Hers From The Start: A Collection of First In Series Reverse Harem

by Laura Greenwood

  “An incident… what?”

  “Forget it.” I wave him off, shucking out of my jacket. “Where are we?”

  “I was just getting started.” He motions to the papers in front of him and I pull up a chair and get out my notepad and pen.

  “I made a start too, actually.”

  “Listen.” The tap of his pen against the paper fills the heavy silence. “I’m sorry for not making it easier. I just…”

  “It’s fine. You’re here now and we still have plenty of time to do the paper.” My eyes flick to Ross and he nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat. “I thought we could go with free will.”

  “Great minds.” His eyes darken.

  “Good.” I look away but sense him watching me. “I thought we could prepare a list of decisions which are based on free will and then come up with the counter argument.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given this some thought?”

  “I like to be prepared.” My gaze slides to his and something passes between us. But I don’t get chance to cling to the feeling as Ross clears his throat and begins to write. He makes quick fluid strokes, like the way he draws, and I have to snap myself out of it and focus on my own work.

  We write in silence, each compiling a list of actions and decisions one might assume are governed by free will. When I have ten, I wait for him to finish up. “Okay,” I start. “How about we each read one, and the other comes up with the counter argument?”

  Ross nods and I realize he communicates as much through non-verbal cues as he does talking.

  “Number one,” I say. “I have free will over what I wear.”

  “Counter argument. We choose our clothes based on the statement we’re trying to make. Trends. Emotion. Mood. A giant fuck you to the establishment.” I snort at his last comment, but he isn’t done. “We think we have free will over what we wear, but the truth is we’re all just sheep in one sense or another. Sheep trying to fit in. Sheep trying to stand out. Sheep trying to figure out if they want to be sheep that fits in or stands out. The choice isn’t ours, it’s pushed upon us by any number of social, moral, and ethical expectations.”

  “So basically, we’re all sheep?” Our eyes connect, mine brimming with disbelief, his narrowed with conviction, but then the corner of his mouth lifts and we’re laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls.

  “Sorry,” amusement lingers in Ross’s voice. “I really fucking hate sheep.”

  “Noted.” I smirk, dropping my eyes back to my list to make a couple of notes. “You’re up.”

  He drags a hand through his hair, pulling and tugging the strands into a messy style. “Hmm, how about I have free will over what I eat.”

  “Easy. Free will exists as long as circumstances allow it. If we have access to fine foods and expensive wine, I could choose to sample them, or I could choose to stick with the safe option.”

  “The safe option?” he counters, chewing the end of his pen.

  “Yeah. Let’s say, for example, it’s a toss-up between a bleeding steak, or bread and jam. I’d choose the bread. But if I’m starving and parched and the only choice is to eat rotting meat and drink putrid water, the need to survive would outweigh the consequences of said choice.”

  Ross shifts his weight, angling his body to mine and scrubs his jaw. “So, you wouldn’t eat the steak because you have principles, but your principles go out of the window when the going gets tough?”

  “I…” I stare at him, confusion pinching my brows. “It’s not a matter of principle, it’s a matter of survival. Are you trying to tell me you wouldn’t eat the rotting meat?”

  “It’d be a hard decision, sure, but I guess the bigger question is who are we if we don’t stay true to our beliefs?”

  “Let me get this straight.” I hold up my finger for effect. “You’re saying, you’d potentially choose death over the risk of contracting a nasty case of food poisoning? I don’t buy it.”

  Ross’s eyes flash, but unlike the usual flecks of vivid blue, there’s a coolness to them. A silvery hue that forces me out. He’s guarded, and I get the distinct feeling we’re no longer talking about rotting meat.

  “It’s not about what eating the meat will do to you physically, Terra; it’s about whether you can live with yourself knowing you ate the meat.”

  “If it means I’m still alive, I’m pretty sure I can live with it.”

  “Fine,” he blows out an exasperated breath and I roll my eyes, frustrated by the strange direction this discussion has taken.

