Swept Away

I MANAGED ANOTHER HOUR BEFORE I broke down and nearly begged Riley for a cigarette. After I had finished my coffee, and we discussed a few different poems by Anne Sexton and Robert Frost, my fingers started to drum against my thigh again, the boney ends of my fingers digging into the soft flesh under my yoga pants. Sure, Riley’s small smiles and chuckles kept my yearn for the smell of nicotine at bay, but as the hours dwindled closer to eleven thirty when the Shop would close, and I would have to return home, my anxiety was becoming too much to handle.

“I guess I owe you.” He admitted, his hands reaching into his pocket as they pulled out a pack of Camel Signature Frost cigarettes and swiftly pulled one out, and slid it across the table toward me. “These have been my favorite cigarettes since I was in college.”

“Long time, huh?” I retorted, a small smile finding its way onto my face as I picked the rolled up piece of paper from in front of me and placed it in-between my lips, my eyes slowly making their way to his. The look he was giving me, the way his bright blue orbs held mine, I was almost positive that he was either going to tell me to ‘fuck off’ or confess something to me. I hoped for the later as he pulled the dark blue-green bic lighter from his carton and handed it to me, his fingertips grazing mt skin as I took it from him.

After I had lit the cigarette, I placed the lighter next to my book and inhaled, my eyes rolling into my head as the smoke filled my head, silencing all of the thoughts that had been plaguing it since I took the seat across from my college professor nearly an hour and a half ago.

Exhaling the smoke in small puffs away from Riley’s direction, I watched him shift in his seat. “Why do you smoke so much?”

“It makes me feel better.” I replied as the minty flavor of the cigarettes made my mouth tingle. It was a much nicer feeling than the normal poisonous feeling that the American Spirit cigarettes gave me. “Why do you?”

“You are a series of surprises, Harper Snow.” He sighed, his eyes focusing on the piece of paper between my pale lips.

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon”, I started, his eyes instantly snapping to mine, “that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.” The words sunk into the air as I reached over and tapped some ashes into the ash tray on the far end of the table, and then sunk back into my seat, my eyes following the lines of lights that hung above me.

Riley stayed silent for a while, his eyes never leaving the dark sky hanging above us that was sparingly decorated with small shimmering diamonds. In the heart of the city, with so many lights and so much pollution, a beautiful view of the stars was a rare occurrence. I had grown to admire any time where more than three were visible at a time.

There were some nights that I felt compelled to run through the streets of the city begging everyone to turn their lights out, begging business to shut down and streetlights to dim. I always felt that if more people looked up instead of down, the world would be a much happier place. Sunsets, Sunrises, and the midnight stars were the three most beautiful sights in the world, and they were free to look at and showed up without a doubt every day.

My coffee had been long gone as we sat in silence. I wished that it would refill with the tasty warm liquid, but I had no urge to go back inside and bother the boy for another. I did need sleep after all, and two mugs of coffee with espresso and sugar were not going to help me.

“Was that Dickens?”

“Tale of Two Cities.” I responded quietly, my eyes never removing themselves from the three stars that danced above us in the night sky.

“How do you know so much?” He inquired, his pointer finger and thumb running along the defined edge of his chin.

In response, I shrugged and forced my eyes from the small diamonds hanging above me and let them sit on the man across from me. Pulling the cigarette from my mouth, and letting out the smoke from my nostrils, I pressed the glowing end of the paper into the ashtray next to his and sucked in a small breath, the minty nicotine still lingering on my taste buds.

“I read.” A simple answer to a simple question.

“I hope you are aware that I expect extraordinary papers from you, Ms. Snow.” Riley shot back with a small smirk playing on his lips. Eyes in mine, all I could do was blush and look down into my large empty coffee mug.

“I hope I don’t disappoint.”



I had found myself standing in front of my apartment at ten thirty. My fingers were trembling as they hovered over the handle that would open the door. Behind the large slab of wood, things seemed quiet, almost too quiet for it to be safe. As much as I wanted to go back out and drink more espressos and look up at the stars, I knew that my late night escapades wouldn’t help my classes the next day. I needed rest, even if it was at an expense.

