Alex is positively certain she now knows what a cornered animal feels like. Harsh breathing, trembling, eyes darting around the room, the internal battle between fleeing or fighting. This was not how she expected her Oil Painting class to go and it was quite the shock when all of the rooms in her hallway were asked to get in line for a drug screening. Lucky for her -or maybe not so lucky, considering she just has more time to freak out- she is towards the end of the line. With every step forward, it feels like the space around her is shrinking, smaller and smaller until the hallway ends with them hunched over and a mouse-sized door for an exit. It's like she's living in some trippy, anxiety-induced version of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. There's no oompa-loompas though, just some beefed up security, looking all imposing in their campus police uniforms and stun-guns. They're staring at her. She doesn't look at them to try and confirm it, she just knows. She's pretty sure that everyone is looking at her by now, whispering to her classmates, laughing and pointing at the basket-case at the end of the line.

How did this even happen? A year and a half, dozens of drug tests, and not a single slip-up! When was the last time she had checked Matt's phone? She was going to the other night, but Ezekiel was awake...Freaking Ezekiel! It's all his fault! ...No, that's not right. Not really. Alex has had plenty of opportunities since then... she had just....forgot.

The line moves forward a few steps...

Yeah, she forgot. So wrapped up in this showcase. Her chance to impress the school, maybe even her parents. A milestone in her budding career as an artist: her first time being featured in an actual art gallery.

Another three paces...

And now, it will most certainly be the last time. Will they even leave it up long enough for the public to see it? The grand opening is tonight, will there be a space on the wall where her painting used to be?

Five more steps this time, Damn this line is moving fast.

Is that what it will be like when she's kicked out of school, a blank space? A moment of "oh hey, that's where that one girl sat." Or "where did the gray-haired chick go?"

Alex isn't paying attention when she moves on auto-pilot and bumps into the girl in front of her. They hadn't actually moved forward yet...

What about her friends? Or...Oh God, Matt... She should have told him, she's had so many chances to confess. Did he really mean it when he said they could work anything out, together? She wonders if he's at the front of the line like last week. Has it really only been a week? No. He's not there, he's in Art History. Two blocks down in Marlowe Hall. If she ran fast, she could probably make it in less than five minutes.

Only two more ahead of her now...

Maybe she'd make it in time to ask him to run away with her before the big-bad-campus-police tackle her to the ground and taze her into unconsciousness. Maybe they could get away before she's hog-tied and a scarlet letter carved into her chest. What letter would it be? "D" for drugs? "A" maybe, for addict? Or they could keep it simple, like "F" for failure, fuck-up, faker, future-ruiner... She should beg Matt to take her somewhere, like Tybee island and make a mini-vacation out of it. Anything to get her away from the inevitable fallout.

She's next in line, now...

There's no hope for her at the college, she knows that, but they still have a chance as a couple. They can still rent that apartment he was talking about, he'd still go to school, and she'll figure ...something else out. And in their quiet, private, safe little nest of a bed, she will whisper to him all her secrets, tell him the truth. He'd understand, she'd make him understand then.

Her limbs are wooden, moving like a marionette with rusted joints when she takes the cup and enters the stall. She has to hold in a deranged cackle when it takes no time to fill the cup. You'd think, in her state of panic, that it would be a little more difficult to preform the task. It's just Alex's luck that she had just downed an entire bottle of water during class... along with another pill. There wasn't a snowballs-chance-in-hell that her test would come out anything but positive.

With heavy resolve, she hands the sample over, and with it, the one and only future she had ever envisioned for herself.   

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It feels like only minutes have passed when she finally receives a phone call asking her to come to the counselor's office. It's probably because she has spent the entire time roaming the streets of Savannah, mourning her life like one of the city's many spectors. She feels empty enough to pass for one, full of airy questions and regrets. Could'a, Should'a, Would'a. Her mother would have told her she was feeling sorry for herself again.

"Do you know why I've called you in here?" Mr. Hope asks. What kind of a name is that? Hope.. And a freaking counselor of all things. Better than a drill sergeant, Alex supposes. He even looks like a "Hope", all soft edges, warm smiles, and eyes that crinkle at the corners when they look at you. Through you. Matt has eyes like that. Alex cranes her neck to look behind her again, through the windows separating Mr. Hope's office from the main corridor. Students mill about, but she could have sworn she had seen him...Damn her headache. Too many pills...