  “Terra,” he starts, but I cut him off, jabbing the tip of my pen onto the paper. “It’s fine, point noted. Let’s move onto the next one.” The snippiness in my voice shocks me but Ross doesn’t acknowledge it, telling me it’s my turn. And for the next thirty minutes we continue hashing out examples of free will and their counter arguments. He’s a worthy partner—intelligent and quick to respond—but from our spat earlier, I know there’s more to the quiet guy beside me. And I can’t help but wonder what caused the huge chip on his shoulder.

  “I think we have enough to work with,” I announce after making my final notes. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Ross has already packed up his things. “I’ll catch you later.” He moves for the door, obviously not wanting to stick around. But before he leaves the room, I say, “How’d you know?”

  “Know?”

  “Which dorm room I was in?”

  “Call it a lucky guess.”

  My eyes narrow, trying to figure him out. Ross doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to play games, but this feels like one all the same. And I’m at an unfair advantage because I don’t know the rules.

  When I don’t offer a reply, he hitches his backpack up his shoulder and pushes the door wide. “See you around, Terra.”

  And then he’s gone.

  When I leave the library, I cut across the lawn toward the student center. My session with Ross has left me in serious need of sugar. But I haven’t made it ten feet when a voice calls, “Terra, wait up.”

  I spin around and find Amalia bounding toward me. “There you are.”

  “You were looking for me?”

  “No, but I was hoping to catch you at lunch again. I wanted to see if you’d given what I said any thought.” Her eyes twinkle with hope and I feel bad for the next words that come out of my mouth.

  “Amalia, I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment washes over her. “Did I push too hard? I can do that sometimes. It’s the dorm rep in me. If the idea of coming to a gathering is too much too soon, I’d be happy to get together just the two of us.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  Her smile returns. “Of course, I would. You have a great power inside of you, Terra. It shouldn’t be locked away.”

  The thought of exploring my power, of unleashing it, doesn’t fill me with the excitement Amalia is displaying, but I can’t deny that to have someone who might be able to help me—to understand—eases the burden.

  “Okay, I think I’d like that.”

  “Really? Great. Shall I stop by your room tonight and we can make a start? I have a few books too that might help you.”

  “Thank you,” I say feeling a frisson of energy unfurling in my stomach. For as crazy as it is, I can’t help but say a silent thank you to my gran for making all this possible, for giving me the push I needed to leave the farm and pave my own destiny.

  Now, if only I can discover exactly what that destiny looks like.

  Amalia loops her arm through mine and we walk to the cafeteria together. She’s easy to be around, if a little over-enthusiastic, and I’m glad to have her looking out for me.

  “I’m starving,” she says as we enter the student center.

  “Amalia,” a deep voice calls and a tall guy approaches us. Eyes the color of whiskey, and hair the color of sand, he seems vaguely familiar.

  “Oh, hey, Harry. This is my friend, Terra.” She doesn’t bring up that I’m the gi
rl who ran from their gathering, and he doesn’t mention it.

  “Nice to meet you, Terra.” He offers me a tight nod and I realize everything about him is guarded. Not in the same way as Ross, but it’s all in his eyes. They’re sharp and assessing and sweep over me as if he’s trying to identify my weaknesses, causing a deep shudder to roll through me. I wait for it to pass but the feeling lingers like sinewy tentacles probing and searching. What is that?

  “Hey, Amalia, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll meet you inside, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I force myself to look at Harry again and rush out, “It was nice to meet you, bye,” before melting into the crowd. When I’m out of their line of sight, I grind to a halt and try to figure out what just happened. It wasn’t like the connection I felt with Cael or Ross—the familiar tug deep in my stomach. No, his eyes on me felt intrusive. Violating.

  “Why the long face?”

  My eyes snap up to the owner of the voice. “It’s you.”

