Depravity (King University Book 1)

by Jacob Chance

  Tenley places her slice of pizza down on the paper plate. “How did you get lucky enough to have this room to yourself? That never happens.”

  I shrug and pop the last chunk of crust into my mouth. Wiping my hands on my cutoff shorts, I wait until my mouth isn’t full to reply. “I don’t know. I was supposed to have a roommate, but yesterday I got an email informing me that it’s just me, myself, and I. I’m not sure why, but in a way I’m glad. I’m not really up for being friendly right now.”

  “So, does this mean I get to crash here whenever I want?” Tenley pats the mattress she’s sitting on across the narrow room.

  “That’s exactly what it means. I forgot to ask you how it went moving into your apartment.” I run my fingers over the quilt that Miles bought me. All of my bear things are set out for me to look at. I experience a cross between torture and enjoyment every time I look at them.

  “Ugh, it was a disaster, but it’s over now. And I did meet our hot neighbor down the hall, so it’s all good. He asked me for my number.”

  “Of course you have a hot neighbor.”

  “Yep and I saw him first.”

  “Does Cathy really care that you did?” Her roommate has a history of sleeping with the ex-boyfriends of her so-called friends. She’s not the kind of person I’d consider trustworthy and I’ve never cared for her. From the first time we met she gave me a bad vibe.

  “She says she’s going to be on her best behavior.”

  “What? For five minutes maybe,” I snort. “She’ll never last. She’s a bitch to her core.”

  “Tell me what you really think,” Tenley guffaws. “And have another beer. I want to know what else you have to say.”

  I slap a hand over my mouth. Fucking beer. Why does it make me spill things I don’t want to? I think back to the first night that Miles and I shared a kiss. I never imagined how far we’d fall in such a short time.

  “Hey, knock it off.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t get mopey on me. I know you were thinking about ‘he who shall not be thought about’.”

  I smile sheepishly. “I try not to, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. It’s hard to deny a huge piece of your heart. It feels like I’m hiding part of who I am. Do you know what I mean?”

  “No, I don’t. But I wish I did. I’d take the pain that goes along with a relationship ending if I got to experience what falling in love was like.”

  I don’t argue with her, because as painful as losing love is, I agree with Tenley. The agony of losing Miles’ love is indescribable. Falling in love with him was the most incredible feeling I’ve experienced.

  I step outside into the bright mid-morning sunshine and the intense humidity early September in Washington D.C. offers. Glancing around, I take in the dorm complex and notice things I was too busy to see when we were carrying everything inside on Saturday. Then yesterday was spent unpacking and getting my things organized, which meant again, my focus wasn’t on my surroundings. I wanted everything in its place before classes officially began today.

  This is my first chance to really absorb all the details about the complex. I like the way the buildings are set in a circular formation with an oversized courtyard in the middle that each entryway looks out onto. I can see myself whiling away some hours reading on one of the benches set under the shady trees.

  I wish I had time to do that now. After less than a minute outside, my blue tank top already feels like it’s clinging to my skin. Plucking the cotton away from my stomach, I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder and walk to King Koffee, the boutique cafe that seems to be the source of most activity. The smell of coffee wafts toward me as I approach the door. I breathe deep, inhaling the rich scent, my mouth already salivating and my hands shaking. I’m practically in the midst of coffee withdrawals after not having any for two days. That’s a record for me, one I never want to repeat.

  Pushing the green door open, a bell chimes, letting all ten or so people in line know that I’m here. I bet that thing must drive the employees nuts going off all day.

  Sliding up to the back of the line, I gaze around at the decor. The walls are painted a warm beige and all the bench seats have brown leather cushions, conveniently matching the color of coffee. There are accents of lime green and yellow spread around the space in the artwork hanging on the walls. I like the earthy feel this place has. If the coffee’s as good as I hope, I’ll be a frequent patron here.

  The line moves with practiced precision and I’ve got my cup in hand within a matter of minutes. Stepping back outside into the heat, I start down the sidewalk toward the building my first class is in. From what I’ve garnered from an online map, Thurston Hall is supposed to be a straight shot from here, about two blocks down. With the oppressive heat, I’m glad it’s not further. As it is, by the time I arrive there, my long, wavy locks are heavy on my neck and I’m perspiring profusely.

  I slip into my class with two minutes to spare, eyes eagerly seeking an open chair. I find one a few rows back and maneuver around other students to get there. Dropping my backpack to the floor with a sigh, I sink down into the empty seat just as someone takes the one next to me. Glancing over, I return the quick smile the female student gives and set about fastening my hair on top of my head. Once that’s done, I dig through my bag for my laptop. I turn it on, type in my code, and open up a new document.

  “Welcome to King University. I’m Professor Decker and I’ll be teaching you all about juvenile delinquency.”

  My head pops up at the first sound of his voice, and when I see Miles standing at the front of the room only fifteen feet from me, my equilibrium spins and my stomach seesaws erratically. My hand clutches onto the edge of the desk like it’s a lifeline.

