Trap in his Chaos

"Take a right from here," I say to the driver, like I know the roots but in truth, I have no idea. The streets blur together in a mix of unfamiliar landmarks and signs I don't recognize. But you can't let the driver know that. Not after he's already stolen glances at you multiple times through the rearview mirror.

I probably reek of being new here. The oversized backpack jammed with first-year essentials, and the way I anxiously keep checking my phone for directions—all dead giveaways. But I can't let him know I'm clueless. Not when this is my first attempt at navigating Ridgecrest on my own, and I need to look like I belong.

Soon, the cab pulls up to the grand entrance of Ridgecrest University, and my breath catches. The gates are wrought iron, towering and intricately designed, with the university's emblem—a majestic phoenix encircled by laurel leaves—etched into the arch above. Beyond the gates lies a sprawling campus, lined with cobblestone pathways that wind through manicured lawns and vibrant flower beds.

The main building, a magnificent structure of red brick and limestone, looms ahead like a castle. Its towering spires and arched windows are reminiscent of an old-world cathedral, blending history with prestige. Ivy creeps up the walls, adding to the timeless charm, while flags bearing the university's colors flutter from poles near the entrance. Students walk purposefully, some clutching books, others engaged in animated discussions, their voices mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the crisp air.

The cab rolls to a stop at the grand entrance, and I step out, feeling the weight of my backpack digging into my shoulders and the handle of my suitcase cold and firm in my grip. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass.

I glance up at the towering gates one last time before walking toward the small booth near the entrance where the watchman sits. He's a middle-aged man with a neatly pressed uniform.

"Excuse me," I say, adjusting the strap of my backpack. "Could you tell me where the office is?." My voice comes out steady, but my nerves are bubbling just under the surface.

The watchman nods, pointing toward a path that curves to the left. "Take that path straight ahead, miss. You'll see a building with a blue sign—Administration Office. You can't miss it."

"Thank you," I reply, offering a polite smile before gripping the handle of my suitcase tighter and heading in the direction he pointed.

I make my way to the admissions office, my suitcase trailing noisily behind me on. The room is quiet and orderly, with a faint hum of a printer in the background. Behind the desk sits a young woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with neatly tied hair and a sharp, no-nonsense air about her. She looks up from her computer as I approach, her expression polite but brisk.

"Hi... I'm a new student," I say.

Her gaze flickers over me for a moment before she responds. "What's your name?"

"Y/N," I reply.

She nods and begins typing on her keyboard, the rhythmic clicks filling the silence. After a moment, she retrieves a few sheets from the printer, neatly stacks them, and hands them to me.

"Here's your schedule and some other information you'll need," she says, her tone professional. Her eyes briefly dart to the phone in my hand, her expression tightening slightly. "Make sure to read the rules."

I nod, clutching the documents.

"The girls' dormitory is in the west wing," she continues, pointing to a small map attached to one of the papers she just handed me. "Follow this path, and you'll find it easily. Your room number and key are included in the packet."

"Thank you," I say, offering a quick smile before stepping aside to make room for the next person in line.

As I step out of the admissions office, juggling the papers and my suitcase, I follow the map toward the west wing. The campus feels even bigger as I weave through cobblestone paths, passing groups of students who seem completely at ease. My nerves tangle with excitement as I approach the dormitory building, its ivy-covered brick exterior as grand as the rest of the university.

Just as I near the entrance, I spot a girl struggling with two large duffel bags, a backpack. Her dark curly hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and she looks around, clearly as lost as I feel.

"Need some help?" I ask, walking over.

She glances up, her brown eyes lighting up with relief. "Oh, thank God. Yes, please. These bags are trying to kill me," she says with a laugh.

I grab one of her duffels and place it on my suitcase and fall into step with her. "Are you new here too?"

"Yep," she says, tucking the map under her arm. "I'm Claire Bennet. And you?"

"Y/n," I reply. The semester has already started a week ago though the addmission where still open somehow. And the scholarship process did take a long to process.

"Well, Stella, looks like we're in this together. What's your room number?"

I pull out the paper with my dorm assignment and glance at it. "109."

Claire's face brightens. "No way! I'm in 108. We're neighbors."

"Seriously?" I grin. "That's awesome."

As Claire and I make our way to the dormitory, she starts talking, her words tumbling out like she's been holding them in for hours.

"My brother was supposed to help me move in," she grumbles, shifting her duffel bag to her other hand. "But guess what? He bailed at the last minute. Said he had 'something important to do.'" She throws up air quotes, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"You have a brother here?" I ask.

"Yeah, he's a senior" she says, the irritation in her voice palpable. "Liam Bennet. Mr. Popular, Mr. Too-Busy-to-Help-His-Sister. I swear, he promised me he'd show me around, but nope. He's probably off playing soccer or charming some poor freshman."

I chuckle. "Sounds like a handful."

"Oh, you have no idea," she says, shaking her head. "He's the golden boy of our family, and I'm the 'baby sister.' That's why I picked this university. I thought having him around would make things easier. Joke's on me. What about your family?."

"Uncle and Aunt," I say, my voice steady, though the words feel hollow. "My parents were in a car accident when I was a kid."

The explanation rolls off my tongue as though it's rehearsed. What I don't say—the part that lingers in the back of my mind—is that they're not really my family. They're guardians, legal placeholders, people who did their duty by taking me in.

I want to admit the truth that feels heavier than my suitcase: I have no one. That's the reality. But saying it out loud makes it too sharp to bear. So instead, I tuck the truth back inside and force a small, practiced smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"And there's my cousin," I add after a pause, as if remembering something important. "He's older—already working.

People don't usually ask more questions after that, and I hope this time is no different.

We both talk a little bit more here and there. By the time we reach the west wing, we're already swapping stories about where we're from and why we chose Ridgecrest.

At the dormitory, Claire fumbles with her key while I manage to unlock my door. Peeking inside, I see my room—a cozy, single space with a bed neatly made, a desk by the window, and a wardrobe in the corner. It feels small but perfect.

The room isn't huge, but it's cozy, and as the room is located at the end of the corridor it has two windows that let in the perfect amount of sunlight. One overlooks the campus green, and the other gives me a view of the quiet street outside.

After spending a few minutes taking in the quiet comfort of my new room, a knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I open it to find Claire standing there.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, tilting her head.

I nod quickly. "Starving."

"Let's go to the cafeteria, then," she says with a grin.

We walk through the maze of hallways until we find the cafeteria. It's bustling with activity—students talking, trays clattering, and the hum of conversation filling the air. Claire and I grab some food and find a table tucked away in the corner, away from the noise.

We're halfway through eating when a loud thud echoes through the cafeteria, followed by a sharp yell. My head snaps up, and I see two boys at the center of the room. One of them throws a punch that lands squarely on the other boy's cheek. The cafeteria erupts into chaos, with students jumping to their feet to get a better look.

Claire leans forward, whispering urgently, "That's Jaxon Reed. "The guy in the dark brown leather jacket.. My brother warned me about him."

I glance at her, eyebrows raised.

"He's kind of... infamous for all the wrong reasons" she says, her voice low. "No one wants to be on his bad side. Liam told me to steer clear of him."

I look back at the scene unfolding. Jaxon stands there, his eyes cold and unflinching as he glares down at the other boy, who's clutching his face in pain.

"What's his deal?" I ask, trying to piece together the tension radiating off him.

Claire shrugs but keeps her voice hushed. "Liam didn't give me details, just that Jaxon's bad news."

We both watch as a few other students step in to separate the boys.

I glance at Claire, who's shaking her head. "Welcome to Ridgecrest," she mutters, and I can't help but laugh nervously.