My heart raced, and, this time, blood did reach my face. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to concentrate on what to answer, but I saw Luke's face, and his uniquely plump lips, and his hands on my buttocks. I opened them again, quickly.

"What is it, David?" Lindsay said, seeing that he didn't know how to put it. But he didn't even turn to face her. He kept looking at me, with eyes full of... pity.

"Fleming&Florey and the Government have declared today the International Day of Immortality. I read it on the papers while waiting for our coffees. That was the front page title. Parties will be thrown all over the world tonight, to celebrate that none of us will be dying."

"Of a natural cause, you mean, because I am going to make sure some people do breathe their last." I roared, and I run to the stairs.

"Tess, wait!" Lindsay cried after me.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw that David held her wrist this time, and I made a mental note to thank him for that. I needed to be alone. I run across Broad Street and let myself get drenched in rain; drenched in something that made me feel wet, and cold, and heavy. That was my goal. To feel something. I kept running, entered Trinity College and sprinted across the long, dapper garden at the back until I couldn't move anymore. I fell on the grass and let it rain over me for a long time. Some students passed by, oblivious to everything under their umbrellas, and I didn't mind. Nobody believed in me, nobody noticed me, nobody saw me really. The one person that had managed to do so had left my life, so nothing else mattered. I turned around to hide my face on the grass and inhaled deeply to fill my nostrils with the always soothing smell of wet grass. Nevertheless, this time it didn't smell of autumn and yellow raincoats and hot chocolate, but of numbing nostalgia.

I tossed every piece of clothing into the bath when I entered the dorm at Worcester, and I did it with pathetically weak anger. Africa was sitting on her bed, engulfing Ben's Cookies, looking caught in a spell. She jumped when she noticed me.

"God, Tessa, you scared the hell out of me!" she shouted, as she threw the bag of cookies away.

"Can I have one of those?" I whispered.

She looked at me in surprise. She was probably waiting for me to start shouting and then crying like mad; shouting at any silly thing, just to have an excuse to cry my heart out. She looked moved by the soft, sweet tone I had used to ask for my favourite cookies.

"Of course." she said, mimicking my delicate whispers.

She crouched to take the bag from the floor before I could even attempt to do it myself. Then, she rushed to the bathroom to take a dry towel for me. I couldn't stand that everyone felt sorry for me: the naïve, ivory, demure girl who always pursued impossible dreams. But I understood that she had reasons to feel sorry for me as soon as I saw myself in the mirror. Africa's mate red hair was shiny compared to my sallow skin. Ironically, as I examined my reflection, she said:

"You look better."

She continued to dry me up with the towel. I turned around to face her and laughed.

"I mean, it looks like you're feeling better."

"Surprisingly, I am. I am just dreading going to bed."

I walked to the window and sat down looking at the lake. It was a starry night. The storm must have finished. My watch promised it was still six in the evening. I would have sworn it was already eleven, but I was old and unwise enough to acknowledge that time always did as it pleased. I munched a cookie and Africa did nothing but stare at me behaving like myself, bewildered.

"Aren't you tired?"

I nodded, still looking outside.

"I am, but bed exhausts me further. I think someone injected caffeine into my mattress."

I turned around to face her, seeking for words to explain it:

"Anxiety imprisons my chest and I feel even more out of myself. Even in the moments when I am truly relaxed, that... pressure comes to me." I pressed my hands against my bust so that she could visualize what I meant. "I can't get rid of it. Anxiolytics do nothing. It has installed in my body like a damn virus. I don't even mind not sleeping anymore. I just wish I could feel free. I think it's a remainder of everything I've failed in, and everything I should be trying to solve, instead of spending every day... wallowing. But instead of rushing me into doing something, it paralyzes me even more. I don't allow myself to rest, although, theoretically, that's what I'm doing. And that only makes it even worse, because if I hadn't set my head to take it easy, I could still have the hope that changing my way of thinking would change my physical symptoms. But it doesn't. So I am out of aces to fight back."

Not even the method of expelling colours that dad had taught me worked against anxiety.

"You ask yourself for too much, Tess, and you forgive yourself too little. And that's as bad as the contrary. And it's much worse for your health. Don't torture yourself. Even if you can't get over anxiety, remember that not everyone has achieved to kill death."

I smiled.

"No matter who distributes the treatment now, you know you did it. That's what matters, Tess. You know it, I know it, and everyone who loves you does."

I wrapped myself up in my arms, as I did in my bed every night since disaster had unfolded, trying to support my shattered thoughts. My mind drifted to Southwark. I tried not to think too much about Luke, but, at the same time, I knew I had to let myself feel the desolation, melancholy and hopelessness of my love for him, in order to get my soul cured. I didn't allow myself to think rationally about it, because those thoughts only built up on the irrational foundations of my in crescendo confusion, but I gave myself permission to thoroughly feel it.

I was about to throw myself headlong onto the bed when the phone rang.

"Tessa." Professor Abbey said on the other end. He sounded hasty. "I've been trying to reach you."

"Yeah, I..." I responded as I pictured my almost surely dead cell phone in the pocket of my soaked jacket. "My phone suddenly stopped working today."

"Oh, well, what an inconvenience. I count on you coming to the party here in London today."

