Black fades from my vision, and I notice I’m not at the club. I’m in a small room I’ve never seen before. Slowly I walk to the window and look out it. Young adults with backpacks and books walk around. It’s a college campus. Turning, I look around the room once again. There’s no club, no Benji. I’m… free. I bite my lip in excitement. The chance to mingle with kids my age, find a man to love swirling in the pit of my stomach, I might pee myself with happiness. I look to the mirror on the wall to freshen up before heading out, and can’t help but frown at my dark and unapproachable appearance. My blond and pink colored hair, with the dark eyeliner framing my green eyes with splashes of blue around the edges. Grabbing a piece of my hair, I twist it in my fingertips. I’ve always wanted to change it. I tilt my head to the side.

“New place, new me.” I tell my reflection. My small nose wrinkling with excitement.

Papers on the desk next to me flutter to the floor from the breeze of the ceiling fan and I bend down grabbing one.

Professor Michael Prescott Auditorium 1B.

I tap the paper with my black fingernail that’s beginning to chip. Harley must have signed up for classes already. Ready to get out and adventure before I lose the light and Harley is back, I toss the paper on the desk and I head out of the dorm room and outside. Kids with bags of all colors and shapes pass by. Cliques sticking close and talking as I wander along the sidewalk, and a couple of jocks toss a football along the green grass. I can’t stop from smiling. I’m free, and it feels good.

Looking straight ahead I see a dome building with black bold letters above the door. 1B. That must be where I’m supposed to go. Stepping up the concrete steps, the black boots on my feet feel heavy.

I notice I’m wearing ripped jeans and a black shirt with a leather jacket. Ugh, I’ll have to go shopping after this. Harley’s clothing is so dark and grim it depresses me.

Once inside the building, it’s quiet as everyone has already found seats.

“Do you think Romeo would do it all over again?” a tall man asks the crowd. He has dark short hair and is wearing a white dress shirt with an ugly yellow tie positioned perfectly down the center. His black slacks matching his black shiny shoes peeking out from under his pant legs. His jaw is sharp with a five o’clock shadow, and he has the cutest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Can I help you?” I jump where I stand, looking around. Is he talking to me?

“Miss?”

I look at the professor, and he’s looking right at me. Holy crap.

I clear my throat, my skin feeling sweaty. “Is this Professor Prescott’s class?” I ask meekly. He smiles, oh God, he smiles handsomely.

“Yes, that’s me.” He nods.

I step further into the room, not sure where to sit. Do I sit next to someone or should I sit by myself?

“Are you new?”

“I, um?” I begin to doubt being in here. I should turn around. Everyone is looking at me. They have laptops and books. I have nothing.

“Sit here.” He points to a chair right in front of his desk. I sigh with relief that he suggested where to sit. Pinching my lips together, my hands squeezing each other I head to the seat. Everyone watches me closely as I step by, and it makes me nervous. I smile politely and head to my seat though.

Slipping into the wooden seat, I look up at him unsure of what to do next. I’ve never been to a school before.

“Do you have a pencil or anything?” he asks, his light blue-gray eyes looking at me. They look like the sky during a cold rain.

“I don’t,” I inform with a small smile.

He turns and grabs one off his desk.

“Use mine.” He hands me a blue writing utensil. Taking it from him, his fingers brushes mine, and a jolt of electricity circuits through my hand. When he doesn’t release his clutch on the pencil my eyes slide to his. They’re dancing with hunger, and burning with lust. A handsome smirk crosses his face, and he finally lets go of the pencil. It’s not until then that my lungs burn and I realize I’d held my breath the whole time we played tug-o-war with the pencil. Exhaling, I curl my toes and look down with blushing cheeks.

“As I was saying, there’s much hidden in the romance of Romeo and Juliet—”

Looking the pencil over I notice Prescott stamped in gold on the side. Teeth marks biting into the wood near the eraser. My fingers rub along the indentions as I silently say his name. His mouth was here, his tongue and saliva on this very pencil.

I bite my lip thinking about him nibbling on the end.

I peek up and catch him staring at me with heated eyes. Blue-gray eyes looking like a hostile storm.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Sitting in my seat at the top of the auditorium instead of right up front, I wait for Professor Prescott to start class. He’s running late today. I feel giddy sitting in my seat, in an actual classroom. I’ve never attended school before, so this is a whole new scene for me. A tall boy in a letterman’s jacket walks past me, grinning from ear to ear. I wink, chewing on the end of my pencil. Butterflies fill my stomach thinking about all the trouble I can get into here. Harley would be pissed.