  “Some of you may already be well versed in this subject.” Laughter fills the room. “But, if you’re here at K.U., then you must’ve seen the error of your ways. No one gets into this school without earning their way.”

  I break out in a cold sweat. Oh my God. My eyes open so wide they’re straining.

  What is he doing here?

  He never mentioned teaching at King and I’m positive my schedule had a different professor’s name on it. Shit. My whole body is shaking. I can’t do this. I’m not ready to see him yet. I’m not strong enough. Panic floods me from head to toe.

  What am I going to do?

  I can’t sit through this class three times a week. If I get up and walk out he’ll see me. I’ll have to sit tight and do my best to blend in and exit with the other students when class is over.

  How am I going to look at him for the next fifty minutes without turning into a blubbering mess?

  “If your schedule said Professor Smith would be teaching this class, you’re not in the wrong place. There was a scheduling conflict and I was asked to take over.”

  I guess that answers that question. But it doesn't help with how I’m going to get out of this room without being seen. Sinking a little lower in my chair, I breathe deeply and try to calm my jumping heart rate.

  Focus on your laptop and he won’t even notice you. You’re just one student in a room full of them. I reassure myself, but it doesn’t stop my heart from galloping like a wild horse inside my chest cavity.

  “This semester we’ll be looking at juvenile delinquency from a psychological, physiological, and sociological perspective. We’ll be delving deep into what role the family, the school, and the peer group play in promoting delinquency.” He grabs a clipboard and a pen from his desk. “Before we get started on the good stuff, why don’t we go around the room and you can introduce yourselves. Let’s start with you.” He points to the person at the end of the front row.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. What am I going to do? I can disguise my voice and make up a name, but he’s jotting down each one as it’s said. I’m sure he’s going to cross-reference with the class roster later. Even if he doesn’t realize I’m here now, he will soon enough.

  While each student introduces themself, my heart rac
es faster. By the time it’s my turn I feel faint and unsure my mouth will be able to utter the words. Licking my lips, I drag a breath in my nostrils and call out, “Sophie Gardner.”

  25

  Miles

  My head pops up, eyes honing in on which direction her voice came from.

  Sophie?

  What is she doing at King?

  And what the fuck is she doing in my class?

  I knew she was starting college, but we shied away from speaking about that subject as much as possible. Both of us avoided that topic because it was a reminder of the limited time we had together. And I had no idea she was interested in a career in criminal justice. She only mentioned psychology when we spoke about school. And I don’t think my employment here was ever discussed because I was teaching summer classes at Alexandria University. Fuck.

  Our gazes lock and I see so much emotion in her wide, brown irises. Has she missed me as much as I’ve missed her? God, she’s so fucking beautiful. Looking at her gives me a painful lump in my throat. I can barely swallow and I feel winded like I’ve been punched in the gut.

  The girl next to Sophie announces her name and I only catch the last part. I return my attention to the clipboard and force myself to focus on taking down all the students’ names. I need to get a grip and gain some composure.

  I’ve missed her more than I even realized I would, but seeing her has fucked with my head and I can’t let it show. No matter what, I have to remain professional. I have a job to do and then Sophie and I can talk.

  In between names being announced, I find my eyes drifting her way. They trace over her alluring lips and move up to linger over the cinnamon freckles I can’t see from here, but recall perfectly from memory.

  Once everyone has introduced themselves, I pass out the syllabus and spend a few minutes going over the key points with them. I like to let my students know my expectations up front, so there’s no guessing involved. If they want to meet them and pass my course it’s all laid out for them in black and white.

  For the last thirty minutes we’ll discuss what factors play into making a juvenile more likely to commit a crime.

  “There are many children who successfully reach adulthood without any delinquent behavior, even when they’re exposed to multiple risk factors. These same risk factors can make it easier for us to identify which children can benefit most from preventative measures. However, there’s no definitive way to identify which children will or will not become repeat offenders.”

  Moving to the whiteboard, I pick up a marker. Tugging off the cap, I write the words ‘Risk Factors’ in black and turn to face my students. “Who can give me an example of something that would be considered a risk factor and predispose a child toward criminal behavior?”

  Hands go up and I point, choosing one of the guys in the back.

  “Where they live,” the student calls out.

  “Absolutely. Environment plays a huge part in who we become.” I add the word to the board. Facing the class once more, I call out, “Anyone else?”

  “Income level,” a female student offers.

  I write socioeconomic factors in all capitals. “Another?” I snap my fingers to keep the conversation flowing.

  “Poor education.”

  “Yes.” I write it down and wave my hand signaling to give me another.

  “Violent home life.”

  “School attendance.”

  Now they’re not even waiting for me to prompt them. They’re getting into this and I like the enthusiasm they’re showing. I write the words as quickly as I can.

  I spin around and hold up a hand. “Let’s pause here for a second. I want to touch a bit further on something. Poor school attendance is one of the top factors that contributes to delinquency. Is anyone surprised it’s that important? Be honest, because when I was in your shoes I didn’t expect that to be so important.”

  A few hands go up and then two more girls in the front row tentatively raise theirs.

