Lucas was already moving when he heard Nina's peals of laughter behind him. He was glad that saying Aimee's name seemed to stop the ringing in both their heads, but regretted having touched her after; she was on sensory overload right now and had just about shut down, she didn't need his thoughts, however well-meaning. He regretted being a factor in her disorientation, in her pain, and he needed to help her somehow.
Overload, he thought grimly as he pushed through the crowd of people. Don't miss that at all. He'd been in a state of overload for about a year after his powers kicked in, so overwhelmed by other people's emotions and thoughts and senses that his own self seemed to vanish. He couldn't remember almost anything from that year. Only a swirling sea of colors and noise and smells and sounds that blended together into a screaming mess and himself just numb, numb, numb.
He entered the dorm hall just in time to catch the last notes of a long, sustained wail in his head, a feedback-like screech of emotions that were unmistakably Aimee's, which caused him to almost double over in pain. As he recovered he saw Anthony dart out of his own room, and realized with a jolt that the scream must have been audible as well as mental. Trepidatiously, he approached Aimee's room, which Anthony had already entered. The door was flung open; he peered inside to see the two, Aimee curled in the fetal position, Anthony crouching in front of her. They didn't seem to notice Lucas, and he backed away immediately. The guy's got this, he said to himself. She doesn't need me around too. He kicked himself mentally for having thought that she'd actually choose him, a stranger she met last night, over her friend of nigh three years. Silly you, thinking you could help, his inner voice hissed.
But then there was a dull distorted ringing in both Aimee and Anthony's ears (Lucas supposed it was the bell), and Aimee was saying, "I just need to go to class." Lucas' heart dropped. He imagined her sitting at her desk, staring vacantly as she tried to process all the input from the world around her, flinching like a hurt animal when the teacher yelled for her to pay attention, walking from class to class like a wind-up toy. Like he had done for the entirety of 9th grade.
The word, "no", escaped his lips at the thought. No. He walked to her door, knocking on the frame. "Aimee," he said emphatically, before stopping short and losing his nerve. "Sorry, I overheard and I just--sorry if this is creepy, I--" he shook his head. "You...you can't go to class, Aimee." His face was despondent. "It'll kill you inside."