+1+
The VacationSavers dossier feels heavy when I slide it into my bag on Monday morning. Sera had let me back in the bedroom Sunday evening as long as I stayed out of her way. She’d played some soothing thunderstorms to help me sleep, but it ended up knocking her out. I’d spent all night staring at the ceiling while she slept on my chest.
I procrastinate when I get to Old Town Hall. I make a point to stop at the security desk and listen to Al talk about his weekend. I spend an extra ten minutes talking to the cashier when I get my decaf coffee. The cashier compliments me on my photograph now hanging in the hall. Too bad it won’t be there for long.
When I finally make it upstairs Mrs. Ginger is on her way to her morning chat with the facilities admin.
“It was so sweet of you to stop by over the weekend.” She says in passing.
“No problem…I don’t want to seem like I’m playing favorites. Could we maybe keep that between us?”
“If you insist”, she agrees slightly confused.
Day’s office door is wide open and he sticks his head out when he hears me.
“Hey Paris”, Day says glancing at Mrs. Ginger’s empty desk, “Got a second?”
“Yes, sir”, He’s not alone in his office. Supervisor Bruno is sitting comfortably at a small conference table shaking his head at something on his phone.
“Have a seat”, Day says while studying his bookshelf and looking around, “Fuck. I swear something if off in here.”
I look around his office. Sera and I had been sure not to leave anything out of place when we were snooping on Friday night.
“Maybe the cleaning staff”, I say realizing I am throwing constituents under the bus.
“Well, anyway. My wife and I have this annual barbeque at our house to kick-off the start of the county’s summer programs. It’s mostly party donors and active community members but I thought it’d be a good opportunity for you to meet some change makers in the area. You in?”
I’m so taken a back I just stare at him.
“I...yes? Of course.” This was the first time Day had talked to me about anything other than the audit.
“Hey, maybe we can discuss that gun amnesty program you were talking about.” Day suggests like he hadn’t blown me off when I bought it up before.
Wait. He suddenly wants to talk about my ideas? He’s inviting me into his office? Does he know I’d found out about VacationSavers? Is this politicking? Is this quid quo pro? I reach for the VacationSavers dossier in my bag. I was either going to confront him now or never.
“Cortland I--
“Holy—I---did you see this?” Supervisor Bruno interrupts and gestures to his cell phone. Day gives him a shifty smile and nods with a raised eyebrow.
“I know. I know--This guy? Can you believe it?” Days says pounding my back, “Marries a porn star before getting elected. Smart, eh?”
Wait—what?
What?
I peer over to look at Bruno’s phone instantly recognize the adult video on the screen. The bound and blindfolded man is Sven and indie adult film producer and one of Sera’s only friends in the community. I easily recognize his lean muscled figure and corn silk blonde hair even though he is blindfolded and suspended in dark red satin restraints on a trendy apartment set. Sera had met Sven on a trip to Florida and couldn’t shake him. He switched between been a Dom or submissive. I liked him as a Dom and was envious of him as a sub—but I couldn’t stand him outside of that. Now he was showing up in my professional life.
He and Sera got together to shot videos for his very profitable AdultStream channel. I usually just wrote the contracts and made sure Sera was properly compensated. The pay was good because it was hard to find local Dommes willing to do hardcore bondage, rope art and suspension on camera because of how dangerous it was. It helped that Sera was slightly insane and not afraid of an involuntary manslaughter charge.
Despite Day’s insinuation Sera wasn’t a porn star. She wasn’t an entertainer, couldn’t act and refused to show the parts that mattered on camera. She had a set list of services, kinks and fetishes she offered and Sven filmed them. Sven was just a talented enough editor to compensate for what she lacked. He had a good eye. The way he set up scenes was artistic, tasteful and fucking hot. He worked around Sera’s deficiencies because when it went right… it was profitable. This clearly pirated video had an AdultStream premium watermark that was distorted in the corner.
