Read Where I End and You Begin for Free Online

try to ignore it. This was the guy that fucked me over. “What?” I say. My voice is venomous.
    He winces. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wanted to know what happened in the Dean’s office.”
    I scowl at him. A white-hot thread of anger tangles around my fear. “I got put on academic probation,” I snap at him. “I’ll probably be out by the end of the year. Happy?”
    To my shock, his face crumples slightly. “What?” he says. “No! That wasn’t...”
    Now my anger is spinning out, gaining momentum. “Well what the fuck did you think was going to happen when you reported me?” I snap.
    He shakes his head. “I just thought you needed help. I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble...” And he looks so crestfallen that I almost believe him.
    “The Dean told me to get counseling, if that makes you feel any better,” I tell him, and to my infinite annoyance he perks up at that.
    “Oh? Good. I was worried about you.”
    I’m going to kick him in the nuts. “If you were worried about me you wouldn’t have reported me!” I almost yell. I know it doesn’t make any sense and I don’t care. No one else is in the foyer of the Arts and Sciences building, and my voice bounces and echoes over the walls and against the floor.
    “Please!” he says. “I just wanted to help you.”
    “Well you fucked me over,” I tell him. “Congratulations. Enjoy your karma.”
    I whirl around and stalk toward the doors, my anger boiling inside me, a molten hot feeling. I want to punch a window, or a wall. I want to break all the bones in my body or in someone else’s.
    “Wait!”
    His hand lands on my shoulder.
    There is a dizzy moment where I see myself turning around and punching him right in his do-gooder face. The world slips and slides, my vision skews as two paths open before me, and the world bifurcates into two different futures—
    Then his hand tightens, and the warmth reminds me of the kindness he showed me as I ruined his lecture by puking cheap wine all over his floor.
    I don’t punch him. Instead I turn. “ What?” I demand. I try not to think about how large his hand is, how strong his fingers are.
    He doesn’t react to my anger. Instead his brow is creased, his wide brown eyes almost hurt. “I have a background in counseling,” he blurts suddenly.
    I stare at him. He pulls his hand back and I swallow.
    “If... if you need someone to counsel you. I can do it. I’d like to help you.”
    I stare at him some more. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what he’s getting at. I almost think he’s hitting on me, if that weren’t absurd on its face. No one would ever be interested in a girl who stood out from the crowd by vomiting in the middle of class, especially not a man as pretty as this one is.
    But he is insistent. “Please,” he says. “Let me give you my number. You can call me if you need to talk. Any time of day or night. I promise I’ll answer.” And he looks so sincere that I find my hand dipping into my pocket and pulling my phone out.
    I watch as he takes it from my hands and dials his own cell. In his pocket it rings and he saves his number in my phone before handing it back to me. Then he pulls his own phone out. “How do you spell your name?” he asks.
    “Bianca,” I tell him. “Bianca Ray. R-a-y.”
    He types it in and saves my number, then shoves his phone back in his pocket. “I mean it,” he says. “Call me if you want to talk.”
    And for some reason I nod.
    He holds out his hand, and without thinking I put my hand in his.
    His fingers are warm, strong, dry. It sends a little shiver up my arm. We shake and then part, and I back away a little quicker than I should.
    “I have to go,” I say.
    “Call me,” he replies.
    I just turn around and push my way through the glass doors and into the October morning.
    The wind picks up as I step outside, the gray clouds skittering across the sky, leaves dancing through the air. Even the sweet, cool breeze can’t revive me.