In Too Deep

Shhh

The library was quiet, humming with whispers and the soft rustle of pages. I sat tucked away in the far corner between the nursing reference section and the large windows that faced the quad. A thick textbook was open in front of me, but my eyes hadn't moved from the same paragraph in ten minutes. My phone, locked away in my grandmother's drawer, felt like a missing limb.

I was trying—really trying—to refocus. To catch up. To fix the slip I'd caused. But my thoughts kept drifting to Quincy. Wondering if he thought I ghosted him. Wondering if he even cared.

I was just beginning to re-read a sentence when I felt a presence.

I looked up—and my breath caught.

Quincy.

He stood over me like a shadow, hoodie up, jaw clenched, eyes colder than I'd ever seen them.

"Hey," I said, voice small. Hopeful.

"Don't 'hey' me, Brandy," he snapped, loud enough for the girl two tables over to glance up. "You really just gonna disappear like that?"

"I didn't disappear, Quincy. My grandmother found out—she took my phone, she grounded me. I haven't been allowed to".

"You could've found a way to let me know," he cut in, arms crossed, eyes scanning me like he didn't recognize me. "You just dipped. After everything?"

The librarian across the room gave us a sharp look and held a finger to her lips.

I stood slowly, lowering my voice. "I didn't want to disappear. I've been trying to fix everything. My grades, my schedule".

"Don't feed me that," he hissed, stepping in closer. "You could've called from someone else's phone. You could've shown up. You could've tried."

"I am trying!" I whispered, a bit too loudly, before immediately regretting it.

Another warning look from the librarian.

Quincy glanced around, then leaned in closer, voice tight. "Come outside."

"What? No. I have to study. I...'

"I said come outside, Brandy."

He grabbed my arm, not hard, but firm. Firm enough to make my eyes widen.

"Quincy, let go," I whispered.

But he didn't. Not right away.

He looked into my eyes like he was searching for something, an explanation, a weakness, a reason to stay mad.

The librarian stood now, clearly watching us from behind the desk.

"Let's go," he said, already pulling me toward the back entrance, ignoring the startled glances from nearby students. I followed, not because I wanted to, but because I was scared of what would happen if I didn't.

Once we were outside, the cold air hit me like a slap. The sun was starting to dip, turning the sky a dusky gold. Quincy let go of my arm but kept walking, fast and frustrated, down the path behind the building. I jogged to keep up.

"You don't get to control me like that," I said, breathless, voice shaking.

"I'm not trying to control you," he said without looking at me. "I'm trying to understand why you act like I'm disposable."

"I don't. You know I don't."

He stopped walking suddenly, turning to face me. His expression was tight with something sharp and unreadable.

"Then prove it."

She stared at him, heart racing.

"I already went behind my grandmother's back for you. I lied for you. I snuck out for you. I've put everything I've worked for on the line and now you're angry because I couldn't send a text?"

He didn't answer. Just stared, breathing hard.

"You think this is easy for me?" I said, voice trembling. "I like you. Too much. That's the problem."

For a moment, something in his eyes softened. But just for a moment.

"You keep sayin' that," he said, quieter now. "But when it really matters, you fold."

And then he turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, leaving me standing alone under the purple-gray sky with more questions than answers.

I stood there, feeling the chill not just on my skin but in my bones.

Something had shifted.

And I didn't know if it could shift back.

—————————————————————————

I sat stiffly at the edge of the chair, the dusty smell of old pages and aging book glue surrounding me like a heavy fog. My hands trembled as they hovered over my open textbook, the words swimming before my eyes in an indecipherable blur. Mia's concerned face replayed in her mind like a stuck tape loop.

"I seen him grab you," Mia had said, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper.

I had forced a smile, hoping it would be enough to make her walk away.

"It's nothing," I'd lied, too easily.

Mia had lingered for a moment longer, eyes narrowing, as if trying to read between the lines on my face. "You know what he did isn't ok" "look I gotta study so unless your here to help me solve this math equation I suggest you walk away" "you shoulda gave him that same energy when he was grabbing on you" Mia retorted. I glared up at her. Then, without a word, she turned and disappeared into the rows of shelves, her backpack slung low on one shoulder.

The silence returned. Thick. Suffocating.

My fingers dug into the edge of the desk. My heart was still racing from earlier—Quincy's grip on my wrist, the way his voice had dropped, cold and unfamiliar, when I'd said no. I hated that I still remembered the exact pressure of his hand, how it lingered like a phantom bruise.

I snapped the book shut.

Enough pretending.

An hour passed. Maybe more. I didn't remember getting up. Didn't remember the walk through the near-empty halls, the way the light from the lockers flickered like warning signs. But when I stepped into the cool evening air, my chest loosened, just a little.

The walk home felt longer than usual. Every sound made her flinch—the rustling leaves, the bark of a dog behind a fence, the distant thrum of a motorcycle. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was behind me. Watching.

I kept glancing back.

No one.

By the time I turned onto my street, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only smudges of orange and purple in its wake. My grandmother's house stood at the corner like a beacon. The porch light glowed softly, and inside, I could see the flicker of the TV, and the familiar silhouette of my grandmother at the table.

I exhaled.

Safe.

I opened the door, the scent of collard greens and deep fried pork chops wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

"Brandy, baby, you're late." My grandmother's voice floated in from the kitchen. "I kept your plate warm."

I forced a smile, walking in. "Sorry, I lost track of time."

My grandmother didn't press. She never did. But her eyes lingered a little longer than usual, scanning my face as she handed me a plate. I sat, took a bite, nodded when asked about school.

But my mind was elsewhere.

Because when I looked out the kitchen window, just for a moment, I thought I saw movement by the tree line.

A shadow.

Still.

Watching.

And when I blinked, it was gone.

But my pulse quickened.

Because I wasn't sure if it was ever really there...

Or if my past had just followed me home.