3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

W hatever picture I'd created in my mind of Waversea College, I'm left reeling at the reality. It's much bigger and busier than I'd expected. Students cram into a canteen for breakfast, eagerly hunting for a free seat. Their desperation is exasperated by the multiple cafe's we've passed, which are also packed from window to wall, many resigning to stand in small groups and nurse their coffees. Curious eyes catch mine whenever my kidnappers aren't looking. Whether Garrett actually notices any of the people darting out of his path remains to be seen.

"Over there is the art block," he throws his hand lazily to a parallel building through the hallway windows. I'm distracted once again by his colorful tattoos. They're an array of illustrations, none matching but all slotted together in a makeshift sleeve. Cartoon characters, flowers, skulls, even some popular logos.

"And connected to that, the music rooms. Generally, if I'm in the mood for a decent blowjob from someone who knows how to tongue a flute, while another paints my chest with a ‘We Love Garrett' masterpiece, that's where I go." Axel groans, shaking his head but doesn't hit his friend again. I try not to choke on the pastry I was handed at the beginning of the tour and ordered to eat on the go.

"Someone," I mutter around a mouthful. The pair don't hear me over the rush of those responding to a distant bell. That's what he said - not a woman, not a female, but someone. Suddenly, I slow to assess how Axel's bicep brushes Garrett's repeatedly. Purposefully. Whenever they're forced apart by a railing or similar, they automatically draw back towards one another. We move from one block to the next, the names of lecture halls becoming a blur. Breaching the main courtyard, I stop at the top of the steps.

The buildings here are different, older. Creating a rectangle around a central fountain, four gothic structures stretch wide and high, more windows than I can comprehend catching the morning light. Directly opposite, a huge window of stained glass sits directly between a huge arched doorway and the brass bell in a clocktower. The courtyard, complete with stone benches and carefully curated flowers, is so out of place. I have to look back into the corridor behind, checking I haven't stepped into some other dimension. The hallway is quieter now, everyone in class. On that thought…

"So, yeah. Thanks for the tour and breakfast, I guess, but I'm going to get to class." I reach into my bag to find my timetable. A weird, high pitched whine causes me to stop.

"Noooo, you can't leave now!" Garrett frowns over his shoulder. "We're about to get to the best bit." The pair of them turn fully, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their gray tracksuits hide none of the muscle lingering underneath, their hands pushed into pockets. Their eyes are on opposite ends of the color scale, shining hazel and deathly darkened. Garrett smirks while Axel watches me with caution. An angel and a demon, tempting me to stray from what I should be doing. From where I should be.

"Seriously, I'm good. I have to go." Gripping my bag's strap like an anchor, I rush back into the building, hoping the door closed before they saw me stumble. What the hell was I thinking - complicity going along with their tour? Now I'm late and lost, only knowing of the best alcoves to be fucked against a wall without anyone nearby realizing.

I waste so much time trying to center myself with the map. Up to now, I've only ever been homeschooled in a singular room. My longest commute was from the study to the ballroom-turned-dance studio. When I make it to English Lit, the door is ajar. I raise my hand to knock, but the talking inside has already gone silent. Dozens of students spot me through the glass, their assessment already beginning.

On an exhale, I push the door open and nod to the professor. Mrs. Patrick, as the plaque on the door states, signals for me to take the lone seat in the back row without any embarrassing introductions. I'm thankful for that at least, knowing whispers and stares can't be passed behind my back. My blonde hair falls forward, creating a curtain around me as I fumble through my bag with shaky hands. My breathing is hitched, becoming stuck in my chest. I block out those who peer back when my highlighters slip and scatter across the floor.

I still, staring at the wood on the desk. It's smaller than the dining table I'm used to. A simple square, not big enough to fit both my textbook and notepad on, never mind my water bottle and pencil case. Isn't that what college students have at all times? I can't risk looking around and see, my cheeks on fire and nails embedded into my thighs. This was a mistake. I shouldn't be here.