Bruno turns up the volume and I can hear the ADR of heels clicking on concrete of the trendy apartment set. On the screen Sera enters wearing a power suit and holding shopping bags, a coffee and an attaché. Every part the wealthy, high-powered Upper East Side corporate bitch coming home to her handsome obedient sex slave. She takes off her shades and surveys Sven trussed up and waiting to do the only thing he is good for. Pleasing and serving his Mistress. My dick pressed painfully against the cage it was trapped in.
Sven had been tied and suspended in a kneeling position; knees apart sitting back on his thighs with his hands tied to his ankles. He once told me he always worked out a few weeks in advance to make his muscles swell and standout for a shoot. Highlighter, bronzer and concealer made his toned chest and thighs stand out. It didn’t hurt that the deep cut V muscle at his abdomen lead to his oversized picture perfect cock. My mouth watered at the sight and memory of his cock. It stood out prominently, perfectly accessible whenever she wanted it. She blew across it and he swallows his long graceful neck exposed by the position.
“Where did you find this”, I ask trying to focus on Dayand not on what happens on screen after Sera finds dust and a polo shirt that’s not properly folded. I take a mini legal pad out of my messenger bag to jot down the name of the website. The VacationSavers dossier peeks out and I quickly tuck it back in.
“One of those free sites.” Day says sitting on his desk. Great, now I’d have to draft up a copyright claim when I got home
I also got it now. Day inviting me into his office. Telling me about the annual cook-out last minute. He wanted to fuck my wife. Not literally, but I had a fuckable wife and that suddenly made me interesting.
“Cortland can we talk privately?” I ask. Might as well get this VacationSavers shit show over with.
Bruno hands Day his phone back and heads out.
Day smiles apologetically.
“Uh Look, Bruno’s the only guy I told. He won’t tell anyone. I wanted to get his perspective. This is…wild shit Paris. It’s kind of boring around here and this really shakes things up.”
I’m about to shake things up even more with this dossier
“It’s not a secret my wife is a sex worker”, I tell him, “It’s all legal. Besides legislation legalizing and decriminalizing sex work is one of my platforms on my website. I think the country is more than ready for a sex positive politician. I hope it won’t be a problem in Harrison County.”
“I mean are you in any of these.”
“No.”
“…is this like how you met?”
“No. No. It’s just her job. She picked it up after we met”, I smile glad that’s the half-truth.
“I mean you should be fine around here as long as you don’t advertise it. People are pretty respectful but there are a few who might make a fuss. When I say this is wild crazy shit I’m saying it as a friend. …were you like one of those uptight dudes who likes get slapped around”
“I was never one of her clients.”, I say but I don’t know if it’s the white lie or the kink shaming that’s making me feel warm with embarrassment.
“You are so interesting Paris Prince.”, he opens up his laptop, “So you coming to the barbeque? I just got a new pool put in. Some of the guys from the big insurance companies in Hartford are my neighbors so they will stop by. Maybe some people from the party? I can let Sky know what to put on the menu. You’re a vegetarian right?”
“I actually….I”, a thought occurs to me. This was too perfect, “Yes. I’ll be there.”
“Cool. Bring your wife. We can talk about your future. Get you in front of the right people, okay?”
He attempts to say “my wife” casually, like he probably hasn’t jerked off to the part of the video where she gives Sven a blow job. I lift my bag and the VacationSavers dossier almost slips out again.
“I should get to work”, I say and head to my office. I curse at the desk I guess I didn’t need to put together and take a seat at the temporary folding table.
I lay out the dossier. Examining each page. At best this evidence was all circumstantial. Everything tied back to Dr. Hollins, Sr. and Armitage, but nothing tied directly to Day. He signed off on tons of transactions. He didn’t look at each one. The prosecutor in me knows this wasn’t enough to prosecute Day.
I pick up my cell phone and call Sera. I’m surprised she picks up on the first ring.
“Yes?” she sounds distracted.
