»This chapter is dedicated to georgiaa818 for all the support you give to this novel, along with my other work on Wattpad. Thank you so much«

Sophia's P.O.V.

"I didn't..." I trailed off. "No, I didn't. I just couldn't have..."

I stumbled on my words like this for approximately ten minutes after I walked out of Professor Evans' class. I was both baffled and stunned at what I had signed myself up for.

The details to what exactly happened were still fuzzy to me. In one way, I had just saved my ass from flunking Professor Evans' midterm test. In the other, I may have single handedly ruined any chances of surviving the semester by socializing with Kelsey Jacobson and Bryce Matthews.

This time next year, I'd be lucky if I didn't turn up in a dumpster near the shoreline, wrapped in a bloodstained carpet and with my teeth ripped out.

You're being a drama queen, Sophia. It's only one study session.

That may be true, but I didn't want to get too comfortable with them. Just in that small interaction, being around those two made the hair on the back of my neck rise. The way Bryce scanned over my outfit, hungrily inspecting each curve of my body and eyeing my long legs with desire, made me hold my breath in wonder. Wonder if he wanted something more than to help me in Anthro. My mind tinkered on the idea that perhaps getting me killed wasn't his first thought at all...

I stopped myself, dead in my tracks. Who was I kidding? Bryce Matthews wasn't looking at me with lust oozing out of him. I probably had something in my teeth or in my hair. Yeah, that had to be it. There was no way he would look at me with desire.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I changed my route and headed for the coffee shop they had on campus for the caffeine-deprived students. I desperately longed for a cup of coffee before that thought of Bryce wanting me manifested into something else.

The mere idea of Bryce finding me attractive was downright laughable. He could get anyone he set his eyes on, single and non-single women alike. I was damn certain that he had a few married women wrapped around his arms in the past, too.

He might not be into me, but ever since our first conversation, I had started to ask more about him. Nicolas had fed me information on him, and I had to admit, I was surprised. He said Bryce was from New York, which explained the slight accent he had when he spoke.

Where he was exactly from was a bit of a mystery though. Nicolas recalled a conversation he had with him freshman year in regards to his home back in New York, and how he didn't talk about his dad in a positive way.

I couldn't really blame him on that one. Neither could I – at least nothing recent.

When I turned eighteen, I disassociated myself from everything related to my father, including my last name. Álvarez was my mother's last name, and at first she wasn't okay with the change, but it was my choice in the end. The point behind the change was that I didn't see what my father had given our family besides hardships.

It was my mom who held us together and made sure that we had clothes for school and food in the kitchen after he left. Long before Rio's accident, there was still a lot my mom did that my dad didn't. I couldn't necessarily hate him for that though. I didn't hate him at all, and I couldn't find myself disliking him anytime soon for always being busy with his job.

Walking around the side of the Daily Brew, I went over to the line that poked out the door. They had three cash registers open today, so the line moved a lot faster than expected. Once it was my turn to place in an order, I got myself a large latte and took the number they handed me. After getting my drink, I searched around the coffee shop to see if I knew anyone, and I saw Lora Fuentes reading near the bay window.

She was our third roommate who slept in the bunk bed with me. I took the top bunk; she took the bottom one. Brooklyn occupied the single bed for herself before either of us got to the dorm. We had decided to go together this August, but she left an hour earlier than me.

I set my backpack on the table and sat down in the chair across from her. Her eyes shot up from her book, startled at my arrival. "Hey, Lora. What class did you come from?"

"Oh, uh. I didn't have a class today," she sniffled, brushing a hand over her hair and moving it out of her eyes. "I came down here so I could study for a bit and get coffee."

She held up the book she had in her hand and the pencil. When she did that, it brought my attention to the puffy, red rimmed eyes she was trying to hide.

"Lora..." I trailed off, speaking slowly. "Is something wrong?"

"N-nothing's wrong. You don't have to worry about me. It's honestly nothing," she blubbered through her tears. "It's stupid, really."

