B E L L A

27 || Constant Cycle

Arabella

I stood in the muted light of my dorm room, the latest threatening note in hand—a stark contrast to the mundane objects surrounding me. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled open the top drawer of my bedside table, where the shadows seemed to deepen. Gently, I placed the note atop the small pile of similar threats I had started collecting. Underneath were the photographs, taken of memories of simpler, happier days. Now, they were reflected as warnings that felt more menacing with each passing day.

As I slid the drawer closed, my heart felt heavy with a growing unease. The threats were increasing not just in frequency but in intensity. Each new message twisted deeper into the fabric of my daily life, sending ripples of fear that were becoming harder to ignore. I leaned against the cool surface of the drawer, pressing my forehead to the smooth wood, trying to steady my breathing.

"Why is this happening?" I whispered into the silence of my room, half-expecting an answer from the shadows. But there was nothing—just the quiet hum of the campus outside and the distant laughter of students who seemed untouched by the kind of fear that was slowly consuming me.

With a deep breath, I pushed away from the table, my resolve hardening. I couldn't let fear rule my life. Pushing the anxiety to a manageable corner of my mind, I grabbed my psychology textbook and notebook and headed out. I needed to keep moving, to maintain a semblance of normalcy. Especially today, with class alongside Jace. The thought of seeing him brought a brief smile to my face, a small spark of warmth in the chill that had settled inside me.

The walk to the psychology building was short, but my mind raced with each step. What if Jace noticed how distracted I was? What if he asked questions I wasn't ready to answer? Shaking my head to dispel the swirling thoughts, I focused on the crunch of leaves underfoot, the crisp fall air, the students bustling around me, each absorbed in their own world.

I arrived at the classroom just as students began filtering in, the buzz of their conversations a comforting background noise. I spotted Jace at our usual table near the window, his profile bathed in the soft morning light. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and any remaining tension I felt melted slightly at his smile.

"Hey," I said as I slid into the seat next to him, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Bella," he greeted, his tone warm. "How are you holding up? You seem a bit off lately."

I forced a laugh, brushing off his concern with a wave of my hand. "Just the usual college stress, you know? Exams, assignments, the endless cycle."

He nodded, though his eyes narrowed slightly, not quite convinced. "I'm here if you need anything. Anything at all, okay, love ?"

I nodded, grateful yet burdened by his offer. "Thanks, Jace. That means a lot."

As the professor began the lecture, I tried to focus on the discussion about cognitive behavioral therapy and its applications. It was a topic I usually found engaging, the idea that our thoughts could be retrained, that patterns could be altered. Yet, today, my own thoughts felt like they were spiraling beyond my control.

Jace took notes diligently, occasionally jotting down something that seemed particularly important. I admired his focus, wishing I could borrow some of it. Every so often, he would glance my way, his brow furrowed slightly whenever he caught me staring blankly at my open textbook.

Halfway through the class, our professor posed a question to the room. "Can anyone give an example of how CBT might help someone dealing with anxiety?"

My hand shot up before I could second-guess myself, driven by a sudden impulse to anchor myself to the moment. All eyes turned to me, including Jace's curious gaze.

"Um, well," I started, steadying my voice, "if someone is experiencing anxiety due to... due to threats, for example, CBT could help them identify the irrational beliefs fueling their anxiety. They could then challenge these thoughts and replace them with more realistic and less frightening ones."

"Excellent example," the professor nodded, pleased with my input. "It's about restructuring how we interpret our fears, isn't it? Very good, Bella."

I smiled, feeling a flicker of accomplishment as Jace squeezed my hand under the table, his touch discreet but filled with support.

As class ended and students began to pack up, Jace leaned closer. "You did great there. And if you ever want to talk about anything... those fears or anything else... just let me know."

I nodded, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between us. "I know, Jace. Thanks."

We walked out of the classroom together, the corridor filled with the noise of shifting chairs and chatter. As we made our way towards the cafeteria for a quick lunch before our next classes, I felt the unease creep back, the temporary reprieve granted by academic focus fading.

"Jace," I began, then hesitated. How could I even begin to explain without the words sounding like they belonged in one of the psychology case studies we just discussed?

"Yes?" He looked at me, his expression open and concerned.

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I just... appreciate you, that's all."

He smiled, but his eyes were still tinged with a speck worry. "I appreciate you too, Bella. More than you know."

As we continued walking, I felt the note burning a hole in my heart. I knew I couldn't keep this to myself for much longer. For both our sakes, I would have to find the courage to share my concerns about the situation with him soon. But not yet, not today.

Today, I needed to pretend just a little while longer that everything was normal, even if the echoes of my fears whispered otherwise. After all, whoever was sending me these messages would give up if I stopped reacting. Right?