Fuck my entire existence.
This statement had repeatedly echoed in my brain since the moment my eyes opened this morning. I came awake slowly, gradually, as the dull, darkened light of my bedroom caused me to believe it was still the early hours of the morning. It wasn't until I rolled over, tucking my hands under my head and sighed contentedly from the comforts of my bed that I actually fluttered my eyes open in the direction of my clock to see that it was in fact almost an hour later than I was supposed to have woken up.
Fuck my life.
I didn't have time to investigate why my alarm clock had not gone off that morning, as the moment my mind registered the fact that I was completely and horribly late for my final assignment class, I was in a complete panic. Throwing the covers off my body, I launched myself out of the bed like a rocket, almost falling onto the floor in the process. Stumbling, still groggy, into the bathroom, I brushed my teeth quickly, splashing water on my face hastily, before running back into my room.
I pulled on jeans and a sweater from the small pile of clean clothes that I had set in the corner of my room, before throwing my hair into a ponytail as I rushed into the living room. Of course, I hadn't had the foresight to pack up my book bag the night before after deciding to be a studious college student and work ahead on a few assignments. I shoved my books, notebook, pens and the like into my bag, barely zipping it up before heading for the door.
I almost tripped rushing down the stairs of my building, the cold, concrete stairwell hazardous in my haste and sleep hazed state. Bursting into the New York morning, I groaned loudly when I realized the reason it had been so dark in my room that morning was because it was snowing. Heavily. It was practically a blizzard outside as I turned and began to make my way towards class.
It was a short walk, usually no more than fifteen or twenty minutes on any given day. But since the class had already started about five minutes ago, I needed to cut that time in half. I trudged quickly through the snow, my boots slipping and sloshing through the white fluff on the ground. Flakes clung to my jacket, to my hair, and chilled my skin. I could feel the winter wind sting my cheeks, my breath short and shallow against the icy freeze it caused in my lungs. Each exhale produced a little puff of air in front of me, as I kept my eyes forward.
Of course, as always when you're in a rush, you seem to have the knack for getting stuck behind slow walkers, chatters, and general slow pokes. I swear to God I had to mentally convince myself on more that one occasion not to just shove some Wall street wanker out of my way when he was more interested in keeping his thousand dollar shoes clean of snow than moving his ass along the sidewalk.
I felt a small sense of relief when I found myself only a block from my lecture hall. The end was in sight, and soon I would be inside, out of the cold, and hopefully able to sneak into the back row silently without being noticed.
Just as I crossed the street, stepping up onto the sidewalk again, my boot lost all traction on the ground beneath me. Before I had a chance to register what was happening, I felt myself fall backwards, my arms and legs flailing outwards. I landed quickly, and painfully, onto my backside, the air knocking out of my lungs at the impact. It took me a moment to actually realize I was in fact on the snowy, wet ground, as some people stopped to stare, some people kept walking, and two people stopped to help me up.
Kill me now.
I let the strangers help lift me to my feet, muttering thanks and apologies as I dusted the snow that had not melted onto the ass of my jeans off and continued my walk, less urgently, towards the door and into the building. Now not only was I tired and cold, I was wet, tired and cold.
Reaching the door to my lecture hall, I pulled it open slowly and quietly, almost ducking my head slightly as I stepped inside. I could hear the professor speaking, going on about something to do with using light to accentuate your subject for impact, as I shuffled my way towards the nearest seat.
Just as I grasped the back of the chair to pull it out and slip into it quietly, the professor called out.
"Miss Jennings," he said, his voice bemused. "How nice of you to join us."
I immediately felt the blush color my cheeks as I muttered an apology, sliding into the chair quickly. I kept my eyes down, away from any onlookers who may be amused at my humiliation. Thankfully, the professor continued his speech without any further mocking on my part.
UGH!
As I shrugged off my jacket and tried to quickly and quietly set myself up in my spot, all I could think about was my cold, wet ass. The entire backside of me was soaked through with chilled, dirty snow, and I had no doubt it looked like I had peed myself. Despite the fact that I had just rushed myself to get here, all I wanted to do was go home and crawl back into bed and pretend this day never happened. I had only been awake for about thirty minutes and was already wishing it was over.
The class went by slowly, feeling uncomfortable and endless, but I was pretty sure that was mainly contributed to the fact that my ass was wet. I tried to focus and take notes, especially because whatever meager subject I finally decided on for this class was probably going to need all the extra help it could get to impress, I needed to make sure I knew what to do to make it so.
Finally, after what felt like ages, the professor finished his lecture. Before dismissing the class, however, again he asked who among us had yet to choose a subject. Last time he had asked this particular question, the majority of the class had shown they were undecided. This time, only seven of us raised our hands.