"It's not stupid if you're crying about it. It's something important to you and I want to know." I supplied, "If you want to tell me, that is. Is it about Grayson?"

Grayson was the Junior she started dating two weeks ago and talked about nonstop. He hung out with Conner and Bryce, which meant I already had my thoughts established on the kind of guy he might be. Like with Brooklyn, I told Lora to be cautious and to not wear her heart on her sleeves. Lora was a sensitive girl, and I'd hate to see her hurt.

I had yet to meet Grayson. My assumptions on his character wasn't very skin deep. I'd seen him from afar, though, and he had tattoos on his forearms like Bryce and a pierced eyebrow that glimmered in the sunlight. Nicolas didn't have any dirt on him so there was no way I could ask about him.

Lora wiped her tear with the back of her hand. "Yes, it is about Grayson. You know how we went out last Monday? Well, afterwards, he said he would call back. It's been more than a week now and he still hasn't."

"Give him more time, Lora. You know guys suck at calling back."

She sighed deeply. "I don't know, Sophia. This is a pretty long time to wait. I swear, it's like every guy I like is married, has a kid, or doesn't call back." She gasped into her hands. "What if he's got kids?"

"That's unlikely," I noted, blowing cool air into my latte. "But I wouldn't cross that out entirely."

Lora fell over, placing her head on the table, and her shoulders shook while a groan boomed out of her. "You're not helping, Sophia. I was sad to begin with."

"Sorry." I winced, leaning across the table to pat her head. I was bad at this – the whole comforting thing. This was where Nicolas excelled in. He knew what to say and what to do. I, on the other hand, could only provide people awkward side hugs and pats on the head. I needed improvement.

Why couldn't she be like me? Eighty percent of the time, all I needed was food to lift my mood up.

To my rescue and out of pure luck, Nicolas barreled into the Daily Brew with books towering in both of his hands. I waved him over, and after peeking from behind the books, he spotted us near the large window. The cafe wasn't as packed as it was before so he could steal one of the chairs from the neighboring table.

I gestured to his pile. "Where did you get all of these books?"

He slammed them on to the hardwood table, setting a perplexed look on me. "I found them in the orphanage where all books go. The book fairy granted me access to the orphanage so I could get a few ethnographies," he snickered, "Where do you think I found them? I got them from the library, Sophia. Like everyone else on campus."

"No need to get crabby, Nic." I picked up one of the books and began to examine it. "God, what is wrong with everyone today? You guys are all PMSing."

"I'm sorry," he groaned, falling into his seat. "I've been in a cruddy mood lately."

"Wanna talk about it?" Lora asked.

"No, but thanks for the offer," he said. "I'd rather you guys tell me about your day so I don't feel so awful about mine."

I cupped my drink with both hands. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you what I've been through."

"Spill," Nicolas jumped to say. "And don't edit out the sad bits." I arched a brow. "What? I've had a really, really bad day. I need you to drain the major suck-age out of my sucky life."

"Fine," I grimaced and proceeded to tell them what happened in my Anthropology class. When I got to the end, Nicolas appeared to be more mad at the fact that I tossed out the chocolates than anything else. I didn't tell them about my study session with Bryce and Kelsey.

"Did you at least eat some?" Nicolas questioned. "Because that's very wasteful if you didn't. I'm famished right now and I would've really appreciated some chocolate in my diet today."

"No, I didn't eat any of them." I replied. "The only thing I kept was the note."

"What was in the note?" Lora asked with dopey eyes. "Aww, was it a love letter?"

I nearly spat out my latte.

"No, it was an invitation," I said, laughing. "Remy isn't capable of writing anything romantic. He's got something Nicolas calls the caveman mentality."

Lora strained her neck forward. "The what?"

"The caveman mentality," Nicolas repeated for her. "He's one of those guys that are more along the lines of 'me man, you woman. We mate'" he said in a monotone voice, "than he is to show feelings for you in indirect ways, like let's say flowers. What I'm saying, essentially, is that he's vocal about what he wants but he doesn't do anything to back it up or earn it. He's not a very complex or creative thinker."