“Darling, I didn’t do it”, I whisper, “The thing with the …dossier. I didn’t confront Day.”
“I—this has nothing to do with me, Paris.”
She’s breathing heavy and I pick up a rhythmic thrum in the background. I’d interrupted her morning run.
“Actually it kind of does. I’m not doing the thing today because Day invited us to a barbeque at this house. “
She sighs and I can hear her rolling her eyes.
“Paris you sound like you’re in college again. Dropping your convictions because someone includes you. You are better than that now.”
“It’s not like that”, I said wondering whose side she was on, “I’m thinking maybe you can distract him while I …explore his house? Maybe act like you want take him on as a client. He has to have something in his house that will clearly tie him to the embezzlement. I mean what I have is good but I want something that will be concrete.”
“Why do I have to distract him?” she asks.
“He just turned into my best friend because he met you. He found one of Sven’s videos.”
She’s silent for a while.
“I’m not a shiny toy, Paris.”, she says.
“I know. I do. I hate asking you to do this.”
She thinks on this for what feels like forever.
“Fine. I’ll help if you think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Thank you. This is a good thing, Sera. The more information I have the better.”
She’d already hung up and I finger my wedding band nervously. We were in this together now.
---
We were in this together now.
Two years after leaving the Boy’s Home I was illegally driving a rental car and speeding down I-15 from Las Vegas trying to make it to the Sacramento International Airport with my with my new wife asleep in the passenger seat.
I occasionally glanced over to where she snored softly in an off-white t-shirt dress and glittery gold flats. The dress was still creased having been purchased at Wal-Mart on the way down to Vegas so she didn’t have to get married in her worn jeans and cut-off flannel.
What had that been? Five hours ago.
I’d originally wanted to stop at the Wal-Mart to buy Sera a ring but after she bought the dress, shoes and razor it had seemed inconsequential and there wasn’t enough money.
The fact that we were in Vegas. Hell, the fact that I’d invited Seraphina Grigori to visit mein Sacramento at all was an anomaly.
The summer of 2008 I was in Sacramento attending the National Public Policy Forum’s Youth Leadership College Program for rising college juniors--a summer intensive that gave Ivy students experience in executive state offices. Students were randomly assigned to capital cities across the country. I’d gotten Sacramento. I was all nerves. It was the farthest I’d ever been from the east coast. By then the money Hmeju left me was long gone and I’d taken out a sketchy student loan for my plane ticket and to buy my first set of luggage.
I felt different from my peers in the program. They were always texting, talking or calling their parents, family or friends. They were constantly swapping stories about vacations, Greek life and house parties that I couldn’t relate to.
“You are so focused Paris, you never even talk about your friends or family”, someone in the program had joked.
“Yeah”, I said not wanting to get into the details.
I got lonely one night whilte sitting out on the Embassy Suite balcony and thought about texting Travis Wentworth my roommate back at Harvard. He’d sent me a scathing curse-laden voicemail explaining that he was bailing on the off-campus apartment we’d gone in on together because he found out I was the reason he got kicked out the dorms.
I didn’t want to deal with his shit so I texted the only other person I knew.
Seraphina Grigori
Which was a thing I never thought I’d do, because the only reason I even had her number was because of my asshole roommate and a phone call I almost missed.
±2±
Travis Wentworth and I started rooming together freshman year. We’d been placed together via lottery into Greenridge House freshman year.
I’d begun freshman year emotionally damaged form the legal fights with my brothers so I’d been in awe of Wentworth and his nuclear family when they entered the dorm. Wentworth was straight out of central casting for a Harvard undergrad. I couldn’t believe my roommate was this Ralph Lauren handsome prep school boy wearing salmon shorts with a stripped button up and shiny loafers. His reddish brown hair was always slightly curled and sometimes fell in his face. I hadn’t been surprised I was attracted to him I just didn’t want to fall for him.
“Paris Prince”, I introduced myself.
