Eclipsed Love

ECLIPSED BY MIDNIGHT

COLES' POV:

"Man, you are fucked!" Nate exclaims, exhaling a cloud of smoke from his cigarette. His eyes glint mischievously as he leans against the dilapidated barn wall. "They gave you a hot chick for a roommate, and I'm stuck with this scumbag," he adds, jabbing a thumb at Zack. Zack, ever the casual rebel, just smirks and shrugs, rolling his eyes.

Zack and Nate are business majors, like me, but in different departments. We clicked instantly on our first day, a trio bound by our shared disdain for the conventional. The three of us spend our nights here, at this isolated barn on the outskirts of campus, bonding over our disdain for the mundane. I don't smoke, though. I tried it once, but the taste-coupled with memories of my father's ceaseless puffing on his cigars-repulsed me. I only picked up my first cigarette to piss him off, a decision that soured an already bitter day.

"You should be happy, Cole. You've got a 'walkie-talkie' to screw!" Zack drawls, leaning back on his bike and scrolling through pictures of his ex, Serra, the so-called love of his life. He waxes poetic about her as if she's some tragic heroine, but I'm just not into that lovey-dovey crap. Still, I wonder what the next few months will bring. Tessa, if I remember her name right. I called the front desk myself to clarify the mix-up, expecting a swift correction given my father's influence. Instead, I was met with profuse apologies and the promise of a private dorm, but not until winter break. So, here I am, stuck with her for three long months.

Zack's crude suggestion lingers in my mind, fueled by Nate's relentless teasing. "Walkie-talkie sex toy, huh? Not a bad idea," I muse aloud, glancing at Nate as he lights his second cigarette, his lighter flickering in the dim light.

"I'm telling you, man, you'll be banging that girl before Christmas," Nate says, puffing out smoke with a smug grin. The smoke curls around him, adding a ghostly halo that makes me cringe.

I look up at the stars, their cold beauty offering a temporary escape from my problems. By the time I return to my room, Tessa is already asleep, curled up under her blankets. I still haven't decided how to handle this. Should I be the one to leave, or should I make her go? After all, I was here first. It's her fault for applying to the dorms so late, putting us both in this ridiculous situation.

I grab a beer from the mini-fridge, plop down on the floor with my back against the bed, and plug in my headphones. Loud music drowns out my thoughts as I finish my first beer. I'm about to grab another when I notice beads of sweat on Tessa's forehead, her eyebrows knotted together in distress. The room is cool, set at a crisp 18°C, so why is she sweating? I pull out my earbuds and move closer, curiosity piqued.

Soft whimpers escape her lips, almost inaudible but unmistakable. She clutches her blankets tightly, like they're her only shield against some unseen terror. My hand instinctively reaches out to brush the hair from her forehead, but I freeze as a piercing scream shatters the silence. It takes me a moment to realize the scream came from Tessa. She bolts upright, her eyes wide with panic, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her usually serene grey eyes are now wild, encircled by black rings of fear.

"Tessa..." I whisper softly, almost afraid to break the fragile moment. She doesn't respond, her breathing still erratic.

I reach out, my hand hovering near her forehead, but she flinches violently at my touch and scrambles back, her legs kicking wildly. The shame stings like a fresh wound. Could she really be so repulsed by me?

"Don't touch me," she whisper-screams through gritted teeth, tears glistening in her eyes. Her chest heaves with each breath, the panic still gripping her.

I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to snap back. Girls at this school usually fall over themselves for a chance to catch my attention, and here she is, recoiling from a single touch. Bitch. I just stand there, watching as she cradles her head in her hands, probably from the pain of screaming, before collapsing onto the floor.

"Just... get out... please," Tessa pleads, her voice barely a whisper. I comply, not in the mood to stick around for her sob story about whatever childhood trauma caused her nightmare. I'm no one's emotional support. Deal with your own shit.

With nowhere else to go at midnight, I head to Nate's room, spinning some bullshit story about why I can't stay in my own. The events of the night play on a loop in my mind, her scream echoing in my ears. I toss and turn on Nate's floor, struggling to find peace as the night drags on.

Morning finally breaks. Our classes start at nine, so I linger in Nate's room until 8:30, avoiding any chance of running into Tessa. Maybe I should call my dad and demand a room change immediately. After a brief, awkward conversation that lasts all of two minutes and thirty-three seconds-our new record-I head back to my room to freshen up. No need for a shower; I just had one last night. I throw on a fresh t-shirt and practically sprint across campus to my first class, arriving five minutes late. The professor, Mr. Pen, is merciful and lets me in, and I take a seat at the back of the room.

As I scan the classroom, my gaze lands on Tessa. She's sitting in the middle row, diligently taking notes. She looks calm and composed, a stark contrast to the terrified girl from last night. The room buzzes around me, but my eyes remain fixed on her, trying to decipher the enigma that is Tessa.

She suddenly turns, and our eyes lock. A sharp buzz fills my ears, and I'm jolted back to reality as Mr. Pen calls my name for the third time. The entire class turns to look at me, including Tessa.

"Mr. Harrington!" Mr. Pen's voice booms, pulling me out of my trance.

"Sorry, Professor," I mumble, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as the class chuckles softly. The embarrassment is all Tessa's fault.

Mr. Pen continues, turning to the digital board. "Now that you're back with us, how do you understand the time value of money and its importance in financial decision-making?"

I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "The time value of money, or TVM," I begin, but my voice is drowned out by the murmurs of the class. Only those piercing grey eyes remain fixed on me, unwavering.

I raise my voice, determined to be heard. "The time value of money... TVM states that money now is worth more than the same amount in the future due to its earning potential. It's crucial in financial decisions because it helps evaluate investment returns, compare loans, and plan savings by calculating the present and future values of cash flows, guiding more effective financial planning and investment strategies."

A few gasps ripple through the room, but Mr. Pen seems unfazed as he resumes his lecture. Yet, there's a spark in Tessa's eyes, a silent acknowledgment that I did well. It fills me with a strange sense of pride, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to savor it.