"Alexandra?" Oh. Right.

She doesn't look back right away, "Uh, yeah," she mumbles at the glass. She finally gives up when her neck starts to cramp, Mr. Hope is looking at her expectantly. "It's because of the," she has to swallow down the lump that has formed in her throat, "uh-"

"-Drug test," he supplies. She gives a weak nod, still unable to work her throat right.

Mr. Hope rearranges the small pile of papers before resting on his elbow. "Yes, well," he clears his throat, "before we address the results, I must ask if you answered all of the pre-screening questions accurately and honestly?"

Should she tell him that she doesn't even remember filling out the questionnaire? That she was too busy fantasizing about hotels on Tybee island and midnight confessions? No. No reason to drag this out. Best to get a beheading over with quickly. After she tells him that yes, her answers were going to confirm her incrimination, he has her sign another paper — whether it was in ink or blood, she can't tell, they both feel the same at this point.

His chair lets out a painful groan when he hefts his weight out of it to walk around the desk. Alex thinks this must be some counseling tactic -the way he rests his hips against the desk and clasps his hands around his rotund belly, looking down at her like he's going to tell her that her grandma died- it must be in the manual , under "Bad News: How to Soften the Blow".

"I'm sorry to say," he sighs, "but your test came back positive. I've called your parents and..." she doesn't really hear the rest. Words come through sporadically, puncturing the black muck her mind has now turned in to. Words like expelled, flight, premises, tomorrow. She might not have gotten a scarlet letter carved into her chest, but she leaves Mr. Hope's office with a blood red folder that burns like a branding iron....

...and a brittle heart that disintegrates into ashes once she lifts her gaze and locks on to a set of familiar brown eyes... 

  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

 He looks like a man waiting for news in the lobby of an emergency room. Hunched over in the same kind of sterile plastic chair, his skin almost as pasty as the wall behind him. When his eyes dip to the red folder, it's all the confirmation he needs; "I'm sorry sir, but your girlfriend didn't make it..."

Alex shuffles closer, unsure of ...well, everything. He just stares at the folder for another painful minute. "Why?" one word, one question, but it's loaded with enough weight to crush Alex's lungs.

"I-I just," she wheezes. She doesn't even realize she's crying until she feels the tears tickling the edge of her chin. She can feel the extra sets of eyes on her, even though her entire universe is focused on the man in front of her. In a failed attempt to hold on to her dignity, She fumbles with the folder while she tries to wipe them away.

Matt launches himself out of the small chair so quickly that Alex yelps. He has to bend down to do it, but he levels his face with hers, only inches apart. "You just what? Thought you'd get away with it again?" She expected yelling, but this is so much worse. His voice is low, sinister, and ...resolute.

"Do you know who had to put together that folder you are holding?" He flicks her makeshift shield so hard, she feels it in her chest...and it hurts. "I did. That's how I found out, Alex. I had to type up your fucking termination letter," he grinds out before he straightens back up, pulling at his hair. Alex's brain is misfiring, he hurt her, he said her name, he even cursed. She was in a time warp, this cant be real. She cant move her eyes from the tiled floor, but in her periphery she watches him morph from anger, into something more manic. "Why?" he questions again, but now its high-pitched and cracking, "why didn't you tell me?"

Alex stands rooted to the floor, still unable to form a cohesive thought. Matt's panic visibly flickers out and he slumps back into the chair. "All you had to do was tell me. We could have figured this out, together." A long moment passes before he looks up at her, eyes so cold and sharp, it's like she's being stabbed with an icicle. "You knew that. And you still lied. You still used me," he spits the last two words with the venom of a rattlesnake.

There's so much more Alex could have done in that moment, but guilt does funny things to a person. Like making her give up fighting for the most important thing in Alex's life, the sun that lights up her world, before the fight has even begun. Out of all the things she could do, the only thing she can muster is a weak apology directed at the speckled floor. She doesn't chase after him when he storms out of the Student Services building. She doesn't yell out that she loves him, even though her soul is screaming the words. She just stands there, a ghost lost in the crowd of students...

...a wisp of smoke seeping out from a broken jar. 

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Word Count: This Chapter- 1,885 Total- 7,829