They tell you that the sky might fall
They'll say that you might lose it all
So I run until I hit that wall
— Run by Collective Soul

"I'm spending the weekend with my family," Victoria said from the other side of the room. "Will you be okay here alone?"

"I'll be fine," I said, focusing on doing my Economics paper. "Liam invited me over to the soccer house. He said they're doing a horror movie marathon tonight."

"I can't believe I'm being dragged to another Derby party," she wailed.

My fingers stopped mid-air. "Derby? You know, I'm now hella curious. What do your parents do?" I asked.

"My family owns seven of the largest wineries in the world," she answered with a sense of ownership in her voice.

"Girl, that's sick," I exclaimed. She was from high society, which explained how she carried herself when she wasn't out partying.

"They were disappointed that I wanted to pursue fashion design. But they got over it within three months."

Another week in hellish paradise had passed. My schoolwork piled up like nobody's business, and I was overloaded with caffeine from being sleep-deprived. My nightmares didn't stop, and it only became worse, but I managed to keep the lingering feeling of depression at bay by keeping myself distracted with school and friends.

My mornings were a routine. I'd wake up around three in the morning from the same nightmare, and I'd stay in bed with empty thoughts and a sunken heart, the streaks of sunrise being my indicator that it was time to get ready. Victoria would wake up just before I'd leave to get my dose of morning caffeine, we'd wish each other a good day, and then I'd go to Starbucks, where Gray would be waiting. He did it for the pure-driven pleasures of pissing me off since I told him I didn't want to see his face so early in the morning.

Victoria and Liam were still friendly to each other, which was relieving even though their interactions had lessened dramatically. Every night, Victoria and I would watch Supernatural, and once she was asleep, I'd give Gray an update on how she was doing. The communication went both ways; it was nice hearing that he and Isaac were doing their best to make Liam feel better.

The next morning after the night he showed up covered in bruises, I woke up with a sticky note on my forehead that said: Thanks, Shortcake. Charming, indeed. I called him up to ask how he was feeling, and although he assured me that he was fine, it still didn't ease the angst in my chest and the curiosity of how he acquired the injury. Different possibilities swam in my head, each as ridiculous as the last. As a token of gratitude, he suggested that we finish watching the French soap opera, and that was exactly what we did last weekend, spending the entire two days slumped on the couch in the soccer house. We even managed to lure in the other guys, who in no time became as addicted as we were.

●     ●     ●

It was five o'clock in the afternoon, and I was getting ready for my first session with my new therapist. I stared at my reflection, groaning at the sight of the dark bags under my eyes. I looked like the walking dead.

Making my way to the east gate, a group of Brickfields' high school students walked past me, and I couldn't stop myself from staring at their uniforms. It looked elegant from the maroon blazer with shiny silver buttons to the white dress shirt inside, accessorized with a red and black striped ribbon and golden brooch. The girls wore a maroon mini skirt, while the boys wore slacks.

I stared at the group until they faded into the distance, still charmed by their uniforms and bewildered by the fact that they had classes on a Saturday. Everyone knew it was only the elite and who's who in the world that went to Brickfields High School, and they only enrolled two hundred students per year.

Shrugging away the cloud of thoughts, I continued on until I reached the gate, then I pulled my phone from my pocket to open Google Maps.

"Summer."

I spun around, a frown making its way to my lips as soon as I saw the guy who chased after me at the party last week. I scanned the area, spotting a Harley nearby and immediately assuming it belonged to him.

"What do you want?" I questioned.

"I want to apologize for chasing after you unannounced a few weeks ago. I should've introduced myself first."

"Okay."

"William Simmons." He ran a hand through his gelled hair, and I raised an eyebrow at him. "My name is William Simmons."

I nodded. "Well, I have to go."

"I don't understand why he hasn't told you yet." His eyes were intent as he met my gaze. "But you should be careful. I'm sure you've heard the rumors."

"About what?"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," chimed another voice.

Scarlet strutted towards us in her high heels, her hips swaying and hair bouncing with every step. She wore a white ruffle sleeve crop top matched with a pair of black leather jeans that emphasized her slim figure.

