The Pain You Bring

1 | 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

- Present Day -

Why does New York have to get cold easily?

I mean it's October. Fall has just started. Like really?

I'm running across campus in sweatpants, UGG boots, and a very worn hoodie. I don't even care if I look stupid as I run to class. Being late is one of the things I absolutely do not tolerate.

I rush into building eight to start my late day.

I've been living in New York for only five months now and my mother still thinks I should've stayed cooped up in that boring ass town I grew up in. She calls me once a week, mostly to make sure I'm staying on top of my work. 

I tell her I'm an adult now and I know how to get my homework done which only turns into a lecture about her "bugging me only because she loves me." 

"Good morning," Chloe whispers to me as I sit next to her towards the back of class.

Chloe lives in the dorm adjacent to mine, but she constantly comes over and hangs out quite a bit. She's shown me a lot around New York, which has been extremely helpful. What places are the best, how to get to Central Park quicker than usual, and even which coffee shops near campus have coffee brew I prefer. 

She grew up in Jersey and said she used to sneak out of school a lot and take the subway into the city. Mostly for lunch during school. 

"Hey ," I whisper back as I shoving my backpack under my desk and pull out my notebook. "What's happening?" 

I glance over to the white board and see my professor scribbling things with black marker. He's the type of teacher who doesn't stop talking and you have to panic to write the correct amount of notes down so when you study, you regret not taking more notes. 

"Um," Her blue eyes go wide beneath her wide glasses. "To be honest," she pauses.
"I don't know," She shrugs her shoulders giving me an apologetic smile.

"Lovely," I say sarcastically. I twist my hair upwards and grab a claw clip out of bag, putting it in my hair. 

"He told us in the beginning of class we're reading Pride and Prejudice next week, so you missed that," Chloe says, adjusting her gold-rimmed glasses and writing whatever crap is on the board in purple pen.

I roll my eyes.

I was placed in this literature class because I had to take it for elective credits. The one literature honors class I wanted to take where we read books we wanted and had discussions about them was taken. I never wanted to write twenty-five page essays and read books that are fifty years old. 

I don't hate reading. I love it. I just prefer  reading a specific genre of books, that's all.

But here I am after spending two hundred dollars in books and materials for a class I not only don't care about, but one that I am normally late to. 

Like today.

My professor stops talking and turns around, making direct eye contact with me.

"Miss Ivy, glad you could make it," he says with a smile. I plaster a fake smile back to him, "Hi Mr. Henderson."

"Can you answer my question about the significance behind Gatsby's death?"

I freeze.

Shit. 

I forgot we were reading The Great Gatsby.

"Well," I start. Wasn't this rich guy shot or something after sleeping with someone's wife? "Gatsby's death is...um..."

I pause. When I don't know the answer, which is rare, I freeze completely and feel as though I look completely stupid. 

Mr. Henderson's gaze shifts to someone behind me. He points in that direction when I don't say anything further. 

"Gatsby's death is symbolic of the American Dream," a guy says from behind me, "Even though George murdered him, Gatsby still carries some of the blame for his death. He took responsibility for Myrtle's death in order to protect Daisy."

My professor's eyebrows raise, "Very well put." My mouth drops slightly.

People actually read the book? I get the movie but the book itself was insanely boring. 

I lean over to Chloe, "Did I sound stupid?"

She chuckles to herself, her delicate red curls bouncing as she turns to me. "A little. But I still love you for it." 

She leans in closer to me, whispering in my ear. "He is so cute."

My eyes go from left to right, confused. "Who?"

She looks over to me, "You don't know? How have I not told you this?" She sighs. I look at her blankly. "Carter Osteen."

I feel my eyebrows raise. "He seems smart," I whisper. Chloe snorts next to me and her eyes widen looking at me again. 

"He's painfully gorgeous." She flips her hair over her shoulder and scribbles stuff on her paper.

"Are you blushing?" I ask, noticing her pale cheeks turn pink. "No!" She whispers. I put my hands up in surrender looking away. Chloe's dating life was pretty quiet. She appeared timid and shy to outsiders, but around me, she was outgoing and overly positive. I needed her around for my own mental sanity. 

"When's lunch?" I whisper. This time she looks annoyed, "thirty minutes. Can you wait that long?"

"No," I mutter under my breath. I start to write down the quotes on the board in my notebook.

"I knew it was a great mistake for a man like me to fall in love." - Gatsby