FUCK. MY. EVERYTHING.
I looked around the room at the few of us that were still trapped in limbo, lost and desolate in our attempts to find and engaging subject matter for the most important assignment of our academic careers. My eyes widened, my stomach dropping when I realized for the first time since starting college, I was one of the students who wasn't ready. One of the ones who wasn't prepared, with the assignment already planned out, or in some cases, completed. I had never been on this side of things before, and it only made my mood more sullen.
The professor counted the hands raised, my own included, before nodding.
"Alright then. Class dismissed. But I would like to see those of you who have yet to choose your subjects up front for a moment."
Again, my stomach clenched nervously as I slowly gathered my things. Standing from my seat, the cool air from the room hit the back of my jeans, reminding me again that I was soaked through. As if this little chat with my professor wasn't going to be awkward enough, I may as well look like I urinated myself.
I took my time packing up my bag, before throwing my jacket over my shoulders and making my way to the front of the room. Those of us called out stood around nervously, glancing at each other to take in just who among us were the proverbial lost souls. No one met each others eyes, and I could tell we were all feeling the same anxiety about not being prepared for this particular assignment. Some students, as with every program, never really care about the assignments, the quality of their work, or being prepared. But in this case, regardless of your academic history, this one project literally had the ability to make or break you both in college and your future.
This was all or nothing.
Hovering near the back of the small group, I adjusted my bag on my shoulder as the professor sat on the corner of his desk, his hip leaning back as he clasped his hands in his lap.
"So, I'm sure I don't have to tell you all how important it is that you find a subject. And soon." He started. I almost snorted at his statement. As if I hadn't been agonizing over this fucking thing for two weeks now. "Can I offer any help?" he asked.
Again, we glanced at each other, all waiting to see if anyone else would ask something that would benefit the larger group. When no one voiced a question, the professor sighed.
"I find that the biggest problem with finding a subject for such a diverse topic as this, is that students tend to overthink it. You start to stretch beyond the literal meaning, looking at subjects that are more far fetched than they need to be. I realize this topic is quite broad, but I ask you this...what is the first thing you consider when you think of what could hold a secret?"
It was silent for a moment, before I found a small piece of bravery. "People." I said softly, my arm crossed over myself to clutch my bag strap on the opposite shoulder.
The professor met my eyes with a smile, giving me a nod. "Perfect. People are, without a doubt, the most literal sense of the topic. We keep secrets, we tell secrets. We create secrets, whether true or false. Granted, portraying such a thing is easier said than done, unlike, say, a location. The secrets held in some places, such as Alcatraz, are quite obvious and literal. The solitary confinement cells, the long, haunted halls. The island itself speaks to the topic. But it is the photographers ability to project that into a photograph that shows the true talent of a person, and the suitability of the subject."
He paused again, glancing around at us to see if we were taking in what he was saying. It was all things we knew, all things that were quite obvious and literal. But it helped. A bit.
"Has anyone found anything they were considering?" he asked, adjusting his spot on the corner of his desk.
Again, when no one spoke, I raised my hand.
"Miss Jennings," he acknowledged. "Care to share what it may be?"
My immediate answer in my mind was fuck no, but since I wouldn't be actually using the subject, I figured it didn't really matter now. If I hadn't been able to find a substitute for the feeling Harry produced in me in any other person, I couldn't see how sharing my finding with these other poor souls would cause me any loss.
"I found a person who made me think of secrets," I explained, trying to find strength in my voice. I always hating speaking in a group, no matter how large. I hated the attention and the focus. It was one of the biggest reasons I liked being behind a camera. No one looked at the person behind the camera, only who was in front of it. "There was something in his eyes that screamed it."
"And why are you not shooting him as your subject?" the professor asked blatantly.
I frowned, unable to stop the expression from immediately coming to my face.
"He doesn't want to pose," I said.
"Well, that's unfortunate." He frowned, giving me a look for a moment before looking around our group. "I suggest you spend the rest of the weekend seriously considering where to take this assignment. As you know, preliminary images are due in less than a month. I know that may sound like a fair bit of time, but I assure you, it isn't. I need to believe in your choice through these images, as well as your written project statement. You need to convince me. So throwing something together at the last minute just simply wont do it. I can't impress upon you all enough how much this one assignment means. So I trust you will take the task of finding a subject a little more seriously." Giving us all a pointed stare, he pushed up from his desk. "You may go."
