Feral: Book One Page 2

  As I walked in the direction of the bookstore, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was a student or teacher, and what he was taking or instructing. It was entirely possible that he was a student, but his demeanor and speech patterns gave me more reason to believe otherwise. This in turn made me ponder what subject he taught. With his use of language, I guessed he was probably an English or philosophy instructor. It just seemed to fit with his mannerism and voice.

  It was a shame, because I had finished my core courses, which meant I was done with English, and I had no reason to be taking philosophy. Though if Simon Treviso were teaching the course, I might have to rethink that idea, and join in the studies anyway.

  I was unsurprised to see Brie when I walked into the bookstore.

  I’d like to say it was sheer good luck that we ended up attending the same university, but the truth was neither of us wanted to leave home, or in my case, wanted to leave home again. And since the university had great programs in the fields we wished to pursue, and was within a good driving distance from our homes, we chose to attend the small college together—Brie had initially decided on English before she went into the Communications and Media Studies curriculum, and I chose to study Health Sciences.

  “Well, well, well…look who’s back.”

  Fortunately or unfortunately, Brie had alerted me a few weeks before I left London to the fact that Madison Kinley, after flunking out of a prestigious college in Boston, was back. Worst of all, her chosen studies closely matched those of my own, which meant there was a chance we would be attending the same classes.

  Wonderful.

  Madison and I had been friends for many years, since we were little girls. We’d lived near one another growing up and had constantly spent the night at each other’s houses. Our parents had met at an art showing at her family’s gallery and auction house, and for a long time after that, we were inseparable, which is why it hurt so much when we started growing apart early on during junior high. Despite dating the captain of the basketball team, I never really fell into the “in crowd” like she did, and over the years, I watched our friendship slowly wither.

  The end came when she did not show her support by attending either of my mother’s viewings or her funeral. When I called her the night after we buried her, she never answered, and when I tried to speak to her the following Monday at school, she had very coolly said she’d been at cheering practice and walked away laughing with some of the other girls on the team.

  I had never felt anything so painful at that point in my life.

  I forced a smile on my lips and turned to face the bleach-blonde just as Brie stepped behind my shoulder, most likely so I wouldn’t be alone when dealing with my former friend. I let my gaze drop to the books Madison held in her hands, and sure enough, they confirmed that we would be taking some of the same lectures.

  Then I actually took a look at her wardrobe—hell, everyone had probably taken a good look at her wardrobe!—and it was in no way shocking to see my former childhood friend clad in the tightest, skimpiest, red top I had ever seen and the shortest black bootie shorts that looked more like a second skin.

  “Hello, Mads,” I said saccharinely, addressing her by the nickname Brie had come up with during high school. “How was Boston?” I couldn’t resist getting the dig in. I was sure she wouldn’t be bothering me over the summer if she hadn’t flunked during the semester.

  Her simpering expression disappeared. “Lovely. How is Cole?”

  I shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken with him since I left Georgia.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” she drawled, her blue eyes filled with vicious glee. “I have.”

  I repressed a sigh of exasperation. “Is that so? Well, when you speak to him again, tell him I hope he’s doing well, and that I thoroughly enjoyed England and hope to go back again in the not-so-distant future.”

  I gave her a brilliant smile, then pivoted in place to go in search of my books, Brie hot on my heels. When we were out of earshot, I huffed. “You’d think she was still in high school. I mean, honestly. Aside from trying to get a rise out of me, what was the point of that? Why couldn’t she just get her books and leave me alone?”

  “It’s Mads,” she said. “There’s never any other point. She knows she upsets you, and you let her.”

  I made a vague noise of disgruntled agreement before browsing the shelves. “Do you think I could get this book online somewhere for less? Ninety-nine bucks is a bit pricey for a damn workbook.” But even as I said the words, I hefted the large paperback into my arms.

  “Oh,” Brie groaned, “that’s nothing compared to what you are going to pay for that.”

