Chapter 1
Starting new at another place is never easy. I should know - I moved around the United States for most of my teenage years. Moving had never been a well- made decision for me and my mother, but we made it work. We'd move to a new state to escape our past demons, rent a cheap-ass apartment in a sketchy place, start new lives, and then move again once the demons caught up to us again.
The demons weren't literal, of course. They were hidden within us, managing to escape after a while, no matter how far we ran away or how hard we tried to ignore them. They would ruin our lives, chewing at our conscience and thoughts without hesitation. They would constantly remind my mother that the countless men she had daily intercourse with, would not fill the human-sized hole in her soul, created by the tragic and unexplainable death of her husband and my father. The demons chastised her for being a bad mother and role model for her daughter and the only living embodiment of the love of her life. They effortlessly convinced her that the only way to fill the painful, bleeding hole inside her, was to do drugs until she couldn't remember anything, including her own name and age.
And they didn't go easy on me, too.
I was unable to grow close to anyone. Every time I found new friends, the demons reappeared, making me fear for the longevity of my friendships. I never wanted to lose anyone or to hurt them with any of the heavy baggage I was forced to tag along with me every time we tried to run away from the soul-sucking demons. Even more, we'd move so often that, after a while, I didn't even care for making new friends or meeting new people. I became more and more anti-social with every move, even dipping my toes in the drug world with the last few moves we had had.
That is, until now.
I had sworn to myself that the start of my university life would be different for me. I had left my mother behind, unable to help her without getting sucked into the hole of drugs and never-ending regret myself. Working two part-time jobs, I sent my mother money every month. I hoped that she was using the money to buy groceries and to pay rent, but I couldn't be sure. She wouldn't talk to me, but she also didn't return the money.
Today, as for the past two months, I sent her a part of my salary as soon as I received it. Each time, I wrote her a little message, asking how she was doing and summarizing how I was doing, hoping that it would make her feel like she wasn't missing out too much. Today my message included my thoughts of the upcoming semester for the university and that I had found a dorm room that I moved in last week. Pressing the button 'send', I wished that she would answer my phone calls so I could talk to her. Even though she was damaged and was definitely a bad role model, she was my mother and I missed her.
But I had to do this for myself. I refused to be an unhappy sex worker on the street, like my mother, selling my body to sketchy men, who had kinky desires and an unhealthy obsession of making women feel worthless.
My first class of the semester is Marketing. I chose to major in Business, as it was the only programme that I had received a partial scholarship for. Even though my grades weren't bad, my mother had had terrible health issues during the SAT exam, so I was unable to focus during it. Every moment preparing for them was spent worrying about my mother, hoping that I'd still have one at the end of the day.
After my night shift at McDonald's, I was rushing through the student-filled campus to reach my class in time. I had memorized the campus map thoroughly, but the walk still feels like it was an eternity long. Being slightly grumpy due the lack of sleep I had gotten, I try to ignore the cheerful students with their cute backpacks, making friends with each other and discussing their summer and fall activities. There is also a lot of talk about some student party tonight - Aristotle or something - that seemingly everyone is attending in order to get drunk on beer that the older students will bring, in addition to meeting new people, and, of course, hooking up with drunk hotties.
As I walk through a loud group of freshmen, standing in front of the building that my first lecture is taking place in, a blonde girl manages to stop me and to slip me the informative pamphlet about the party. Irritated by the lack of respect for personal boundaries, I quickly place the paper back onto the mountain of pamphlets she is holding and continue to walk further. I catch the surprise in her pale green eyes that is quickly replaced with annoyance on her face, but I don't care. I'm not about to go to this event.
The door to the classroom is wide open. This faculty is not as large and beautiful as the ones of Law, Medicine or Sciences, but I think that it only makes the faculty seem more homely. Besides, large crowds and never ending events while trying to study are really not my thing.
The classroom is not hard to find - second floor, the hallway with the classrooms 201-208. I need the 204 classroom, which is on the left side of the hallway. There is a noticeable puddle of coffee right next to the coffee machine, which almost causes me to run into a tiny girl. She looks slightly annoyed, but I don't care enough to apologize numerous times. Quickly murmuring 'my bad', I continue towards the classroom.
The door is wide open, but I briefly stop right before entering to take a calming breath. A plump boy almost runs into me, not anticipating my sudden stop, and he pads around me into the class, murmuring something about 'annoying chicks'. I have a thick skin, so his annoyance and comments don't bother me even a tiny bit. Taking another deep breath, and finally enter the room.
The classroom is quite simple, yet visibly renovated. The pale blue walls are perfectly coordinated with the blue accent colors in the desks, and the classroom has a large, white blackboard that can be used while presenting. The professor has not arrived yet, but the tables are pretty full. Excited freshmen students are getting acquainted with their classmates, with a few of them glancing at me hopefully. I notice that there is a noticeable majority of girls in the classroom, but I don't care. It's not like I was hoping to find a boyfriend here. Finding a friend - boy or girl - is also not a priority of mine. I am here to learn and to get out of the shit hole that was my life back home. Acquiring a friend would probably be a distraction from what really matters to me – education and earning a degree.
