Love me whole, p.1
Love Me Whole, page 1
Love Me Whole
By, Nicky James
Love Me Whole
Copyright © 2018 by Nicky James
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Artist:
Nicky James
Editing:
Undivided Editing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Note to Readers
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Other Titles by Nicky James
Note to Readers
This book contains one short scene of self-harm. Self-harm will also be discussed in various other scenes which may be disturbing for some readers.
Most victims of dissociative identity disorder have undergone significant abuse as children.
Although there is underlying knowledge that one main character has undergone an abusive past, this topic will NEVER be discussed openly or in any detail in this book. This is not the focus of the story. However, the ramifications of how this past abuse has affected the main character could be trigger inducing.
Chapter One
“Tell me why I’m doing this again?”
Harbor View’s campus grounds were surprisingly busy in the evening. Small groupings of students came and went from the main entrance, while others gathered around parked cars in the lot or smoked under nearby trees. The odd loner wandered blindly, nose buried in a book or a cellphone. Each carried a shoulder bag or backpack of one variety or another, packed to bursting with all the supplies necessary for their studies.
Observing them individually, I deduced one commonality; ninety percent of them were young—or younger than me.
“I swear there isn’t a person my age here. Everyone is in their mid-twenties. What was I thinking?” I asked Evan again.
He was on speakerphone while I sat in my car and decided if my impromptu decision to take night classes was still sane. I really needed to learn to think before acting. School suddenly felt incredibly impulsive.
“Do you want a list? I’d say your excuse to tuck a few extra courses under your belt and worm your way into a better position at work makes sense for the average Joe, but let’s be realistic, Vaughn, you can’t sit still. I’m personally offended you didn’t just spend your free time with me if you needed something to do. There is always a game on that needs watching and a case of beer that needs to be drank. And besides, you’re being dramatic, I’m sure there are plenty of oldies like you about. You can’t be the only one having a mid-life crisis.”
Chuckling, I slid my prescription sunglasses up, fitting them on my head as I examined and counted my eye-wrinkles in the rear-view mirror. My chestnut brown hair was disheveled from a day at work. Finger combing didn’t alleviate the issue; it exacerbated it.
“Can I have a midlife crisis at thirty-five? Isn’t that reserved for forties or fifties?”
“Hate to break it to you, you are officially midlife, my friend. Average lifespan for us bros is only about seventy, so that makes you smack dab in the middle of a crisis. You know what that means, right?”
Giving up on my hair, I found my regular lenses in my bag and traded them out with my shades before leaning back and continuing to survey the bustling campus. “I need a new car?”
Evan laughed. “No, you need to find a hot young college boy to fuck.”
“Not why I’m here.” It always had to be about sex with Evan.
“Riiight. Suuure. Aren’t you going to be late?”
I dashed a look to my phone. Six-fifty. “I have ten minutes. Gonna let you go. I should probably make my way in and find my class.”
“Take me with, I want a play by play. I haven’t been to college in over ten years.”
I zipped my bag and cut the engine. Taking my phone off speaker, I exited the car and slung my bag over my shoulder. “You never went to college, what are you talking about?”
“Sure I did. I love me a college girl and dated plenty.”
“Going to frat parties doesn’t constitute going to college.”
“Said who?”
“Said me.” With one last look around, I headed to the stairs leading up toward the main entrance. “I’ll bring you as far as the classroom, then I’m hanging up.”
I dodged around a group of five people hovered together listening to some new-age pop and jogged up the stone stairs two at a time.
“Tell me what you see? Are there any girls in cute plaid skirts and white knee socks? Oh, God, say yes.”
“It’s not a Britney Spears video, idiot. You’ve never actually stepped foot on campus before, have you?”
Evan chuckled. “Not sober. A man can dream, can’t he?”
In the front foyer, I glanced about, directionless. A winding staircase curved around on my left, leading up to the second and third floors, while two separate hallways were laid out in front of me. Everyone seemed to know where they were going except me. Signs on the walls indicated wings but were no help when I didn’t remember what lecture hall I was looking for.
“Ev, I gotta let you go. I need two hands. I don’t know where I’m going, and my course papers are in my backpack.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Call me when you’re done or come over.”
We said goodbye and I dropped my bag onto a bench to the left of the door. I wedged my phone into my pocket and rooted around for my paperwork. It’d been ages since I’d been in school. Every aspect, from the smell, to the sounds, and routine, brought me back over a decade.
Maybe I am too old for this shit.
Stuffed into the inside pocket of my binder, I found my course information papers and pulled them out. I noted the lecture hall where I needed to be, 206 B, and wedged them back in my bag. Glancing about, I vaguely remembered that rooms starting with a two were located on the second floor, so I took my chances and headed in that direction.
