The Architect of Her Own Demise

e? Are yo

, a familiar, cloying sweetness tha

heard a noise. Are y

ife. I was in my sophomore dorm room at Boston University. The thin, cheap curtains of my

exact moment the psychological

naive and helpless she couldn't figure out how to work a microwave,

p before a final was due, "innocently" telling my boyfriend I was seen with another guy, and "forgetting" to pass on urgent

is time, I knew every

le? I'm

her silhouette through the curtain.

with fear. It was a cold,

ent, when her face was right

ut a blood-cu

fist connecting solidl

a yelp a

, clutching her nose, which was already starting to bleed. Our other roommate, St

that?" Stella deman

my own hand, my expression a per

. "I'm so, so sorry. I have night terrors. They're... they can ge

eye, letting the warning sink

re of pain and bewilderment on her face. She had expe

pected me to

ly whispe