Breaking Through (The Breaking Series Book 3) by Juliana Haygert

barely registered as the professor said, “Miss Taylor, you’re late.” I opened my mouth to explain to him what happened, but no words came out. He sighed. “Take a seat.”
    I glanced around. Would I take a seat? If I didn’t take this test, I would fail this class. Wasn’t I strong enough to push through my fear, my panic, to pass a class? I wasn’t so sure.
    Shaking so hard I was sure I was going to fall on my face, I finally moved, taking the nearest empty seat I could find to the door. Just in case. Just so I could tell myself nothing was going to happen and that I was safe. This was a healthy environment, a respectful college. Besides, the professor was here, and he would never allow anything to happen to one of his students, would he? Well, he was also a man.
    I closed my eyes and tried my therapist’s technique. The tap tap of a pen, the chuckle of someone behind me, the whispers at my side, the footsteps of the professor … It was useless here.
    I can do this. I will do this.
    I took a deep breath and willed my heart and my breathing to slow down. Not so easy.
    I can do this.
    Just as I grabbed a pen from my tote, the professor handed me the test, then walked back to his table in front of the class. “You may begin,” he said.
    I turned to my paper and started reading the words. I read the same sentence five times and still couldn’t absorb what it said, not when I was surrounded by men. Men who were stealing glances at me every few seconds. Men who smiled at me as if I were their prey.
    Okay, okay. I was imagining things. Wasn’t I?
    Calm down, Hilary.
    I dared to peek to my sides, and sure enough, most of the guys in the classroom were watching me. Some scribbled a little, then looked at me for a few seconds, then returned their attention to their test, and the cycle went on. But a couple were blatantly staring at me, as if they could see the answers to the test in my face? I wasn’t sure.
    Stifling a shudder that started in the base of my neck and fought its way down my spine, I did my best to block the men out of my sight and my mind.
    Focus on the test. Focus on the test.
    I stared at the words on my paper and repeated that mantra for about five minutes, until my hands shook a little less and my heart didn’t pound so painfully against my rib cage. Still paying attention to my pencil and the paper in front of me, I finally started the test. It was a challenge to ignore the world around me and immerse myself in economics 102, but I managed.
    Until thirty minutes later, when the professor’s cell phone rang, and he excused himself, saying he needed to get this call. He exited the classroom and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with over a dozen strangers. A dozen men. Men who probably had sex on their minds.
    My hands started shaking again, and I sucked in a rugged breath.
    Focus, Hilary. Focus!
    But I couldn’t focus, not anymore.
    Then, a guy’s hand reached over my desk, and he dropped a folded piece of paper on my test. He quickly went back to his seat on my right, but not without brushing his hand over mine first. Wincing, I jerked back and dropped my pencil on the floor.
    Shocked, I stared at the piece of paper as if it could bite me. The fold wasn’t too hard and the paper was half-open.
    Go out with me, beautiful , it read.
    I felt sick to my stomach.
    Another guy, from my left this time, knelt down and retrieved my pencil.
    “Here you go,” he whispered, putting my pencil on my desk. He lingered close, as if I would talk to him.
    Something snapped inside me. I jumped from my seat, bumping into my desk and causing my test and my pencil to hit the floor. I didn’t care, though. The only thing I cared about was getting away from here.
    I swiped my tote from the floor and rushed to the door. With my shaky, sweaty hands, I fumbled with the knob, fear clogging my throat. Why wasn’t it opening? Was the door locked? From the other side, the professor opened the door.
    “Miss