Okay. And Preston? His father's voice sharpened slightly. This is the third time in 4 years I've had to make a phone call because of something you started and couldn't finish cleanly. Do you understand how that looks for this family?
Preston's jaw tightened. I didn't start it. She's the one who I don't care who started it. Richard cut in. I care how it ends.
Handle it or I will. And you won't like how I handle things. The call ended a moment later and Preston sat alone in the quiet of his room, staring at his phone. something uncomfortable settling low in his stomach. A feeling he didn't have a name for yet. It wasn't quite guilt, but it was close enough to keep him awake long after midnight.
Filing an incident report he already suspected somewhere beneath his pride wasn't entirely true. By the time Vivien reached her dorm room, Sam was already there, curled up on her bed with her laptop, half watching something with the sound low. "He Sam said, glancing up. Then she paused, taking in Vivien's face more carefully. "You okay?
You look kind of pale." "I'm fine," Vivien said, setting her backpack down carefully. "Long night." Sam studied her for a moment longer, clearly sensing there was more to the story. But she didn't push. There's leftover pizza in the mini fridge if you want it, she said instead. No pressure to talk, just figured you might be hungry.
Vivien managed a small, tired smile. Thanks, Sam. She almost let it stay there, almost let the night end with pizza and silence and nothing more said. But Sam was still watching her patient in a way that didn't ask to be told, only offered the space in case Vivien wanted to fill it. "Okay," Vivien said, finally sitting down across from her.
"It's complicated. I've got time," Sam said, patting the empty spot on her own bed. "And for what it's worth, the version where you single-handedly took down three guys from the football team is currently my favorite. So, you've got a high bar to disappoint me from. Despite everything, Vivien felt the corner of her mouth lift slightly.
She sat down and told her roommate the truth. All of it. The hallway, the warnings, what happened after. Sam listened without interrupting, her expression shifting slowly from surprise to anger to something firmer by the time Vivien finished. "That's insane," Sam said flatly.
"They grabbed you. Two against one plus Preston. And you're telling me you're the one who might get in trouble for this? That's what I'm worried about? Yes, that's not a worry.
That's a joke, Sam said, shaking her head. A bad one. She paused, studying Vivien more carefully. Wait, 10 years of training? What exactly does that mean?
Vivien glanced at the small photo on her desk. It means my grandmother didn't want me to ever feel like I needed someone else to keep me safe, she said quietly. She's been teaching me since I was seven. Sam let out a low whistle. Remind me never to steal your fries.
I'll allow the fries. Vivien said, "And for the first time in hours, she laughed just a little, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly." "For real, though," Sam added, her voice softening. Whatever happens next, you're not going through this alone. I don't care how many buildings that guy's last name is on. Vivien looked at her roommate for a long moment, feeling something warm settle in her chest.
Something she hadn't expected to find this quickly in a town she barely knew. "Thank you, Sam." "Don't thank me yet," Sam said already reaching for her laptop again. "I'm about to go write a strongly worded email to student affairs, and I have a lot of feelings to get out." Vivien went to bed that night believing the worst of it was already behind her. That 4 seconds in a hallway had been the hardest part and that whatever came next would be easier simply because the truth was finally on her side. She was wrong about that, too.
By the next morning, the video was already spreading. Not widely, not yet, but enough. A handful of students had seen it in their group chats before their first class even started. a blurry, shaky clip showing Preston Colby grabbing Vivien's arm and four fast seconds of motion that ended with him stumbling back and Grady on the floor. The captions attached to it varied wildly. Some said Vivien had attacked them unprovoked.
Others said Preston had it coming. A few simply asked in disbelief, "Who is this girl?" Vivien didn't see any of it before her first class. She didn't check her phone much in the mornings, a habit her grandmother had encouraged since childhood. She found out the hard way instead. Walking into her intro to psychology lecture, she felt every head in the room turned just slightly as she made her way to her usual seat in the back.
Whispers followed her down the aisle. She kept her eyes forward, her expression calm, and sat down without acknowledging any of it. Elliot slid into the seat beside her a moment later, his face tight with worry. "You okay?" he asked quietly before class started. "I'm fine," Vivian said.
"Why?" Elliot hesitated, glancing around before lowering his voice further. "There's a video going around from last night." Vivien's stomach tightened slightly, though her face stayed calm. "I figured there might be," she said. "It's not bad," Elliot added quickly. I mean, it doesn't look bad for you.
It's just people are talking. Before Vivien could respond, Professor Ellison walked in, and the room settled into its usual rhythm. Though the whispers didn't fully disappear, just dropped low enough to hide beneath the lecture. Vivien spent the entire class only half listening, her mind circling back again and again to 4 seconds in a hallway, and everything that might come from them. She had followed every rule her grandmother taught her.
She had given every warning. She still felt somewhere deep in her chest. The old fear that doing the right thing wouldn't be enough to protect her from what came next. That fear turned out to be justified faster than she expected. At exactly 11:15 that morning, Vivien received an email from the Office of Student Conduct requesting her presence at a meeting that afternoon at 300.
The subject line read simply incident report review. She read it twice standing in the hallway outside her chemistry class, her stomach sinking slowly. She had not filed any report. Someone else had. At 2:55 that afternoon, Vivien sat in a small waiting area outside the office of student conduct, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight.
She had called her grandmother during her lunch break, uh, keeping her voice steady, even as she explained what had happened. Loretta had listened without interrupting the way she always did. You did exactly what we practiced, she said finally. Warnings first. Minimum force, nothing more than necessary.
I know, Vivien said, but they're saying I attacked them. People who cause harm rarely tell the story the way it actually happened, Loretta said, her voice calm but firm. That's not new, Vivien. That's just how frightened, prideful people protect themselves. What do I do?