By the time we got back to the dorm my legs felt like they'd been filled with sand. I made it through the door and went straight to the bed. Not sat — dropped. Face into the pillow, arms out, done.
The sheets smelled like my detergent and something else underneath it — that layered, specific scent that was just this room, just my life, the one that was out there continuing without me in it.
Sabrina was already moving. Bag off the chair, phone in her pocket, jacket pulled down from the hook on the door. I knew the routine. Three years of watching her leave — after study sessions, after bad games, after the night sophomore year when I'd said something stupid and she'd left without slamming the door, which was worse than if she had.
I sat up. "Where are you going?"
"My dorm, Tyler."
"Why
