Chapter 8

Farrah

One Day Later

Black fades from my vision, and I notice I’m not at the club. I’m in a small room I’ve never seen before. Slowly I walk to the window and look out it. Young adults with backpacks and books walk around. It’s a college campus. Turning, I look around the room once again. There’s no club, no Benji. I’m… free. I bite my lip in excitement. The chance to mingle with kids my age, find a man to love swirling in the pit of my stomach, I might pee myself with happiness. I look to the mirror on the wall to freshen up before heading out, and can’t help but frown at my dark and unapproachable appearance. My dark brown and pink colored hair, with the dark eyeliner framing my green eyes with splashes of blue around the edges. Grabbing a piece of my hair, I twist it in my fingertips. I’ve always wanted to change it. I tilt my head to the side.

“New place, new me,” I tell my reflection. My small nose wrinkeling with excitement.

Papers on the desk next to me flutter to the floor from the breeze of the ceiling fan and I bend down grabbing one.

Professor Michael Prescott Auditorium 1B.

I tap the paper with my black fingernail that’s beginning to chip. Harley must have signed up for classes already. Ready to get out and adventure before I lose the light and Harley is back, I toss the paper on the desk and I head out of the dorm room and outside. Kids with bags of all colors and shapes pass by. Cliques sticking close and talking as I wander along the sidewalk, and a couple of jocks toss a football along the green grass. I can’t stop from smiling. I’m free, and it feels good.

Looking straight ahead I see a dome building with black bold letters above the door. 1B. That must be where I’m supposed to go. Stepping up the concrete steps, the black boots on my feet feel heavy.

I notice I’m wearing ripped jeans and a black shirt with a leather jacket. Ugh, I’ll have to go shopping after this. Harley’s clothing is so dark and grim it depresses me.

Once inside the building, it’s quiet as everyone has already found seats.

“Do you think Romeo would do it all over again?” a tall man asks the crowd. He has dark short hair and is wearing a white dress shirt with an ugly yellow tie positioned perfectly down the center. His black slacks matching his black shiny shoes peeking out from under his pant legs. His jaw is sharp with a five o’clock shadow, and he has the cutest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Can I help you?” I jump where I stand, looking around. Is he talking to me?

“Miss?”

I look at the professor, and he’s looking right at me. Holy crap.

I clear my throat, my skin feeling sweaty. “Is this Professor Prescott’s class?” I ask meekly. He smiles, oh God, he smiles handsomely.

“Yes, that’s me.” He nods.

I step further into the room, not sure where to sit. Do I sit next to someone or should I sit by myself?

“Are you new?”

“I, um?” I begin to doubt being in here. I should turn around. Everyone is looking at me. They have laptops and books. I have nothing.

“Sit here.” He points to a chair right in front of his desk. I sigh with relief that he suggested where to sit. Pinching my lips together, my hands squeezing each other I head to the seat. Everyone watches me closely as I step by, and it makes me nervous. I smile politely and head to my seat though.

Slipping into the wooden seat, I look up at him unsure of what to do next. I’ve never been to a school before.

“Do you have a pencil or anything?” he asks, his light blue-gray eyes looking at me. They look like the sky during a cold rain.

“I don’t,” I inform with a small smile.

He turns and grabs one off his desk.

“Use mine.” He hands me a blue writing utensil. Taking it from him, his fingers brushes mine, and a jolt of electricity circuits through my hand. When he doesn’t release his clutch on the pencil my eyes slide to his. They’re dancing with hunger, and burning with lust. A handsome smirk crosses his face, and he finally lets go of the pencil. It’s not until then that my lungs burn and I realize I’d held my breath the whole time we played tug-o-war with the pencil. Exhaling, I curl my toes and look down with blushing cheeks.

“As I was saying, there’s much hidden in the romance of Romeo and Juliet—”

Looking the pencil over I notice Prescott stamped in gold on the side. Teeth marks biting into the wood near the eraser. My fingers rub along the indentions as I silently say his name. His mouth was here, his tongue and saliva on this very pencil.

I bite my lip thinking about him nibbling on the end.

I peek up and catch him staring at me with heated eyes. Blue-gray eyes looking like a hostile storm.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Sitting in my seat at the top of the auditorium instead of right up front, I wait for Professor Prescott to start class. He’s running late today. I feel giddy sitting in my seat, in an actual classroom. I’ve never attended school before, so this is a whole new scene for me. A tall boy in a letterman’s jacket walks past me, grinning from ear to ear. I wink, chewing on the end of my pencil. Butterflies fill my stomach thinking about all the trouble I can get into here. Harley would be pissed.

Harley has no interest in men, boys, anything with a dick. Not that I know of anyway. She is more goal oriented and searching for where she belongs in life.

I know where I belong, in the arms of a man.