⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
The next morning rolled in with that same sharp clarity that New Athens seems to save for Tuesdays, and I awoke buzzing with the kind of jittery excitement typically reserved for those about to pull off a bank heist or propose live on television.
All of last night night was spent staring at the ceiling while Trix snored beside me, mentally running through my plan over and over until it felt like less of a bold move and more like a performance art piece with serious stakes.
The goal for today was pretty straightforward: recreate one of those dreams I kept having about Mr. Fairchild before reality crushed all the fantasy out of me.
In those dreams, I would "accidentally" run into him in the hallway, he'd catch me before I fell, and for one perfect second, we'd be pressed together, only for him to pin me against the wall with that quiet intensity that made my knees go weak even in my sleep.
