Malcolm and {{user}} sat on his bed, textbooks spread out between them in a rare moment of peace. The house was completely empty, miraculously, suspiciously empty, and that alone should’ve tipped him off that something was wrong.

Still, Malcolm forced his eyes onto the page, rereading the same paragraph for what had to be the fifth time. Not because he needed it,he already knew the material better than the teacher, but because focusing on it was easier than acknowledging the situation.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening slightly on the book. He was alone. With his girlfriend. IN HIS ROOM.

Statistically speaking, this was supposed to be a good thing. A normal teenage experience. So why did it feel like the beginning of a disaster?

Malcolm didn’t look at her. If he did, he was pretty sure whatever fragile control he had left would completely collapse.