Mark burst out the front door, his backpack slung over his shoulder, his movements tinged with nervous energy. His eyes darted around, scanning the quiet suburban street as if expecting to find hidden observers lurking in the shadows.
The headaches and fatigue that had plagued him for weeks had vanished, replaced by a vibrant alertness that bordered on hyper-awareness.
Ignoring the car keys dangling from his fingers, he decided to walk. The fresh air and the rhythm of his footsteps might help clear his head.
But as he navigated the familiar sidewalks, his senses went on high alert, taking in every detail of his surroundings.
Birdsong, too sharp, too close. The distant roar of a lawnmower vibrated up through his bones, every pulse like a heartbeat. Even the smell of freshly cut grass, usually calming, sent a spike of irritation through his sinuses.
He could taste ozone on the back of his tongue. His vision sharpened to the point that individual leaves on the trees seemed to pulsate with emerald fire.
This was how the world looked when he channeled, when the world's hidden energy currents came alive. Except, he wasn't trying to channel.
Shit. This wasn't normal.
He quickened his pace, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders as he broke into a jog. The sun beat down on his face, a welcome warmth that contrasted with the internal chill that refused to fully dissipate. He was already late for his first class, but the urgency he felt wasn't solely due to his tardiness.
Something was off, a prickling sensation at the back of his neck.
He was almost there when he bumped into someone, sending his backpack flying and scattering his books all over the sidewalk.
"Shit, sorry about that," Mark said, hastily gathering his belongings.
The guy he'd bumped into—a lanky figure with curly hair and an easygoing grin—chuckled. "No worries. Running late?"
"Yeah, I've got an early class," he replied sheepishly, stuffing his books back into his backpack.
"Don't sweat it, happens. Just relax, you'll make it."
Mark managed a weak smile in return, grateful for the stranger's laid-back attitude. With a final nod of thanks, he hurried away.
The familiar red brick façade of his lecture hall never looked less welcoming. He slipped inside, the fluorescent buzz of the lights another irritant in his hypersensitive state.
Sinking into a seat in the back row—safe, unobtrusive, easily overlooked, as usual— he did his best to become a shadow again, to pretend everything was fine, to ignore the way the world hummed around him like an overcharged wire, poised to snap.
The classroom felt stifling, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and nervous anticipation. He tried to focus on the lecture, but the words seemed to wash over him, leaving no lasting impression. His gaze darted around the room.
Is someone watching me? He couldn't shake the paranoia, that same prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Did someone see? Could— He shoved the thought aside before it fully formed.
Everyone else seemed oblivious, focused on the lecture, scribbling down in their notebooks. Mark attempted to follow suit, his pen scratching across the page, but his mind refused to cooperate. The image of the terrified cashier, the crunch of bone beneath his knuckles, and Lida's disappointed expression kept intruding upon his thoughts.
"…and so, the concept of marginal utility is crucial to understanding consumer behavior," the professor's voice cut through the haze of Mark's internal struggle, pulling him back to the present moment.
He blinked, realizing he had missed a significant portion of the lecture.
He tried to refocus, to catch up on the missed content, but the feeling of being watched, of being hunted, gnawed at him relentlessly. The classroom walls seemed to close in, the air growing thick and suffocating.
By the time the blessed bell rang, his skin felt as though it barely contained the energy thrumming beneath the surface.
He nearly bowled Ron over as he escaped the classroom, apologies jumbled in his rush to get to somewhere – anywhere— where he wasn't trapped between those close, familiar walls.
"Yo dude, where the fuck were you last night?" Ron asked, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "You missed a killer party at Jake's."
"Something, uh, came up."
"Damn, that sucks. It was wild, man. You should've been there," Ron lamented, recounting the highlights of the previous night's party.
Mark forced a smile. "Yeah, sounds like I missed out. I'll try to make it to the next one."
"You alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Mark deflected, hoping to avoid further probing. "Long night studying."
"Uh-huh," Ron said skeptically. "You sure that's all it is?"
Mark shrugged, his gaze drifting towards the bustling campus quad. "Yeah, yeah…Just a bit stressed about exams and stuff."
"You look like shit dude. Why don't you take the day off?"
"It's alright. I have enough classes already."
As they walked through the campus, Mark's sense of unease intensified. He felt as if he were being watched, scrutinized again and again.
"Hey, are you sure you're okay?" Ron asked, breaking the silence.
"I'm fine, Ron."
"Alright, well, I'm heading to the cafeteria. Wanna join me?"
His stomach churned with anxiety, and the thought of food held little appeal. But maybe a bit of distraction will help though.
"Sure, why not."
The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos—a symphony of clanging trays, shouted greetings, and the greasy aroma of fries and burgers thick in the air. They found an empty table and settled in, Ron chattering away about his latest romantic escapades while Mark picked at his food, his appetite nonexistent.
