Chapter 8.1Mature

Chapter Eight

Poppy grabbed my hand as we walked and leaned in closer, shooting Rhys a glance as she did. He didn't return it, his attention outside.

“Just knock on the door if you need to escape,” she murmured.

“I think I'll be okay. Besides, I still have the essay to finish,” I said. Not a total lie. I'd written about one hundred words so far and was at a loss on what else to write. Of course there was a lot to write about Pride and Prejudice. But I didn't want to sound like the hundreds of other students that would've picked the same book. Poppy frowned but walked ahead to her room. I opened my door, glad I'd put away the pictures before. Whether it was or wasn't Rhys wouldn't stop him making fun of me. I fired up my laptop and glanced behind me. He was leaned against the doorway, waiting to be invited in. I'd have to ask Luca fr ways to revoke the invitation.

“Come in,” I sighed. He slumped against the far wall from the bed and sat cross-legged. I opened the file but couldn't really write, I was too self-conscious of him being there.

“Why is Victoria so intent on killing me?” I asked as I continued to tap my fingers impatiently on the keyboard. Maybe I was better off re-reading some of my old college essays for ideas?

“You bonded with me. She doesn't like that,” he replied with a shrug, his eyes looking nowhere in particular. I chewed my lower lip and wondered if I should ask about the nightmare.

“She was the one who turned you, right?” I asked, snapping his attention to the present.

“Yes,” he said. His tone making it pretty clear he wasn't interested in talking about it. I turned back to the screen and buried my head in my hands.

“I thought classes hadn't even started yet,” Rhys commented, leaning over my shoulder to read the word document on screen. I jumped a little at his sudden appearance and shut the laptop.

“They haven't. But my English Lit professor wants us to write about our favourite book. Something about getting an idea of what each individual student is like,” I explained, picking up the book and staring at the title on the spine.

“Last I checked you shouldn't struggle with your favourite book,” Rhys said, glancing at the book in my hand. I dropped it back onto the desk and crossed my arms.

“My favourite book isn't a classic, I doubt it'd impress him much,” I said. Rhys laughed, his head shaking. He left the desk and sat on my bed.

“Professor Burns doesn't ask for an essay to see what you know about classics. In fact if you write about one he'll probably get rid of you before the first term is through. He wants genuine students,” Rhys said. I blinked at him, how did he know anything about my course or my professor?

“I originally came to Cambridge as a student. I took English Lit as well. I lasted a year then I met Victoria,” he briefly explained. His tone colder at the mention of Victoria. I glanced at the book and rummaged through my unpacked bags for the book. The cover and spine were worn and I kept telling myself I'd buy a new copy. But despite it's state I still loved it.

The End

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