I lied back on the bed, with my legs open in a ballet butterfly position. Luke's voice echoed in my inner ear, saying how much he liked seeing me lie like that. I pushed that cogitation away and concentrated on coming up with an excuse to reject Professor Abbey's proposition. As nothing popped into my mind, I decided to delay my having to answer by asking questions in an innocent, silly girl voice.

"What party is it, Professor?"

"Haven't you read the papers? What planet are you living in, Tessa?"

"I am sorry, Professor, I've been stuck among legal work the whole month."

He kept silent, as if he had just remembered the mess that I had been swimming in since our return from New York. I had definitely brought the essence of the city that never sleeps back home. I could practically hear him fiddling nervously on the other end. I had gotten very used to that. People not only felt sad about my tragedy, but were also intimidated by the obvious way in with I despised their pity.

"My apologies, Tessa." he blurred, at last, in a cringed voice. "I didn't mean to be rude to you."

It was me the one who felt sorry when he apologized like that. He sounded so feeble. Even if he would live forever like me, he would be almost seventy forever. My treatment didn't have the properties of a time machine. I hadn't thought about the many people that would be stuck with their limiting diseases and discomforts. They surely wouldn't renounce everlasting life, because they were very few, the ones courageous enough to face death on choice. I hadn't considered that group of people that may have been relieved by dead, but wasn't brave enough to actively decide upon it.

Professor Abbey's weak, ashamed voice interrupted my tenth millionth self-punishment session. He had backed off from the abruptness he was dancing in when I picked up the phone. He sounded as patient as he always was as he explained everything to me:

"Fleming&Florey are throwing the central party of the Day of Immortality here at the Tate Modern Gallery. Of course, invitation is very selective, but they have assured me that everyone in the student research group at King's is more than welcome."

I sighed. I struggled to grab all the remnants of my courageous facet, and tried to picture myself facing Kate Rosewood in a couple of hours. I couldn't. I would crumble in front of her, and she would smile at me with a champion smile. I couldn't go. She had already taken my scientific work and the love of my life from me; I wouldn't let her take my pride away too. Again. My mind run back to the moment when I had collapsed in New York.

"Oh, Tessa... Don't cry." Professor Abbey pleaded.

I hadn't realized that I was sobbing on the phone. I sat on the window again. It was the only part of the room that I found comfort in. I noticed Africa for the first time since I had picked up the phone. She was scribbling on her drawing pad, and she bombarded me with concerned looks every second. When she caught my eye, she nodded supportively. I didn't have to be alone. Africa would postpone drawing and come with me if I asked her too. As if reading my mind, Professor Abbey added:

"You won't be alone, Tessa. I'll be there. And, remember that colleague I told you about in New York? The one that was involved in a situation similar to this one? He'll be there too. And he's longing to meet you."

That surely did bring my curiosity up. That, and a dangerous, elusive hope. If Luke had been the one to treason me, he might probably be somewhere around the party, indulging in his triumph. I felt disgusted at myself for wanting to see him so badly even after suspecting that I had only been his link to success. But I did. And lying to myself would mean that I was betraying myself as well as him, and I wasn't prepared to cope with that.

"I'll be there in a couple of hours, Professor."

Africa looked up incredulously. Her eyes popped wide open, like blossoming flowers, and she moved her arms in her "What the hell?" shake. I understood her surprise, because I was still wrapped in a towel, and looking miserable. Moreover, I knew Africa could see that misery extended inward from the way I looked, and described the way I was feeling too. If I was feeling like that, anyway. I wasn't sure. I felt a weird combination of sadness, overwhelming curiosity and involving confusion. Even if I couldn't describe it in a single word, I liked the sensation, just because I didn't feel numb anymore. Since New York, I had become practically indifferent to good or bad. I didn't mind any of them. But I desperately tried to escape from the tiring, consuming numbness that, ironically, made me fly out of myself, over myself, and analyze my situation from the outside. And that was too painful.

Before Africa could open her always sincere mouth and make me quit my everything-but-recommendable adventure, I run to the closet, seeking for something adequate to wear. Truly, I was looking for more than adequateness. I picked my killer black dress and hoped that it would intimidate Kate and compensate my poor scorn-showing look. Looking angelical was a clear downside in that kind of occasion. I twisted around in the mirror and felt satisfied at how the pencil skirt of the dress contoured the curve of my butt perfectly. I shivered at the thought of Luke's gaze fixating there. I stepped closer to the mirror and erased the dark circles and the rest of the proof of my unbearable pain from around my eyes. I poured some drops of eyewash into my lacrimal sac and wowed at the sight of my irises shining bright again. I didn't remember the last time I had seen them so intensely blue. I couldn't help myself from smiling at my reflection, seeing myself look so much... like me. I grinned, glowing, as if I was seeing an old friend after a long time.

Africa didn't say a word during my metamorphosis. When I was done getting back the outside part of the old, real me, I realized that she had changed into a dark blue, fancy jumpsuit, and had then gone back to her scribbling. I hadn't even noticed her move. She sat on her bed like an outsider, like she was oblivious to the fact that I had just signed us up for a dangerous marathon. But she had known she was coming with me since the last look we had exchanged while I was still on the phone. I put on my red coat, she snitched her car keys, and we run downstairs, eager, to the start of our free fall.

What did you think of this chapter? What do you think will happen at the party? Let me know in the comments! I am entering the Wattys 2016, so, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote :)

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