The congestion thinned the closer time ticked to the top of the hour, and I knew if I didn’t ask for help soon, I’d be alone, lost, and late for my first night of class.
The next intersection had wall-mounted plaques with number ranges and arrows, and I was grateful to see it was the hall I was looking for.
Halfway down the corridor, double doors stood propped open to room 206 B, and I followed the herd of students as they shuffled inside. With less than five minutes until class began, I scanned the room and found a handful of seats in the upper left corner that were vacant. I climbed the gradient floor alongside the wall and dropped into the second seat from the back next to the aisle.
On a quick observation, I realized I was indeed probably the oldest person present. Not only that, everyone seemed to be somewhat acquainted. Clusters of people milled about, chatting, laughing, and hanging off seats and arm rests. When I caught hints of conversations, they seemed to mainly revolve around parties, alcohol, sex, or “my fucking parents this” or “my fucking parents that”. It only added to my steadily growing weariness over my decision.
I pulled my textbook and binder from within my backpack before shoving it under my seat. Lowering the small arm with a writing table, I piled them on top and waited. I was surprised to find only about twenty or thirty students in attendance. When I’d been in college before, lecture halls were filled to capacity, easily accommodating a hundred people or more.
But, it was a night class, and it was marketing.
Shortly after seven, a man in a dress shirt and slacks, wandered in with a roller briefcase in tow. It would figure the instructor and I shared a generation.
“Good evening, welcome to Marketing 101. I’m Richard Spore. You can call me Richard. I’ll be teaching you lot. If everyone can pull out their course outline, we’ll go over what this class entails and the expectation on you.”
Two guys a few seats over caught my attention as I pulled my outline from my binder.
“Richard’s cool, he taught me economics last yea—Oh shit, look who’s here.”
When the man became twitchy and developed a devious eye for mischief, I followed his line of sight as the pair shared a chuckle. Entering the lecture hall was a man who appeared to be in his mid to late twenties. He glanced about with weariness, barely making eye contact with anyone before nodding to Richard who welcomed him by name.
“Good evening, Oryn.”
“That’s the crazy fucker from English class I was telling you about.”
“Fuck no! You mean Man-E-Faces himself? Schizo-Boy? Space Ranger Bob?”
Flipping my gaze, I peered back to the two men making commentary. They’d sunk lower in their seats and were watching the newcomer with humored countenance, both staring from behind a raised paper. Deducing they were easily early twenties, their juvenile behavior didn’t surprise me. But I couldn’t ignore them when they started into a Twilight Zone whistling competition.
“Wow, grow the fuck up!” I growled.
They snapped their attention to me, unaware they had an audience, and stifled their follow-up laughter with poorly executed coughs. I glared until they decided to shuffle around in their seats and at least had the decency to look halfway ashamed.
Once I was satisfied they’d quit being a pair of asses, I refocused my attention to the man who’d entered. He was doing his best to find a seat without drawing attention. His eyes remained trained on the ground and he hugged his marketing textbook to his chest in an almost protective manner. The poor man looked like he wanted to disappear.
Our instructor, Richard, didn’t waste time pulling the student’s attention back to the course outline as he read aloud with a firm, clear voice.
The shy man—who he’d addressed as Oryn—sunk into a seat close to the doors in the front row. He drew the hood of his hoodie up, covering his light brown, almost blond hair.
“—hiding now, but seriously, man, wait for it. It’s fucking hilarious.”
I snapped my head back to the not-so-quiet pair beside me. They’d decidedly returned their attention to the obviously shy man who’d done everything to go unnoticed, and they were right back to mocking him. As my hackles rose, I slammed my hand down on my textbook to grab their attention. They both jumped, the one smacked the other on the shoulder and they exchanged a look before shuffling around and pretending to pay attention to the teacher.
In under five minutes, I hadn’t just fallen back in time to my old college days, I’d tumbled more directly into those dreaded memories of high school, and I was anything but impressed.
“Definitely too old for this shit,” I mumbled under my breath.
What had I been thinking?
As Richard gave a brief overview of the course, I took note of the surrounding people. Attentions seemed more focused on each other or cellphones than on what was being said up front. Only a random set of eyes even bothered to follow along.
Richard went on to explain the multitudes of assignments we’d be responsible for, including a full-term project worth forty-percent of our grade.
“I suggest using your time effectively. You will work in pairs for this activity, and it would be wise to find someone whose work ethic is on par with your own. I’m going to hand out a package detailing this particular assignment. Don’t think you can do this overnight or leave it until the last minute; it won’t work, and you will get a failing grade.”