  I glanced at the title she pointed to on my list and began searching frantically, dreading what I was going to see. As soon as my eyes spied the spine and the price tag, my heart dropped. Principles of Anatomy and Physiology was over one hundred-sixty dollars. “Merda!” Shit! At that point, I did not care who heard my loud expletive. “How the hell do they expect us to pay for all this?”

  The red-head gave me a sympathetic look. “Maybe you can get an older one off Ebay or something for a hundred or so? I mean, how much could it possibly change in only an edition or two? Most of the information is the same, so as long as you take good notes, you should be okay, right?”

  “It’d better be,” I grumbled, “because I can’t afford nearly two hundred bucks for one damn book I’ll only use a year and a half max. This’ highway robbery!”

  I continued to search for the books I could afford, weaving in and out of the crowds, squeezing through small spaces to access the shelves, and muttering the entire time about how every price tag should be equivalent to grand theft. I could buy several new outfits and a couple pairs of shoes for how much college literature cost!

  It took me awhile to find everything I needed, but I was finally able to make my way to the counter, where I accepted the glare the cashier gave me and happily returned it with one of my own. I would have stared at the middle-aged woman even longer, but movement outside the shop window caught my attention, as well as the attention of everyone within a twenty foot radius.

  “Wow,” was the only word I heard Brie mumble, and I wholeheartedly agreed. “I’d love to know who that is.”

  “That is Simon Treviso.”

  I all but jumped out of my damn skin when he turned his head and locked eyes with mine as he passed by. I swallowed and tried to ignore the warmth that suddenly seemed to be seeping into my face, but when he smiled and tilted his head in recognition, there was no denying the flaming sensation in my cheeks.

  I didn’t realize I was still staring into blank space until I felt a sharp jab in my ribs. When I looked around, I saw my companion smirk at me in amusement and the cashier glaring at me with more annoyance than before. I snatched the bags with a growl of irritation. “You keep your mouth shut,” I snapped at Brie before cutting my eyes back to the frosted-blonde behind the counter. “And you have a very productive day.”

  My friend beamed her way out of the store. “Only you would be so snide as to wish someone a productive day. That sounded so…foreboding.”

  “It was meant to be,” I responded as I turned and went in the opposite direction of the attractive Simon Treviso. “I’m hungry. Do you want to do lunch? It’ll have to be cheap. Not as cheap as Mads—”

  “Damn! You are in a bad mood today.”

  “Sorry,” I said through a heavy sigh. “She just rubs me the wrong way. I was really hoping people would’ve forgotten, but I should’ve known better, at least when it comes to Mads. Of course, I did bait her, so in the end, I deserved it. Then again, she’d probably have found a way to bring it up again anyway. She enjoys being a bitch like that.”

  Brie looped her arm through mine. “Well, don’t think about it for right now. Let’s just go get lunch, and you can tell me all about Simon Treviso, since you seem to know him.”

  I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and shook my head. “There’s not
hing to tell, Brie. I just met him today, and I’ll probably never lay eyes on the man ever again. I’m guessing he teaches here, probably philosophy or something. That’s all I can say, because I don’t actually know.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  “Yes, utterly,” I deadpanned. “Now, let’s go. I’m starving, and I need to keep my mind off S-Mads.”

  “Smads? Who’s Smads?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  TWO

  We had lunch at Olive Garden, not that I would tell my father, because he and my nonna scoffed at the “pseudo-Italian” cuisine. I had their lobster cannelloni with shrimp and a moscato aperol, the tang of the ginger ale and orange peel a delightful contrast to the creamy pasta, and regaled Brie with what very little I knew of the attractive Simon Treviso and what theories I had about what he could potentially be teaching were he an instructor.

  Afterward, we went on a little shopping spree because dealing with Madison always put me in an ill mood, and shoe shopping always cheered me up.