“Travis Wentworth”, Wentworth said. His mother beamed at us but his dad seemed to take note of my faded clothes and patched up dirty suitcase.
Travis Wentworth, Sr. was a Harvard alum and CFO of Mass National Bank. His mother was a Yale alum and editor for Cape Cod’s alt-weekly. I eagerly watched their family dynamic as they unpacked. His mom was teary-eyed as she opened up his bed set and made his bed. The set had an extra pillow and she offered to me since I only had the blanket I’d stolen from the motel to cover my mattress.
I happily took a family photo of them in front of Greenridge House just before his parents left. I’d felt this odd drop in my throat when Wentworth’s mother hugged him tight and his dad jokingly made her let go. Wentworth’s father ruffled his hair and kept trying to say good-bye. The scene was what I’d imagined for Hmjeu and I.
“Where are your parents?” Mrs. Wentworth asked as she flipped through the photos on the digital camera
“I’m an orphan, ma’am”, I said.
“You poor thing. You boys are in for an amazing four years. Your part of the Harvard family now Paris, which means I want to see you at Thanksgiving this year.”
“Thank you”, in that moment I’d really needed to hear that.
Mrs. Wentworth had just assumed Wentworth and I would be great friends.
She had been very wrong.
Sure, we made it through an awkward first week together. We went to all the traditional freshmen and house events together. I tagged along with Wentworth as he reconnected with friends from his prep school, I listened wide-eyed while they talked about owning cars, trips to Europe, staying in hotels and going to beaches. Pop culture references went right over my head but I vowed to learn. Wentworth and I tried to be friends but reality quickly set in.
I mean, I was extremely focused and mature for my age…Wentworth was not. I started each day at 6:30 am and usually ate breakfast in the community room which was time I designated to reading the newspaper and finding a potential partner. I thought it’d be good to find a girl to date. Someone as motivated and ambitious as me, but nothing went past obligatory small talk. Everyone seemed to know knew each other from private school and paired off.
After classes I always made time to meet with my professors to build a professional relationships them. I usually had to catch them in-between dinners or club parties with legacy students. I was pre-law and double majoring in Economics and Political Science. I studied four hours a day and began the long rigorous process of running for student body government. My list of initiatives and awards was non-existent compared to my peers. To build my college career I looked into Harvard’s prestigious and traditional social clubs—but struggled to find common ground and never made it past meet and greets. I joined a group for first generation college kids, but the focus on family made me uncomfortable.
I always went to bed at 10pm sharp. Wentworth not so much. Our first fight was when I asked Wentworth to take his friends and video game down to the community room so I could sleep. He’d gotten pissy and told me I was acting like an old man. And maybe I was but I had to be disciplined. I’d given up my life to come here and I had to succeed.
It didn’t help that halfway through first semester I got my first C. I had to bite back a curse in the middle of class and try to stay calm. I thought the wave of discomfort I felt was just embarrassment but I couldn’t shake it on my walk back to the dorm. I’d robbed my brothers of money they needed. I’d been exiled from my only home and I did all that just to get a fucking C in applied statistics? I’d been gripping the test so hard I’d punctured it and my hands started to shake uncontrollable.
The panic attack consumed me. I’d had them in the past but usually in the comfort of my headmaster’s office. I ran to the dorm bathroom and locked myself in a stall as my muscles went stiff. The pressure behind my eyes felt heated and I muffled my uncontrollable crying with the thin faded winter coat I got from a church shelter.
Zane, one of Wentworth’s private school friends, was there when I stepped out. I tried to act cool and splashed cold water on my face.
“You know you can get meds for that at student health.”
“For what?” I said staring at my scar in the mirror. He just shook his head and left. I immediately went down to student health and was prescribed anti-anxiety meds. I wouldn’t have made my way through first semester without it.
I was stressed.
I somehow had to find time to do laundry, homework, social activities, volunteer work and extracurriculars. I didn’t have a laptop and wrote the first draft of my papers by hand. I was always worried about money. The only cash I got was the $40 I could get every two weeks when I donated blood and plasma. When I had a moment to rest all I just found myself missing my home.
