Soulless

Three | Disturbia

Lunden Evergreen

The scent consumed me. It was a game day, and as expected, Joe's campus coffee was packed. But their pumpkin spice lattes were back.

I hated coffee deeply, but something about this one sat better with my taste buds. Along with their cocoa, the richness of it suited my liking. But after waiting for thirty whole minutes, my fingers were finally wrapped around a warm cup.

This café on campus was hell. There had to be about fifty people inside, and they were severely understaffed. But I needed my pumpkin spice fix, and Joes was where to get it.

I looked around the scene to see a flood of crimson and white. I didn't even really pay attention to the fact that we had a football team. There was a whole pool of different genres. Sorority people, jocks, and a few excited parents. I'm pretty sure even Eleanor goes to this stuff.

My mom nagged me about the tailgates during my first year, but I never replied because I simply didn't want to go. Today, we were going against Syracuse; I didn't know how it would pan out, but I didn't fully care either.

All I cared about was the coffee—yes, I said it—the coffee in my hands. I sip it in delight as I leave the packed store, feeling victorious over escaping that hellhole.

"Penny, for your thoughts," I hear a man's voice followed by a chuckle. As I turned, I was faced with a man I hadn't met. He seemed like your typical frat boy in his jersey and flipped cap, but he seemed amused by me.

"I'm just enjoying my coffee" I offer him the kindness of even acknowledging his presence and turn away.

"Hey," he called again, which I chose to ignore. He didn't give me my penny. Then the man ran in front of me, asking, "Could I get your number?"

"I never got my penny, so no... I think we are both out of luck don't you?" He sucks in his lips and offers out his hand.

"Smith," He says, and I stare at his wavering hand.

"Nice to meet you. I have to go study." I turn, but he jumps in front of me again. This man, by the looks of it, wanted to lose feeling in both of his legs.

"You're not going to the game?" I shake my head within an instant, lift the coffee cup, and adjust my books in hand.

"Just not my thing. I'll see you around, Smith." This time, I got away scot-free as others piled past me to head for the tailgate. It was ten in the morning, and people were already getting their drinking fix.

I hummed as I made it to my dorm. Twisting the key into the lock, I enter, being enclosed by the safe space of my room. The cup remained warm between my fingers as I sat at my desk.

Today was a study day, wrapped in the warmth of my dorm from the fall's crisp air. I'd rather smash my head into a wall than sit at a football game drunk. It was simply my time that I adored.

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I hated Mondays—there, I said it. We were all thinking, why do they simply exist? However, if Monday didn't exist, then Tuesday would be the hated day. But waking up at 7 in the morning for my 8 o'clock class made me want to die.

I didn't mind mornings, but 8 a.m. classes were a new form of hell. I forgot how painful they were until this semester. You have months of summer to sleep, but as you start school again, you find yourself up in the early hours or choosing 10 a.m. or 12 p.m. classes.