Seduced In College (Campus Dorm Room School student One Night Stand Erotica Girl Romance Sex Stories series) (7 page)

Two years and three months later. 

In the night of January 21, the first big snowstorm of the
year keeps everyone home.  It’s only 12º F outside. 

Today is my darkest day of my life.  What I saw an
hour ago will be stuck in my head, like a cancerous tumor, for the rest of my
life.  I’m on a
slow
death row.  That tumor will grow. 
It will turn into flesh-eating worms to drain my body and soul.  It will
duplicate itself in tens, hundreds, thousands, and then millions.  These
hungry worms will eat my flesh and bones when I’m awake and asleep. 

My world turned from pink and romantic to a big pile of
shit.  Seriously, as a “good kid” in the Morgan Family, I’m not supposed
to swear, or do anything against the highest moral standard.  But at that
moment, I did wish I would have had the most vicious magic power to send my
boyfriend to the lowest world and burn him into ashes.  Or better yet, to
tear him apart and feed him to the hungry sharks. 

Unfortunately, I couldn’t say a single word.  I
couldn’t feel or think or do anything logical.  All I knew was ten minutes
later, I left in my 1989 Ford Probe GL, the car I bought with my own money.

At the very beginning, I didn’t know where to go. 
Going home?  No way!  I don’t want to add salt to my wound.  My
ice-queen mother wouldn’t give me a single ounce of sympathy.  My
poker-faced father may tell me, “People in the Morgan Family don’t cry” and
then go back to his work right away—if he happens to take a break tonight from
those Mr.-Morgan-here’s-my-body types of sluts.  I don’t think they care
at all.  They only care about themselves—himself or herself, to be more
precise.

Do you know how a lion heals her wound?  She lies
down quietly and licks the wound.  She waits for fate to decide what’s
going to happen next.  The wound may cure and the lion may hunt again; or
she may die of exsanguination and hunger.

Slowly, I make up my mind.  I have a clear picture
now about where to go and what to do.  I want to go to Florida.  I
want to find a job in Miami.  Forget about this psychology crap. 
After two years of hard study, I can’t even read my boyfriend.  It’s
absolutely useless.

Psychology is an academic and applied discipline that
involves the scientific study of mental functions and behaviors. 
Psychology has the
immediate goal of understanding individuals
and
groups by both establishing general principles and researching specific cases.

Thank you, Wikipedia, for this scientifically perfect
definition!  Can you please tell me how I can better understand my
boyfriend with the “academic and applied discipline”?  It’s a piece of
crap that doesn’t work at all, okay?  Maybe I should demand my money back
from the university.

When I was at home, I thought only rich men were
bad.  Now I realize
every
man in this world is filthily bad! 
For them, the world is made of male and female.  They can smell the next
“opportunity” like a shark smelling blood from miles away.

Listen up, girls.  If you trust a man in this world,
you are nuts.  The world is not pink and warm.  It’s gray, black, and
ice-cold.  The world is not full of flowers and kisses.  It’s full of
shark teeth and crocodile bites.

I will never, ever trust a man again.  I don’t need a
boyfriend.  I don’t need a family.  And, of course, I don’t need a
better education.  I want to find a minimum wage job in Miami.  I
want to eat all the junk food I really like, and enjoy the sunshine the year round
on the beach.  Miami is going to be my paradise.  It’s going to be
the heaven on the earth for the lonely young lady that no one cares or loves.    

I don’t see a soul on the highway.  I own the entire
I-95 on the East Coast.  All I need is about five or six hours of
driving.  I will reach New York in the early morning.  I will eat a
BIG breakfast there, and then head all the way south.

I still have about a hundred and forty bucks in
cash.  Plus, I have close to five hundred bucks on my credit card—before I
max it.  It’s not a lot.  But it’s enough to pay for the gas and food
for my trip to Miami.  I can then find a job down there.  Or I can
sell this piece of junk (if you still allow me to call it a “car”) for some
decent cash.