Harley has no interest in men, boys, anything with a dick. Not that I know of anyway. She is more goal oriented and searching for where she belongs in life.

I know where I belong, in the arms of a man.

I scan the class. People watching. It’s something I could do all day. I don’t get out much, so it doesn’t take much to fascinate me.

I don’t understand today’s generation. Tattoos claiming every inch of skin. Piercings in every orifice. They are all pretending to be hardcore when in reality, none of them have what it takes. If a gun was pressed to their head, they’d all piss themselves running. Their image is a façade of what lays in their chest. It fascinates me how fake people are. My phone chimes and I look down at it. A missing person’s statement. Shrugging, I slide my phone back in my pocket.

Pulling my earbuds out of my bag, I stick them in my ears to tune out the class. Classical music from Beethoven plays on my iPod. Something Harley wouldn’t ever listen to and I’m surprised she hasn’t delete it off the iPod since I’ve been gone.

Closing my eyes, I nod my head and tap my pencil against the desktop.

This is my favorite class; Professor Prescott’s. He teaches English. I don’t care about the lesson. I care about watching him. The way his arm bulges as he writes on the whiteboard. The way he clears his throat and his Adam’s apple moves just right against his scruffy throat.

Who cares how much older he is than me, he’s divine. He’s what you would call white collar, and handsome. Nothing Harley would give a second glance to. Harley is leather and drugs, so naturally, she’d be attracted to that kind of trash.

I’m nudged from the right and my eyes pop open. My head whips to my right with furrowed brows.

The boy sitting next to me juts his chin at the front of the room. Looking forward, I notice the whole class staring at me, and so is Professor Prescott. Class started and I was here having a concert in my head.

My body warms, and I yank my buds out of my ears. My cheeks warming from all the eyes looking at me.

“Harley, see me after class,” Professor Prescott snaps. Oh, he’s angry. He’s even sexier when he’s mad.

“Actually, it’s Farrah,” I correct him. His brows narrow as he slips a piece of paper off his desk, looking at it as if he’s missed something. Probably the class roster. “I just, I like to be called Farrah is all,” I try and clear up the confusion. Harley signed up for the class, so of course he thinks I’m her. Trying to explain why I’m Farrah and not Harley would scare him more than anything and that’s the last thing I want. My thighs squeeze together as everyone stares at me with curious eyes, all the attention has blood racing to my core making me wet.

Everything about me is confusing to a lot of people. I’m not Harley though, I’m Farrah. We are two different people in the same body. I don’t get to come out much to play though, as Harley has been very good at keeping me away. She must be on some medication or doing more therapy.

She fucked up being around so much temptation, though. It brought me to the front, and I’m not going away so easily.

“Okay, well see me after class, Farrah,” he repeats, a dark tone dragging out both syllables of my name. I swallow and nod slowly. He looks up at me and gives me that look again. One of hunger and longing. My thighs clench together at how my name spills from his lips. He’s never said my name before.

I want to hear it again.

And I will.

* * *

After Professor hands out the class assignment, I open my laptop I purchased on my handy dandy credit card and start Googling books to read for the project. I feel eyes staring at me and I glance up, catching Professor Prescott looking right at me with heated eyes. I purse my lips trying to keep from smiling and look back at the screen. My chest tightens as I can still feel him staring at me. The hunger in his eyes not unnoticed. We’ve been playing this cat and mouse game for a couple days now. There’s something about him that brings the worst out of me.

I want him so bad. He’s all I think about.

Word is he’s married. The thrill that he looks at me with such lust even though he’s with another woman leaves many questions in my head. Is his marriage bad? Is he in the middle of a divorce?

Who really cares though?

I silently laugh to myself. Harley would never approve, which is why I’m going to fuck him.

The bell rings and the professor stands up.

“Class is dismissed, I will see you all tomorrow.” I wait for everyone to leave, my skin ablaze with the knowledge I’ll be left alone with the sexy professor. I pull at the thin fabric of the flower dress I’m wearing, trying to cover more of my thighs, but it’s not doing much for my modesty with my hard nipples poking through the top.

Bras are overrated.

“Farrah?” he snaps, gesturing for me to come forward. I grab my things and step down to his desk.