  The guy scrubs his jaw. “I plead not guilty.” He flashes me a wide smile revealing a set of pristine white teeth which gleam against his golden-red hair.

  “Sorry.” I blush. “You probably don’t remember.”

  “I never forget a pretty face. If I remember rightly, I saved you from a football missile.”

  “You did.”

  It’s more than that, but I can’t tell him, so I swallow the words.

  “Where I’m from,” he says. “Saving someone’s life is a pretty big deal. It usually means the hero gets bestowed with recognition… rewards… gifts. That kind of thing.”

  “Oh really?” my lips curve with amusement. After my intense study session with Ross and my run in with Harry, Endo is like a breath of fresh air. “But I don’t have anything to offer except my gratitude.”

  “Your gratitude is accepted, but surely the lady can stretch to lunch?”

  “You want me to buy your lunch?” I stutter, caught off-guard by his suggestion, and his eyes flicker with amusement.

  “You don’t have to buy me lunch, your company would be payment enough.”

  “Oh.” The words lodge in my throat. “I can do that.”

  “Shall we then?” he motions over my shoulder and I nod.

  Even though I’m still surprised he wants to have lunch with me, it’s the perfect opportunity to try to figure out why every time his eyes move over me, I feel like I’m drowning in flames.

  9.

  I send Amalia a quick text saying there’s been a change of plans and that I’ll see her back at the dorm after classes. Endo doesn’t lead us to the main cafeteria, instead guiding us to the deli bar where he orders two turkey subs, a cream soda for me, and an iced tea for himself. We find a table overlooking the track field and I can’t resist searching for Cael amongst the athletes warming up.

  “Looking for someone?” Endo asks, and my eyes slide to his. There’s no accusation in his voice and I shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s not like I’m dating Cael. He’s just a friend. But my chest constricts at being caught all the same.

  “No, I just… haven’t seen this side of campus yet.” I take a bite of my sandwich to swallow down the sour taste on my tongue.

  “You haven’t had the full tour?”

  “I was late arriving, so I missed the orientation activities.”

  Endo relaxes in the wingback chair. “Well, if you need a tour guide, I’m your guy.”

  “You are?” I raise an eyebrow and he flashes me his pearly white teeth again.

  “Indeed.”

  “So, tell me about you, Endo…”

  “Machiavelli.”

  “You're Italian?”

  “Do I look Italian?”

  I fight a smile. His red hair, the smatter of freckles across his nose, and his emerald eyes might not be indicative of Italian blood, but his surname certainly is. “Cousins twice-removed?” I take a stab in the dark.

  “Something like that.” He finishes his sub and drains his tea, and I watch in fascination as he runs a hand through his hair. The muscles in his arm flex, powerful and sculpted.

  “Do you play?” the words fall from my mouth and I inwardly groan, surprised at my question, and the insinuation behind it.

  “Play?”

  “Yeah, like football or something.”

  “I play but not competitively. At least, not this year.” Sadness extinguishes the fire in his eyes.

  “Oh,” I say softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cool. Football had to take a back seat to other stuff that’s all.” He leans forward, chin resting on his fists propped up by his elbows. “So, what’s your story, Terra Materson?”

  “There isn’t much to tell.” I tug at a stray strand of hair, letting it distract me from the intensity in his lingering gaze.

  “Everyone has a story.”

  “Mine is pretty depressing.” My lips press into a tight line but when he doesn’t reply, I continue. “I lived with my grandmother on her farm. She died about a month ago, and now I’m here.”

  His smile drops. “Shit, Terra, I didn’t—”

  “It’s okay” I offer him a sad smile, breathing through the ache in my chest. “She suffered for a long time, so really, it was blessing.” It didn’t make losing her any easier, but I didn’t want to see her suffer any more than she already had either.

  “Well, I’m sorry all the same. It’s never easy losing a loved one.”

  Endo speaks with experience and I open my mouth to ask who he lost, but something stops me. An icy blast of air rushing up my spine.