  “Okay, what else can you give me to add to our growing list?” My eyes skate over to Sophie. I bet she has an answer in mind, but I won’t call on her.

  “Peer pressure,” is yelled out from the back of the room.

  I point in that direction and say, “Good one.” Facing the board once more, I jot it down on our list.

  “Drugs.”

  “Ah, that’s an important one. Substance abuse. And it can start at an early age.”

  “No role models to guide them,” a female suggests.

  “Yes,” I agree, writing lack of moral guidance on the board.

  “Professor Decker, what about fighting or discord with their friends?”

  I nod. “Violence in their social circles.” I cap the marker and toss it down on the shelf at the bottom of the whiteboard and turn to face the students. Walking forward, my eyes glide over some of them to gauge how they’re taking all this information in. They seem to be paying attention.

  “Would it surprise you to know that there is an absolute link between juvenile delinquency and poverty? You can ask anyone you know who works in law enforcement if impoverished teens are more likely to turn to a life of crime. Statistically, kids coming from poorer backgrounds are two and a half times more likely to fall into crime when compared to children from a rich or well-to-do background.”

  Glancing at the large round clock on the side wall, I notice there’s only a few minutes left. Returning to the whiteboard, I grab the marker. “Your homework is to write a short essay that answers this question: ‘Poverty has been linked to juvenile delinquency, but does poverty cause crime?’” I add each word as I say them. “You can take either stance on this question, but be convincing in your argument and give facts to support it.”

  Returning the marker to its place, I move to my desk and get the syllabus ready for my next class. My eyes keep darting to Sophie, but I don’t want to be too obvious. Her head is down and she’s as low in the chair as she can possibly be. If she could disappear I bet she would. She doesn’t want to be here and I don’t blame her. After all, I’m the asshole who followed through with our plan and broke her heart.

  I dismiss them from class and try to catch Sophie’s eye, but she’s not having it. In fact, she shot out of her seat like she was fired from a cannon and now I can’t even find her tiny form in the crowd of students. So much for talking to her. I shake my head and then move around my desk to sit in the chair. Leaning my elbows on the wooden surface, I pinch the bridge of my nose and ponder how to handle this unexpected situation.

  Should I text her later?

  I could tell her to meet me at my house so we can talk. No. No, I can’t. If we’re within five feet of each other and alone, it will end with me buried inside her.

  Should I call her and see how she wants to deal with this situation?

  I’m her teacher now. It’s not really appropriate to be calling my students, even if they’re an ex-lover. Even if I’m still in love with them. Just having her in my class would be considered a conflict of interest.

  Should I ask her to withdraw from the course?

  This would be the easiest and best solution, but I don’t want her to leave. If I can stare at her three mornings a week for the entire semester it might make it easier to deal with our breakup. Or it could do the opposite and drive me mad.

  I picked Joey up from daycare and brought him straight home. We decided on the way that we both needed a swim to cool off. So here we are in the water, splashing up a storm. His giggles come rapid-fire as I gently sweep the water his way. The sound of his laughter is a balm to my frayed emotions. I’m a mess after seeing Sophie.

  For a week straight I’ve been convincing myself I was fine without her and that time would make missing her easier. After seeing her today, I realized I’ve been living in denial and fooling myself. There is no getting over Sophie.

  “How about we swim for a few minutes? You can doggy paddle to me.” I hold my arms out as far I can and Joey pushes off the bottom st
ep paddling away. Keeping his chin raised, he kicks his small legs and paddles his arms and hands downward through the water. He grunts from the effort it takes him to get to me, but he makes it without giving up.

  “You did it,” I shout, scooping him up and kissing his cheek. “That was awesome.”

  “I want show Sophie.”

  “You want to show Sophie,” I repeat, my heart thundering inside my chest. Not only do I love her, but my son does too. This is not good.

  He nods. “I miss Sophie.”

  “I know, buddy. I miss her too. But she’s busy at school.”

  “Call her.”

  “We can’t, Joey. She has a lot of work to do. It wouldn’t be fair to interrupt her.”

  Just like it won’t be fair if I pursue her again.

  I told her we were through and showed her we were by walking away. And now that I’ve seen her and all the feelings have crashed back into me full force, I can’t change my mind. I need to be strong for both of us; Joey and me.

  I can’t allow him to get more attached to her. It would be unfair and break his heart when we’re no longer together. At least with things the way they stand, he only knew her for the summer. And that was long enough for both of us to love her. But what if we were together for a year or two and we split?

  Losing one mother was bad enough, but at least he was too young to remember Sandy or be impacted forever by losing her.

  For the past two days, I’ve practically given myself whiplash snapping my head in every direction possible, looking for Sophie on campus. Everywhere I went, I hoped to catch sight of her thick, chocolate hair and sparkling, coffee colored eyes, but to no avail. And now it’s time for day two of our class and my palms are sweating from my nerves. I’ve never had sweaty palms in my life. Not even on the day I married Sandy, and I was a nervous fucking wreck then.

  Will Sophie even show? That’s the million dollar question.