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Rm w/a Vu

By:A.D. Ryan



Chapter 1



Ugh. My neck is positively aching, and I let my heavy, book-filled backpack fall from my shoulder to relieve it as I prepare to exit my last class of the day. Why I chose to take on such an intense course-load is beyond me—I guess my anxiousness to finish college and start my career as soon as possible could have factored in at some point.

Regardless of my reasoning, it’s what I chose, and I am suffering the repercussions now in my sophomore year at Arizona State.

As I stumble down the last few steps, my English prof, Professor Drayke, calls me over to his desk and hands me my latest paper. I groan when I see the giant red “B–” that’s written at the top of the page as well as all the little notes and comments. Considering I want to get a job in publishing, I can’t exactly afford my grades to keep declining the way they have been. I already know I’m going to have to study my ass off for midterms coming up right away, which is going to piss Ben off since I’ll be locking myself away more than I already have been.

“Not your best work, Miss Foster,” Drayke tells me, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose. He’s looking at me, his dark eyes boring into me, waiting for some kind of explanation.

I refrain from rolling my eyes at him, nodding solemnly instead. “I know.”

“What happened?”

It’s clear that he doesn’t really care, but I decide to answer him anyway. “I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed by my courses this semester. I’ll work harder, I promise.”

Drayke acknowledges me with a nod, a few strands of his greying hair flopping over his forehead, and then waves me away dismissively.

Shoving the paper into my bag and throwing it over my other shoulder, I think about what I’m going to tell Ben. He isn’t going to be happy that I’m cancelling our movie date tonight—especially since it will be our first one in weeks, and I took the night off from my job at the coffee house so we could spend some time together.

His patience with my additional studying is starting to wear thin, and it’ll only be a matter of time before we have a huge fight about it. On the plus side, this also means I won’t have to put out. It’s not that I hate sex; I just don’t get what the big deal is. It isn’t all fireworks and revelations like the movies lead you to believe. I often wonder why we’re even together. I really should just end things. Set him free to do whatever he wants. Maybe after finals, when I have time to actually sit down with him.

After the inevitable fight, Ben will come crawling back—he always does—and he’ll have with him flowers or a gift of some sort. Instead of just acknowledging the argument, Ben always throws money at the problem in hopes it’ll go away, but it really only insults me. Then we wind up in bed together. That sex isn’t usually so bad. He’s usually a little more tender and giving. Not always, but on occasion.

As I make my way, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial Ben’s number. There’s no answer, leading me to believe he’s probably on his way over and I’ll have to cancel our date face-to-face. With a sigh, I enter the building that my room is in and trudge down the hall. The closer I get, the more clearly I make out what sounds like breathless moans coming from this year’s roomie, Delilah, inside. This isn’t new; Delilah has a reputation, and apparently she feels the need to uphold it.

A flare of annoyance rises in me because I can’t just walk into the room. Well, I suppose I could, but walking in on someone having sex isn’t something I particularly enjoy doing. I’m pretty sure I still suffer from a mild case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after seeing my mom and dad on the kitchen counter the last time I dropped by the house to say hi.

You can bet your ass I called from that point on.

Dropping my book bag to the floor with a heavy thud, I lean against the wall. I slide down until I’m sitting on the hard tile with my elbows on my knees and my hands in my hair. Other students walk by, going to and from their rooms and the washrooms, and every time one of them looks down at me, I feel like an animal on display at the zoo. They probably think I’ve locked myself out. Of course, if they know my roommate—which most of the male population does—they know what’s really going on.

The sounds coming from behind the thin door are escalating. People are staring, not just at me now, but at the door too. I blush, offering each and every one of them a shrug, only to be met with sympathetic eyes. If I could afford private housing, I would be there in a second.

“Oh, yes!” I clench my eyes shut, hearing Delilah’s mounting cries. “Fuck me harder! Oh, you like it dirty, big boy?”

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