believe that she didn’t actually exist, that perhaps it had all just been a figment of his imagination, if it hadn’t been for the incredibly real, tangible and lingering feelings she had inspired in him.
And so he moved on to other Facebook pages - The official Stephen King page, Bronte, Shakespeare, Dickens - as many great, classic novelists as his tired, frustrated brain could conjure up, sure that her worldly intelligence and understanding would have led her to ‘like’ at least one of the great authors pages. But still, nothing. He thought about messaging a few of his fellow College-goers, asking if they had any information on the ‘new girl’, but quickly thought better of it. If his group of friends were to find out about his sudden, intense interest in the ‘weirdo’ (as they so inelegantly described her), not only would he become the groups subject of mockery, but they may also begin to realize that he was not so ‘normal’ himself, and he simply couldn’t have that. Pretending to be something he wasn’t was much more preferable than having to deal with the pitying, alienating glances and awkward, unsure conversations that would inevitably occur if they knew the truth. Eventually, his friends would abandon him - too uneasy or afraid to speak in front of him in case they said the wrong thing, too uncomfortable to look him in the face, until one day when they simply wouldn’t be there anymore. And then what would he have?
He was considering trawling through every popular intellectual and cultural forum that his ‘Google’ search bar would produce, when his mind and body both gave up simultaneously. He stared at the computer screen intently, focusing as hard as he could and willing his brain to come up with some kind of inspiration, but it was as blank and useless as a static TV screen. His aching muscles pleaded for a stretch and a lie down after being scrunched up in an unmoving, cross-legged position for so many hours.
Sam relented a lay back, stretching across his bed and massaging his pounding temples as his joints and muscles sang with sweet release. As much as he hated to abandon his efforts (for some reason feeling slightly as if he were abandoning her as well), he knew he could see her and talk to her again tomorrow, and he’d need to be well-rested and prepared if he wanted to make a better impression than he had earlier that day. He set his alarm an hour and a half earlier than usual - he would take his time to wake up properly, enjoy the scenic drive once again, and then still have plenty of time to be alone, to collect his thoughts and to plan his actions before anyone else arrived at College. Sam fell into the feathery embrace of his pillow, confident that he would make tomorrow the first day of the rest of his life.
CHAPTER FOUR - PRIDE, PREJUDICE & PERSISTENCE
Sienna woke up much earlier than she had planned the next morning. A sharp slice of unnecessarily bright early morning sunshine had slipped through a tiny sliver of a gap in her curtains and had landed in a golden stripe across her sleeping face. She had been brutally awoken as the inside of her eye lids were seared red with the invading natural light, and had become instantly aware of an incessant, rhythmic pounding in her head, as if a very angry, African tribe were playing their war drums on her soft, vulnerable brain. The next thing she became painfully aware of was the arid desert that had somehow found its way into her mouth overnight. She rolled over in bed and threw one arm protectively across her face, attempting a groan of displeasure, but managing to produce nothing more than a dusty, raspy wheeze from her bone dry vocal chords.
She toyed with the thought of going back to sleep, wanting nothing more than to flip a big middle finger at the day ahead and be left to wallow in her
And so he moved on to other Facebook pages - The official Stephen King page, Bronte, Shakespeare, Dickens - as many great, classic novelists as his tired, frustrated brain could conjure up, sure that her worldly intelligence and understanding would have led her to ‘like’ at least one of the great authors pages. But still, nothing. He thought about messaging a few of his fellow College-goers, asking if they had any information on the ‘new girl’, but quickly thought better of it. If his group of friends were to find out about his sudden, intense interest in the ‘weirdo’ (as they so inelegantly described her), not only would he become the groups subject of mockery, but they may also begin to realize that he was not so ‘normal’ himself, and he simply couldn’t have that. Pretending to be something he wasn’t was much more preferable than having to deal with the pitying, alienating glances and awkward, unsure conversations that would inevitably occur if they knew the truth. Eventually, his friends would abandon him - too uneasy or afraid to speak in front of him in case they said the wrong thing, too uncomfortable to look him in the face, until one day when they simply wouldn’t be there anymore. And then what would he have?
He was considering trawling through every popular intellectual and cultural forum that his ‘Google’ search bar would produce, when his mind and body both gave up simultaneously. He stared at the computer screen intently, focusing as hard as he could and willing his brain to come up with some kind of inspiration, but it was as blank and useless as a static TV screen. His aching muscles pleaded for a stretch and a lie down after being scrunched up in an unmoving, cross-legged position for so many hours.
Sam relented a lay back, stretching across his bed and massaging his pounding temples as his joints and muscles sang with sweet release. As much as he hated to abandon his efforts (for some reason feeling slightly as if he were abandoning her as well), he knew he could see her and talk to her again tomorrow, and he’d need to be well-rested and prepared if he wanted to make a better impression than he had earlier that day. He set his alarm an hour and a half earlier than usual - he would take his time to wake up properly, enjoy the scenic drive once again, and then still have plenty of time to be alone, to collect his thoughts and to plan his actions before anyone else arrived at College. Sam fell into the feathery embrace of his pillow, confident that he would make tomorrow the first day of the rest of his life.
CHAPTER FOUR - PRIDE, PREJUDICE & PERSISTENCE
Sienna woke up much earlier than she had planned the next morning. A sharp slice of unnecessarily bright early morning sunshine had slipped through a tiny sliver of a gap in her curtains and had landed in a golden stripe across her sleeping face. She had been brutally awoken as the inside of her eye lids were seared red with the invading natural light, and had become instantly aware of an incessant, rhythmic pounding in her head, as if a very angry, African tribe were playing their war drums on her soft, vulnerable brain. The next thing she became painfully aware of was the arid desert that had somehow found its way into her mouth overnight. She rolled over in bed and threw one arm protectively across her face, attempting a groan of displeasure, but managing to produce nothing more than a dusty, raspy wheeze from her bone dry vocal chords.
She toyed with the thought of going back to sleep, wanting nothing more than to flip a big middle finger at the day ahead and be left to wallow in her
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