Doug pries the ornament from my fingers, tossing it in the air and catching it in his palm before pitching it at the bookshelf. I flinch as it shatters and a shard of glass skims my arm.

“I’ve been following you for an hour, waiting to see if your boyfriend would show up. He’s been making a hell of a mess looking for you.” He reaches into the box for another ornament. Then another. Smashing them against the wall, raining glass and porcelain over me.

“Stop it! Those are mine!”

He reaches for another ornament. It’s the first one I ever left for Jack.

My mind lunges for the plant. The leaves shudder as I slide into its roots. I grab hold, surprised when the plant draws back from me. Not as if it’s resisting, but as if it’s being pulled by someone else. With a violent jerk, the plant is yanked from my thoughts.

My eyes snap to Doug’s.

A smile curls his lips as a vine surges toward me. I grab my temples, forcing my mind back in, pushing up against Doug’s as we wrestle for control of the plant. Doug and I circle each other beside the desk, our minds feinting and lunging at each other. The ceramic pot rattles on the desk. Soil and shards explode over us as the roots burst free and the vines extend. His mind grabs hold of mine. My thoughts push his back. A sickening sense of déjà vu washes over me, like we’ve done this before.

A sharp pain shoots through my temple, and I kick out with my thoughts in one final push, gasping as Doug’s mind is thrown from the plant.

My body flies backward, slamming onto the carpet with bruising force as Doug crashes into the desk.

“You’re an asshole,” I groan, my thoughts scattered.

“And you’re a good teacher,” he says through a pant.

I feel Doug’s mind rush for a root at the same time mine does, but I’m faster. I push my mind inside it, taking control and staking my claim to it. Doug reaches behind him, groping for the remains of the shattered pot. With a savage grin, he digs his fingers into the soil. My ribs clench with a suffocating pain as his fist closes around the plant’s root ball.

Panic seizes me. I try to withdraw my mind from the plant, but it’s stuck, as if Doug’s holding me there. He squeezes the roots harder. My lungs contract. I can’t get any air.

Doug grabs his chest, a sudden pain streaking over his face. He drops the plant with a startled cry, and I reel back, sucking in a starved breath.

“How did you do that?” he rasps, his hand pressed to his sternum, mirroring mine.