"Dude, seriously, you're barely eating anything."
"Just not that hungry."
"You've been acting weird all day, Mark. Something's going on. Spill it."
"It's just… I had a rough night. Didn't get much sleep." He opted for a half-truth.
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Nah, I just need some time," Mark said, offering a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine."
They finished their lunch in relative silence. As they parted ways, Ron gave Mark a final pat on the back.
"Seriously, man, if you need anything, just call."
"Thanks, Ron. I will."
He couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt. Ron was always there for him, but he'd been too preoccupied lately to be there for his friend. He made a mental note to make it up to him soon.
"Well, I gotta head to my next class," Mark said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "See you later."
"Yeah, catch you later."
Mark watched his friend disappear down the hallway, feeling a sense of unease settle in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He decided to take Ron's advice and skip his next class, opting instead to head to the campus library to clear his head.
Lost in his thoughts, Mark nearly collided with a group of students milling around outside the library entrance.
"Hey, watch where you're going," one of them snapped.
"Sorry," Mark mumbled, as he hurried past them.
* * *
Damn it! Why did I think the library would be a good idea?
He pushed through the heavy oak doors, the scent of old paper and dust momentarily grounding.
But the sight that greeted him was pure chaos- tables crammed, students huddled over textbooks, laptops glowing, a low hum of anxious energy filling the air.
The sound of turning pages, hushed whispers and the occasional cough filled the air.
Of course, he thought with a sigh, midterms.
I should have known. The library. Of all the stupid…
His gaze scanned the room, searching for any available spot, but it seemed every nook and cranny had been claimed. His frustration spiked with every occupied table he passed.
Just as he was about to resign himself to studying at a noisy coffee shop, he spotted a small, almost hidden room tucked beside a display of biographies no one had likely touched in years. It was barely larger than a closet, but it offered a desk, a chair, and most importantly, solitude.
With a sense of relief, he settled into the cramped space, spreading out his books and notes.
For a blessed few hours, his brain cooperated, losing himself in his studies. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pen on paper and the occasional rustling of pages.
The quiet solitude of the small room provided the perfect environment for focused concentration, allowing him to temporarily escape the lingering unease.
However, as the afternoon wore on, a sense of monotony began to creep in. Needing a break from the dry business theories, he decided to explore the library's vast collection. He went up the stairs to the second floor, looking at the endless rows of bookshelves. His eyes fell on the modern European history section, sparking his curiosity. He started browsing the titles, his fingers brushing over the worn spines.
He rounded a corner, already engrossed in the worn spine of The Spanish Inquisition: Faith and Fear, when his world went haywire.
It began with the usual amplification—whispers sharpened to whispers, the coughs, page-turns, footsteps, all cranked up to painful volume. But this was different. Worse. The scents of old books and floor wax were swallowed by a nauseating chemical odor that sent a spike of pain through his temples.
The hushed whispers of students, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, and the distant hum of the air conditioning unit all amplified tenfold, bombarding his ears with an overwhelming intensity.
It was as if every sense had been dialed up to its maximum setting way more than usual since morning, the world around him transformed into a sensory overload. Worse still were the snatches of voices that broke through, not just loud now but… clear.
"Professor Chang is such a hard ass. I literally studied all night for this and— "
"… the job fair, did you get a chance— wait, did you hear from him— "
"Totally bombing organic chemistry… and that lab partner? Forget it. I swear—"
He stumbled back, crashing into a nearby bookshelf, sending a cascade of books tumbling to the floor.
"What the hell…" he muttered, gripping the bookshelf for support. Dizziness swept through him in a cold, sickening wave.
It was too much, an unbearable onslaught of information.
Yet, amidst this sensory chaos, one scent cut through the noise, weaving its way into his consciousness with an irresistible allure.
It was sweet and intoxicating, like a blend of exotic flowers and warm spices, a fragrance that seemed to beckon him closer.
He tried to ground himself. Forced a deep breath, reciting Lida's mantra— control your ether, control your mind. But the words dissolved into the seductive swirl of the scent that was no longer just a fragrance. It was texture, wrapping around him like warm silk, a sound resonating deep within him like a long, forgotten melody, promising … he didn't even know what. But every cell in his body screamed… More.
The usual background noise of the library— rustling pages, a stray cough, the distant whir of the ancient air conditioner— was obliterated by this primal urge. He started walking— had to. Not towards anything he consciously registered, just away from the overwhelming dissonance of everything else. Except—
"Whatcha reading?"
"… oh god, tell me you snagged those lecture notes—"
"… next semester, right? Organic chem lab— you have got to be kidding me— "
He flinched, pressing his hand to his ear as if he could physically block out the clear, close voices that shouldn't be this audible. He hadn't been channeling— hadn't willed this to happen, but here he was, every word, every whispered anxiety- a blade scraping against his nerves.