My car is a total joke.  I didn’t buy a car.  I
bought a “car” without an engine for two hundred and sixty eight bucks and
fifty eight cents.  It was not my idea, it was my boyfriend’s.  He
promised to make it work and I really wanted to see the miracle.  My guess
was, if he could make a car move with no engine, I might save some gas.

Unfortunately, my boyfriend (the smartest mechanical
engineering student in my mind) was not that smart.  Instead of making the
car move without an engine, he found an engine in a big junkyard somewhere
outside of Boston.  You know those places where the rusty cars are crushed
into pieces.

The car worked perfectly for
us
most of the
time.  We did many things together, including having hot sex inside. 
Don’t get me wrong.  I’m a girl.  I need good sex, too.  Did you
know that the sex not only gives you a good time but it helps you burn calories
and reduces the risk of heart attack?  It’s that important.

My junky 1989 Ford Probe GL was really our love
nest.  It was full of romance and memory.  I swore I would never,
ever sell this little lovely car.  Never for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, that's all history now.  Everything I
see, touch, or smell reminds me my boyfriend.  I loved him so much but
want to tear him apart now.  I hate this car!  I want to get rid of
it.  I want to send it to the junk yard and crush it into a million
pieces. 

I want to get a new car instead.  The funny thing is,
I can have one without lifting a finger.  The moment I touch that magic
button on my iPhone, my ice-queen mother will pick up the phone.  As long
as I can tolerate the half-hour soprano (maybe one hour, max), I will be picked
up by one of her drivers.  I will get a brand new Porsche (or whatever I
want) tomorrow morning.  I will become sickeningly rich again. 

However, that half-hour soprano is absolutely unbearable
for me.  If I take that, I will have to take ten, twenty, or a hundred
hours more of lessons from my mother.  The way she gives me the lessons
makes me wonder if she
really
is my birth mother.  I will refuse to
believe it, even if she can prove by the most expensive DNA testing. 

My eyes focus on the road.  Driving in a snowstorm is
no kidding.  I’m a city girl.  I have never driven so far away in the
night.  There is absolutely no light at all.  I see mountains, trees,
and fields.  Only a small farm now and then tells me I’m still in a
civilized world.

The snowflakes build a thick wall in the air.  I
can’t see very far.  I can’t tell where the road shoulders are. 
There is no way to see the lanes.  Fortunately, there are no other cars
around.  I simply drive in the middle of the road.  I’m driving at
about thirty five or forty miles per hour so I can stop when an emergency
occurs.

Suddenly, I smell the gas.  The car shakes like in an
earthquake.  I push the gas pedal all the way down, hoping the car won’t
do the usual.  Unfortunately, it does.  The engine spits out a huge
plume of black smoke like what you see in a volcano eruption.  It
struggles a few more rounds with huge noises, and then goes dead completely.

The whole world becomes absolutely quiet.  I can hear
my heart beating.  I manage to steer my car to the shoulder and push the hazard
lights button.

Now what?  I’m panicked.  The temperature in the
car is dropping fast.  If I don’t get the engine started quickly, the car
is going to become a freezer real soon.

I push the gas a few times.  Then, I step all the way
down.  I pray for every god I know to help, bite my lower lip tightly, and
then turn the key.

The engine roars.  I let go the gas pedal
slowly.  Suddenly, it stalls.  I try again.  The same
happens.  After a while, I stop trying.  I worry the battery may die
completely.  I want to have the lights on so people driving by may see me.

Am I expecting people to stop and help?  I really
don’t know.  I know I can’t stay for long in a car with no heat. 
However, what will happen if a man sees a girl stuck in a little car?  In
my dictionary,
man
equals
pain
.  I don’t trust them at all.

Should I call someone for help?  I don’t have a
Triple A coverage.  You don’t have to tell me it’s dirt cheap.  I
used to think a BMW was dirt cheap, too.  I didn’t buy the coverage
because that little amount of money had to satisfy another financial need with a
much higher priority.

So, naturally, my next option is to get a tow truck,
right?  How much that’s going to cost in a remote area like this? 
Three hundred bucks?  Four hundred?  Do you think the piece of junk
they are going to tow is worth a half of the cost?  No way.