“Sorry about the disruption, I was—”

“I would appreciate it if you would be more cautious of our surroundings and be better prepared for my class,” he schools, shuffling papers on his desk. He’s acting aloof, superior even, and it causes my head to vibrate with confusion. All those looks he’s been giving me have been in my head? The pull I feel between us is real. Right? At my uneasiness, anger creeps its way inside my head. I cork a fake smile, knowing if I get too angry Harley will come forward.

The irony of him telling me to be on time for class is cute though.

Noticing my smirk, he does a double take before his face hardens. “Something funny?” His tone harsh, but something I’ve learned growing up around bikers ... is this man is anything but tough.

“Professor, how can you tell me to be more prepared, when you yourself were late?” I tilt my head to the side, my dark China bangs falling in my face. Sexual tension riles up and laces between us, binding us together in a forbidden atmosphere. It’s electric and my nipples ache for him to touch me.

His fiery blue eyes snap to mine, and a cold rush of desire rushes over me, and I have to look away. He’s unlike anything I’ve seen before. He’s clean, good, soft hands, and a gentle smile.

I peek back at him. He could be easy to love. I… could be easy to love.

“What I do on my own time is my business, Farrah,” he clips. He leans back on his desk, his hands resting on the lip of it, his feet crossed in front of him. The vindication in his voice hangs loosely on his tongue as if he’s waiting for me to argue.

He’s very unhappy with me, and it whirls a hurricane of guilt in my chest.

“I’m sorry.” My smile fades, and I glance down feeling foolish.

Lifting his hand, he tucks one of the strands of hair framing my face behind my ear. My entire right cheek warms with fire from the simple touch. God, I want him to touch more of me.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to back talk your elders. That it’s bad,” he mutters, and the words of manners twist in my stomach like a bad lunch.

Anger boils beneath the surface and the innocent mask begins to slip from my face. I grit my teeth, trying to get a handle on myself. Harley is fighting for the light, I can feel her rattling the cage within, demanding I vanish.

“What can I say, Professor, I guess I’m just a defiant woman.” I flirt, sultry hanging off my tongue desperately. I peer up under thick lashes, my lips parting as a harsh breath leaves my mouth. The touch of my skin clearly affecting him, I notice his dick swell in his slacks. I want to ask him if his wife makes him happy? Happy like I know I could. If she fucks him into oblivion? Takes his cock like I would. I want to so bad, but it would be out of line.

I choke out a breath, stuffing down the things I really want to say. Things… much more risqué.

Fire erupts in his eyes, his blue dress shirt stretching with his large inhale. Quickly he turns, his hands still on the desk.

“That will be all,” he growls, almost as if he’s in pain looking at me. I affect him. Smiling like the devil I am, I hold my books close to my chest and turn on my heel. The cuffs of his dress shirt are rolled to his elbows just enough for me to run my nails over his skin as I walk away and his muscles tense from my touch. Our eyes lock, and the very corner of his lips curves into a smirk.

“See you next time,” I whisper, and a playboy smile flashes across his face.

* * *

Lying on my bed I stare at the picture of Professor Prescott on the college website. “Michael.” My tongue slides along my teeth as I say his name out loud. He’s so damn handsome it’s almost unfair. I sigh, my nails digging into the skin of my right thigh as I think about what it would be like to have him lying on top of me, or is he the kind that would rather have me on top.

The TV catches my attention and I close the laptop.

If you have any information on the whereabouts of Harley Vander, please call 1800 - Missing.

A picture of a beautiful young woman with long blonde and pink hair with soulless eyes is plastered across the TV screen. Her eyeliner thick and dark, her nose and lip pierced. She’s covered in colorful tattoos, too.

Stepping over to the mirror hanging above a cracked sink in the corner, I look at my reflection. My dark brown hair streaked with parts of pink, and lips are stained with pink lipstick from earlier.

I smile like the Devil as I gaze upon myself. They’ll never find Harley Vander, not until I say so.

She’s not pushing me to the side again, relenting me from coming forth. I’m a part of her, regardless of what she tells herself.

She’s the darkness, I’m the light. Without me, she’s just a lonely nightmare lost in the atmosphere of reality. She’s the rough touch, the misfit of society. I’m the soft caress, the flirty girl next door.

She needs me, otherwise… why would her mind and soul create me?