Chapter 9
JANIE
I come through the doors of the lecture hall and realize I’m the first one there. Just as well: I get to pick my favorite spot, all the way at the front. It’s my favorite because no one else wants to sit there, so I can be alone. I want to keep my head down for the rest of the school year and just focus on my degree. I can’t afford any more distractions. Especially after this heartbreaking weekend where I had sex and then was basically dumped five minutes later. What a joke.
As the rest of the class files in and takes their places, I continue working on the paper on my laptop and am totally immersed. It looks like I’m getting my mojo back. Before I know it, the class is full, and Professor McNealy’s standing in front, calling order. I put away my stuff and prepare to focus on the class. Mid-century American poetry. My favorite.
“Welcome back everyone, I hope you’re all had a nice weekend,” McNealy drawls insincerely, wiping the blackboard. There’s a mixture of a muttered affirmative and negative answers. “I’d like to welcome a new student to the class,” he simpers. “Our new student is a vet, and just got out of combat.”
My blood runs cold. No way. This can’t be happening.
“Let’s give a warm welcome to Brent Johnson!” says McNealy with a fake smile. “Don’t worry about it being the middle of the semester. You’ll soon catch up and I’m sure there’d be more than a few willing fellow students to give you a hand.”
A bunch of girls giggle and instinctively, I turn around in my chair and, heart beating in my throat, let my eyes scan the room. I don’t have to search for long. There he is, all the way at the back of the lecture hall, sitting nonchalantly in his seat. Brent’s massive form dwarfs the small seat and I can see why the girls in the class are still tittering with their hands over their mouths. He’s gorgeous. Huge and dominating, making all the boys in the lecture hall seem young and inexperienced by comparison.
Brent hasn’t seen me yet and for a split second I think of turning around before he can. But it’s too late. Even from this distance, I can sense his piercing blue eyes on my frame. And from the way the air suddenly heats between us, I can tell he feels something too.
“Well, good,” I think with a grim satisfaction. Serves him right for running out on me after I comforted him, only to text Amy for a date shortly after. But he lifts his hand in an awkward wave, a movement so genuine and innocent my stomach churns. I almost wave back, but then change my mind, forcing myself to recall what happened, and how much it hurt me. If that could happen to me after just one date, imagine what else is in store for me with the handsome GI? I don't want to go through that all over again. I turn around and face the front, trying to focus on the class.
But I can’t. I can feel him staring at me from his seat. My right shoulder blade feels warm, as if he’s kissing it with his gaze. As soon as the class is over, I gather my things and without looking back at Brent, hurry out of the lecture hall. I rush out into the courtyard, where some cherry trees are in bloom. Surely he won’t follow me, and especially not out here. It’s far too romantic, and it’s clear that romance scares Brent and makes him literally run away. I sit down on the bench and watch as my peers rush towards their next classes. No one’s coming out here, thank goodness. I resolve to recover my composure for a few minutes, then go to Cultural Theory and hope he won’t be in that class, too. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the sun warm my face. Calm returns to my body, my heart rate slows. I’m back in control.
Suddenly, a deep, warm voice interrupts.
“Janie?”
My eyelids flash open and I find myself looking up at Brent, standing in the courtyard. “I thought that was you in the class. I tried to find you after, but you ran way.” He looks impossibly gorgeous. His leather jacket is off, slung over one shoulder, a blue shirt that matches his eyes stretches flatteringly across his incredible torso. Actual fucking cherry blossoms fall down on him in the breeze, making him seem like the hero in a romance novel. The image is too ridiculously dreamy. I have to get out of here. I try to stand up but as soon as I place any weight on my feet I know that’s a bad idea - my knees have turned to jelly. I sit back down, closing my eyes in frustration.
“What happened to being a purist?” I try to joke. “You know, starting school in the middle of the semester? Something bad might happen.” He smiles, knowing he’s being teased.
“It’s the GI bill. The longer I wait the harder it will be for me to actually do it. I know myself. I’m not the school type. If I don’t start now, I’ll never do it.”
“Okay. Funny you turned up in my class, of all places.”
He shrugs awkwardly.
“I promise I’m not stalking you. I’m taking it as a free elective. I didn’t know you’d be there.”
I nod, not knowing what to say. Brent clears his throat.
“I, um, wanted to say sorry for storming out on you the other night,” he says carefully. How can he sound so genuine, so sweet, when what he's done has caused me nothing but heartbreak the last couple of days? I shrug, hoping it looks casual.
“Don’t worry, I understand,” are my words. His eyes widen and he takes a step closer.
“You do?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say, gathering my strength and managing to stand now. “You were meant to go out with Amy. It’s only normal, even if we did that in the movie theater.” A split second passes where we just stare at each other, then I start walking back to the quad. But I have to go past him to get there.
“You know about that?” Brent demands, grabbing my arm.
“That you texted Amy? Of course,” I say, smiling now and praying it looks fancy-free, and not bitter. “We do live together.” Brent looks crestfallen, as if this is genuinely the first time he thought of the possibility of Amy and I discussing him. I try to leave, but he won’t let go of my arm.
The touch of his skin on mine is electric, and as he pulls me gently towards him, he looks in my eyes with that same expression that kills me. I couldn't put my finger on what it was then, and I still can’t. Even though it’s familiar, like the etching of an old image into your mind from your childhood, I still can’t place it. But deep down, it feels like home. My throat is dry and I can’t speak, instead staring back like a dummy. His handsome face is intense, that mouth a straight line. There’s so much there he’d like to say to me, but somehow he can’t. His grip on my arm intensifies.
“Brent, you're hurting me,” I whisper without breaking our gaze. He lets go immediately.
“I’m so sorry. That’s the last thing I want to do,” he growls. “It’s just. You do something to me. Something I really don’t understand.”
But I get it. I know a little about PTSD from reading magazines and such. The poor guy is lost. He’s in a world he doesn’t understand. And after all he's seen, it makes sense. But why won’t he let me help him? Why does he want pretty blonde Amy instead? I guess it makes sense. My friend is all smiles and fun, whereas I’m a sober girl who studies too much. So why am I so devastated? Amy is what’s best for Brent at this stage of his life … but inside, I want it to be me.