Rose Thorns & Love Letters

10 ➪ Love, James

•Camilla•

8/2/1871
Florence,
I went to sleep last night craving your touch. I woke up this morning craving your smell. I am writing this letter hungrily craving you. All of you. I want to please you in the way in which you have never been pleased before. My last name fits perfectly written next to your first. The same way I fit perfectly...you know what I mean. I love you.
Love, James

__________________

I rest my head on the car window as I study the words on the pages of Little Women. The only sound that fills the matte black Mercedes Benz is the occasional page flip I do not even have to instruct my fingers to do anymore.

I feel Phoenix look over to me from the driver's seat every so often and I swear his glare burns a crisp hole in my left cheek. We come up to a red light and the car comes to an abrupt halt.

The seatbelt strapped over my chest tightens as my body betrays me by nearly flying off the chair. I whisper a curse word under my breath before I notice my page is lost.

Phoenix clears his throat before looking out of his own window. "Sorry." He mutters. Despite the fact he speaks almost inaudibly, it sounds loud but that is only due to the fact that I have not heard his voice for at least half an hour. I hum in response to his apology.

"Is this your first year in college?" He turns to face me, curiosity stealing its claim on his face. I look up from my book and nod my head.

"What did I tell you about using your words." He grumbles. He sure does expect a lot for someone who is selectively mute.

"Yes Phoenix, this is my freshman year of College." I roll my eyes out of habit and I hear him scoff something under his breath before looking in the other direction.

My eyes hesitantly dart to look at him. Though the only thing I see is his sharp jawline and the almost healed scar running across his neck, I can feel something is off.

"What's wrong?" I ask cautiously. He shakes his head and clears his throat.

The traffic light shines a bright amber before turning green. The car begins to move again and instead of me focusing on my book, I focus on him.

I slide my book into my bag never allowing my eyes drift from him. He uses one hand to steer the wheel and rests his other on his relaxed knee.

My eyes linger as I watch the veins and tattoos exposed by his rolled up sleeve run from his hand up his arm. His breaths are slow and controlled as he takes sharp turns. His eyes never leave the road, and my eyes never leave him.

"Why aren't you staying in a dormitory?" He inquires. I snap out of my trance as I process his question.

Why am I staying at home and not in a dormitory?

I shrug my shoulders and look ahead at the road just as he is, "My Father didn't think it was necessary. I mean, we did just move here from Chicago so I guess it would be a big jump for me to stay on campus with a bunch of people I've never met." I explain.

A few nights ago, after Nancy had finished making me dinner and was all ready to leave, she informed me that my Father had enrolled me in a new College and I was fixed to have my first day in a week.