Break Me

The scream wasn't hers. Not anymore. It tore through the fragile silence of the dorm room, a raw, guttural sound of terror ripped from the throat of a memory. Ella jolted upright in her narrow twin bed, the thin sheet plastered to her sweat-slicked skin, her own breath trapped in a silent, suffocating gasp. Only the frantic hammering of her heart against her ribs echoed in the pre-dawn gloom of Crestwood University - a frantic prisoner trying to escape the cage of her past.

Darkness. The smell of cheap whiskey and stale cigarettes. Heavy footsteps on creaking floorboards outside the locked door. Her mother's shrill, slurred voice yelling, "Leave her alone, you bastard!" A sickening thud. Silence. Then the slow, deliberate turn of the doorknob...

Ella squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the fragmented nightmare back into the locked box in her mind. She pressed the heels of her palms hard against her temples, focusing on the tangible: the rough texture of her black cotton sleep shirt, the cool metal of the locket clenched tight in her fist - the only thing her real father left behind. The digital clock on her cheap nightstand glowed 4:17 AM in angry red. Another night stolen. Even here, miles from the toxic apartment, the past found her.

A soft snuffle came from the other side of the room. Maya, her new roommate, shifted in her sleep, mumbling something about calculus. Ella froze, holding her breath until Maya's breathing evened out again. Relief, sharp and guilty, washed over her. The last thing she needed was to scare the one person who'd made a tentative effort to be friendly these past few days.

Ella swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool linoleum. She moved silently, a ghost in this small, shared space. The past three days had been a blur of orientation sessions, finding classrooms, and navigating the overwhelming sea of unfamiliar faces. Crestwood was supposed to be her escape pod, her lifeline. But the unfamiliarity was its own kind of prison, amplifying her instinct to hide. The uniform remained: black skinny jeans, a worn black band t-shirt (today, The Cure), a faded black oversized hoodie perpetually at hand. Armor. Camouflage. A declaration of mourning for the ease she'd never known.

Her stepfather, Gary. The name tasted like ash. Ten years of escalating cruelty that culminated two years ago when Ella, trembling but resolute, finally found her voice. Gary was now serving fifteen years. Diane, her mother, had called her a liar, a troublemaker, the reason their family shattered. The betrayal had carved a canyon between them, filled only with resentment and sharp, toxic words. Diane blamed Ella for everything. Ella carried the guilt, the fear, and the bone-deep knowledge that her mother chose a monster over her own daughter. Leaving Sofi, her eight-year-old sister, behind was an open wound that pulsed with every quiet moment.

She splashed icy water on her face in the shared bathroom down the hall, the shock helping to ground her. *Just get through today*, she told the hollow-eyed girl in the mirror. *Just survive.*

The fragile peace of the early morning shattered later that day. Ella was walking back from the library, cutting through the quieter side of campus near Elm Street, trying to mentally map her route to her next class. The late summer sun was warm, the air buzzing with the energy of a new semester. Laughter drifted from groups of students lounging on the grass. Ella kept her head down, hoodie pulled up despite the warmth, her headphones in (silent, just a deterrent). She felt like an imposter, a shadow moving through a world too bright.

Then her phone vibrated violently in her pocket. *Diane*. Ella flinched, the movement slight but instinctive. She shouldn't answer. She *knew* she shouldn't answer. But the ingrained guilt, the twisted hope that maybe Sofi needed something, maybe this time... her thumb slid across the screen before she could stop it.

"What?" Ella's voice was flat, bracing for impact.

The tirade erupted immediately, venomous and loud enough to leak from the phone. "Finally deign to answer? Too busy playing college girl to remember you have a family? Sofi's asking why you abandoned her! Selfish little bitch! You think Gary was wrong? He saw right through you! Useless! A burden! Just like your pathetic father! You deserve everything he-"

Ella stopped dead in the middle of the shaded bike path that ran parallel to Elm Street. The vibrant campus blurred. The sounds of laughter and chatter faded into a dull roar. Her mother's words merged with Gary's whispered threats, a cacophony of hate echoing in the chambers of her trauma. She couldn't breathe. The carefully constructed walls inside her trembled violently. She dropped her phone. It clattered on the pavement, Diane's distorted shrieks still emanating faintly. Ella wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing tight, trying to hold the shattered pieces together as the world tilted. *Not here. Not now. Please...* Panic, cold and absolute, seized her lungs. She was back in the dark hallway, the doorknob turning.

She didn't hear the bike. Not the whir of the carbon fiber wheels, not the shouted, frustrated warning that came a split second too late.

One second she was a frozen statue of despair in black, rooted to the center of the path, the next there was a jarring impact, a sharp cry ripped from her throat, the sickening screech of brakes, and she was sprawled sideways onto the rough asphalt, the breath knocked out of her in a painful whoosh.

"Jesus *fucking* Christ! Are you brain-dead?! Get the hell off the path!"