"You and Remy went on dates though," Lora supplied. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah, on occasion. But a lot of the times they weren't real dates. We just hung out at his parent's lake house or over in some hotel in Pasadena."

I cringed as a memory snuck back up of when he refused to hang out at his place. How come I didn't see this breakup any sooner? I was so love-struck that I had completely missed the big red sign that a conflict was on the horizon.

"They weren't romantic dates. It was almost always a random location for that day. We would just hang out there for a while and talk." I said, half-lying. Most the time we didn't do much talking, unless you consider the talking our bodies did. We did talk at first, but as the weeks went by, the gap between a conversation and the moment of intimacy with him shrank with each passing day.

The feel of his hand on me piqued my imagination, letting me revisit how good he made me feel when no one was looking. He knew exactly what to do in order to get me under his spell. I never gave all the way in, but I was certainly close.

As the memory subsided, I bit down on my lip when a new thoughts emerged. Thinking this wasn't acceptable.

I was afraid on most nights that I wasn't completely over Remy. I was brave when he crossed me and dared to speak in my direction. But when I was alone, I slipped up and pondered on the idea of giving him a second chance. A second chance with him wasn't laced with hope to fix our broken foundation. It was the lust talking. It was the temptation calling out to me, saying that my body missed him more than my heart ever did—more than it ever could.

Sure, the note Remy had given me in Anthropology class pulled at my emotions and nearly made me crumble with an audience watching. I didn't let him win though. I put on a strong front and gave him hell back for the mixture of madness he had unleashed in my mind for the past few weeks.

Each time he ignored me, each time an hour went by without getting a call from him, I ripped myself up inside until I entered up being nothing but a shell of who I once was. It was weird, in a sense, that I longed for the physical aspect of our relationship and not the emotional part. Was there even one to begin with? I didn't know.

Letting out a deep breath, I faced my friends. "Can we talk about something else? Something that doesn't...doesn't have to do with him?"

"Of course we can." Nicolas gently smoothed his cool fingers over mine, reinstalling hope in myself and the life I would lead after Remy. "Lora, do you want to unload on your day?"

"It's not as interesting as yours, Sophia," Lora mumbled and dog-eared the open book in her hands. "I already told Sophia a bit about what happened. It has to do with Grayson."

"Oooh. Who's that?" Nicolas nudged her. "Is he the same guy you were talking about last week?"

She shyly ducked her head and rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeaah. That's him. But he hasn't called me back yet. I know there's probably something else happening on his end. Yet, I can't stop worrying."

Nicolas nodded sympathetically. "It's only been the first date so far right?"

"Third," Lora corrected him.

"Give him some time before you get too worried. He could've gotten sidetracked or he could be thinking about what to do next in the relationship. Also, it's early in the first semester. Maybe he's been stressing out over his classes. I know I've been wigging out over my workload."

"That's what I thought at first, too." She paused and ran her thumbnail over the edge of the table. "If that's the case, I'd still be mad though. One call isn't much to ask for. I thought he would be different than the other jerks on campus that string along girls for weeks before cutting them loose."

"If he doesn't call, it's not that big of a deal, Lora." I said, and I instantly regretted it.

Her gaze darkened. "Not a big deal? Not a big deal?"

"I don't mean it like -" I started but she wouldn't let me finish.

"It is a big deal, Sophia. I freaking shaved for him. Shaved," she emphasized, "And I don't mean the shave that's a quarter above your ankles, or the one up to your knees. I mean the big shave. The one that goes up to your hips. It might not mean like much, but it's a big deal. Huge."

Silence stretched over the table after her outburst. Nicolas and I exchanged glances, and by then, we both lost it and broke into a chorus of laughter. Lora joined in, too, and laughed at her mini-speech about shaving for Grayson.

"That was a little dramatic." Lora caught her breath. "I think I went overboard."

"A little?" Nicolas breathed, calming down after laughing so hard and then started up again. "I don't think I've ever seen you that passionate about something before."

