Smoke

CHAPTER 8

This chapter is for Paygehamann for keeping me motivated to update regularly and showing the love.

Your guys' support really makes all of this worth it. My main goal was to show awareness for mental health, mental disorders and trauma victims since I am a survivor myself. If this story moves or saves just one person, then that means I am doing my job.

Austyn is a fraction of myself. Some of her experiences are my own. So don't let what happened to you, tear you down. Life is hard and it's easy to want to give up. But keep fighting for your worth.. for your life!

You're all beautiful! You are strong! You are a fighter!

Please reach out if you ever need an outlet. I'd be more than happy to be your sounding board. I know I have needed one or two in my life as well.

I love you guys and I hope you enjoy my story. :)

***********************

I am already wide awake when the sun starts streaming through my curtains causing beams of light to illuminate my room. My insomnia induced consciousness launches me into autopilot to begin my day.

Monday came all too quickly after a weekend of recovery and preparing for classes. My anxiety is getting the best of me, considering I took a six year break from school. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited, but I was used to a life that lacked structure for a very long time. My first year of college came all too easy for me, but my desire for freedom overpowered the desire for an education; so this is my second chance to make something of myself.

I decide to take a quick shower to help give myself a jumpstart of energy that I am lacking, and I pop my handful of daily medication to keep me in one piece for an overly stressful day ahead of me.

I let my hair air-dry into its natural waves and apply minimal makeup, as I have no one I need to impress. I settle for jeans, a plain white v-neck tee and grey vans. My tattoos peak through the bottom of my sleeves. Honestly I am proud of them. Every tattoo I have...means something to me, and they were my healthy alternatives to help get me through a dark time in my life. So I show them off when I can.

I grab my laptop off of our dinged up coffee table and shove it into my brown, leather backpack before heading out the door and starting my walk to school.

The campus is absolutely enormous compared to the IUPUI campus back home. I am instantly glad that I spent all night studying the campus map to ensure I would not get lost. I am directionally challenged like nobody's business, so getting lost is one thing I can always count on with myself. I have accepted that I usually have to leave an hour early for everything to make sure I arrive on time, anywhere I go.

My first class and the one I am most looking forward to, is creative writing. Surprisingly I make it to class in one piece and have some time to spare, so I find a nearby lounge chair and pull out my copy of Edgar Allan Poe's collection of poems. It has been filled over the years with multi-colored tabs, marking every passage that has either made me smile, cry, or moved me beyond words. I flip through my marked pages to re-read, as to fill some time before class - becoming lost in the resonating words within this beautiful book.

All of a sudden, a shadow appears overhead blocking the light I am using to read. I look up confused when I see yet another handsome man with dark hair and sharp features.

What, do they have a factory here just mass producing attractive men?

"I assume you are one of my early birds," he smiles, gaining another confused look from me. "Creative Writing right? I'll be your professor this semester," he answers my unspoken question.

"Oh I'm so sorry! Pulling myself out of a story tends to short circuit my brain when coming back to reality." I laugh, embarrassed for my dense behavior. I gather my things and stand to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

He smiles and shakes my hand, as if trying to ease my previous blunder. A look of surprise overtakes his face as he eyes my book tucked under my arm. "Edgar Allan Poe...nice choice. I can tell what kind of writer I'll have on my hands. I have a feeling this class will be a breeze for you."

"He's one of my favorites," I shift nervously and follow him into the classroom, choosing a seat near the front. At my old school, I was notorious for being a back row dweller, but that was after being fresh out of high school when things came easier to me. I can't risk failing since this would then be all on my own dime if I lose my scholarship; and I would no longer have my parent's help with tuition anymore.

People start piling into the room, looking all bright eyed and bushy tailed, excited for their first day of college. I am clearly the oldest one in the class, instantly making me feel self-conscious about my choice to come back. I clear my throat and look down, tracing over the etches on the wood of my desk in an attempt to distract myself.

I look back up at the two bodies standing idly next to me, looking around for a place to sit. I internally smack myself when eye contact was made.