Should I call my roommate then?  Maybe her bra is
still on the floor at the moment.  I don’t think she bothers putting it on
after fucking
my
boyfriend.

My last option is to call my mother.  I really don’t
want to.  But it’s getting really cold.  My whole body is
shivering.  The car is now as cold as outside. 

I pull out my iPhone.  Oops.  It’s all
dark.  I push the power button.  Nothing happens.  I know what
happened.  I watched a movie on my iPhone yesterday and killed the battery
completely.

A shock of fear rushes down my spine and then spreads
through my whole body in a nanosecond.  My mind turns all blank.  Am
I going to die?  Life is not fair to me but I don’t want to die just
yet.  I want to go to Miami and start a new life.  God, please give
me one more day to go south. 

I hold my body tight.  It doesn’t help at all. 
The air is turning foggy by my breath.  My nostrils become tight. 
The cold air I breathe in turns into ice.  My whole body is shaking really
badly.  I know I can’t hold on for much longer.

Maybe I should move my body?  I stretch my arms and
legs.  It doesn’t help at all.  Should I do some exercise outside to
warm up?  I roll down the window a little bit and give up the idea right
away.  The cold air cuts into my face like sharp knives.

I turn the headlights on, hoping someone driving by will
stop to help.  I no longer worry if they are going to hurt me. 

I turn the heat on.  The air coming out is
ice-cold.  I don’t know how long it takes to heat up.  So I turn it
off.

I see headlights in the far distance.  But it’s on
the opposite side of the highway.  A big truck passes by slowly.  Why
would any idiot head north in such a crazy weather?

Finally, I saw headlights coming from the north. 
“Please, come and stop by,” I stare into the rear mirror, hoping…  The
headlights move closer and closer.  And then they disappear
completely. 

Did it get stuck, too?  Or did it exit the
highway?  I have no clue.  And I couldn’t care less. 

I feel as if my whole body is turning into a
Popsicle.  I hold my body tightly.  The world is turning fuzzy. 
I see fluffy snowflakes everywhere, but nothing else.

I close my eyes.  Slowly, I feel relaxed.  I no
longer feel cold.  I see a brand-new world.  It’s quiet and
peaceful.  No snow.  No highway.  Nothing…

I hear tapping on the window.  I open my eyes. 
It takes me a few moments to realize I’m in a car, not in my dorm room. 
The glass is foggy.  I can barely see a smiling face outside.  It’s a
guy.

I roll down the window a little bit.  The cold air
blew in.  “You okay?” the guy asks.

I shake my head.

“Do you need help?”

I nod.

“Can I come in?”

I open the door and roll to the passenger side.  I
don’t worry about the safety or privacy at all at the moment.  This can be
my last opportunity to survive.  Seriously.

The guy comes in and closes the door right away. 
“Oh, shit!  This is cold.”

I’m shaking like the hell, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Can I try it?” he asks.

I nod, still shaking all over.

He steps on the gas a few times and then turns the
key.  Nothing happens.  “Shit!”  He tries again.  This
time, the engine turns.  But he turns it off soon after because the car
shook so hard the guy was tossed into the air.  “Holy crap!”

“Are you cold?” he asks.  Without waiting for my
answer, he reaches out and holds my hand.  “Oh, shit!”  He jumps out
and yells, “Wait!”  He closes the door so hard, my eardrums almost explode
right away.

He backs his car quickly to mine.  It’s a brand-new,
big 4x4 with lots of lights and antennas on the top.  He pulls open the
door on my side, “Let’s go!  Quick!”

I grab my duffle bag and step outside.  It’s windy
but I don’t feel the cold.  My whole body is numb.  I try to move but
I can’t really keep my balance.

“Come on!”  The guy wraps his arm around me and drags
me into his car.  He turns the heater to the max and says, “Put on the
seatbelt.”

“Where…are we…going…?”  I manage to squeeze out the
words.  My body is still shaking.

“To get you a hot coffee.”  He kicks the gas pedal. 

We are doing about forty miles per hour.  The guy
focuses his eyes on the road.  Once in a while, he looked at me.  I
feel warm and comfortable.  Soon, I close my eyes. 