Pushing the door open, my eyes quickly moved through every open inch of the apartment. There was no sound blaring from the television, no mumbles from the bedroom in the far left corner of the floor plan, and not pops or fizzing from the kitchen. It was an eerie silence, one that would make the men with the steadiest minds question their sanity.

“Harper.” His voice made every hair on my body stand straight up. Small bumps quickly formed on every inch of my skin as I turned on my heels, staring at the hallway that leads from the bathroom. When my eyes landed on his, a cap formed over my lungs, and I was unable to take a breath of air. Paralysis soon swept over me. “Where have you been?”

“I went for coffee.” I responded, my fingers tightening around the book in hand. My knuckles were turning white from the tight grip, and my fingertips were about to puncture through the page. Every muscle in my body was stiff as he took a step closer to me, the smell of stale alcohol replacing the nicotine that was still floating through my head.

Before I had the time to move, his hand had come across my cheek and sent my small body crumbling to the floor. Head connecting with hardwood boards beneath me, a small whimper escaped my lips as my eyes fluttered shut, and then lazily reopened as a horrible pounding sensation started up behind my eyes.

“You’re so pathetic.” He scoffed, his toes digging into my ribcage as he pushed me with his foot, making me lay flat against the floor, my eyes fluttering shut and then opening every few seconds as I tried to mask the horrible ache running through my body. “You should have died instead of your mother.” The words sliced through my heart, making my stomach twist and knot with pure hatred and sadness. “I wouldn’t have thought twice about pulling the plug on some worthless, stupid, child like you.”

I wanted so badly to respond wanted to badly to tell him of all of the things I knew, all of the books that I had read and poems I could recite. I wanted to ramble off math equations and name the parts of the brain. I wanted to tell him of the greatest artists in Italy and the ones that had self destructed from fame. I wanted to spew everything that I had stored in my brain at him to prove him wrong. I wanted to badly just to prove him wrong.

Parting my lips, a small wheeze came from my throat instead of words. My chest tightened as my hands pressed flat against the floor and pushed my body into a seated position. Getting onto all fours, I pulled my aching limbs up and wobbled a bit, tuning my head to look my father in the face. The same face I looked up to when I was little, the same face would smile at me and kiss my forehead after I had done anything worth notoriety.

“Get out of my sight.” His hand came across my face again, and despite my already light headed state, I managed to stay on my feet. Once the nerves in my face absorbed the pain, the light sensation of a warm liquid flowing down from my nose rushed over me, and as my still trembling fingers reached up to the skin above my lip, I raised my eyes to the man before me and narrowed them.

In a moment of pure courage and carelessness, I scowled and dropped my hand to my side, my fingertips drenched in blood. “You’re a sad excuse of a man.”

With that, I turned from the man and headed into my room, slamming and quickly locking the door behind me. Once the barrier that had saved me from moments like that on numerous occasions was up, I pressed my back against it and let my tired body slide down to the floor, my knees folding into my chest as my arms wrapped around them and my forehead dropped against them.

Blood still poured from my nose as I sat there, breathing lightly, eyes squeezed shut to try to ease the pain in my head and stop the flow of salty beads of water out of the corners of my eyes. I had been through this before; I had been through so much worse. He did not deserve to hear my whimpers or cries. He did not deserve anything in this world, but that was quite obvious.

The next morning, after a restless night of sleep, I had noticed that a bruise had formed around my left eye, and the skin under my nose was tinted red from my nosebleed. After a quick shower, the stain on my lip had vanished, but the bruise around my eye was now glowing from the contrast of my bright auburn hair and pale complexion.

Hiding this would be tricky, but I had managed to cover up finger marks around my neck and cuts on my forehead. Sure, some people stared and tilted their heads at me, wondering if they caught the glimpse of some discoloration of my skin in places, but none of them had ever approached me. No one had ever cared enough to ask, and I didn’t mind it. There was absolutely no one that I ever wanted to share this information with, even Professor Collins.

Stepping back into my room, I instinctively locked the door and quickly dried my auburn locks and ran a flat iron through it, smoothing the small waves that were natural to my hair. I had never minded the small waves that formed in my hair, but there were some days where they reminded me of my mothers, and today was one of them.