"Hey, Summer," she greeted pleasantly, stopping right in front of me. "I haven't seen you around lately. How are you?"

"I've been good. Adjusting. What about you?"

"Stressed out of my mind," she whined, rolling her eyes. "Theater and Drama is not as easy as it was advertised."

"I'm yet to find a course that's advertised accurately."

"True," she huffed, turning to William. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"Not exactly. He just introduced himself."

"I see," she nodded. "I'll see you around then."

I turned on my heel and carried forward, away from them.

My therapist's office was a forty-minute bus ride since there were five stops in between. But that was only if traffic was nonexistent, and based on my trustworthy source called Google, walking would only take about twenty minutes.

I strolled down the bustling streets, enjoying the gentle breeze and taking a mental note of the restaurants I found appealing in case I wanted to have a meal outside.

I arrived at my therapist's office three minutes earlier than expected, and the receptionist guided me to Clarisse Haven's room.

The room looked like a perfect magazine cover with polished floors and beige walls. Two cream-colored couches faced each other on the white carpet, and both were inlaid with fine pastel-colored silks, the flowers embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in. But I knew they took hundreds of hours to sew. Situated at the center of the carpet was a square-shaped coffee table with a pitcher and an empty glass turned upside down on a coaster. The white curtains were linen, the kind of white that was untouched by hands and devoid of dust.

Clarisse walked in soon after. She wore a white long sleeve bodycon dress, her heels clicking on the floor as she approached me. Her hair was a beautiful mousy blonde curled away from her face. She looked like she was in her early thirties, but she was forty-four, and it was hard to say that she was a therapist since she looked more like those elegant, classy rich moms. Guessing from her outfit and styled hair, she must have had a lovely dinner awaiting her.

"It's nice to meet you, Summer. Please have a seat," she offered, sitting on the single couch.

Clarisse had a soft, calm voice. It was the kind you heard in podcasts, and it would either urge you to listen more or go to sleep.

"It's nice to meet you too," I replied, following obediently.

"How have you been doing?" she asked.

"Well, I-I-" My eyebrows furrowed as I struggled to gather my thoughts.

I was ready to talk about the nightmares, but I was now literally at a loss for words. I stared at her blankly, carefully choosing which words to use because saying things too bluntly, such as: recently, I feel like ending my life, would only cause more pain than there already was.

Releasing a heavy breath, I decided to say the less painful but most accurate thing to describe what I was feeling. "I miss my mom so much," I muttered.

Her face softened. "I know you do."

She stood to her feet and walked over to the desk, taking something out from the drawer. Then she sat beside me on the couch and placed a lollipop on my palm, smiling fondly.

"Sugar makes people happy," she said with conviction.

"It's just fake happiness," I thought out loud, dropping my gaze as I twirled the lollipop between my fingers. "When we consume sugar, our brain releases dopamine that tricks us into thinking that we're happy when in reality, we're not."

Clarisse hummed thoughtfully. Not daring to look at her, my eyes remained downcast.

"You're right," she decided, "but it'll also depend on how that sugar associates with a memory."

I raised my head. "What do you mean?"

The way she smiled reminded me of my mother, and at that brief, quiet moment, a memory of when I was twelve years old flashed before my eyes. It was just like this; me sitting down on the couch with her next to me, my head resting on her shoulder as I listened to the stories she shared about her life in South Korea.

"I have a daughter, and she's eight now," Clarisse began. "When she was five, she was diagnosed with leukemia. It's hereditary from my mother's side, and I thought it would skip her too as it did with me, but unfortunately, she got it. It wasn't easy seeing her that way, especially with her age."

Researching about diseases and cancers after discovering my mother's condition, I learned that leukemia was more common amongst children. Reading about it made me cry, thinking about how unfair it was for kids to undergo uncertainty at such a young, tender age.

Clarisse continued, her eyes vulnerable. "One day, her brother went to the hospital and gave her a lollipop. They were never really close, and she refused it at first. But instead of his usual coldness, he said: sugar makes people happy. That was the first time in a long time I saw her smile."

I looked at the lollipop and thought about everyone who experienced more difficulties than me and still got through it. How could life be so cruel yet blissful at the same time?

