Chapter 3
Once I became entangled in the twists and turns of life, I resigned myself to living for the sake of breathing.
I’m walking to get up.
Doing things to lie down.
Talking to say nothing at all.
Thinking to chase thoughts away.
“Ms. Torn, are you going to answer the question, or has the cat got your tongue?”
I looked up at Professor Wales, my mouth open, but no words came out.
He kept looking at me with a peeved expression, waiting for my answer.
Anxiety squished my stomach.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
The recess bell rang, followed by the screeching of chairs.
“Ms. Torn, come over here, would you?” he said, walking to his desk.
I began to pack stuff into my backpack. I glanced at Professor, who was now shuffling papers at his desk. I sighed and got up. Bell looked at me, her lips pursed, eyes filled with sympathy.
“I’ll wait for you outside.”
Ronald Wales taught our class on Existentialism. He looked younger than his age. One could easily mistake him for a senior student. However, he would always stand out thanks to his sheer devotion to wearing vests over his shirts, which made him look older .
Bell and I counted around twenty different vests of varying colors in his collection.
He was always noticeable, even from afar, due to his peculiar walk. It’s like he was walking with a skip. He wore glasses, and we could tell his mood by them.
If he’s in good spirits, he wouldn’t touch the glasses. But the moment something spoiled his mood, he would keep readjusting them regardless if they were in place or not. And if he was really out of sorts, he’d take them off.
“Ms. Torn, are you aware that you won’t be able to pass my class this semester to graduate from the university?”
My right hand clasped around my left index finger, rubbing and squeezing it.
“Why?”
He looked down at the desk and took the glasses off, placing them tentatively to the left of himself.
“Your latest test results were poor. And I haven’t even got your essay yet.”
“I’m sorry. May I still bring the essay in?”
His gaze lowered to the papers on the desk. I felt like I was wasting his time at this point.
“Yes, you may. Bring it over on Monday. This is the latest date. Otherwise, I won’t allow you to take the exam.”
I nodded readily, my hand still rubbing my finger, squeezing harder.
He crumpled up an essay sheet and threw it in the bin before raising his annoyed gaze back to me.
“My subject is fairly complex, and I expect more engagement from my students. I get it, this is your final year and you’re exhausted, but you have to get a grip and make it to the end. Would be a shame if you’re unable to graduate with your classmates.”
He picked up a pen and began circling words on a page so vigorously it made the pen squeak .
“I’ll hand everything in.”
He didn’t say anything, still crossing out words, leaving question marks next to them.
I turned to leave, but he carried on,
“Please, do. You’re about to enter adulthood, and it rarely gives second chances,” he said, proceeding to guide the red pen over the page arduously.
He let out a heavy sigh and looked up at me.
“And, please, try to be more focused at my seminars. I can’t recall the last time you answered at least one of my questions. You always say you don’t know the answer or ignore me altogether.”
Shame insidiously showed up on my cheeks, guilt and fear curled into a ball, fighting for dominance.
“I’m sorry.”
“Is everything alright with you?”
Concern in his voice was clear.
“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”
He put the pen down and folded his arms.
“If that’s so, Ms. Torn, I’ll have to ask you to be more responsible when it comes to my class, and prepare more diligently.”
“Of course.”
“Put thinking about boys and dates on the back burner. You’ll have plenty of those. Right now you need to focus on your studies. I don’t think I’m the only one complaining about your grades.”
“I understand.”
“I sure hope so.”
He cast a disapproving glance over me and returned to grading the papers.
I pursed my lips.
“You may leave.”
Once I left the auditorium, I realized how much strain I was under as the tension began to fade .
Bell was standing across from the auditorium, her long nails tapping on her phone screen.
“How bad is it?” she asked, not lifting her head.
“I need to bring in an essay by Monday and take the test again.”
She raised her head and slipped the phone into the pocket of her pants.
“I’ll help you out.”
She put her arm around me and we walked down the hall.
“You’re blushing so hard,”Bell put her hand on my left cheek,
“He didn’t hit on you, did he?”
“Bell.”
I cast her an accusatory look and pushed her away. Chuckling, she returned to my side.
“Oh, no, don’t tell me you...”
“What?”
“You’re actually into that?”
I pinched her side, making her let out a piercing squeal as she tried to get away from me.
Once we came back to our room, I dropped my backpack on the floor and sat on my bed.
