With a sigh, he mutters, “Whatever you say, little sister.”
Ugh.How does he make those words sound so nasty?“I have a name.”
“So do I, but I don’t hear you using it.”
Because it’s not a name I like saying.Because it’s a name I’ve heard so many times attached to rage, fear, and pain.I don’t need to invite those memories right now, so instead of reminding him what a heinous son of a bitch he is, I settle for hooking into the car’s Bluetooth and piping my playlist through the sound system.
It’s not even the bright, upbeat music that lifts my mood.It’s the way he winces, visible in the rearview mirror.
And when I start to sing, he cringes outright.
So I sing louder.
Maybe this situation has its perks.I mean, it’s nothing compared to what he’s done to us, but it’s a start.
My mood stays in place until we cross the bridge, when all of a sudden, I feel tiny, sheltered, and unsure of what’s going to happen today.These people are worldly.They come from all over the place.
I kicked ass in high school, but that was a small pond.
I’m about to walk into the ocean by comparison.
It would be nice to sit in the car for a minute outside the building Alessandro pulls up in front of.There’s no parking at the crowded curb, of course, so he double-parks and flips on the car’s hazard lights.
“Better hurry,” he warns in a flat voice.“And don’t open the door before looking to make sure there isn’t a car coming.”
One problem with that—I’m slightly frozen.There are so many people, and I don’t know any of them.My heart is pounding harder than the bass vibrating the car.“Yeah,” I mumble as I pull myself together inside.My hands tremble as I shut down the music on my phone.The silence left behind is deafening.
But that’s okay, since I now see a text that came through a minute ago while I was silently panicking.
Emilia: Have a great first day of classes!I know you’re going to kick ass.
Now I’m glad I shared some of my nerves with the girls over the past couple of weeks.To think, she remembered and texted, even though she has to be exhausted, with the wedding two days ago and the two of them flying out to Italy for the honeymoon yesterday afternoon.But she reached out because she knew I could use the encouragement and knows how worried I am.
She’s the fiercest person I’ve ever known.She took everything Alessandro did to her, recovered, and came out thriving on the other side.Knowing she believes in me, corny as it sounds, gives me the strength to face the man who tried to end her and failed.
“I’m pretty sure it’s your job to open my door for me,” I reply, arching my eyebrow at him when he looks at me in the mirror.“So don’t forget to look both ways before you get out of the car.”
I’m way too familiar with all kinds of Italian profanity to miss a word of what he mutters before getting out of the car, closing his door a little louder than he needed to, then opening mine.I don’t bother looking at him as I get out.“I’ll text you when my last class is over.I guess you’ll meet me out here?”
He growls, “Yes, I’ll circle the block endlessly.”I love the irritation that makes his voice tight and strained.I love knowing how much he wants to say but doesn’t dare speak.I might not be the kind of person who will tell Daddy on him or whatever he thinks, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun letting him believe I might.
Enough thinking about him.I leave his psycho ass behind, crossing the sidewalk so the crowd can swallow me up.They sweep me up and carry me into the building.
Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath and remind myself it’s the first day for a lot of these people too.
Here goes nothing.
* * *
By the timemy fourth and final class of the day is over, a few things are clear.
One, I don’t need to worry so much about dressing up.I want to look nice, and I have plenty of clothes to choose from, but most people I’ve seen are pretty much dressed down in jeans, tank tops, shorts, and sneakers.That’s good to know.I’ll have enough work to do without worrying about dressing for a fashion show three times a week.
Two, I’m not the only person who feels like a little fish in a big ocean.I’ve seen plenty of nervous glances and watched people scurry to the back of the room to find a seat as if they were hiding from something or someone.I can’t be the only person coming from a small, private school who feels years behind everybody else when it comes to life experiences.
Three, American Literature is going to be my favorite class this semester.
Class ends early, since according to the professor, some people might not register until the cut-off date at the end of this week.I can’t wait to get my hands on the books on the reading list and curl up in my room with the whole stack of them.Anything related to reading and analysis has always been my favorite.I’m almost disappointed I have to take any other classes.