For Wentworth college was different. For starters Harvard was his ‘safety’ school after getting rejected from Oxford and Yale. He switched his major four times the first semester and only went to classes his friends were in. He brought more girls to the room than books and shrugged off studying until the last minute. He was smart enough to do the bare minimum and still get high marks.
He was always trying a new club or organization where even if he didn’t get in he still walked away with new friends. He stayed up past midnight and slept in most of the week; he asked me to review his papers so much I practically wrote them. When I didn’t help he would talk shit to anyone in Greenridge House about me being stuck-up. One of the other lower-income kids warned me not to get the administration involved.
“If you piss them off. They will accuse you of stealing something.” He said.
That was it.
Wentworth’s easy privilege bought out the worst in me. It was little things he easily had access to that if I had them it would profoundly change my day. I’d freak out if I overbooked myself and missed dinner because I couldn’t afford to food for my room. I’d have to ask Wentworth if I could borrow something form him. He’d usually tease me about it which would make me lose my appetite.
One night after missing dinner and walking two miles to take a computer course at the local library I came back to the dorm and one of Wentworth’s female friends was sitting on my bed giving him a strip tease. I flipped out and started cursing them both out and threatened to tell the residential.
“What the fuck is your fucking problem, Prince”, he said in the middle of my tirade as his friend slipped out, “Here. If I give you this will shut up. You’re such a fucking psycho. Loosen up.”
He threw a balled up $50 bill at me and I did what he said because I’d never had this much money in my hand at one time.
±3±
When Thanksgiving rolled around I sat awkwardly in the backseat of Mrs. Wentworth’s’ Jaguar with Wentworth listening to APR on the long drive to New Brambleton, CT. They were replaying my favorite Katrina episode from earlier that year and it felt like a good omen. Coastal New England was beautiful in the fall. The gorgeous scenery made me feel like I was entering another world.
The Wentworth’s had a two-story Cape Cod style house with a stunning view of the lake. I’d never been inside a ‘family home”, it was just like in the books and comic strips. It had a kitchen and living room with family photos. They even had a housekeeper who seemed to love Wentworth like son and a bedroom just for guest. The home felt so lived in. Not fleeting like the Boy’s Home.
It felt like God (If I wasn’t an atheist) was showing me what I could achieve if I kept myself motivated and made it through graduation. Wentworth made a quick escape once we arrived and I didn’t care because Mr. Wentworth invited me into his study where I peppered him with questions about his Harvard days.
The Wentworth’s hosted a catered Thanksgiving that was much better than the one the nuns brought to the Boy’s Home every year. I met Wentworth’s friends back home from other Ivies. They were pretty cool and some of them secretly hated Wentworth too—we are still Facebook friends.
I really hit it off with one of Wentworth’s aunts. She was a political journalist and I (in my extremely sheltered life) never met a woman who wanted to talk in detail about the political climate and predictions for the upcoming election season.
“You’ve got to stop, Prince”, I hadn’t seen Wentworth and his friends out on the patio when I went to get a water. Though Mrs. Wentworth said I could grab a beer or wine if I wanted.
“What? I’m not doing anything.” I told him.
“Dude, you are totally using my family to get ahead.”
“No I’m not. I’m not like that”.
“Fuck that”, Wentworth said taking a sloppy drink of beer, “ I’m serious you’re like a fucking serial killer or something with the way you suck up to people. My Dad could not get you out of his study this morning. You were five seconds away from humping his leg.”
His friends giggled and a few whispered for him to leave me alone. Maybe I had asked his dad too many questions.
“Sorry”, I said because I don’t know how I come off to other people. I’d had coffee and that made me ramble…maybe I’d been too energetic around his dad.
“Prince, you always try to act like you come from money or something. Like who are you trying to impress?”