Lora awkwardly tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well, don't get used to it."

  •••

Half an hour later, Lora said she had to go check another book out from the library before going back to the dorms. Nicolas had to go to some study group. They left me at the Daily Brew, alone and without any company. I finished up my latte and tossed it out during my walk to the exit. I had one more class for the day but I had about an hour before I needed to go to Fletcher Hall.

The sun dipped further behind the brick buildings, casting tall shadows over the field and quad area. Students trickled in and out of Norton Lecturing Hall, the first building I was walking past now. I didn't feel like heading back to my dorm yet. It wasn't blistering hot for once in Los Angeles, and I wanted to let the late afternoon sun sink into my skin a little bit longer.

There was a trail that passed the bridge near Lexington Avenue. It was secluded around this time of day. I decided, on a whim, to take a stroll to the pond and rest on the bench beside the bridge.

I had purchased a muffin from the coffee shop, but I never got around to eating it. I had stuffed it into my backpack, nearly forgetting about it until I reached the bench. A sigh left my mouth when I crashed into the seat, shifting around the things in my backpack to get the paper bag that housed my blueberry muffin.

I held back the moan that followed the first bite. I relaxed into my seat and stared off in to the distance. Easing back in my seat, I blinked up. The gray clouds that were circling the skies over my head didn't intimidate me. They weren't dark enough. If my guesses proved to be wrong, I wasn't that far from some form of shelter.

Seeing nothing better to do with my time, I figured that it would be a nice enough setting to listen to some music and write in my journal. I wolfed down the rest of my muffin and set the wrapper next to me on the bench. Pushing and prying through my loaded back, I scratched my finger against the tip of something. I jerked my hand out and saw that I gave myself a papercut.

"Great," I hissed, lodging my index finger into my mouth. The cut was small. Hopefully it would close soon. Grabbing for the cause of my papercut, I extracted the culprit from inside my backpack. It was the note Remy had left for me along with the chocolates.

Even when he wasn't here, he still managed to hurt me, my thoughts commented, sullenly.

I had already read the first half of the note, but I stopped myself when the weight of the world settled on my chest. It was overwhelming and self-consuming, almost to the point of self-destruction. The note held hope, and that was the worst thing to use against someone like me – someone who lived off wishful thinking and the unreachable goals in life.

I reread the beginning and then continued to where I had left off. He mentioned how my nineteenth birthday was coming up next week, and that he hoped that I wasn't doing anything. There was a banquet that his father was holding at their home in Malibu. It was affiliated with the school and there would be a lot of donors there, and of course his siblings.

The note promised me intangible things that he could never give me. Going to the banquet would lead to a confrontation with his sister. I'd be left with a broken spirit and maybe a few broken bones to match.

He masked his lust for something else in the letter –as love? I wasn't entirely certain. Either way, I didn't have to read between the lines in order to get that.

In no time, my mood was dampened by the note for a second time today. I threw it back into my backpack, zipped it up, and headed for the dormitories. I no longer wanted to be in public. I wanted the comfort of my own bed and the pocket of silence my dorm provided. My throat began to tighten with every painstaking step away from the pond.

Brooklyn wasn't in our dorm when I got inside. I was grateful for that because I started crying halfway up the stairs. She never said it, but I could sense her displeasure whenever I got emotional. She made it known that she didn't get why I was still hung up on a boyfriend I "claimed" I was dating, but had no proof.

I fired my backpack at the wall and kicked off my shoes. I closed my eyes before I got under the sheets, squeezing them shut in the desperate hope that it would stop me from crying.

The phone rang seconds after I had crashed into my bed. I didn't answer it the first time, but when it rang for a second time, I got up and answered it.

"Hello?"

I could hear breathing on the other end, but no one spoke.

"Hello?" I repeated. "Alright, I'm hanging up—"

"No, don't." They quickly said. "I-I saw what happened, Sophie."

Only one person called me Sophie. I gripped the corner of the nightstand when I recognized the voice. "Dad?"