Just when I'm right on the verge of sleep, my phone rings. I roll over with a groan and reach blindly into the darkness, tipping over a glass of water on my nightstand. I groan again.

I jump up to grab a towel when I see her name flash across the screen. I flip the switch on the sconce above my headboard, illuminating the room in a soft, dim glow. I eye the clock on the wall. It's three a.m. A chill runs down my spine and I'm suddenly wide awake. I answer.

"Blaise?"

"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called so late."

"Blaise, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"I'm at the Pike. I think I'm having a panic attack."

Shit. "Where are the girls?"

"They went back to campus on the shuttle, but it didn't come back."

Fuck. "Have you been drinking? Are you drunk?"

She laughs, then hiccups again. "It's a keg party. Why does everyone keep asking me that?" She sounds irritated, so I keep my tone as calm and soft as possible.

"No judgment. I'm just trying to figure out the best way to help you right now. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers. She's breathing too fast.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up, rubbing my face with my hands. "Okay, I'm on my way."

"No!" she shouts. And then giggles. And then hiccups. "No, that would probably look bad. You don't have to do that. I just need..." She pauses. "I can't breathe."

"Okay, where are you, specifically? What do you see?"

"I'm on the hood of a car. I don't know. Trees? Stars?"

"Okay, good. Lay back against the windshield." I hear shuffling, but she doesn't speak.

"Are you laying down?"

"Yes." Her breathy voice resonates through my body. I lay back against my pillow, pulling one hand behind my head.

"Okay. Shut your eyes. What do you feel? Name five things."

"The hood of the car is cold against the back of my legs. The metal is damp under my fingertips."

"Good. Three more." I hear her shaky breaths. They're quick and uneven.

"Take a deep breath, Blaise. Three more."

"My skin is slippery." I don't allow myself to dwell on that, instead I focus on the sounds of her labored breath.

"Okay, two more."

"My knee socks are itchy." I chuckle at that one.

"Good. One more."

"My cheeks are wet." Jesus. My chest tightens at the thought of her crying, alone, in the middle of the night. She hiccups again, but otherwise sounds better. Her breaths still come in uneven spurts, but they're softer, slower.

"How do you feel?"

"Better. You're good at this."

I grin. "Still having anxiety?"

"So much," she responds. "I feel like I'm spinning out of control. The spins don't help."

Fuck this. I'm going to get her.

"I know. Lie back down. Close your eyes." I hold the phone between my chin and ear as I tug on a pair of sweat pants.

"Okay, my eyes are closed."

"Good. What do you hear? Three things." I shuffle through the back of my closet for a hoodie and briefly set the phone down to pull the sweatshirt over my head. I pick up the phone and practically sprint to the living room for my keys when her words stop me in my tracks.

"Your voice. It's my favorite." The feeling is mutual. I take a deep breath, willing myself not to read into her drunk ramblings and to definitely not respond the way I want to.

"Okay. What else?"

"Music."

"Good, one more. Just focus on what you can hear." I grab my keys from the hook and jog out the front door. She's still silent, but her breaths are deeper, more even.

"Those guys laughing."

I freeze. The hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention.

"What guys?"

I hear a deep voice shout undecipherable words. I slam the door and start the car. My bluetooth syncs up, and soon I hear the background noise at the Pike through my car speakers, but she still hasn't responded.

"Blaise, what's going on? What guys?" I ask.

"Oh hey! I think I know that guy. He's in my criminal justice class," her speech is slightly slurred.

"Okay, but do you know him? Do you even know his name?"

"Um, not really, but thank God they're going back to campus."

"Oh, hey." The voice is louder now, close enough that I can make out his words. "You're in Singleton's class? Blaise, right? Need a ride?"

"Say no, Blaise."

"Yes," she says. "Hey, I got a ride to campus!" she squeals into the phone.

"Blaise, please do not get in that car."

"But-" she starts.

"Please," I beg. "I'm on my way. Let me take you home." I take a right on Mulberry and keep my eyes peeled for the narrow, unmarked road that leads through the woods.

"Okay," she whispers. "Nevermind, my ride is on the way. Thanks for the offer." There's more shouting in the background. More male voices. They're getting louder, the voices sounding closer.

"Come on school girl," a deep voice cajoles. I floor the gas, and I can hear the tiny pebbles from the gravel violently pinging against the sides of my car.

"Let go of me." Her voice is even, clear and stern. I, on the other hand, am seconds away from absolutely losing my shit. I hear a thud, then a shuffle and a groan, and it takes everything I have to focus on the narrow road before me rather than the fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"Ow. Fine. I was just trying to help. Bitch." I have the sudden urge to punch some punk kid in the jaw for calling her a bitch, but I have a feeling Blaise may have beat me to it.

"Blaise!" I yell after I hear car doors slam and an engine rev.

"Yeah?" she finally answers.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." She takes a deep inhale, but sobs on the exhale. "They're leaving."

Now that I know she's safe, I reflect back on the man's words. School girl.

"Blaise?" I ask tentatively. "Are you in a costume?"

She hiccups. "Yep."

"Are you dressed like a school girl?"

"No, that's lame," she slurs, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "We all went as different Britney Spears videos."

There was a time when Britney Spears was my adolescent fantasy. That's not any better. I start to see a faded yellow glow through the trees. I'm almost there, so I set the images of her in low rise jeans to the back of my mind and focus.

I clear my throat. "Okay, baby, listen to me."

"You called me baby," she sniffles. Shit. I did.

"Listen, can you do something for me?"

"I like it."

"You like what?"

"That you called me baby."

Me too, too much. Christ, she is killing me. "I need you to keep an eye out for me, okay? I'm in a black Audi."

I pull into the nearly abandoned gravel parking lot seconds later. I don't see anyone else in the parking lot, but I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head just in case, partially concealing my face. When I look back up, I see her leaning against a car.

In pigtails. And knee socks. And the tiniest pleated skirt I've ever seen. I know this costume well. My roommate freshman year of undergrad had this poster hanging in our dorm.

She barrels toward me the second I'm out of the car, throwing her arms around my neck and pressing her barely clothed body against mine. I know from experience the heat and pressure helps soothe anxiety. That's why I hugged her the last time. But last time it was the middle of the day and she didn't look like the reincarnation of my teenage fantasy.

I gently peel her off me by her shoulders, and she pouts up at me, her bottom lip jutting out. There's a slight sheen of sweat on her skin, but she's shivering in the late October air. I pull the hoodie over my head and throw it to her, under the pretense of warming her up, but it's really so I'm not tempted any more than I already am.

"Okay, lets get you home." I reach for her elbow to steady her as we walk across the loose gravel, but she grasps on to my hand instead, intertwining our fingers. I feel the same spark I always feel whenever her skin touches mine. She gasps, and I'm certain she feels it too.