Project Oxygen

10 | introspection

          Rhiannon fell asleep at some point, curled into a ball under her bed sheets, as her eyelids weighed too much and her muscles were stiffer than usual, anchoring her down to the mattress. When the sun rose behind the clouds and the fog, several hours later, she jumped awake, panting, as Isla stormed inside the room . . . wearing a sweatshirt she hadn't taken with her when she left the previous night.

          It shouldn't be a warning sign, as she could have simply kept it inside her car for emergencies and frosty nights, but it was simply too big for her (she even had to roll up the sleeves so they'd leave her hands uncovered) and she was wearing her red cape the last time Rhiannon saw her.

          "So?" Rhiannon insists, hands set on her hips. "Aren't you going to explain what happened and where you went last night? We were worried sick—"

          "At Rowan's," she nonchalantly replies. "There are some really . . . bad things happening in this town and it's his job to write about them. I want to figure out what's going on."

          "By going out in the middle of the night weeks after Taylor went missing? You don't know what happened to her, Isla; hell, for all we know, she might have been killed! Do you want to . . . do you want the same thing to happen to you?"

          "Rhea, honestly"—Isla pinches her nose bridge, falling to her bed—"can we, like, not do this right now? Nothing happened to me, alright? Besides, Taylor went missing after leaving the library, which is a place I refuse to step inside, unlike you and Jude. If anything, you and everyone who spends their time in that forsaken place are the ones who should be worried, not me; besides, I carry a can of pepper spray with me wherever I go, remember? And I didn't do anything wrong. I'm just helping my father's ghostwriter get paid."

          Rhiannon huffs, running her fingers through her hair to try to make it look slightly more presentable. "And what's that supposed to mean? Are we supposed to stop hanging out in the library?"

          Isla quirks an eyebrow. "And am I supposed to simply stop going out because Taylor's gone? We don't even know what happened to her; maybe she pulled a Brooklyn and decided to run away, or something, and I heard the police tell Papa they didn't find any signs of struggle around here. Wherever she went missing, it wasn't here."

          If there's even such a thing as a basically pointless decision, that is to try to argue with Isla when she has already made up her mind about something. Though she certainly has a point, as they shouldn't stop living their lives over some urban legend that has caused a Crowcrest student to vanish into thin air, much like that ship in the port, Rhiannon can't help but grow warier of her surroundings.

          Being constantly on her toes, concerned about what might jump out of the shadows, is no way to live, but, with Connor spending plenty of time at the campus as he waits for the list of participants to be released, she likes to think it's a relatively rational decision. She knows she's running the risk of sounding horribly paranoid whenever she voices her concerns, especially because Connor definitely shouldn't be trusted with something as important as that experiment, but opening her mouth would only worsen it all.

          "I'm sorry for not telling you where I was going," Isla eventually says. "You have a point. Sort of. But I'm obviously not going to stop living my life just because of the stupid lore and, hey; maybe Rowan can figure this out with that book of his." She sighs softly. "He let me borrow the sweatshirt. I'm pretty darn aware of how intimate this might seem," she dryly adds, when Rhiannon's lips stretch into a smug grin, "but I don't care. It's not like that."

          Rhiannon surrenders, raising her hands next to her head. "Whatever you say."

          "I'm serious!" Isla's voice goes up a whole octave. "He's only here to write that book and get paid, while I'm here to get my degree, land my master's degree and be smarter than everyone else in this place. Not to mention the guy is absolutely obnoxious most of the time." She exhales, blowing back some rebel strands of her hair. "I don't have time for petty drama."