Wentworth was a little drunk but I didn’t want to back down with his friends watching. He had me all wrong.
“No one. I don’t act like anything.”, I said but it sounded meek.
“You dress up every day like you’re trying to impress someone but like, bro, everyone at school can tell you always wear the same clothes two days in a row. It’s embarrassing, okay. Like, I’m trying to help. You can’t keep going commando just because you can’t afford to replace your underwear.”
Two of his friends burst out laughing involuntarily. They cover their mouths and apologize. It still stung. I knew Wentworth well enough to know he was crude when he wanted to hurt someone.
“Fuck you”, I said quietly but it sounded like a mumble. He was just trying to embarrass me. I felt a panic attack coming on but I fought against it. The strain made my eyes water.
“I’m just saying everyone can see how desperate you are, Prince. You’ve just really made my freshman year suck. You expect everyone to be like you and flip out like a psycho when it doesn’t happen. I have to deal with all your whining, complain and pill popping at school. Now I can’t even come home without you trying to get up my aunt’s skirt.”
I looked up at Wentworth and took note of his beautiful rich friends lounging in the background. His voice had cracked a tiny bit …there was some genuine emotion there.
“You haven’t made my first semester that great either.” I said trying to sound tough but my voice shakes.
A few of his friends let out “ohhs”. I was kind of proud of that.
“Fuck that, Prince. You don’t even try to be a regular decent guy. Stop trying to ride my coattails. Face it that’s the only reason you even came.”
“Your mom invited me”, now my voice cracked and one of his friends pulled Wentworth back, “I don’t have anywhere else to go. My foster brothers…don’t…I’m.” I swallowed feeling the pressure build behind my eyes
“Just go, Prince. This was supposed to be a break from college bullshit. Seriously. You don’t like me. So you need to think about the real reason you came.”
I suddenly felt my age. I felt so out of place in this world. I didn’t know these people. They didn’t care about me. Here I was in the faded second hand black polo shirt and pants I’d worn since 8th grade with Hmjeu’s gold Timex hanging off my wrist thinking these people, who have never wanted for anything, would be my new family
I just walked away. I didn’t know where I was going but I kept walking. Once I was out of sight of the party I ducked behind some cars and cried like I was five-years old again. This time there was no Hmjeu to pick me up and this time the cuts were emotional.
Fuck. The scars they’d leave.
±4±
That night I packed my stuff and called a cab back to Cambridge. Mrs. Wentworth packed me some food but I never brought myself to eat it. I spent my entire savings on that ride home which made me feel even more like shit. I studied all weekend in the dorm until Wentworth came back.
On the first day of spring classes Wentworth and two of his friends filled my messenger bag with cheap white briefs as a joke. I just ignored it. When they didn’t get a reaction out of me they followed me down the hall of the dorm tossing more underwear. I skipped class that dayand walked to student health center where I was admitted to the psych ward for two days.
Administration got involved but Wentworth and his friends claimed it was just a little light-hearted hazing to welcome me into their group. Bullshit. They never got in trouble for it.
The worst part was I kept the underwear.
Wentworth and I were nemesis throughout freshman year. People who liked Wentworth saw me as a fake and inauthentic. Fuck it maybe I was. I didn’t know what was right or wrong. I couldn’t tell if I was being normal so I had to copy others around me.
I was in a generally unhappy fog the last semester and introduced to anti-depressants. I worked my ass off but Harvard wasn’t what I expected. I thought I’d find a new family at Harvard, instead I’d found more pain and rejection than I could ever imagine.
I decided I was going home.
I wrote my brothers a letter explaining that Harvard hadn’t worked out. There was still 6,000 dollars left and Hmjeu’s lawyer said once I unenrolled he would authorize the remaining money be sent to the home. On my way to the registrar’s office to unenroll I saw a letter in my dorm mailbox. I never got letters. I opened it eagerly but froze when I saw it was a renewed restraining order from my brothers. I wasn’t permitted within 100 feet of the Boy’s Home or residents for 3 years.