I open my eyes and look outside.  I see snow but nothing
else.  “Where are we?” I ask.

“Easy, kid,” the guy chuckles. “It’s only two minutes,
okay?”  He grins.

“I’m not a kid.  I’m a college student.” 

“Oh, great.  I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Oh, hi, Jack, nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Emilie.”

“Emilie, nice to meet you!”  Jack grins again. 
“So, you feel better now?”

“Yes, thanks.”  I look at Jack.  He is
big
. 
I’m sure he is at least six feet.  His arms are bigger than my legs. 
He wears only a black T-shirt but is sweating.  “Is it too hot for you,
Jack?” I ask.

“How about you?  You okay?” he turns to me and
smiles.

“Do you want me to turn the heater down a bit?” I ask.

“If you feel comfortable,” Jack says, focusing his eyes on
the road.

I turn the knobs and bring the temperature down to 72º F on
both my side and his.  I then turned off the heating on my seat.  I
feel hot on my back already.

“Thanks!”  He turns and smiles.  Then, he turns
back to the road.

Jack seems nice and friendly.  In fact, he saved my
life.  However, I feel uncomfortable being in his car.  Why?  I
search for the answer and realize quickly: His tattoos.  He has big
tattoos all over.  The weirdest is a huge dragon from his shoulder all the
way down to his hand. 
Is Jack in a gang?
  I begin to wonder.

I pull out my iPhone.  I punch a few numbers and
wait.  Then I whisper, “Hi, mom, yes, yes,…” I know it’s silly talking to
a dead phone.  But at least I show Jack I’m connected to my family.

Jack takes a quick look at me and smiles.  Soon, he
brings the car to an exit.  We both look really hard.  It’s all
dark.  We see fields.  After five minutes, we are back on the
highway.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at a travel plaza. 
It’s huge.  Jack parks the car right at the door.  He walks to my
side and opens the door for me.  He reaches out to hold my hand, “Watch
out!”

We run inside.  It smells coffee.  “Are you
hungry, kid?” he asks.  “I guess you are,” he adds right away.

Sure I am.  I open my mouth but no sound comes
out.  Maybe it gets frozen, too?  I clear my throat and try again,
“Yeah, a little bit.”

“Do you eat McDonalds?”  Jack seems to know the
special concerns every lady is serious about.

Do I?  I can eat anything today.  I don’t worry
about diet at all.  “I love it.”

“Oh, great,” Jack’s eyes brighten.  “Let’s go.”

There is a short lineup.  “Get whatever you want and
let me treat you, okay?” Jack says, looking at the menu.  “Oh, the Double
Quarter Pounder with Cheese looks good,” he swallows his saliva.  “Maybe I
will have a Big Mac, too,” he adds quickly.

“Jack, can I pay for the meal as little thanks?” I ask.

“Nah, you can do it later if you really want,” he shakes
his head.

“Twenty dollars and thirty three cents,” the cashier
smiles.

Jack pulls out his wallet.  It’s full of cash. 
He hands the cashier a one-hundred dollar bill.

The cashier smiles, “Sorry, we can’t take a hundred dollar
bill.”

Jack digs into his wallet.  He found a few coins.

“I have a twenty,” I offer.

Jack waves his hand briefly at me, still looking into his
wallet.  He scratches his head and thinks for a short while.  Then he
pulls out a black card and hands it to the cashier.

The cashier is puzzled.  “Give me a sec,
please.”  She turns to her manager.  They begin to whisper.

My eyes round.  I definitely know this card. 
It’s an Amex Centurion.  My father and mother have the card, too. 
This is a card for the rich people.  They may use it to pay for a
Bentley—a car that costs up to $400,000.  Or they may use it to buy a jet.

After a short while, the cashier processes the twenty bucks
and thirty three cents with this black card and hands it back with a receipt,
“Thank you, Mr. Vladimir Akulov, for your business.”

“Thank you,” Jack nods.

What? He is Vladimir Something, not Jack?
  My
heart sinks.

Jack smiles at me, “Let’s eat.”