Page 2 of Love is Angry

“Laura...”

There’s a second-long silence before she responds. “Shit. You’re busy.”

“I’m about to head to class,” I tell her. “And don’t be such a potty mouth. It’s unbecoming.”

“Well, fuck off, then,” Laura giggles. “Sorry. I was just hoping to get you to confirm for brunch next weekend. I completely forgot it’s Monday morning. We can talk about it later.”

I can almost see her by her window, looking out, her gaze lost over the rolling hills that surround our mansion just outside of Rochester. She’s probably still in her pale blue satin robe,flanked by three different maids while wishing they could just leave her the hell alone so she can finish her coffee in peace. I miss her, but I need to be away from that place for a long time.

“I’m not coming back home this weekend,” I say. “I thought I told you…”

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I’m coming to Ithaca!”

Why doesn’t that sit right with me?

Don’t get me wrong, I love my little sister. She’s the only blood relative I have left who’s worth a damn. So why do I loathe the idea of welcoming her here?

“I’m not even fully unpacked yet,” I reply, feeling like shit for shutting her down, but doing it regardless. Then again, Laura never was an easily scared kind of girl.

“You’re shit at organizing, Rhue. You and I both know you’ll need the help if you don’t want to be living out of a suitcase for the next twelve months.”

She’s in a good mood, and I’d be a dick to ruin that. Besides, this is her way of telling me not to push her away.

I promised Mom a long time ago that I would look out for Laura. I failed once and almost lost her. When that memory resurfaces it becomes a heck of a lot harder to push an agenda that doesn’t have much to do with her.

“Fine, I guess.”

With my concession loudly spoken, she smacks a kiss at me and hangs up. If I know my sister the way I think I do, there will be a text follow-up wishing me well and reminding me to plug her into my calendar.

I grab my bag and head for the main building first. I’ve already gone through orientation, but I still need a few minutes to move around and understand which hallways lead to where. The closer I get to the building, the bigger it grows.

Cornell University is a giant made of stone and steel. A place that has nurtured many great minds.

Politicians, athletes, anthropologists, historians, archeologists and world-class scientists walked out of here with their degrees and blindingly bright futures. When it comes to this place, I am nothing more than a smudge on the fabric of humanity.

The purpose of my presence here is to become something bigger.

Something better.

Something worth a damn.

It takes a few turns, but sooner rather than later I find my first class. It’s packed, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Anthropology is one of Cornell’s fortes. It has been for decades.

Despite how well lit the auditorium is, I’m unable to make out any of the faces. Everyone’s sitting and waiting for the professor to come in. His desk is at the bottom, an old walnut framed by a huge blackboard that covers two thirds of the entire wall.

As for the rest of the room, it pretty much smells of smart people in here. For a moment, I find myself riddled with anxiety, briefly poked by some kind of imposter syndrome.

Fuck it. I belong here. I earned my spot here. Fair and square.

I find an empty seat in a row close to the door. It’s safer to stay out of the professor’s sight, for the time being.

Exhaling deeply, I take out a notebook, a pen, and the infamous brochure, to which a bibliography has been stapled. There’s a ton of books I need to buy, apparently. I’m in the middle of mentally mapping my schedule around getting these books when the soft scent of lilac tickles my nose.

It’s a familiar scent. Far too familiar. And it— rattles me.

At first, that’s all there is; the scent and the memories associated with it fighting to pummel my mind. I manage to keepthem at bay for a few seconds before my head starts to spin, putting one and two together, trying to figure it out.

Suddenly, an ice-cold claw pierces the back of my neck and goes all the way down and through my spine. I know that fucking perfume better than I’ve ever wanted to know a damn thing in my life.

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