I ripped the restraining order into pieces and threw it away. Then I went back to my dorm to prepare for another year.
±±±
Sophomore year I joined an 8 person housing block with some acquaintances from Harvard Toastmasters. Wentworth was also in the block and by sheer coincidence we were paired up in a two bedroom suite in Winthrop House. I’d been vying for Winthrop House because it was Hmjeu’s upperclassman house. Wentworth wanted to be in Winthrop with his best friend Zane, so we compromised and roomed together.
Having our own bedrooms helped and Wentworth had kind of chilled out over the summer since his parents made him get a job. I was on a good combination of meds that kept me from spiraling and rambling. I’d taken a load of summer classes and having a private room for those months helped me reenergize.
I got a handle on things. I picked my GPA up and my academics blossomed. Socially, I was still pretty awkward at parties (if I could find one) and had yet to find a club or community that I felt myself with. That year I didn’t get into the fraternity I’d pledged because I couldn’t afford the membership fee and comments were said that made me afraid to say I was pansexual. On the plus side I’d managed to go on four dates with a female law student before accidentally puking over her and putting an end to that.
Christmas break my sophomore year was shit .The holidays were always hard because I’d have to find a cheap hotel in Boston to stay in when the dorms closed. I’d borrow DVDs of TV and movies from classmates and have mindless marathons. Usually I could find a shelter or church offering a meal. I usually helped out more than I ate. Every year I sent letters to the Boy’s Home on holidays and still got nothing back.
I just kept my head down and put in the fucking work.
±5±
Spring semester of sophomore year I thought I’d figured college out. For one I learned to work my schedule to avoid my asshole roommate. I’d started scheduling my breaks and naps around his class schedule so I could have some peace. Which was why on a blustery March afternoon I was powering walking back to Winthrop House to make my 3pm nap while Wentworth was in Comp Stats 203. I wanted to be fresh for a social later that evening for student government applicants.
I was almost at the door when I paused in front of the Winthrop House courtyard. I saw Wentworth (cutting class) with his newest girlfriend Carrie Loweski, a transfer from Notre Dame studying ecology and finance. Carrie and I met first at Winthrop House’s game night. She didn’t know anyone so we paired together to play Scrabble and killed. Carrie really got into it. Being with her than night made me forget all the shit I had to deal with.
I really liked her and we got along…so of course my asshole roommate had to swoop in and start dating her. I was enamored by how intelligent and industrious she was. She and her sorority sisters were already kick starting their own non-profit InspireHer to empower teen girls to get into college and travel.
I sighed and looked at my watch. I was already running late for my scheduled alone time, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I just kept watching my asshole roommate with the girls of my dreams.
“Paris?”
I jumped not used to anyone calling my name. Most of my acquaintances and classmates called me Prince. I looked around and somehow missed her the first time. Seraphina Grigori stood up from where she was sitting on the edge of Ellington Fountain. Sera waived and I awkwardly waived back.
Then she promptly sent my plans for the future veering off course.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Baaah-baa-ba-ba-bum-budum-bum-buh-bum-IDK. This is the how I met you mother theme ? So yes this chapter is a flashback within a flashback. 2017 Paris was flashing back to the day he got married in the summer of 2008 but is now backing up to explain what happened in 2006-07. Because 2017 Paris is doing all the talking (as opposed to 2008 Paris talking about 2006-07) I decided to drop the past perfect.
Muse: LiLe didn’t you learn from JNRR that when you do mystery thriller’s to keep it SIMPLE.
Lils: I like to explore my character motivations and did I channel my inner Nightfall Academy? Maybe? I kind of failed here. But I like earnest hardworking nice male characters. Though I know there isn’t a ton of dialogue because Paris is somewhat isolated. That’s about to change…
I think SA also had a scene where a stressed out college student (Sofia) relies on student health for medication. This takes place in almost the same year so there are a lot of odd parallels.