Hers (26 page)

“Yeah. Yeah. I got it,” I sigh with a smile.

Upstairs, I can't help but take one last look at my room. I know this will always be my home and that knowledge gives me the courage to pick up the last of my boxes and carry them down the stairs. Double and triple checking that I have everything I need, I grab them and head towards my white 2002 Honda Civic in the driveway. While old, it is trustworthy. I worked my ass off for two summers at the local coffee shop slingin’ lattes to buy Betsy and she is perfect. Hauling the last of my items into the trunk, I turn around and Melody is there to hold me one last time, tears streaming down my face.

“Now let's get rid of those tears. You can't drive with your eyes all cloudy,” she says, wiping her own eyes.

“Yeah.” I'm a sniffling mess. “I'm so worried, though. What if everyone hates me? What if they know who I am? What if they know what he did?”

“No one knows about your past Chloe. This is your time to spread your wings and fly baby girl. You have an amazing opportunity ahead of you and you are going to meet a ton of great folks,” she reassures me.

“I know. I know.” My anxiety ebbs a little, my eyes beginning to dry.

I climb into the driver’s seat. “Don’t forget to buckle up,” she calls. I give her the thumbs up and roll down my window. Leaning in she says “You have the directions, your phone, and wallet, right?”

“Yes, I have everything I need. Thanks mom.”

“I have done what any mother should. Now is the time for you to shine, baby girl.” Her smile makes me feel like everything will be all right, that I have nothing to fear.

“Wait don't go yet!” She pulls out her camera and starts snapping shots of me in the car. I thought it was suspicious that she hadn't been snapping pictures all morning. I wait until she's finished, even striking a pose or two. “I got you a few surprises by the way. They are in your backseat,” with that she winks and steps back so I have clearance to back out.

As I pull into the street, I have the most startling sensation of lightness. Leaving West Virginia is like shedding a skin. My worries are in my rear-view mirror, the future lies ahead. Cranking up my radio I hone in on my favorite radio station and belt out to my heart's content. The tune is a familiar one and its lyrics are about love and wrecking relationships.

Singing the song takes me down another sad avenue of thought. I've never had a boyfriend, not a serious one at least. I wasn’t able to have one. Not after what
he
did. I can't help but feel that I'm pathetic. He really did ruin me, in more ways than one. I both crave and run from normalcy. I'm too afraid to be hurt again.

It’s not that I didn’t have offers. I had quite a few. My last two years of high-school, tons of guys tried, but I just wasn’t interested, nor was I ready. I’m not sure I ever will be. I'd had a reputation for being one of the pretty girls. They have no idea what I’m like inside… dark, desolate, isolated, empty, used, and dirty. If they knew, they wouldn't want me around. I can’t let anyone find out about the darkness that consumes me.

I try to ignore the pang of guilt I suddenly feel from wanting that type of relationship with a guy. It just can’t happen. I have to focus on school and this new life I have mapped out for myself.
Focus
is my new mantra. Maybe then I can become something else... maybe then I can become something more.

***

Radford is so different than back home. I feel welcomed by its small-town charm. The pedestrians look, dare I say
happy
. Any remnant worry subsides, enough for me to enjoy the drive through “downtown”, though it's no more than stacks of shops lining a mile of street.

Pulling into the campus I am struck by its beauty. When Melody and I visited for freshman orientation I was in a fog, but now I can see everything so much clearer. It’s amazing and absolutely breathtaking. I never expected to feel like I belonged, especially at a place I'd only visited once.

The campus is open and airy. The bushy trees full of green and yellow leaves are strategically placed throughout the campus. Immediately, I spot the iconic red clocks that represent life at Radford that houses everything from financial aid, residential life, and study areas to students alike. The campus is buzzing with students and excitement.

I carefully pull my car into one of the rather narrow parking spaces. Propping my door open, I discover a new definition for
fresh
air. It smells and tastes completely different from the air back home. I already feel like I can't get enough of this place. Stretching my legs, I make sure I have everything I need before heading into the red-brick building.

I head directly to the residential life area and walk in. A friendly redhead is working the counter. She smiles politely, “Hello, welcome to Radford. Are you a first-year student?”

“Yes. My name is Chloe Evans.”

“Great. One second, Chloe.” After a moment's typing, she smiles and hands me a huge packet. “Here’s everything you need. Your building code is written on that envelope. You will need that to get into your building. You’re housed in the
Muse
building. Inside the envelope is your key for your dorm-room, along with your meal card, student id, paperwork, a map of the campus, class schedule, campus security information, resident adviser contact information, an activity list, and other important information. Enjoy your year at Radford!”

“Thank you so much,” I say, feeling the weight of the packet somehow increase. I feel a little lost, standing there in front of the desk. The admissions assistant, who no doubt thought I'd leave as soon as I got the packet, smiles up at me.

“I know it’s overwhelming and all but don’t worry everything that you need is right there at your fingertips. If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.” She reaches over to a stack of business cards and hands me one.

“Thanks,” I say, shuffling out of the building and back to my car.

It’s move-in day so lots of students are parked in front of the doors. I carefully maneuver my way through campus until I reach my building. On the side, in big silver letters is its name,
Muse
. Squeezing into a spot in front I rummage through my packet for my dorm-room key slipping it on my keyring. I'm happy to see that the door is propped open. I am not sure I could get the heavy boxes through the door without that small grace.

