Page 111 of Scarred King
I enter the airport and people look at me in disgust. A fair-haired child points at me and her mother pulls her in the other direction. I go inside one of the stores, buy an overpriced flowery dress and go to the restroom. I remove the black bridal dress and put the flowered one on instead. I manage to shove the black fabric into the trash can. It takes me sometime to wash the heavy makeup off my face. My hair springs strangely over my shoulders, but at least there’s no trace of the Duchess left. I look like a regular, harmless girl again.
After a long flight and a cab ride through the city, I finally fall down on a bed in a small motel in Los Angeles. Troubling thoughts have been in my head for hours, and my exhaustion is overwhelming. I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. The emptiness is replaced by terrible stress. I can’t stop thinking about my traumatic parting from the man who used to be mine. My heart is in anguish, transmitting pain throughout my body. I don’t understand why, even now, after I managed to escape the black hole, my body yearns for comfort in the arms of the one who took me there. I curl up on my side as tears spill from my eyes and soak the pillow. My brain tries to comfort and encourage me, but my heart is fighting for its right to feel the agony. When I manage to repress thoughts of Liam’s touch, I keep seeing Johanna’s delicate image in my head. Her innocent smile at Giovanni, her need to please Tommy and her anger towards me when we parted. My heart shatters again. I whimper softly and finally fall asleep.
I open my eyes and stiffly move my body out of the position I’ve been sleeping in. All my limbs are sprained – my body feels hard as a rock. It’s four in the afternoon. I get out of bed, unwilling to surrender to my grief. I’ve come this far to regain control over my life. To reconnect to my true self, to what I wanted to accomplish in my life. I buy some scissors in a nearby convenience store, stand in front of the mirror and carefully cut my hair in a straight line above my shoulders. Now that that’s behind me too, I think wearily. I take my backpack and walk out of the motel in my high heels.
“Where to, ma’am?” the cab driver asks me.
“UCLA,” I reply, feeling a spark of excitement. But how will I find him on the huge campus? And if I do, will he be pleased to see me without any warning? I push my fears away. This time my brain is navigating, showing me the way, and I hope it won't let me down. It hasn’t let me down before.
The driver stops at the main entrance to the university, and I stand and stare at the buildings and lawns in front of me. I put my backpack on my shoulders and start walking, without any idea of where I’m going. I stop and talk to a student sitting on the grass, asking for directions and she gives me a general idea. Twenty minutes later I’m standing outside a large building. Students pass me by, going in and out.
“Excuse me,” I say to an energetic girl, making her way out. She stops and looks at her watch impatiently. “Do you know if Professor Sawyer is teaching here today?”
“Who?” she wrinkles her forehead.
“Never mind,” I sigh, and she shrugs and walks off.
“Wait a minute,” she calls out and walks back to me quickly. “Do you mean the new physics professor?”
“Yes!” I answer eagerly.
“Mmmm…” she looks at the building and thinks. “If I’m not mistaken, a friend of mine who’s a junior told me she has a class with him in about a half an hour.”
“Great,” I say enthusiastically. “Where is this class?”
“I’m not sure,” she starts walking away again. “Maybe in the big hall.”
“Which big hall?” I call after her, but she’s already gone into the building next door. I walk inside and try to stop a student who’s talking on his cellphone. He ignores me and I approach another student who’s sitting on the stairs.
“Do you know where the big hall is?” I ask.
He picks up his bag and nods. “I’m on my way there, too.” He starts climbing the stairs. “Are you another fan of the new professor?” he asks with a smile, and when I don’t answer he laughs, “I don’t think there are any other professors with full classes at this time of day.”
“Yeah, he’s something special,” I murmur and the student walks into the lecture hall. I look at dozens of male and female students sitting quietly in their seats. They’re all looking towards the stage, and they seem as excited as me. I manage to find an empty seat at the end of one of the rows. I sit down and put my backpack on the floor. There are ten minutes left until class begins and it feels like time has stopped. The students’ laptops are open, files and papers with formulas are scattered on the long tables in front of them and I just drum my fingers on the desk attached to my chair, watch the clock on the wall, and wait for the minutes to pass.
And then it happens, like a spell has been cast in the hall room. He reaches the podium in jeans and a white button-down shirt. His goatee is carefully trimmed, and he’s smiling bashfully. And it’s quiet. Silent. The emptiness and anxiety are replaced by contentment. I feel that I’m exactly where I need to be. I watch the man I admire place his briefcase on the chair and clear his throat.
For an hour and a half, I forget my heartbreak, my hurried escape, the exhaustion and the emptiness, and I focus on the impressive display of knowledge he shoots at us. The shining arrows burrow into my brain and expand it. The information he teaches is not new to me, I discovered it during the research tasks he gave me, but the opportunity to absorb it directly from him is thoroughly satisfying.
“I apologize. I didn’t notice we’re out of time,” he says with his bashful smile, and disappointed sighs echo throughout the hall. “But if anyone has a question, I’d be happy to answer.”
Nobody raises their hand, except for one girl who is sitting in the first row. “Go ahead,” he says to her sweetly and I imagine that she’s blushing from his attention right now.
She finishes asking her question and I see his smile evaporate. He looks stunned at such a basic question, and I shake my head, feeling embarrassed for her. He wrinkles his forehead and thinks how he should answer, but as he does, he glances at his audience in the room. I want to lower my head and disappear in the sea of faces around me but suddenly his eyes lock on me. His eyes widen in astonishment and a wide smile spreads across his face.
“Perhaps one of the students would like to answer your question,” he says, still staring at me. I shake my head in panic and he raises his arm and points at me. “You,” he says.
All the heads in the hall turn in my direction and I grow pale.
“Go on, don’t be shy,” he admonishes me, and I shake my head again, praying he’ll leave me alone. “Unless you need me to explain it to you too,” he flashes a small smile and raises an eyebrow. I shake my head and manage to smile back embarrassed.
“It’s really simple,” I say, and his smile grows wider. I answer in five short sentences and he tips his head to me and looks back at the girl.
“Do you understand now?” he asks and puts his hand in his pocket. She nods and he addresses the class. “You’re in your third year already,” he says in disappointment. “Come prepared to my classes, otherwise, don’t come at all.” I see the embarrassed faces around me, and I can’t understand how anyone could study this subject without wanting to challenge their brains as much as possible.
The students leave the lecture hall and I wait for him to politely finish answering each nervous female student who approaches him. When the last one leaves, I get up and descend the stairs towards the stage.
“I was afraid you left,” he says and comes down from the stage. “What are you doing here?” he asks as he stands in front of me. “Are you on vacation? Visiting family?”