Running my eyes across the medium-sized room, I notice only two empty seats. Deciding on the one furthest away from the front of the classroom - in the far left corner - I quickly make my way towards it. Some of my new course mates glance at me, looking to see if I'm approaching anyone or just simply checking me out, but I avoid eye contact with them, partially because I'm quite awkward in social interactions. Instead, I stare straight ahead, trying to calm my nerves and quickly wiping my sweaty palms on my black jeans. I feel one of the shoe laces of my cheap-ass sneakers untie, but I don't bother to stop and tie them, desperately wishing to sit down faster to avoid everyone's stares. They are probably not as intense as I am imagining in my head, I try to comfort myself.
At the table, a boy is sitting in the corner seat, not even raising his head to look up when I sit down next to him. He has leaned very close to his notebook, so I can only see his profile, but it is quite a pleasure for the eyes. My eyes briefly linger on his hair, noticing that it is perfectly trimmed with a light fade on the sides. I am grateful for the boy not paying me any attention. I try to look around the classroom in order to give him some privacy as well, but I quickly become uncomfortable when meeting the eyes of some of my new course mates. With a slight shudder, I unconsciously allow my eyes to return to the boy sitting next to me, peeking over his shoulder to see what has his full attention. With great difficulty, I can see that he is scribbling something on the back of his plain black notebook, but there is no distinct pattern. He seems to just be scribbling to pass the time. I can understand that, I often do the same.
The boy doesn't hold my interest for long. Looking away from him again, I pull out a white notebook and a few pens, reminding myself the mantra I have set for this year – it will get better. I'm unsure if I really believe it or if I'm just trying to fool myself, but chanting this to myself calms my nerves. I know the demons will return, just as always, but I am determined to keep them away for longer this time.
I contemplate scribbling in my notebook as well - it seems like a calming thing to do, which will give me somewhere else to stare at rather than the overly eager faces of my course mates, but as soon as the thought enters my mind, the professor marches into the classroom. It is noticeable that she is a woman that cares about her appearance a lot. Her beige floral jacket and skirt are ironed to perfection, her blonde hair is made into salon-quality curls and she is wearing a full face of makeup at 8:30 AM - something that I could never do, both because I just value my sleep time too much and also because I can't really afford any make up.
"Good morning, class. Let me congratulate you with your first class of the semester!" With her heels loudly clicking on the classroom floor, she places her expensive-looking bag on the chair by her desk and looks up at the class. Her eyes scan the room, and I realize that she's counting the students in the room. Once she's done, she nods to herself and starts the presentation that has been opened by her TA.
After her introductory presentation about the course requirements and expectations, she switches on a slide with the title 'The Marketing Mix', not bothering to familiarize herself with our names or expectations for the course. It is quite different from every new teacher I have had in school, so it surprises me, but the surprise is definitely pleasant - I hate introducing myself to a class full of people.
I tried to prepare for the first lectures with the help of the study plan I found online, so I have already familiarized myself with the theme. As she explains it to the class, I begin scribbling in my notebook, only partially listening to her. My mind quickly wanders off to thoughts about my mother, my head swarming with unanswered questions about her whereabouts and wellbeing. Is she doing alright? Did she spend the money for food and rent, or did she use it all for drugs, as she has done previously? Is she with-
"Avani Mitchells." Hearing my name spoken out loud by the professor brings me back to reality. I blink, trying to recall the question that had been asked. Apparently, I spaced off too much, missing the question and the reason for the professor calling my name. My face is rapidly heating up, probably becoming bright red, and, in panic, I look around, only to see multiple students looking at me. The boy next to me is still carelessly scribbling in his notebook, and it is quite comforting, knowing that he is probably the only one not scanning the room to find the called person.
When my eyes slide to the blackboard, I notice a list of student names on it. The realization that the professor might be doing a checkup hits me, and I quickly call out 'present'. My voice is shaky and the answer came out breathless, but I try to ignore the wave of embarrassment I feel crashing over me. The professor, who was about to call another name, looks up from the screen to look at me. She stares at me for two seconds, probably judging me for taking so long to answer, but doesn't say anything. Checking the 'present' field, she moves on to the next person - a girl named Danielle Amber.
I return to scribbling in my notebook, trying to cool down my scorching hot, and probably quite red, face. The professor continues to call out names, and I don't care for them until she calls a name and the boy sitting next to me finally raises his head and speaks up, slightly scaring me with the sudden sound next to me.
"Sebastian Johns?"
"Present."
Even though I see the boy raise his head towards the professor, I force myself to focus on the notebook. It doesn't look like he wants to be looked at, judging by the way he has been acting the whole lecture, and I understand it. I don't like to be stared at, too, so I keep my head down and my eyes focus on the meaningless scribble in my notebook.
