Leah Mitchell isn't the same shy, poor girl anymore. Now a college student, she is enjoying her life in the city and the freedom she longed for. She works hard and knows her worth. She has it all, but her heart aches for the only person from her pas...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
February is almost over. In a little more than a week, I'm starting my internship with Professor Lee. The nerves make me queasy — my new duties are uncharted territory, and although the professor told me not to worry, I can't help it.
I spent some time in her office ironing out the details. When I say goodbye and leave, my phone vibrates with a text.
Tara: Waiting for you. Do you want me to order?
Me: No. On my way.
I toss the cell into my purse and rush out of the Humanities Building. Outside, wintry air nips at my cheeks. I wrap my arms around me and cross the street to go to the coffee shop where Tara and I meet every Monday.
As soon as I push the wooden door open and step into the warmth of the cafe, she waves at me.
"Leah! Here!"
"Hey." I drop my purse onto the vacant chair and shrug off my coat.
"How are you? What did the professor say?"
I sit and grab the menu. "Not much. She said she'd teach me stuff once we start working."
"I like her. Did you see her shoes? She wears a new pair almost daily."
"Of course, you'd notice." I giggle.
"It's not my fault the outfits of the rest of our professors are so boring. That woman's like a breath of fresh air."
"She really is," I agree. More than her clothes, it's her personality that sets her apart from the rest.
"Do you know what you want?" Tara asks, lifting the corner of my menu with her red nail. "My sandwich is delicious. Want a bite?"
"Okay."
She picks it up from her plate and brings it to my face. Lettuce pokes out between slices of bread. My lips part, but then, the smell of tuna hits my nostrils.
I clamp my hand over my mouth and jump off the chair. Locating the bathroom next to the kitchen door, I dart there, barely making it to the toilet.
A latte is the only thing in my stomach. I throw it up and pant, running my hand across my clammy forehead.
"Leah." Tara knocks on the door that must've closed behind me.
I scramble to my feet and open it.
Tara's eyes widen. "Holy shit, are you okay? You ran away, and I got scared. I thought something was wrong."
"I threw up," I say, swallowing.
"I see. Are you better now?"
I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Am I? I haven't felt good in weeks. I look tired and feel the same way — exhausted. Drained.
"Oh my God." I cover my mouth with my palms and lean against the tiled wall.