  I found two pairs of strappy sandals I liked, one without heels and one with, and a delicious pair of knee-high boots. Thankfully, there was a sale going on, otherwise I would have never been able to afford the sexy footwear. In reality, I probably shouldn’t have purchased them, given how much money the bookstore got from me, but I could never resist shoes. All in all, though, I was having a great afternoon.

  At least, until I got his text after arriving home.

  Hey. Thnkng about u lot l8ly. Miss u. Ive changed a lot in last few mnths. U wont believe that, but its true. Wish could see u right now, but im away. Probly 4 while. Just want u 2 know i think about u. X-cole

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I groaned into the silence of my bedroom. “Really? Ugh…I bet Mads called you, didn’t she?” I wasn’t entirely sure why I was asking these questions aloud. Yeah, I sometimes talked to myself aloud, but it was usually a stream of consciousness to work out a problem or something. This was different. It wasn’t like he could hear me and respond. “I really dislike you both, y’know that?”

  I took a moment to ponder whether or not I should send a scathing reply, but in the end, I decided it would only make the situation worse. I simply deleted the text and sent one to Brie, who couldn’t believe he would have the gall to contact me after everything that had happened. She also agreed this probably had something to do with running into Madison at the bookstore.

  After a short moment of contemplation, I grabbed both my Math for Meds book and its accompanying work manual and carried them with me to my bathroom. I had a very nice bath table to set them on, so I could read and jot down notes and fill in the answers to things I knew. Since classes started next Monday, I wanted to be as prepared as possible.

  Two chapters, eight different quizzes, and one refill of hot water to my cooling bath later, I was exhausted. My eyes burned, and I was yawning from sheer mental fatigue—I had forgotten how tiring studying actually was.

  I refilled the tub once more with hot water, the splashing stream tickling and warming my skin, and sank down to relax. I could actually feel my muscles loosen, and I hummed in contentment as the sound of the spray and the heat seemed to rinse away the stress of the afternoon.

  As I reclined, the details in the wall caught my attention and brought back so many memories. My bathroom was my favorite room, and as always, it reflected the same tone as my bedroom. When I was a child, both had been done in light pinks and lavenders, giving it a Disney princess feel. As an adolescent, they had been made over with bright colors of blues, purples, and pinks. Everything had always been hand designed and painted by my father – an artist – and worked on jointly with my mom, who also had an eye for minute details and the surgeon’s hands to carry out dad’s designs with utter grace and beauty.

  Needless to say, it was with a lot of sadness that I decided to change both the semester before I left for England, but after a lot of discussion with my father, we came up with designs that we thought my mom might have enjoyed if she were alive.

  Both the carpet of my bedroom and the tile of my bathroom were in similar camel shades, but where my bedroom walls were a light sandy-mauve with sponge-stippled patterns of gold and chamoisee, the small shower tiles were various and muted shades of brown, cream, mauve, gold, and ochre with the rest of the walls painted a lighter shade than the floor tile. I had then taken a creamy eggshell color and carefully brushed it in a precise direction just above the floor, making it look like waves crashing onto the beach.

  But as much as I loved my bathroom, I was turning into a prune and had to get out before my skin shriveled up like the dried plums—funny how one had to be wet and the other had to have its life sucked out of it to accomplish the same effect.

  I managed to drag myself out of the tub and downstairs for some of the leftover pasta. As I sat curled up in the leather recliner, I took in the tiny changes my father had made to the living room while I was gone, all the while thinking about the beautiful Simon Treviso.

  The dark wood floors had not changed and neither had the strategically placed Persian rugs. The muted walls were still the same unusual shade of orange, but a couple of old paintings were gone, substituted for some new ones that I assumed he’d painted while I was gone. The sofa, love seat and chairs hadn’t been replaced, but they had been moved, and he’d also replaced the wood coffee tables with new ones. He’d mentioned that he was planning to try mosaic work, and I supposed they were the fruits of his labors. Their tops were made of haphazardly-cut, randomly-placed sections of variously colored stone, but they were unexpectedly attractive.