My lush ash brown hair was gathered into a tall ponytail, held tight with hair tie. I pulled at it, ripping out and freeing my hair from the tiny torture device. Feeling a rush of blood, I slipped fingers into my hair, massaging the scalp. I closed my eyes, feeling a rush of pleasure.
After a few minutes I looked at my wild hair and reached for my bra. The underwires dug into my skin so hard, I felt like I could breathe again when I unclasped it. Unrestricted chest breathing felt strange, too easy.
I lay back on the soft mattress, still wearing the bra. My head was ringing, body relaxing, the bed felt increasingly softer, while my eyelids got heavier .
Loud music coming from my phone woke me up. My eyes opened, heart jumping out of my chest.
Night shrouded the room in darkness, and only the dull light of the street lamps allowed me to see the outlines of the furniture.
I rested on my elbows and reached for the phone, taking the call without checking the caller ID.
“Hello,” I croaked.
“You’re coming to my party tonight.”
I could hear loud music on the other end.
“I don’t know about that.”
“I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
Oscar hung up and I fell on my back, dropping the phone on my stomach.
This wasn’t an invitation. Nor was it a question. He was stating a fact.
Screw it. I’m going.
What kind of party is this going to be? What should I wear? Who’s gonna be there? Where is it held? Who’s gonna take me back home? Is there gonna be anyone I know?
I let out a sigh and kept staring at the ceiling, unaware I was falling back to sleep. My body jerked awake when I realized I’d fallen asleep. I got up and went to the wardrobe.
I took a milky white blouse out, along with a burgundy skirt.
I was pulling on my brown high-heeled boots meant for a more frigid weather when I realized I wasn’t wearing my makeup. I didn’t look at the time because I knew an hour had passed anyway.
I was working on my eyeshadow, trying to match my icy blue eyes, when I saw Oscar was calling again.
I ignored it, trying to apply my makeup faster.
I put on some cherry red lip gloss to hide my usual pallor.
Next, I made a few steps towards my trench coat when I remembered my hair was still a mess.
My hair was all over the place after a nap and I began to brush it feverishly, holding it in the middle with my left hand and brushing with the right. I tucked a few strands behind my ears and saw my locks get even frizzier than before. This was pissing me off so bad.
Turning my makeup bag inside out looking for a tiny hair tie, I began making a French braid. I was annoyed. I could feel myself begin to sweat, my hands going numb. The braid turned out messy, but I was out of time.
I slipped into my long trench coat and began walking downstairs when his name lit up on my phone screen once again. My heels clicked loudly on the stairs, drawing much unwanted attention from the other students.
Once I walked outside, the cool breeze welcomed me. It played with my locks, sending shivers down my spine and making me pull the flaps of my coat together like it was a bathrobe.
The night was unmistakably cold, but Oscar couldn’t care less. He sat in a blue open-top convertible. Loud music was roaring inside.
This was his new car. It glistened under the street light, practically screaming about its crazy price tag.
Once he saw me, Oscar ran out to open the car door and give me a peck on the cheek.
I smiled at him.
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you answer my calls for so long?”
“I was on my way downstairs anyway, so I ignored it.”
“I told you to be outside, waiting for me by nine.”
I didn’t answer and began buttoning my coat.
“Doll,” he turned to me, holding the wheel with his left hand, “If I tell you to be outside by nine, you come out and wait for me by nine. You aren’t stupid, are you?”
He smiled, chewing on a piece of gum. I reached for the seatbelt when he hit the gas hard enough to make the tires screech, leaving black marks on the pavement, letting everyone know Oscar was on the road.
I kept quiet not just because I didn’t want us to fall out right before the party.
I also really didn’t feel like featuring in the morning news, with a tagline saying something along the lines of “Man and woman in their twenties swerved off the road, lost control of the car.” Or worse yet, calling us a couple.
Hanging with Oscar felt easy and fun for the most part, but times like these really pissed me off. He never fails to remind me why I pulled away from him last time round.
I swallowed my anger and tried to enjoy the ride.
While driving, Oscar was ignoring all possible traffic rules, getting us to the party spot faster than the GPS suggested.
The party was held in a large house in dire need of repairs. People didn’t build new houses in Ilion, they’d only destroy the old ones. The house stood in the outskirts, by a forest. Most houses in the neighborhood were abandoned. The street was lit with just a few lamps.
I opened the door, and Oscar simply climbed out of the car window. He ran up to me, resting his heavy arm on my shoulders. We walked to the entrance without a word, accompanied by the gum chewing noises and the bass sounds coming from the house.