Nine chapters of the original First draft. I will provide updates when I can on what will happen next with this story. :)
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Ali Anglesey is the picture of grace, elegance, and poise. She's worked hard to be perfect girl appearance wise, aesthetic...
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Love is not hard. People are hard. Hard to understand. Hard to hold on to. Hard to let go of. Hard to forget. And hard to love. ~ r. m. drake
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Tuesday went by slowly as I pondered what on God's green earth possessed me to go back to school.
You quit ballet. duh.
I roll my eyes at myself.
I only have one class on Tuesdays and Thursdays at two o'clock because I couldn't get into a similar one on Monday, Wednesday and Friday (Which as we all know is a true pain in the ass). So, studying in the library before and after class meant I was able to finish reviewing Waverley ahead of schedule. Then Tuesday evening I allowed Casen to convince me to go to the gym with him. I'd never been to a regular gym before, typically sticking to my pilates classes and free weights which were available to me at the studios in the physical therapy room. After witnessing the hilarity of the seven PM Zumba class, Casen convinced me to take the nine PM one. Which said class is probably, most likely, the reason I am sore this morning.
Attempting to get the knots out of my back, I try to stretch my arms while I sit in Lecture hall three as Deanne sighs loudly beside me for the hundredth time in the past forty-five minutes. I can't help my smirk. We'd started out today by discussing the construction of Waverley and its comparatives to poetry before moving onto a debate of the propriety of Walter Scott mixing Romanticism and History. In which the female population promptly turned into a debate of who Waverley loved more: Rose or Flora. One would think our Professor would have gotten us all back on track, but upon further inspection one finds Professor Perfect is too busy leaning against the desk at the front of the room with his arms across his broad chest clearly enjoying the embarrassment the other XX chromosomes in the room are bestowing upon Deanne and I.
Taking in his attire, which is rather formal today, I find myself squirming. He's wearing a pair of black dress shoes I can only assume are expensive considering the bruno magi's on Monday. Red Tape, maybe? Or perhaps Tod's? A pair of straight-legged grey trousers hang just right from his waist and he's wearing a crisp white shirt that has probably never seen a piece of lint or a stain in all it's existence. He must have some commitment after class today because lets be honest, no one dresses like that for the hell of it.
My eyes are lingering on his broad chest where the top of his shirt opens almost invitingly when a Nasally voice brings me out of my reverie, "He totally loved Flora more, he just felt obligated to marry Rose."
I lift my eyes to the heavens. Really? Because she said totally, it must be true. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally guilty of using that word too, but not during a debate in a university level class - at least not yet. Note to self: Expel that word from your vocabulary. Pronto. I put my elbows on the table and place my head in my hands, this is the longest hour of my life. I want coffee... and my hamstrings and glutes want a foam roller.
