Chapter Two:

This World is Not Meant For You

These days, Sam always woke before sunrise. She'd fallen back into a restless but thankfully dreamless sleep around midnight and Tess had returned some time after that. Sam slid out of bed in the blueish predawn light and dressed as quietly as she could. Tess was a lump under what seemed like a dozen blankets and Sam didn't think she could face even a sleepy greeting right now. Pajamas were shed in lieu of running gear. She hesitated, then shoved a pair of flats into the front pouch of her sweatshirt. They were there if she needed them, but the idea of putting on her trainers reminded her too much of her dream.

Her cellphone went in as well and at the last minute she grabbed a pair of earbuds as well, but didn't put them in.

It was chillier out than it had been when she'd set the butterfly free. The campus was dead. The earliest classes wouldn't start until seven and it was a Friday. With most classes running Mondays and Wednesdays or Tuesdays and Thursdays, fewer students had classes on Fridays too. She stretched, her back giving a satisfying pop. The cool, clear air helped clear her head, driving away the cobwebs left by the night before.

With a little jump down the steps, she was off and running. She knew well enough how to warm her body up, but the easy pace she normally set wasn't enough. Her feet hit the pavement lightly as she bolted, throwing herself forward down the path from the dorms towards the center of campus. She hopped onto a bench to hurdle a planter, a breathless laugh escaping her as she felt a twig catch at her shin. Fuck all of this.

How dare she still be dreaming about all this shit? Why couldn't she just shake it, heal, let it go? Maybe she should find out about meds. Dr. Hill had mentioned medication as an option briefly before she had waved it off. Sam didn't need them. Or didn't want to need them. What had happened to her had been so easy, compared to some of the others.

She leaned into the curve of the path, rounding the sociology building. What had really happened to her, after all? Josh had stalked her through the lodge. That had been awful, it was true, but compared to forcing Chris to choose between the girl he'd been in love with for ages and his best friend? Or making Chris choose to shoot himself or Ashley? And Ash had had to live through that, to watch Chris make those decisions and know that she could die at any moment. Josh had gone easy on her.

And Hannah an inch from Sam's face, ready to kill her if she made the slightest movement? It had been horrifying and heart-wrenching, but Jess had been dragged, screaming and nearly naked through the frozen woods by one of the creatures. Matt and Emily had survived a collapsing tower and the mines. Even Mike had cut off his own damn fingers and survived being stalked through the sanatorium.

Next to that, Sam had no right to complain.

The park at the center of campus was even emptier than the paths near the dorms. She took to the road that ran around it in a lopsided circle, wincing as the occasional rock bit into her foot.

Sam wondered if she should tell Dr. Hill about her dream. She hadn't seen him in a while. Her parents hadn't wanted her to see him at all, actually. They'd had a list of recommended doctors for her to speak to, but his name wasn't on the list.

Hi Josh, it's Alan.

He had known Josh. Been on a first name basis with him. She couldn't talk to a complete stranger about Josh. They'd never understand. Even she didn't really understand why she wasn't mad at him. All she could do was miss him. Josh's death had only dug further at the gaping hole in her chest left by Hannah and Beth. But Dr. Hill had known Josh. If there was ever a doctor who might understand, it would have been him.

But he's still tried to fix her. Dr. Hill hadn't understood that she wasn't looking for fixing. She was looking for answers, at something to help her understand why Josh had done what he did.

She should have asked Josh herself, Sam thought for the millionth time. She'd known when he got out of the hospital. Beth had been the one to find him in their garage, muttering to himself and tossing a box cutter casually in the air. She had called Sam, crying, after their parents had taken him away. Beth wasn't one for tears; emotional volatility had always been Hannah's way, not hers. She had cried that night, though.

Sam's steps faltered and she stumbled to a halt on the asphalt. She hadn't thought about that night for a long time.

She'd driven to the Washington's house in a daze, numbly negotiating turns that by now were second nature to her. She'd parked outside the gate and texted Beth. The other girl had been there seconds later, slipping through the side door in the fence and into the passenger seat of Sam's car.

"He wants to die, Sam." Beth had said, face crumpling.

How can you comfort someone in a moment like that? Sam had been hesitant. Beth was like a cat. When she was hurting, she didn't want to be touched or seen. She didn't like for people to know she was vulnerable. She was a doer, a diplomat, the level-headed savior of errant ever-so-slightly-older sisters. Hannah was the fragile one, Beth had told Sam once. Beth didn't need saving. That night, Sam had taken her hand anyway.

And Beth had collapsed into her, sliding sideways across the bench front seat. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, clutching at Sam's sweater with her free hand. Sam had pulled her closer, cradling Beth against her chest.

That had been the night they finally kissed.

Sam shook her head hard and forced herself to start running again. There was no point to remembering. All it did was drive home what she'd had and what she'd lost. Sam prided herself on being logical and honest with herself and some facts were undeniable: Beth and Hannah were dead, she hadn't reached out to Josh in time, and now he was dead too.

The sun had come up fully and it was getting hot already. She jogged in place as she stripped off the sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. Silently she ran through her schedule for the day, trying to focus on something concrete as she headed back towards the dorm. Integrated Systems Ecology at 9 and Fresh Water Systems in the afternoon. She almost wished she had work that night. It would be a good distraction. Maybe she'd go to the gym and climb for a while. Even if she had no one to belay her, she could boulder.

The asphalt transitioned back to cement as she got to the main campus road and saw the dorm ahead. It was warming under her feet. She was tempted lie out on a bench and sunbathe like a lizard. "Nope," she said sharply. "Stuff to do, Sam. Homework to get done. Showers to take. Breakfast to have."

Tess was leaving the room as she arrived, looking exhausted and slightly hungover. "Sorry I got in so late, Sam. It was Alex's birthday and she just had to go get hammered at Jason's house. I had to make sure she got home safe."

"No apology needed." Sam smiled. "You look like hell though. At least you don't have class today."

The other girl snorted. "Oh thanks. Nah, I still have to meet with my Calc professor about that last quiz. I tanked it pretty hard."

"Oof. Good luck."

"Thanks. I'm gonna need it."

Sam flopped onto her bed and stared at the room. She should get some posters or something. Her side of the room was almost pointedly bare and Spartan. The most colorful thing she had was her comforter, which was mottled shades of blue. When she'd moved in after winter break, it had seemed tacky and overwhelming to have too much. She'd sent most of her stuff home with her parents. In comparison, Tess's side was an explosion of color.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Did you forget your keycard?" It wouldn't be the first time Tess had locked herself out. At least Sam was here to let her back in this time. "I should attach it to one of your piercings. Then you wouldn't—"

The door swung open and the words died in her throat.

Mike was standing in front of her. Mike Munroe, the same figure who had so thoroughly proven the impossibility of her dream, who she hadn't seen since the immediate aftermath, was in her dorm, right in front of her. Mike fucking Monroe, with a red plaid shirt and stubble, with dark circles under his eyes and a sheepish, uncertain smile, was here.

He rubbed the back of his head with his injured hand. "Hey Sam. Can we talk?"

She stared at him for a moment, then slammed the door in his face.