The smell pulled him forward. A gentle tug, now an insistent demand, a current dragging him through the stacks, past faces he barely registered. It snaked through the aisles, teasing and taunting him. His nostrils flared, trying to capture more of the elusive aroma, but it remained just out of reach, playing a tantalizing game of hide-and-seek.
Every breath he took seemed to electrify his senses, sending jolts of pleasure through his body.
It was like a drug.
Driven by an unknown insatiable need, Mark quickened his pace, weaving through the maze of bookshelves in pursuit of the intoxicating scent. His focus narrowed, his world reduced to the alluring aroma and the desperate desire to find its source. In his haste, he collided with a stern-faced librarian pushing a cart overflowing with books.
"Watch where you're going!" she scolded, her voice sharp enough to pierce through the haze clouding his mind.
He mumbled a sorry as he helped her with the cart— or thought he did. It was difficult to tell. The world felt tilted, his perception no longer entirely… his.
He tried to regain his composure, but the scent, stronger now than ever, pulled him forward like an invisible leash.
Take her.
He froze, head jerking up, the scent suddenly thickening, almost suffocating in its potency. It was clear and undeniable as if someone had spoken directly into his ear.
He stared at the row of history books before him, titles swimming together in his blurring vision, unable to comprehend— what? Who had spoken?
Take her. The voice echoed again, harsher this time, vibrating through his bones. He staggered back, slamming against the bookshelf behind him— an avalanche of hardbacks thudding onto the polished wood floor.
Panic welled- hot and choking. Take who? But the voice offered no explanations. Only that relentless command, growing louder with every desperate breath. His breath hitched— a hunger deeper than any physical craving twisting his gut, demanding to be satisfied.
Take her. Not a suggestion now, but a searing compulsion burning through his veins like wildfire.
He tried to fight back— snatches of Lida's grounding techniques swirling, useless, lost in the tide. There was no coherent thought anymore, just the irresistible urge to move. He stumbled down a narrow aisle, shouldering past startled students whose whispers echoed distantly.
"Seriously, dude—watch it!"
He caught a glimpse of a girl—eyes wide, a textbook clutched to her chest like a shield.
"Sorry…" he choked out, the word a weak exhalation against the rising tide of need that consumed him.
Take her…Take her…Take her….Take her…..
The words reverberated within him, drowning out all other thoughts.
He kept going, his senses hyper-aware, his eyes scanning every aisle, every corner. He moved with a frantic pace, oblivious to the curious glances and bewildered stares of fellow students. The scent, his guiding star, grew stronger with each step, leading him deeper into the library.
Take her...Take her..TakeherTakeherTakeher…..
The words weren't even words anymore— a symphony played on his raw nerves, a pressure building inside his skull that had to be relieved, had to be obeyed.
He pressed on, each inhale of the exotic perfume sending jolts of energy through him. He stumbled forward, his legs heavy and uncoordinated, desperate to escape the overwhelming need that resonated within him. His heart pounded against his ribs, a drumbeat of fear and confusion.
And then he saw her.
She stood leaning against a bookshelf, her long, flowing hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. Her head was bent, her focus absorbed in the book she held in her delicate hands. Mark froze, captivated by the sight of her. Her beauty was undeniable. Her chestnut hair shimmered under the soft glow of the library lights, framing her face.
Her tall figure stood just a few inches shy of six feet, with long, lean limbs that exuded an athletic grace. She had a slender frame with curves that accentuated her figure.
He continued to study her, noticing the subtle curve of her lips, the determined set of her jaw. She was tall and slender, her figure accentuated by the tight-fitting jeans and a simple navy blue blouse.
His feet moved before he'd even registered the conscious thought of closing the distance. Five feet, four… her neck is so pale, a slender column leading to— the scent intensified, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. He tasted it on his tongue— exotic spices, warm skin, an ache that centered, white-hot, in his groin, his whole being focused on… her.
The feeling was primal, an animalistic urge that he couldn't control, couldn't understand. He needed to get closer.
He took another step, his body thrumming with a potent mix of desire and confusion. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
But then, a subtle shift in her expression caught his attention. Her brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing her features.
As if she sensed him, felt the intensity of his gaze— no, felt the raw hunger that had usurped his control, her head slowly lifted.
And their eyes met. And everything just… stopped.
Those eyes, deep brown, flecked with something wilder— amber, maybe gold?— seemed to pierce through him.
A jolt of electricity shot through his body, leaving him breathless and disoriented.
Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating as a look of shock and bewilderment spread across her face.
They stood frozen, locked in a silent exchange, the air around them crackling with an unseen energy. Time seemed to stand still, the world fading away until all that remained were their gazes, intertwined and unwavering.
Finally, her lips parted, the word escaping in a breathy, startled whisper.
"You…"