My mother was the reason I was born with red hair. When I was younger, I had always embraced the fact that my hair was so unique from everyone else. I loved the fact that I didn’t have to do anything to it for it to attain the nice tousled look, and I never had to worry about changing the color in order to stand out more. I was in love with my hair, and my mother was the reason for that. When I was younger, I believed if she had the same hair I had, then there was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, because she was the perfect human being- in my eyes at least.

Jennifer O’Connell was her real name before she took on the last name of my father. She was a middle-aged woman that never stopped smiling, reading, or trying to make things better in the world. She was a heart surgeon that had studied at NYU Medical School, and graduated at the top of her class. Despite her huge income and recognition she received for being absolutely brilliant, she never once let that affect her. She would still by items that were on sale in the grocery stores, she still would rather walk through the park or read a book then go spend money on tickets to Broadway shows or mingle with other higher society beings.

My mother was the most influential person in my life, and even after the accident, even as she lay in the hospital bed, a machine hooked up to her body that would rhythmically beep every few seconds to signal she was alive- in the loosest sense of the word- I still saw her as the brave, brilliant, dedicated, and loving woman that I had grown up with.

I still had hope that she would wake up one day. No matter what the doctors told me, I still had faith.

Dreams still plagued my mind late at night when I had managed to find sleep, of her lying in bed, her eyes slowly opening and exposing the bright blue orbs that had taken refuge in her skull. The feeling of happiness would rush through me, the feeling of complete and utter joy would fill my veins.

Then I would wake up, and the pure hatred I had for my father would only increase exponentially. He had crushed my dreams, taken away the hope and faith that I had poured from my heart. He had waited only six months before he pulled the plug. He had given her one hundred and eighty-two days, and not a second more. He told me countless times that when you love someone; you have to let them go.

That was the cowardly thing to say, the cliché phrase that never made the pain lessen. That was what you told your daughter when you were selfish. That was what you told your friends and family instead of the truth. The truth being that you were a spineless old man who only cared about himself, and clearly not his family.

He was someone who deserved to be given up on.

I had managed to create a mask of sorts over the bruise that displayed itself around my eye. The makeup that I rarely wore was a little darker than my normal skin tone, but not enough for it to be blatantly obvious. After applying a minimal amount of eyeliner, I lazily through on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and slipped into a pair of combat boots. Hanging my book bag over my shoulder, I headed out of my room, avoiding the half of the house where my father was and headed out of the front door and towards the elevator.

Once outside of the apartment building, a cool breeze hit my face and no less than a second later, I grabbed the carton of cigarettes from my backpack, placed one between my lips and lit it as my legs carried my body closer to the Columbia University Campus. I had four classes, back to back that filled my time from eleven in the morning until eight forty at night. It was nice to have my mind preoccupied for that long, learning about paintings and working with cameras was a nice break from worrying about my father or thinking about the man I had drank coffee with the previous night.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I thought back to him, his beautiful blue eyes staring at me in wonderment as I spoke, quoting old books and my favorite verses from poems that were long gone to many people my age. It was an amazing feeling for someone to appreciate my words and thoughts; it was an amazing feeling to just be appreciated by anyone.

Riley Collins. The name floated through my head and mixed with the stale scent of nicotine and polluted air. He was so enchanting, so different and comforting. His presence was something to be cherished. His thoughts and words were strung together in a beautifully descriptive way. His vocabulary was impressive, and only contributed to the fact that he was absolutely stunning.

Stepping across the boundary from the sidewalk and into the grounds of the Columbia University campus, I dropped my cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the heel of my boot. Although I was excited for my classes today, my heart yearned to be standing in front of the Schermerhorn building, inhaling the scent of nicotine and the cologne that Professor Collins wore.

In the back of my mind, I reminded myself that he was my professor, and not my friend, but it didn’t stick. He was too brilliant, too welcoming and easy to talk to. I was on a dangerous path, falling in love with my professor, but as I continued to fall, I made not attempts to stop myself. It’s not like anything would ever become of it, and on that truth, I headed to my first class of the day, brilliant blue eyes flashing through my mind every time I blinked.