A hand appears before me. Tanned, long fingers unfurl their grip from my highlighters, revealing a small square of paper. ‘Hi.' The two letters stare up at me beside a smiley face. I can't help but respond with a tilt of my own lips. Tucking my hair aside, I twist to reply and nearly choke on a gasp. That tanned skin melts away from the crystal clear blue eyes glimmering at me. His face is as flawless as the cut of his jaw, the outline of his Adam's apple. Fuck, he's gorgeous.

Clamping my mouth shut, not trusting myself not to squeak and interrupt Mrs. Patrick's lesson for a third time, I lean over the scrap of paper. ‘Hey,' I write back, and slide it onto his desk. He chuckles quietly while I focus on clamping my thighs together. Right, no - focus. That's what I'm supposed to be doing. Although every time I look up at the whiteboard, I'm instantly reminded I'm in a room full of people and my head begins to swim. Instead, I use the curtain of my hair to block everything out, only listening to the stern voice relay the pros of allegory and taking notes.

When the bell goes, I jump a few inches out of my skin. Hands instantly grab my arms, giving a reassuring squeeze until I'm settled back in my seat. Those blue eyes seek out mine, silently soothing me as the rest of the class pack up and promptly leave.

"It's okay, you're doing just fine." His whisper has more reassuring weight than he could possibly know. I melt, my chest finally unfurling. I visibly sag, my breath rushing out in one.

"You think? I'm certain everyone can tell I don't belong here."

"Really? Maybe my radar is off." My smile is genuine, mirroring his. Everything about this guy is warm and soothing. "Attending Waversea means you're either disgustingly rich or incredibly smart."

"Which category do you fall into?" I ask. His blue eyes and blond afro contrast with his tanned skin, such an exotic mix that I can't stop staring at. Fuck, I'm staring. Slowly standing, his hands linger until I'm steady. That smile doesn't leave his handsome face as he drops another note on my desk and strides away. I can't help but watch the snug fit of his jeans, the easy swagger of his stride. Is this what college really is? Impending panic attacks and raging hormones?

"Miss Hughes," my name is snapped once we're alone. I collect my books and join Mrs. Patrick at the front of the room. "Class starts promptly at nine. I'll ignore it this time, but two lates in one week will be reported to the Dean." I nod, biting my lip.

"I'm sorry, I got..." Distracted? Kidnapped? "Lost." The middle aged woman with cropped, light hair and a cane regards me for a moment. She nods as if to dismiss me, but her voice carries as I reach the door.

"You won't be given any free passes in my class, Miss Hughes. Regardless of your family ties." My mouth drops open, my palm on the threshold. Despite the flames I feel taking root in my cheeks, my back straightens.

"I wouldn't dream of relying on such a thing," I state, my nostrils flaring. Perhaps I appear hostile, but Mrs. Patrick seems to be at ease with my stance. It's best we clear up now that I will work for my degree and have no intentions of skating by on reputation. No doubt that's what Wyatt is doing, wherever he is. Entering the hallway, I realize it's awfully quiet again and rush to my next lesson. The one I've been most looking forward to. Performing arts. The only problem is, that block is all the way across campus.

By the time I drop onto my bed that evening, forgetting the mattress has no bounce, I'm calculating ways to change my identity and start a new life in a new state.

"Good first day?" Kay asks from her bed. She doesn't bother to put her phone aside and actually look at the defeat in my features.

"I was late to every class, subjected to multiple warnings from my professors, whispered about by most, stared at by everyone, almost had four panic attacks and ate my lunch in the toilet. What do you think?" Grabbing my covers, I roll myself towards the wall and give into the emotion clawing at my throat. I control it for the most part. The tears fall silently, the spasming of my chest subsides with exhaustion. I miss Meg, I miss my home. Still fully clothed, I relent to the darkness slipping in while clutched in my hand is that crumpled note I've kept with me since English Lit.

‘I'm Dax.'