As he continued to explain, he handed stacks of papers to the people in the front row to be distributed.
“In essence, it will be your responsibility to develop a marketing plan using what you’ll learn here in class to effectively increase revenue of a business of your choosing. It will require many factors. Determining your audience, your base starting statistics, and proving what you’ve developed actually works. There will be an oral presentation involved.” He slapped a hand to his copy of the booklet which was still circulating. “Read this thoroughly. I’m always available to answer questions. My email is in your course outline. Use it.”
A group project—even with one other person—wasn’t what I had in mind. I tried not to worry over it as Richard continued with our first lesson. I’d missed the dynamic of school and quickly fell back into the routine of lectures and notetaking as though no time had passed. Before I knew it, Richard shut down his last power point and clapped his hands.
“It’s twenty to nine. Ordinarily, I like to run class right to the end, but I want to give you some mingling time today so you can get to know one another and perhaps find a partner for your term project. Please note, you will be given minimal class time to work on this, so consider this a gift.”
The eruption of bustle when Richard finished talking was abrupt. A number of well-acquainted people quickly gravitated into pairings, chatting, laughing, and sitting on desks as they visited and packed up. On a brief observation, hardly anyone seemed to be focused on our project and were mostly concerned over other things. It was beginning to look like an impossible task to find someone who was worth collaborating my time.
I shoved my books into my backpack as I scanned the room. There had never been a time in my life when I’d struggled making friends or being social, but for whatever reason, the whole ‘find a partner’ thing seemed like the biggest challenge of the entire project, especially among a room full of much younger students who made me feel old just by the way they spoke to one another.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Oryn as he slipped quietly from the room. I dashed a glance to the two men who’d felt the need to mock and bully him earlier for whatever reason, but they were preoccupied with a growing group of noisy friends.
Hustling, I zipped my bag and swung it over my shoulder before heading down the sloped aisle and out the doors in the front of the lecture hall. There wasn’t a single person who’d caught my eye as a potential partner for our project—except the quiet man who the teacher knew by name for some reason. The same person who was instantly identified by the idiots beside me as being crazy.
I was beyond fed up with bully mentality and had hoped college students had moved past such teenage acts. I’d been wrong. Beyond appearing painfully shy and introverted, I couldn’t see any reason why that Oryn man and I couldn’t work together for the project.
Except he seemed to be in a hurry to get out of there.
When I made it into the hallway, he was already rounding the corner toward the front stairs. I picked up my pace and followed. It was less busy than earlier, and I only passed two other students before I descended the stairs after Oryn.
He’d made it outside by the time I reached the bottom but had abandoned his escape to rest against the concrete wall just outside the building. One hand dug fingers into his closed eyes while the other hugged the same textbook he’d been holding earlier. His lips moved like he was talking to himself, but as I stood with the door propped open, he didn’t speak out loud. Something about his demeanor warned me not to startle him, so when I let go of the door and stepped outside, I waited for it to slam and grab his attention before approaching.
With the loud noise, his head jerked up and eyes widened.
“Hi,” I said, standing my ground a few feet from the entrance. “I’m Vaughn. From your marketing class.” I indicated over my shoulder from where I’d come.
He peered behind me and back at my face, creases deepening in his forehead. “Hi.” He noticeably swallowed and tightened his grip on the book in his arms. “I’m O-Oryn. I p-probably won’t be in that marketing class anymore.”
He smiled sadly before his gaze darted our surroundings, eventually settling on his sneakers.
“Oh. How come?”
He shuffled before firming his lips and raising his head to answer. “Group p-project. It’s… It’s not really m-my thing.”
I flinched, hating the defeated way he’d delivered that statement. His stutter only confirmed my suspicions over him being shy, but I certainly hoped that wasn’t why he felt so defeated.
“And why is that? Because I followed you out here to see if you needed a partner.”
Surprise flashed through his blue-grey eyes, and he wet his lips before speaking. “Oh.” A sad laugh sang from his chest before he dropped his gaze shyly to the ground again. “That’s really k-kind of you, but I m-may not be the best p-partner.”
The conversation was almost painful. Oryn’s discomfort seeped into me and I shuffled, adjusting my backpack on my shoulder. When compared to my options upstairs, Oryn was looking like a more promising choice. He lacked the cocky side most of the other students possessed, and on a guess, seemed more intent on learning than socializing. Why else would he be there?
“Well, unless you’re dropping this class, maybe you’ll reconsider. You see, I’m thirty-five years old surrounded by a bunch of guys and girls in their mid-twenties up there. It’s almost uncomfortable for me and—”
