Trapped By The Phantom: His Little Lamb

The noise hit me first. A wall of sound made up of rolling suitcases, overlapping voices, and the sharp screech of a megaphone. My eyes snapped open. The sun was too bright, beating down on my face through the windshield of a car I didn't remember getting into. My head pounded. I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to force the fog out of my brain. People rushed past the car window, carrying laundry baskets and oversized pillows. A giant banner hung between two brick pillars: "Welcome to Blackwood University, Class of 2024!" My stomach dropped straight through the floor. The noise faded into a high-pitched ringing. I wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't my life. Memories that didn't belong to me flooded my mind like a dam breaking. A book. A thick, dusty paperback called Roses Under Thorns. I had read it cover to cover in my tiny apartment just last night. It was a typical YA novel, full of drama, rich kids, and tragic love. And there was a character in it named Chloe Carrillo. She was a nobody. A background filler. A poor scholarship student whose only purpose in the story was to die in a car accident so the main characters could have a emotional moment. I looked down at my hands. They were younger, the calluses from my warehouse job gone. I was wearing a cheap blue t-shirt I had never bought. "No," I whispered. "No, no, no." I pinched the soft skin on the back of my hand. Hard. The sharp, stinging pain flared instantly, bringing tears to my eyes. This wasn't a dream. The physical reality of it slammed into me, stealing the air from my lungs. I was Chloe Carrillo. I was trapped inside a novel. And if the plot followed the book, I was going to die. Panic, raw and blinding, seized my chest. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. I had to get out. I had to avoid the plot. If I stayed away from the main characters-away from the drama, the romance, the tragedy-I could survive. I could hide in the background until the story ended. A loud revving engine cut through the chaos outside. A bright red convertible swerved into the drop-off lane, music blasting from the speakers. The car doors swung open, and a girl stepped out. Blonde hair, perfectly tanned skin, a designer outfit that cost more than my rent. She moved like the sun, pulling every eye in the courtyard toward her. Guys whistled from the sidewalk. Girls whispered behind their hands. Hannah Gibbs. The female lead. The center of the entire storm. I shrank back into the passenger seat, my fingers digging into the fabric of my jeans. I couldn't let her see me. I couldn't be part of her orbit. I grabbed my single duffel bag, slipped out of the car, and kept my head down. I walked as fast as I could toward the administration building, blending into the crowd of freshmen. My only goal was the dorm key. Get the key, find the room, lock the door. The line at the check-in desk moved slowly. I kept my eyes glued to the scuffed linoleum floor, counting the tiles to keep myself calm. When it was finally my turn, I shoved my ID across the counter. The woman typed on her keyboard, her glasses sliding down her nose. "Carrillo, Chloe. Room 302. Here's your key." I snatched the key, muttering a thank you, and practically ran up the stairs. The third floor was quiet. The carpet muffled my footsteps. I found room 302 at the end of the hall. The door was cracked open. The sound of hangers scraping against a metal rod drifted out. I took a deep breath. I just wanted to drop my bag and figure out a plan. Maybe I could apply for a single room. Maybe I could transfer. I pushed the door open. A girl was standing on a step stool, pinning a string of fairy lights above the bed. She turned around at the sound of the door. My heart stopped. It was Hannah Gibbs. Her face broke into a massive, dazzling smile. She hopped off the stool, her blonde ponytail bouncing. "Oh my gosh! You must be my roommate! I'm Hannah!" I stood frozen in the doorway, my hand still on the doorknob. This was a nightmare. The universe was playing a cruel, sick joke on me. Of all the rooms on this campus, I had to be stuck with the main character. Then I remembered a throwaway line from the book, about how Hannah, to appear more down-to-earth, had specifically refused a single suite and requested a randomly assigned scholarship student as a roommate. So that was me. The unlucky prop, placed closer to the main cast just so my death could have more impact. "Hi," I managed, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm Chloe." "Chloe! That's such a pretty name!" Hannah bounded over, grabbing my duffel bag right out of my hand. "Here, let me help you with that. You look exhausted!" Before I could protest, she had hoisted my bag onto the empty bed by the window. She was so close. She smelled like vanilla and expensive shampoo. I took a step back, my spine rigid. "Thank you," I said stiffly. "You didn't have to do that." "Of course I did! We're going to be living together!" Hannah rummaged through her mini-fridge and pulled out two glass bottles of Coke, the condensation dripping down the sides. She held one out to me. "Here! To our new life at Blackwood!" I stared at the bottle. If I took it, I was accepting the connection. I was stepping into her world. But the look in her eyes was so genuinely warm, so painfully open, that the word 'no' died in my throat. I reached out and took the cold glass. "To our new life," I echoed flatly. Hannah clinked her bottle against mine and took a long sip. She sat down on her bed, crossing her legs. "I have so many plans for us! There's this amazing coffee shop off campus, and the frat parties don't start until next weekend, but we can go to the library together until then. We're going to be best friends, I can already tell!" Best friends. The words sent a chill down my spine. In the book, Chloe was just Hannah's quiet shadow. Being her best friend meant being in the line of fire. "I'm pretty busy with my classes," I said, looking away. "I probably won't have much free time." Hannah waved her hand. "Shh! You have to make time to have fun! Otherwise, college life will be too... boring." I needed air. I needed to get away from her overwhelming energy and think. "I need to use the restroom," I blurted out, backing toward the door. "I'll be right back." I fled down the hall and locked myself in a stall. I leaned my forehead against the cool metal door, sucking in deep breaths. This was a disaster. I couldn't escape her. She was everywhere. I walked to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. The face staring back at me in the mirror was young, scared, and completely out of place. I had to put up a wall. I had to be cold and distant. If I didn't give her anything, she would eventually stop trying. When I walked back into the room, I stopped short. Hannah had unpacked my duffel bag. My few clothes were neatly folded in the dresser, and my bed was made with the thin sheets I had brought from home. "I saw you looked a little overwhelmed," Hannah said, sitting on her own bed with a magazine. She looked up, her eyes hopeful. "I thought I'd save you the trouble." A knot tightened in my chest. She was trying so hard. And I was treating her like the enemy. But she wasn't the enemy. She was just a girl who wanted a friend. The enemy was the story itself. "Thank you, Hannah," I said, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "Really." Her smile widened, and she went back to her magazine. A minute later, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and her entire face lit up. "Hey, bro!" she answered, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Yeah, I'm all moved in. The dorm is actually really nice. Oh, and my roommate is here! She's super cute, you'd like her." My blood ran cold. The word 'bro' echoed in my ears. I knew exactly who was on the other end of that phone. Dean Gibbs. The male lead. The most dangerous person in this entire fictional world. I backed up against my desk, my hands gripping the edge so hard my knuckles turned white. I had survived the female lead, but the male lead was a whole different monster. He was controlling, manipulative, and he always got what he wanted. And he was coming.