"You see," she spoke, her tone even, "people remember things more when a memory is associated with them. It's always on how people react to things that create memories. If you react badly, then the outcome you receive would be—"

"Bad," I interrupted, still staring at the lollipop. "That's karma."

"Karma is the result of our actions."

I lifted my head to look at Clarisse. "But how would we know if what we choose to do will have a good or bad outcome? How would we know if it's right or wrong?" I wondered.

"We cannot," she replied, staring far into the distance. "Life always goes on by taking risks; there is no golden rule. The only way to find out is to make the decision and see how it turns out. The best we can do is predict the consequences and understand that decisions are based on what we know and believe in at the moment of making it. Then we judge it for ourselves."

"How is your daughter now?" I asked, maneuvering away from the topic as memories of my mother began to flood my mind.

Smiling delightfully, she stood and sat down on the couch across from me. "She's cancer-free now," she said, and I smiled. "You don't have to tell me anything right now. It's the first time we're meeting, and I don't expect you to put all your trust in me yet."

"No, it's fine." I swallowed hard, pausing for a few seconds before saying, "I used to be an outgoing and cheerful person, and I loved the sun just as I loved the rain."

Clarisse nodded, and I drew in a breath, glancing away as I clasped my hands together.

"But when my mom got sick, I started losing focus on the things I loved and dreamed of doing, and when she passed away, it felt like I did too. During the months I took care of her, I lost my friends, and everything slipped from my grasp. The people I trusted turned out to be snakes, and I guess...I just switched off."

I looked back at her. There was no expression on her face, but I could see the understanding in her eyes. I waited for my heart to ease and the building lump on my throat to clear.

Trying to keep a positive mindset was already taking a toll on me. I didn't know who else I could talk to about my nightmares and the grief I was still going through. The last time I trusted someone with my problems, they used it against me, and it would shatter me beyond repair if I went through that again.

I sighed deeply. "I don't want to go in-depth about what I went through after my mother passed away."

Clarisse smiled at me. "It's alright."

"I do want to talk about my nightmares. I've been getting them lately, and it's getting harder every day to focus. I don't want to go back to taking pills."

Clarisse nodded comprehensively, then asked significantly, "May I ask how long you have gone without a nightmare?"

"A few weeks, at most."

"Have you been stressed lately?"

"Yes," I answered swiftly. "All these sudden changes with university and moving to a new place are overwhelming."

"And how are you coping with your social life?"

"I've made several friends."

"Do you want to share about what kind of nightmare this is?"

"It's me in South Korea. I'm standing on a bell tower, and it's snowing," I shared, staring past her shoulder, far into space. "And there's this voice that calls out to me and asks where I am."

"Have you ever had that kind of nightmare before?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe, but I can't remember."

My thoughts wandered back to what William said about Gray being worse than him. I pressed my lips into a thin line as I attempted to connect the dots of that night and his warning earlier. But nothing made sense.

"Do you know anything about Brickfields?" I asked unthinkingly.

"It's one of the top schools in the world," she replied with a smile. It was only a split second, but I caught the skepticism in her eyes from my question.

I glanced down at the lollipop. "You're right. That's everything for now."

Clarisse checked her watch then smiled. "We still have about thirty minutes to spare. We can talk about that nightmare, and I can give you some advice that I suggest you follow through since you don't want to go back to taking pills."

I nodded obediently.

Clarisse asked follow-up questions about my nightmare. She asked if I was lucid enough to feel what was going on in the dream, and I answered truthfully, saying I did. She didn't say anything about it and moved to ask about how my days in Brickfields are going. I told her the necessary details, excluding the incident where I was assaulted at a party.

She then shared a few pieces of advice to help reduce my stress, which wouldn't be too difficult for me to do since most of it required hanging out with my new friends.

When the hour passed, Clarisse walked me to the door. "I'll see you next Saturday, Summer," she said.

I smiled. "Thank you for today."

"The pleasure is all mine."

I bowed my head slightly in respect, then exited her office. Approaching the elevator, my phone chimed. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the new message.

Liam: Mer! Pizza's otw and the movies are ready.

Me: Be there in 30!