  The small splashes of dark color around the furnishings brought to mind the gentleman’s hair, and the faux purple calla lilies scattered around the room in their ivory vases reminded me of his curious eyes. That particularly unusual feature was still a surprise in my mind, and if it were not for his head of dark hair, I’d wonder if he had some form of albinism.

  I wasn’t entirely sure why I was still thinking of Simon Treviso after such a brief encounter. It was very likely he was a professor at the university, and to be thinking so intensely about someone in that position of power was probably unhealthy. Of course, the likelihood of him being my instructor was slim, but the principle still applied. And he was probably married to a modelesque beauty with two perfect children.

  With a frustrated groan, I shoved a small shrimp into my mouth.

  I was a relatively-grown woman, I thought, so I should not have a crush on a married man who was probably twice my age. It was ridiculous and a little bit pathetic. I mean, sure he was undeniably attractive, but that was the extent of it. I should let it go at that and not think about the beautiful human anymore.

  Unfortunately, all I saw in my dreams that night were eyes the color of violets.

  The rest of my week was not much better. Between stressing out about my upcoming biology course and pointlessly fantasizing about the elf-like Simon Treviso, I continued getting random texts from Cole. All of them were filled with sappy drivel about how much he missed me, how sorry he was and about how much he had changed. I staunchly disregarded every single one, but that didn’t keep my blood pressure from rising each time.

  “I should have stayed in England,” I muttered.

  “No, you shouldn’t’ve.” Brie’s voice was firm, allowing no room for argument as she spoke between sips of her caramel macchiato. Her green eyes flashed. “And don’t think about telling him to leave you the hell alone. If you text him back, even if it’s to tell him to get lost, he’ll still see that as you reaching out to him.”

  “I know, but it’s really starting to wear on me.” I stood, tugging on my jeans where they had twisted slightly as I had squirmed, then flopped back down into the coffee shop’s plush chair. “I just don’t understand why all of a sudden he’s decided to bother me. Why now? Why didn’t he bother me with emails or something while I was in England? It just doesn’t make sense, and it’s friggin’ obnoxious.�
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  “I understand. I get it,” Brie said sympathetically. “Just give it a couple more weeks, and if he’s still bothering you, we can think of something else. If worse comes to worst, you can always change your number, y’know?”

  “Yeah, but that’s a pain in the ass.” I shrugged and gulped down a swallow of white chocolate mocha, savoring the rich flavor. “But if I have to, I have to.”

  “Good girl.”

  I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes like a teenager. “I’m not a dog, Brie.”

  “I know.” Her lips twitched. “You’re more like a sulking kitten that lost its string.”

  “You can be traded for a new best friend, y’know,” I retorted smugly.

  “I could, but I won’t.”

  “You seem very sure of yourself.”

  “I’m always sure of myself when it comes to you.”

  The red-head grinned and winked about the time I went to take another sip of my coffee, causing me to laugh and nearly choke on my drink. “Thanks. I appreciate your subtle attempts at homicide.”

  “As always, you’re welcome.”

  We continued talking and joking with each other for about half an hour, when my phone started blaring the Statler Brothers’ Atlanta Blue, the deep voice of Don Reid soothing to my ears.

  I lifted the gadget to glance at the name and number, and frowned. “Oh good Lord,” I mumbled before sliding my phone for my friend to view. “I don’t even want to read it. It might make me ill.” I waited until her eyes went wide for a split moment before narrowing. “What does he want this time?”

  She snorted on her coffee. “Well apparently, he’s been doing some bird watching,” she managed in a deceptively flat tone. “Something about wings and you flying free.” She pushed a couple of buttons before sliding it back to me. “It looked like he was trying to rip off some naturist poetry or something.”

  I glanced back at the screen, finding it devoid of any messages. “Thanks.”