There’s a huge banner hanging above the entrance that says,
Welcome Freshmen.
Distracted with reading it, I almost collide with my resident adviser.

Popping her gum she sticks out her hand and says “Hey, I’m Erin, the R.A. for Muse and you are?”

Wiping my clammy hands on my yoga pants I stick out my hand, “Chloe Evans.”

She shakes it, then untucks a clipboard from under her arm and flips through the attached stack of papers. “Okay...” she runs her fingers over the pages. “Evans, Chloe... let me see. Here you are. You are in room 306. Third floor,” she replies cheerily.

“Great. Thank you,” I say.
Time to unpack.
I head back to my car to grab a couple of boxes. Heaving two boxes and a bag out of my trunk, I turn to head up to my dorm when suddenly I lose my grip, my toe hitches on the curb and just before I face-plant on the concrete, I'm caught by two strong arms. They heave me up onto my feet.

For a moment, all I can see are two strong muscular arms covered in tattoos. I catch a glimpse of the name
Matthews
written in black Celtic script running the length of his forearm from below his elbow to his wrist. His striking cobalt blue eyes distract me from my embarrassment. His jet-black hair looks just long enough for me to run my fingers through it and I'll be damned if that's not exactly what I want to do. His thick lips are spread wide in a charming smile. He's strongly featured, his jawline chiseled, softened only by a day's worth of stubble. He's the paragon of masculine beauty.

Dumbstruck, I flush with embarrassment. I'm staring but who could help staring at him? He's amused; I can see it in his eyes.

“Tha –Than – Thank you,” I stutter.
Geez, Chloe could you sound anymore ridiculous
, I scold myself.
Get your shit together
. Despite the cautioning voices in my head, I hesitate to detach myself from his arms, but somehow I find the strength to step back just a bit.

“No problem, sweetheart. Next time watch those curbs. I may not always be around.” He winks and I'm speechless, then almost immediately indignant.

“I am not your sweetheart.”

“Not yet,” he replies. Those two words threaten to make me weak in the knees. His voice is a dark rich baritone, like an audible dessert. He is definitely confident and arrogant, I think to myself. Either way, I am ready to give it back to him.

“
Yet
? How about not ever,” I spit.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he winks, walking away.

Who the fuck was that? And, what hell just happened to me?

Make Me Forget / Coming Late 2013

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR:

Brandelyn Harris resides in Richmond, Virginia with her husband, teenage son, and furry friend. She can normally be found hiding away in her writing cave, blogging, eating Dove dark chocolate, drinking wine, or reading a steamy romance novel on her Kindle. Her love for reading and just recently writing started once she read the infamous Fifty Shades of Grey Series. Make Me Forget, Brandelyns’ debut novel is slated to be released late 2013.

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by Sarah Daltry

Copyright 2013 Sarah Daltry

She meets my gaze and her mouth turns up in a wry smile. “I’m not that innocent.”

The challenge is there and I would love to test it. This girl looks like she’s just one wild night away from becoming an entirely new woman. I wouldn’t mind being the guy to help her out, to give her that one wild night. I’m tempted to touch her, to play with her damp hair, to see how she’d react if I kissed her right here. Her challenge would surely result in me being slapped, though.

“Sweetheart, I am sure we have very different understandings of the term.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me, but I don’t know that I mind being your idea of innocent.”

There it is. The judgment. She may have something hidden in her that’s more than what she appears to be on the surface, but the superficial persona is too important to her. Fuck her and her judgments. I’m going to watch her squirm.

I step closer and lean down slightly in her direction. She smells like she just showered; her wet hair carries the scent of a strawberry field.

“I don’t doubt it, but I just wonder what would happen if you let loose a little. You know, had a bit of fun.”

She backs away. I can almost hear the words in her head.
Freak. Loser.
What would her parents think of her for talking to me? What would her
boyfriend
think? She’s still nervous, but I can sense that our closeness makes her feel something. I just don’t know that I want to test it.

“I have plenty of fun. I don’t need anything else. Especially not whatever
you
have in mind.”

I have to get to work. Things are hard enough without playing games like this and I go back to my coffee. She crosses her legs and I think of what’s between them. I hope I made her tingle at least a little. After I finish my coffee, I smile and I see her thighs reflexively tighten. The muscle movement is hot and my cock springs to life. I need to get out of here.

In the doorway, I reconsider, thinking of her strawberry hair and her gorgeous eyes. Turning in her direction, I reiterate the challenge.

“I’m Jack. 401. If you ever want to test that theory. See what real fun is like, princess.”

Back in my room, I know I need to get to work, but I’m feeling horny as hell. It’s strange. She isn’t even my type. I like girls like Alana – wild, bitter and angry, and willing to do it all in bed. Lounge girl is probably a virgin, a sweet and pure angel who doesn’t even swear and goes to church every Sunday. Given my own experiences, I should feel some guilt about how badly I want to corrupt her, but I don’t. I think of strawberries as I stroke my cock; closing my eyes, I picture slipping into her innocent pussy, the strawberry smell surrounding me as I fuck her into submission. It takes almost no time to come, and then I go to work.