The voice was deep, laced with fury and an arrogance that vibrated through the air, cutting through the fog of her panic like a shard of ice. Ella gasped, agony flaring in her scraped elbow and hip where she'd hit the ground. Stars danced behind her eyelids. She instinctively tried to scramble back, away from the source of the anger, away from the pain, but her limbs felt leaden, disconnected. Panic, sharp and primal, surged anew, obliterating everything else. *Trapped. Danger. Hands on me.* She curled into a tight ball, arms over her head, trying to make herself small, invisible.

Strong hands grabbed her upper arms, hauling her roughly to her feet. "Look what you did! You scratched the frame! Do you have any idea how much this-"

He stopped mid-rant. Ella was trembling violently, her entire body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Her eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated terror, fixed unseeingly on the asphalt near his expensive-looking bike, tears streaming silently down her chalk-white cheeks. She wasn't fighting him; she was utterly frozen, lost in a nightmare he couldn't see, her breath coming in ragged, silent gasps that hitched painfully in her chest.

"Hey," his voice lost some of its venomous edge, replaced by stark confusion. "Hey, look at me."

She didn't. Couldn't. The world was tunneling, the edges going dark. Gary's face swam in her vision, merging with the angry stranger's silhouette. *Don't touch me. Please don't touch me.*

"Look. At. Me." The command was firmer now, laced with an unfamiliar urgency. The hands on her arms shifted, one moving to grip her chin firmly, forcing her head up.

Her eyes, huge, grey, and drowning in abject panic, finally locked onto his. Deep, stormy blue eyes, framed by unfairly long lashes, set in a face that was all sharp angles and breathtaking arrogance - high cheekbones, a strong jaw currently tight with frustration and something else, messy dark brown hair falling over his forehead. **Derek Blackwood.** She'd seen him already in the dining hall, holding court. Campus royalty. Privileged. Entitled. Dangerously magnetic. His expression shifted from anger to something akin to shock. This wasn't hysterics; this was primal, paralyzing terror. He'd seen girls cry before, but never like this. This was... visceral.

"Whoa," he muttered, his grip on her chin loosening slightly, becoming less forceful, more... anchoring? He kept one hand on her arm, less restraining now, more... steadying? "Okay, okay... just... breathe. Seriously. Breathe." He sounded awkward, completely out of his depth. He took an exaggerated breath in, held it, let it out slowly. "In. Out. Copy me. Come on."

Ella tried. She sucked in a shuddering gasp, choked on it. Her lungs felt like concrete. The dark spots multiplied. Derek's face swam. The sound of laughter and bike tires skidding to a halt cut through her haze.

"Holy shit, Derek! What'd you do to her?" A guy with spiky blond hair leaned on his own expensive bike, phone already held up, recording. Another guy, tall and lanky, snickered beside him. **Lexi Morgan**, Derek's current accessory, slid off the back of Blondie's bike, smoothing her designer shorts. She tossed her perfect honey-blonde hair and laughed, a high, cruel sound. "Ew, is she having a seizure? Or just trying to get your attention? Pathetic. Looks like a drowned rat. A *goth* drowned rat."

The sight of the phone, the laughter, the audience - it was the final trigger. The feeling of exposure, of being mocked, judged, preyed upon in her most vulnerable state... it mirrored her deepest horrors. Her breath hitched again, a desperate, wheezing sound that seemed to tear from her chest. Her knees buckled completely.

"SHUT UP!" Derek's roar was primal, silencing his friends instantly. He shot a glare so fierce at Carter (Spiky Blond Hair) it could have melted steel. "Put that fucking thing away, Carter! NOW!" He turned back to Ella, his earlier confusion replaced by a sudden, intense focus bordering on panic. Her eyes were rolling back. "Shit! Hey! Stay with me! LOOK AT ME!" He shook her arm gently but urgently, his other hand cupping her cheek, forcing her gaze back to his. "BREATHE! IN! NOW!" He demonstrated again, loudly, insistently, his stormy blue eyes locked onto hers, demanding compliance.

Driven by pure survival instinct, Ella locked onto his eyes - those deep, insistent pools - and dragged in a ragged, agonizing breath. Then another. Slowly, painfully, the suffocating darkness began to recede. The world snapped back into excruciating focus: the rough asphalt beneath her, the metallic scent of the bikes, the lingering ozone smell of her own terror, and the intense, worried gaze of the arrogant god who'd knocked her down. She was still trembling violently, tears still flowing freely, but she was breathing. Shakily. Shallowly. But breathing.

Before she could process, before she could pull away, the last vestiges of strength left her. Consciousness slipped away like water through her fingers. The last thing she registered was strong arms catching her before she hit the ground again, a surprisingly gentle lowering, and a muttered curse that sounded strangely like "What the hell is wrong with her?" followed by a softer, "Call campus security? No... wait... just... help me get her up..."