  “Hey, do you know that guy?” Endo frowns.

  I glance behind me, following Endo’s line of sight. Harry is outside, looking in on us. “He’s friends with my dorm rep.” I turn back around, hoping that if I ignore him, he’ll go away.

  “He was looking at you like… doesn’t matter,” Endo stops himself. “He’s gone now.”

  I know because the skin along my neck has already warmed and I no longer feel like I’m taking an ice bath.

  “Anyway, where were we?” Endo launches into a string of questions: Where did I grow up? What is my favorite color/food/music? What do I want to major in? He’s animated, using his hands and eyes to talk, while giving me space to answer, and listening intently. Hanging on my every word.

  It isn’t until we pack up our things to leave, that it occurs to me I’ve been so distracted, so entranced by him, I haven’t thought once about Amalia, Harry, or the strange changes I’m experiencing. But as Endo walks me to my next class, the haze lifts and everything comes back tenfold and one thing stands out above all else.

  Something is happening to me… but what is it?

  I’m a ball of nerves when Amalia arrives for our first… well, whatever it is. She’s armed with a pile of books and a Ziploc bag of something which smells like sage.

  “Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. Harry called me, and I couldn’t get him off the phone.”

  I freeze at the mention of his name, but Amalia is too busy unpacking her supplies to notice. “So, I thought we’d start with some simple meditation. Since you know little about your powers, it’s important not to rush and to give yourself time to explore and familiarize yourself with them. I think a calm mind will help you do just that.”

  “Right.” I don’t mean to sound so dismissive, but this is all so foreign. Gran used to send me off to the garden for space. As if she knew I needed to feel connected to the earth, but she never forced any of this on me.

  “And the sage?” I ask peeking over her shoulder.

  “The sage will help cleanse any negativity from your thoughts. You’re resistant. I feel it, but it’s to be expected. Sage helps with allaying fear and lowering your stress levels.” Amalia places a small dish on my desk and goes over to the window, unlatching it and pushing it wide. A gust of wind drifts into the room, sweeping the curtains away from the walls. When she turns back, I raise my eyebrow and she grins. “Smoke alarm.”

  The sage
is bundled together in a short fat roll which she explains is a smudge stick. Retrieving a lighter from the bag, she lights the tip and a sweet earthy smoke engulfs the room. She wafts it around a little before balancing the smudge stick in the dish and comes to me. “Grab some pillows and place them over there.” She motions to the space between the bed and the window, and I get to work while she turns off the main light and switches on the bedside lamp.

  “Okay, ready?”

  I nod and she sits down holding out her hands for me. When I’m comfortable she says, “Close your eyes.”

  My world goes dark. The smell intensifies, filling my lungs and enveloping me like a warm blanket. The tension in my shoulders relaxes, and then Amalia breaks the heavy silence:

  “Negativity invading this sacred space,

  I banish you with the light of my grace.

  You have no hold, no power here,

  as I stand before you without fear.

  Be gone forever, for this I will say,

  this is a sacred place and you will obey.”

  I peek an eye open, unsure if I’m supposed to feel something. Amalia smiles and her own eyes flutter open. “Do you want to try?”

  “I think I’ll just watch tonight, if that’s okay?”

  She nods, and it's warm and reassuring. “I’ll leave you a smudge stick, just in case.” Her lip quirks up. She’s pushing me to accept this but not in a way that overwhelms me to the point of wanting to quit. Because I am intrigued and eager to learn more. I’m just not sure I’m ready for all the answers I’m looking for yet.

  “Okay, now the room is cleansed, let’s meditate.”

  We get comfortable and I follow Amalia’s lead, resting my hands on my knees and taking a deep breath. “Okay,” she says her voice quiet and calm. “Now close your eyes and focus on your breathing but don’t try to control it. Simply follow your natural pattern. In and out. In and out.”

  I move my head from side to side and roll my shoulders, letting my mind focus on the gentle rise and fall of my chest.