17

Freshman year passed in a blur of long nights and early mornings. MJ kept her head down, pushing through each week with mechanical focus. Her grades were sharp — near-perfect in her Criminal Justice classes, and equally strong in the extra Psychology electives she took by choice. She was especially drawn to lectures on criminal behavior, trauma theory, and victimology, though she never volunteered to speak unless called on. When she did, her answers were unnervingly spot-on.

She still worked both jobs — the bookstore and the diner — and kept her side of the dorm tidy and minimal.  Cassidy remained the open book MJ wasn't. They were total opposites, but somehow it worked — Cassidy filled the silence with music and harmless chatter, and MJ was her steady, unshakeable anchor.

They got through finals together. Cassidy leaned on MJ for late-night study help and cried over tests she thought she failed (but didn't). MJ never said much, but she showed up — with extra coffee, or a quiet, patient presence when things got too loud.

Throughout the year, MJ built a quiet reputation. Professors noticed her intensity. Classmates respected her distance. She didn't party. Didn't date. She was polite, even kind at times — but no one got close.

Sometimes, when it got too quiet in the dorm, MJ would take long walks at night with music blaring in her headphones — mostly heavy metal, like always. It helped drown out the memories she wouldn't acknowledge, especially on cold nights when things crept back in without warning.

And yet... she made it.

She survived the winter. She made the Dean's List. She bought a secondhand laptop with her tip money. She applied for summer internships with quiet confidence and never once looked back toward Chicago.

She never told Cassidy the truth. Never told anyone about the stolen truck or the man she escaped from on the road. But she also never ran again.

That was the difference.

By the time the spring semester came to a close, MJ wasn't someone new — not entirely. But she had learned how to build a life. Even if most of it was behind walls.

And for now, that was enough.

_

MJ returned to campus a week early, keys in hand and a quiet confidence in her step that hadn't been there a year ago.

Sophomore year felt different. Not easier — she didn't do "easy" — but more settled. She knew her way around now. Had routines. Places where she was expected, respected, even relied on. Most importantly, she had her footing.

She dropped her second job over the summer, sticking with the one that made sense — the library. It was quiet, orderly, and now that she'd been promoted to a senior student assistant, the pay was better and the hours flexible. She handled inventory, logged shipments, trained new hires. The supervisors liked her because she didn't talk much and never missed a shift.

She moved into a single dorm this year — small, a little dark, but hers. She decorated it in neutral tones and kept it minimal, but it was cozy. A space that felt safe.

Her course load was heavier. Advanced Criminal Justice courses. Psychology labs. She started a research program linked to behavioral profiling, something her advisor handpicked her for after noticing her analysis papers last spring. There were early mornings and late-night reading marathons, but MJ didn't complain. She didn't see the point. She just got it done.

She joined a student-run investigative club, mostly to use the forensic software they had access to. She didn't say much during meetings, but when she did speak up, people listened.

Cassidy was still around — still her opposite in every way. She'd softened MJ's edges more than anyone, but even Cassidy knew there were parts of MJ no one touched. Their friendship had settled into a rhythm now. Comfortable. Cassidy didn't ask questions MJ wouldn't answer, and MJ showed up when it mattered most.

This year felt like progress. Like control.

And for MJ, control meant everything.

_

Mondays were her longest days, but MJ didn't mind.

She was up before the sun, laced into her boots, and out the door by 7:30. Her first stop was always the on-campus coffee kiosk, where she ordered the same thing every time: black coffee, no sugar, no cream. The barista knew her by now and didn't ask for her name anymore.

By 8 a.m., she was seated front-row in Advanced Criminal Procedure, a lecture-heavy course taught by Dr. Kline — a stiff, sharp woman who didn't hand out praise easily. MJ liked her. She was clear-cut, no-nonsense, and demanded preparation. MJ always had her readings done, always had questions written in the margins. She never raised her hand just to hear herself speak, but when she did, Dr. Kline would pause and tilt her head like she was genuinely impressed.

After class, MJ would usually hang back to clarify a legal concept or ask about the next case study. Dr. Kline seemed to enjoy their brief, pointed exchanges.

"You're not just reading this," the professor said once, flipping through MJ's annotated textbook. "You're watching it happen in your head."

MJ just shrugged. "It's easier that way."

From there, she would head to her Forensic Psychology lab, where the professor — a laid-back, talkative man named Dr. Ellis — liked to pace while he talked about behavioral patterns and offender typologies. He often called on MJ, not because she volunteered, but because he liked to challenge her.

"MJ," he said one day mid-lecture, "you've got a poker face that scares me a little. Tell me: What makes a killer repeat the same ritual?"

She didn't blink. "Control. Familiarity. Ego."

The class laughed, but Dr. Ellis just nodded slowly. "I swear you were born in an interrogation room."

She didn't laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

After classes, she clocked into the library. She liked the quiet hum of the place — the rolling carts, the soft clack of keyboards, the smell of paper and old dust. She helped students find research materials, managed textbook shipments, and occasionally shelved books to clear her head.

One of the newer hires, a freshman named Dani, followed her around like a shadow. She asked a lot of questions — about school, about majors, about life in general.

"You're kind of intimidating," Dani said one day while they sorted returned books.

MJ glanced sideways. "You'll get used to it."

The days blended into one another, but MJ liked it that way. Structure kept things quiet inside her head. She studied hard, worked harder, and kept her space clean and small. She didn't go to parties. Didn't date. Didn't open up.