A Classroom Affair

Chapter 2

"Such a pretty girl, yes, just like that baby..." Ashton looks down at me, his fist full of my hair and his eyes half shut in pleasure.
I continued bobbing my head up and down, swirling my tongue in all the right places. Our eyes never break from each other. The air becomes hot, and the windows fog over.
Our clothes are flung all around the room. We tore them off in desperation for each other. I'm so happy at this moment. We are finally together, just like it was meant to be.
Nothing could ruin this...

The shrill beep of an alarm wakes me from my deep slumber. My heart races as I search the bed for my phone and hit the snooze button. Remnants of my dream linger as I try to wake fully. It felt so real. I could have sworn I felt his hands all over my body. I peel the covers off, frustrated about the dream, but I can't blame myself, right? Dreams are beyond our control. They don't mean anything. It's just our mind making things up. I try a little too hard to convince myself of that fact as I lay in bed with the covers askew and contemplate my existence. Maybe I should take my mother's advice and go out for once. Who knows, I might meet a cute guy, and we could drive off into the sunset together. But I highly doubt it. I have yet to find someone who matches my energy. I've had my fair share of 'situationship' that were toxic and full of bad sex. I'm tired of it. I want a man to see my worth and treat me accordingly. Also, sex that involves more than just missionary would be nice, too.

I stop my train of thought before it spirals down a rabbit hole of unwanted memories and my fear of the future. Instead, I go to the bathroom and turn the shower on as hot as my skin will allow. After my scalding shower and blasting The Neighborhood too loudly, I get dressed and go downstairs. I'm surprised to see my mom sitting at the table, usually after a late shift she sleeps for most of the day. I don't blame her, I do the same thing after a full day of University which is way less stressful than her job at the hospital. She seems to be struggling to stay awake while eating her Cheerios. I poke her arm, and she jerks in her seat.

"I'm awake!" She says, but the dark circles under her eyes tell a different story.

"Rough night, huh?" I ask.

"Just a little." My mom sighs, and I let the topic go.

~

As I head outside, the warm, sticky air makes me wish that I could be splashing in the waves of Rainbow Bay. I start the short walk to campus because the thought of driving on the opposite side of the road still terrifies me. My mom insists it's not bad, but I refuse to believe her. It was hard enough getting my license back in the States; I don't feel like starting all over again.

The beauty of The Gold Coast never ceases to amaze me. I find something new to look at on each of my walks. I know I stick out like a sore thumb when I take pictures of the scenery, but I don't care. It's just all so beautiful to me. The sight of my college is a relief for my sweaty pits and frizzy hair. It's the beginning of February, which generally, for an American like me, would mean puffy winter coats and lots of layers, but here, the hottest months are just getting started. I stop at the ladies' room to freshen up a bit before class, and I'm reapplying deodorant when a conversation on the other side of the bathroom catches my attention. It's mostly in hushed whispers, but I hear, "That Psych professor is so hot, what's his name again?" followed by giggles and "Mr. Irwin! You should see the way he looks at me. He totally has the hots for me." I roll my eyes at their banter and slip out of the door before they notice my presence. Most of the girls I've encountered are downright rude, and that's coming from someone who lived on the East Coast, where friendliness is scarce.

~

The day drags on, and all the lectures blend into a jumble of nonsense in my brain. The cold brew that I chugged this morning has long since worn off. I check the clock on the wall every five minutes, hoping that time will move quickly, but of course, it doesn't.