The professor finishes checking the attendance list, and returns to her presentation. This time I raise my head and try to focus on what she is saying, afraid of another embarrassing moment. The presentation is quite interesting, having many facts and attention-catching pictures, but the professor's presenting skills are not perfect. At times, she gets off-topic, talking about things that cannot, in any way, be linked with the topic, which slightly irritates me. Checking the time on the big screen, I realize that we only have twenty minutes of the lecture left, and I let out a sigh of relief.
The professor changes the slide to a new one, and it catches my attention immediately, making me groan internally. "Now that you're a bit familiarized with the theme, I want you to work in pairs for this task." Work in pairs. Oh, God, no. The task is an easy one - we have to think of a company and how it presents itself through the four p's: product, place, price and promotion. It is an easy task, in my opinion – my mind is immediately filled with at least ten different brands that are perfect for this analysis and I'm ready to work.
Unfortunately, the work is in pairs, so I'm forced to work with the silent boy sitting next to me. He doesn't even move when the task is announced, still scribbling something in his notebook and starting to slightly irritate me. I am all for ignoring others and keeping your eyes to yourself, but this is a situation that I want resolved. Either we work together or not. Why doesn't he just say if he wants to work independently?
I sigh quietly. As much as I don't want to, it looks like he's not going to start the conversation. It has to be me. I turn towards him in my chair, still expecting him to say something, but he doesn't pay me any attention. His face is still turned slightly away from me, and I am wondering how to start up the conversation.
Just as I think that I have found the best opening sentence, he beats me to it.
"Are you one of those girls, who's too awkward to work together in pairs on the first day?" He suddenly rises his head, revealing his attractive face. In that moment, every thought that I had in my head, disappears, as my eyes are met by his unique ones, my mind choosing to deal with processing the rude remark later. I have never seen anything like his eyes. It's like he has two different pairs of eyes - the left eye is in a beautiful blue color, while the right one is grass green. It's like looking at an incredibly handsome husky, and I realize I am having trouble tearing my eyes away. Of course, I also manage to appreciate his other features - his eyelashes, for example. They are beautiful and amazingly long, leaving small shadows beneath his eyes and making me jealous that my eyelashes were literally non-existent, in comparison to his.
The moment grows awkward, as I'm scrambling to gather my thoughts and find a suitable answer to his snide comment. My eyebrows furrow. "Rude much?" Of course, I am quite individual, preferring to avoid unnecessary conversations with strangers, but I've promised myself to try. This involves working together in pairs and not complaining about it to myself. But if my partner turns out to be a regular pretty boy with a shitty attitude, I prefer to work alone.
The boy's face softens as he realizes that his snide comment must have been too rude and unexpected. He looks down at the desk and then his eyes return to my face, full of sincerity, as he apologizes. "I'm sorry, that was mean." I smile at the boy politely, appreciating the apology, but deciding to keep him at least at three arms' length after the pair work.
"I'm down to work together..." I pause for a second, examining Sebastian's face for any signs of disappointment in response to my answer. "If you want to, of course." My eyes quickly return to my notebook and focus on the weird scribbles. I have lost all interest in them, but they prove to be a valuable method of avoiding eye contact, once again.
"Sure, why not?" His voice, just like himself, is incredibly attractive and just deep enough to make a girl fall in love with just a sentence. "Any brand in mind?" He asks nonchalantly, looking into his notes. My eyes leave the scribbles and follow his arm as it moves, my mind trying to recall any of the brands that I had thought of previously. Once again, my mind appears to be swiped empty, so, while my gaze fixates on Sebastian's notes, my mind is scrambling to come up with any new ideas. After a moment of silence, he looks up, and I am once again mesmerized by his unique eyes, which makes me lose my train of thought for the second time already. How can one human be so distracting?
Feeling an awkward blush creeping onto my face, I shake my head and turn away to get an inspiration for a brand from my course mates. I try to focus on different students in the class, trying to notice any brands in their clothing or accessories, but I'm having trouble ignoring the handsome boy's presence right next to me. I feel his eyes on me, probably checking me out, making me grow more and more uncomfortable with each second as I remember of the flaws in my appearance. My eyebrows, for example, that are in desperate need of some attention, as well as my long brown hair that is desperately begging me to have a haircut. I'm not one to obsess over my appearance, as I don't have the means nor the energy for it, but with Sebastian's gaze on me, I wish I had paid more attention to it.
A light vibration in the pocket of my jacket makes me immediately reach to pull it out, hoping that it would be a message from my mother. As quickly as the hope blooms in my chest, it is crushed when I read that it's from my Starbuck's manager, asking me to come earlier for my shift today.
"Bad news?" Sebastian asks in a soft voice. I raise my head to look at him, slightly annoyed that he is getting up in my business, but his concerned eyes make the annoyance quickly dissipate. Taking a deep breath before answering, I try to calm myself so my voice doesn't shake.
"No, more like wrong person." I say with a shrug, blinking away the tears that are beginning to slowly pool in the corners of my eyes. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I am not one to talk about my or my family's issues to anyone, especially this boy, so I quickly change the topic as an idea pops into my head.
"Why don't we do Starbucks?"