Chapter 1: Senior Year Reset

Senior year started with the taste of blood in my mouth and the echo of sneakers on linoleum as I limped out of the girls’ bathroom. My heart slammed against my ribs, but I gritted my teeth—no way was I letting them see me fall apart. When the girls finally got bored and let me go, I could feel blood trickling down my temple, soaking into my hoodie sleeve, my shoes squeaking as I stumbled out.

As I staggered into the hallway, blood still dripping, I nearly slammed into my homeroom teacher. Her face was unreadable, but her grip on my ear was sharp as a paper cut. She yanked me through the hallway, past trophy cases, vending machines, and the giant mural of our eagle mascot with its paint peeling. Freshmen gawked, teachers pretended not to see, and I wanted to scream, but my voice was trapped somewhere behind my pounding heart. Was this really happening to me?

Out on the football field, she kept her nails digging in, yelling so loud everyone at the lunch tables could hear: “What were you doing in the girls’ bathroom, Chris? Trying to get a peek?” I wanted to sink into the grass, disappear, but all I could do was stand there while my classmates whispered and pointed, their faces a blur of shock and disgust.

I tried to defend myself, but it was useless. My throat was raw from shouting, but the words just evaporated into the spring air, lost under her accusations.

By lunch, I was officially the school’s new freak. Word spreads fast in a small town. The lunch ladies stopped mid-scoop when I walked by. My so-called friends hunched over their phones, pretending I didn’t exist. My DMs filled up with cruel memes and fake apologies. Every time I walked the hallway, I felt the chill—rumors sticking to me like old gum.

Every Monday at assembly, the discipline officer made me stand on stage so everyone could get a good look at the school’s new freak. The gym reeked of sweat and floor polish. My sneakers squeaked as I crossed the court, every step echoing off the bleachers. Teachers glared, students snickered, or stared at their phones. I just stood there, blinded by the lights, my name buzzing on the PA.

My grades tanked. I stopped caring. I barely showed up. When I did, I was a ghost in a hoodie, head down, earphones blasting music I couldn’t even hear. Anxiety chewed at me every time I tried to focus. The counselor called it a breakdown. The other kids just called me psycho.

I couldn’t handle the SATs, so I bailed on college before it even started. No prom, no senior photos. While everyone else smiled for the yearbook, I was stocking shelves at the twenty-four-hour grocery, trying not to shake every time my boss spoke to me.

Nobody wanted to hire me. My résumé was a joke. Even the gas station manager gave me that look when he saw the gap in my education. In this town, rumors never die.

By sheer luck, I landed a job at a chain pharmacy across town. But by my third shift, someone already knew the story. The snickers started, and my hours got cut. The walls closed in, just like high school all over again.

I lost it. It felt like my mind wasn’t my own. One night, after hearing my name whispered in the frozen foods aisle, I went home shaking. I sat on the edge of my bed, knees bouncing, city lights blinking like warning signs. My phone buzzed with another cruel meme. I didn’t even flinch.

I climbed up onto the balcony railing—32 floors above the street. My body hit the pavement. Then—darkness. No life flashing before my eyes. Just that filthy bathroom tile and Brittany Turner’s twisted smile burned into my brain.

Bleach and cheap floral air freshener stung my nose. I was back. The nightmare had rewound. My fingers pressed into cold tile. The buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. I wasn’t dreaming—I was in the girls’ bathroom, reliving the day it all began.