For the love of-

"These seats taken?" The smug smiles belonging to none other than my 'oh so favorite' frat guy, who sends me a small wave and Avery.

I regretfully shake my head 'no' and they take a seat on either side of me.

Just. f*****g. Brilliant.

Avery is the first to speak up, laughing as he asks, "You know who teaches this class, right?" He is too amused for my comfort.

My eyebrows pull together in confusion, praying there are no more surprises.

The professor closes the door and makes his way to the front of the class, leaning against his desk before he speaks, "Good Morning class! I hope you're ready to push your minds to new lengths and new realities this semester. I'm Professor King and will be teaching you Creative Writing."

I'm sure my eyes had popped out of my head as my breathing ceased to exist as I am absolutely sure all of the air has been sucked out of the room. I knew there was something up when I first laid eyes on him and now it all makes sense.

Oh for f***s sake!

How many f*****g Kings are there in this damn state?

Avery snorts loudly when he sees my face and leans back in his chair, stroking his dark facial hair around his chin, "I guess not..."

Professor King's attention is brought to the two of us after Avery's outburst. "Mr. Hughes, I assume your second semester in here will be focused on actually passing this class and not dragging Miss..." he looks to me to conclude his sentence.

I glance at Avery who is proudly smirking before I respond. "Bennett," which earns a nod from our professor.

"Miss Bennett...in on your shenanigans," he states imperiously rather than asks.

"Absolutely. Wouldn't dream of it Sir," Avery chuckles and settles back into his seat, nudging me lightly with his knee. "Miss Bennett seems like she knows how to keep a low profile."

I roll my eyes, irritated at how happy Avery is to have learned something about me that he and his group of friends have been aching to figure out since the night at the bar.

It's not like my last name wasn't screamed out at that party by Lily, and I don't particularly mind my last name being known. It's just...I have this theory, and it may sound bogus, but giving your name, is like giving an intimate piece of yourself to someone. It is something given to you at birth that helps shape and define you into the person that you become. It is the one consistent thing you keep with you until the day that you die. So, why should I just give it out freely to every person whose path I cross? Seems a little silly doesn't it?

The syllabus is handed around to each student to study and Professor King spends the remainder of class outlining what assignments we will have to look forward to this semester and the expectations that go along with them.

***

My next two classes thankfully go much smoother than the first. I finished off the rest of the school day with Art History and Botany. Two fairly easy and interesting classes in my opinion. Besides, they're filled with groups of laid back, hipster kids, so I felt much more at ease in that crowd than the former.

They say bad things come in threes and I have already had two surprises this morning. So, fingers crossed my first day at the book shop goes without complications.

***

I get to work at 2:15 PM on the dot. Thankfully not getting turned around on the way here causing me to run late. I slip on the apron that is stuffed into my assigned locker back in the office and shove my heinously worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice in the front pocket; since I know I get some down time to read in between customers and my daily duties.

Charlie shows me the ropes rather quickly around the shop. It is all rather easy work. The hardest part is honestly just being able to lift the boxes of shipment onto the cart to push onto the floor for merchandising.

I fall into a routine rather quickly, stocking the shelves based on genre and author; stopping every now and again to help a customer find what they're looking for. My favorite part is being asked my personal recommendation on what they should read. I've dipped my toes in just about every genre of book to be able to give an educated response and the satisfied smiles given to me in return make the job worth it.

"Hey sweetie, I'm going to go grab some lunch down the street. Do you think you can hold down the fort for 20 minutes?" Charlie asks before I wave him off. He deserves a break. That man seriously never stops working.

I finish up the last of the shipment and step behind the counter to read for a bit. I pull out my tattered book given to me by my mother, and lose myself in the chaotic love story before me. It is one of my favorite books but the fact that it was my mother's as well, makes me love it all the more.

There is a tapping on the counter that pulls me out of focus when I hear a familiar voice, "So what book would you recommend to someone, who is ignorant in the art of literature?"

My gaze slowly moves up to meet those breathtaking hazel eyes staring right back at me, belonging to none other than Dawson King.

And there's number three...