---

Ella surfaced slowly, like drifting up from the bottom of a deep, cold lake. The first sensation was the unfamiliar softness beneath her. Not asphalt. A pillow that smelled faintly of lavender detergent. Sunlight streamed through the window of... her dorm room. She blinked, disoriented. How...?

The memories slammed back: the phone call, the bike path, the terrifying blue eyes, the panic, the suffocating darkness, the laughter... *Derek*. His name surfaced from the chaos. And the phone... the recording... Lexi's cruel laugh... Humiliation washed over her, hot and prickly, mixing with the residual fear. She sat bolt upright, heart pounding a frantic rhythm. She was in her own bed. Her suitcase was open in the corner. Maya's side of the room was neat but vibrant. The air smelled like vanilla body spray.

The door opened. Maya stood there, holding two mugs of steaming tea, her eyes wide with relief. Her bright blue streaks seemed extra vivid in the sunlight.

"Oh! Ella! You're awake! Thank goodness!" She hurried over, placing the mugs on her desk. "How are you feeling? You scared me half to death! Campus security called me from your phone."

"Security?" Ella's voice was a raspy whisper. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, shrinking into herself.

"Yeah! They found your phone on Elm Street path. Then they saw Derek Blackwood carrying an unconscious girl towards the dorms and intercepted him. Thank god they recognized him, or it might have looked really shady!" Maya perched on the edge of her bed, her expression a mix of concern and lingering shock. "Derek explained what happened - well, his version. Said you stepped right in front of him, froze, he hit you, and then you had a massive panic attack and passed out. Security brought you both back here. They called the campus nurse. She checked you over - scrapes, bruising on your hip and elbow, and obviously the panic attack. Said you needed rest."

Ella absorbed this silently, the humiliation intensifying. Campus security. Involved. Witnesses. *Derek carrying her.*

Maya leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Derek... he looked... weird. Not his usual cocky self. He stayed while the nurse was here. Kept pacing. Looked genuinely freaked out. Like he'd seen a ghost. When Lexi Morgan showed up outside, demanding to know what was taking so long and making snide comments about you 'faking it,' he actually snapped at her. Told her to go wait somewhere else, that it was serious. Lexi looked *pissed*. He waited until the nurse said you were just exhausted and needed sleep, then practically bolted. But..." Maya gestured towards Ella's desk chair. "He left that."

Ella followed her gaze. Draped over the back of her utilitarian desk chair was a ridiculously expensive-looking, soft black cashmere sweater. It looked obscenely out of place.

"Said you might be cold when you woke up," Maya said, raising an eyebrow. "Weird, right? Considering he basically ran you over and you passed out from terror because of him and his idiot friends?"

Ella stared at the sweater. It felt like a taunt. A symbol of a world she didn't understand and didn't want. Carried her? Worried? Snapped at Lexi? It clashed violently with the arrogant jerk who'd yelled at her and whose friends had recorded her meltdown. It confused her, which only made the humiliation burn hotter.

"He kept saying he didn't mean to scare you like that," Maya added, watching Ella carefully. "That he just grabbed you to stop you falling after the impact and then you just... shut down. Totally terrified of *him*." Maya paused. "Between you and me? Lexi's nothing. Derek's current distraction. A bimbo who thinks she's the queen because he hooks up with her. He shuts her down like that? Unheard of. She's probably plotting your demise as we speak."

Ella pushed herself off the bed, ignoring the ache in her hip. She walked over to the cashmere sweater, her movements stiff. She didn't touch it. She grabbed her own worn black hoodie from the back of her desk chair and pulled it on, needing the familiar armor, the scent of her own detergent, the barrier against the confusing, invasive reality of the past hour. She zipped it up to her chin.

Maya was looking at her, a mix of sympathy and curiosity. "So... Derek Blackwood, huh? Quite the dramatic meet-cute."

Ella turned around, finally meeting Maya's gaze. Her grey eyes were flat, cold, a fortress wall slamming down. The vulnerability was locked away, replaced by a weary defiance.

"Thanks for the tea, Maya," she said, her voice devoid of inflection. She picked up her dropped phone from her desk (Security must have left it). The screen was cracked. A fitting metaphor. She looked past Maya, out the window at the sunny, deceptive normalcy of the campus. "But Derek Blackwood, Lexi Morgan, his bimbo flavor-of-the-month..." She took a slow, deliberate breath, the memory of his command echoing unwanted. *Breathe.* She met Maya's eyes again. "I really, *really*, don't care."

She pulled the hood up, shadowing her face, a shield against the golden boy who'd witnessed her shatter on the asphalt of her supposed sanctuary. Her life was complicated enough. Derek Blackwood and his world of careless privilege and drama were a collision she hadn't asked for and didn't need. She had Crestwood. She had survival. That was all that mattered. Or so she told herself, ignoring the unsettling tremor that lingered in her hands and the faint, phantom pressure of his grip on her arm. *Look at me. Breathe.*

**End of Chapter 1**