people, here and there, walking or talking. She gulped. What is going on? Her eyes shifted from one face to another, wondering if any would look back at her, if any would have that same sinister energy that she had felt crawl up her skin. None.

Darcy was scared. She needed somewhere safe, somewhere where she wouldn’t be found alone. She stiffly walked towards Quinn’s group, who were sitting cross-legged on the grass. She would much rather be humiliated by a bunch of simpletons than be killed or abducted. Was she not so focused on what’s behind her, she would have noticed how everyone looked at her, including Quinn himself, who seemed quite surprised. Silently, she sat down next to him. She then hugged her knees, and buried her face in the gap between them and her chest. Quinn said something but she didn’t hear it. She had blocked off any noise that was not coming from behind her. When he placed a hand on her shoulder she shrieked. Then, Darcy finally became aware of her surroundings: numerous eyes, all piercing her with looks of confusion, and Quinn’s voice, calmly asking her what was wrong. Not wanting to see them, she turned towards Quinn, who had a concerned look on his face.

“What the hell happened, Darcy?” He repeated to the frightened hazel eyes. It was there again, whatever was watching her. Darcy stiffly looked behind her shoulder, then turned back to Quinn, who had followed her eyes.

“What is it? Is someone bullying you?” His voice was gentle and warm. “Just tell me who they are.” Darcy nodded a ‘no.’ She would have told him, but there were so many eyes, so many, too many. She was being consumed by the infinite stares absorbing her being and leaving her void. With shaking hands, she opened her bag and took out her notebook. She placed it on the grass and started madly writing. She then shoved it in front of Quinn’s face. He softly took it from her hands and read: ‘SOMEONE IS FOLLOWING ME! HELP!’ Quinn’s ocean-dipped eyes glanced at her guiltily. He hesitantly took the pen from her shaking hand, and wrote ‘come with me.’ He then handed her both items, and stood up. He nodded at his friends that it was all alright, a gesture that the trembling Darcy did not notice. She struggled to stand up while simultaneously looking behind her. Quinn leaned towards her, and placing an arm around her waist, helped her up.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He whispered reassuringly.

When Darcy was herself again, she was in an unfamiliar room. She was holding a cup of water in her hands. There was a blanket on her shoulders. She looked around, trying to locate herself. Then, seeing Quinn walk in, she instantly felt at ease. When their eyes met, Quinn flinched slightly, and then smiled warmly.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, sitting on a chair placed in front of her. She realized that she was sitting on some couch. In the back of her mind, she wondered why he wasn’t sitting next to her when there was a lot of free space.

“What happened to me?” She took a sip of water.

“You were half-conscious. I took you to your room, but you said you forgot where your key was. I didn’t want to search through your stuff so I brought you to my room.”

“I don’t remember...”                                                                                   

“Yeah. You pretty much fainted by the time we got to the boys’ dorm. I had to carry you here.”

“Fuck... sorry...” She mumbled, placing a hand on her forehead. “Must’ve been a pain.”

“Nah you didn’t do anything wrong... Rather it’s me who should... apologize.” Hearing this, Darcy remembered how Quinn had been avoiding her for a week. She felt her anger resurface now that she felt safer.

“Save it. I just want to know who the fuck is following me and why.” She said while looking down.

Quinn stared at her, frustrated. He let out a sigh before he spoke: “I... don’t know either. How long has this been going on?”

“Since you started avoiding me.”

Another pang of guilt stabbed the man’s heart. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided to keep it to himself.

“I think I should call the cops.” Darcy added, staring blankly. “I can’t live with this paranoia.”

“But do you have proof?”

“No... But I am sure of it... someone is definitely following me, and they’re up to no good, either.”

Quinn bit his lower lip, conflicted. Maybe he could ask her to stay with him for a while. But then, all his effort to put a distance between them would crumble. Even now, just looking at her shook him up. He sighed. This was wrong. This should not be happening. She was already...

“I should get going...” Her voice startled him out of his thoughts.

“What? Where? Didn’t you say you were being followed?”

“Yeah, but I can’t stay here forever, can I?” Darcy placed the cup on a round table placed next to the couch and neatly removed the blanket from her shoulders. Quinn watched her with frustration in his eyes.

“My bag. Where is it?”

Quinn pointed to a corner in the room. She walked towards it then knelt down to open it. She then walked back to him, two bundles of papers in her hands.

“These belong to you. I placed all my notes and stuff here, in case you want to read them. I was going to give them to you this morning, but you know, shit happened. Anyway, I’ve done what I could. I hope you can find Karl.”

Leaving him no time to say anything, she stepped towards the door. “Goodbye, and thanks for looking out for me.” There was a door slamming sound, before silence flooded into the room.

Quinn’s eyes looked at the papers between his fingers. Yellow stickers were placed here and there. He skimmed through them. They were mostly written in red, apparently Darcy’s effort to attract his attention, and always had arrows pointing to that specific sentence or paragraph. With his thumb, Quinn caressed their soft texture.

“I’ve fucked up.”