As we turned to scatter quickly from the room, I found myself growing annoyed. Take this more seriously? Was he fucking kidding me? This assignment was all I had been thinking of for the last two weeks. I had spent hours pouring over options, trying to find anything that fit. Anything that I thought might actually produce a good final product. How could he suggest that I wasn't taking this seriously?
Stepping out into the hall, I felt myself start to break down. My heart rate increased, my face flaming from frustration. This day literally just kept getting worse. As if I wasn't upset enough from my hellish morning, now I was just reminded how much was at stake. As if I wasn't already aware. But on top of that, the damn professor suggested I wasn't trying. Of course I was trying!
I huffed loudly, feeling tears sting the back of my eyes. Sniffing, I paused in the hall, shuffling to the side and out of pedestrian traffic to lean against the brick wall at my back. I let my bag fall from my shoulder onto the floor with a thud, my hand lightly holding the strap as my head fell back against the hard brick.
I tried to steady my breathing, to calm myself down. I felt nauseous and angry, my face feeling like a sheen of sweat clung to it from the emotion I held back. Finally, after a moment, I felt my chin quiver. Biting down on my lip, I shook my head at myself, dropping my head and closing my eyes.
"Lane?"
I didn't open my eyes. I didn't have to, because I knew that voice. For all the times for him to show up, he just had to do it now when I was having a mini meltdown in the hallway.
Shaking my head again, I kept it bowed low, my eyes still closed. I hoped the simple gesture would tell him I wasn't in the mood to talk, and to just leave me alone. He, of all people, was the last person I wanted to talk to right now. If he would just concede, if he would just fucking help me, I wouldn't have to be here crying in a fucking hallway.
"Lane, are you okay?" he asked, his voice closer to me.
Sniffing loudly, I raised my head and opened my eyes. I was immediately met with the familiar green eyes of Harry, a look of concern on his face. His brown hair was wind blown, snow flakes still littered across the shoulders of his brown jacket. His messenger bag was slung across his body, pulling the jacket tightly across his torso.
"What's wrong?" he asked, taking another step towards me. He was only a pace away now, and I could smell the scent of his cologne.
I let my gaze fall over his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes any longer. I knew venting this current issue to him of all people was probably inappropriate, and possibly a little unfair, but at this point I didn't care. I was insolent and pissy, and in wet jeans.
"I'm one of the only fucking people in my class who doesn't have a subject yet for this project," I sputtered, the tears again burning my eyes. "We just got called out by the prof, and basically told we weren't trying hard enough. I am fucking trying! I've done nothing but try to find a subject for this stupid thing, and I cant find a single one that fits." Letting my anger get the better of me, I turned my eyes directly to his as I let myself finish my sentence aloud. "Except you."
Harrys face fell slightly, his jaw tightening as it always seemed to do when I pressed him about my project. I met him stare for stare for a moment, before shaking my head at myself and closing my eyes again. Letting my head fall back, it hit the wall behind me.
"Ow," I muttered, more to myself at this point than him.
A silence passed between us for a moment, and I thought for a second that he had walked away. I didn't open my eyes to check, however, still wrapped up in my own self pity and loathing. Hearing a deep sigh, I felt him move to my side. I turned my head, still pressed back against the wall, to find him now leaning against it along side me. His hands were clasped behind him, his hips leaning back into the wall as his upper body leaned forward slightly. His head was down, his eyes to the floor, the position causing his hair to fall over his face.
Again, I took a moment to admire him. Standing as he was now, with this strange, deep, introspective look on his face, again I felt a jolt. I knew he was thinking about whatever it was that held him back from helping me, and again all it did was produce everything I wanted. Even the way the light of the horrible florescent lights of the hall hit him, cast a shadow over his features that made him even more haunting.
He exhaled loudly, before straightening and turning towards me.
"Fine," he said firmly, looking at me.
My eyes widened, my head pushing up from the wall.
"What?"
"I said fine," he repeated sharply, his voice tight. "I will help you with this project. But I get a say in how this goes, as well. No questions, no prying. My reasons are my own."
I felt my head nodding emphatically before he had even finished speaking.
"Okay. That's fine. Whatever you want." I sputtered, practically stumbling over my words before he had a chance to change his mind.
"Okay." He agreed, his expression showing that he was already regretting agreeing to help me.
"Okay."
I tried to force the smile off my lips, but I couldn't. He was literally saving my ass...my damp, soggy ass. Before I could stop myself, I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
He stumbled back a step, surprised at my outburst. He stood tense and awkward, before wrapping his arms around me loosely after a moment.
"Thank you," I muttered into his jacket, not even caring that we were in the middle of a crowded hallway.
I felt him chuckle slightly under me, patting my back.
"You're welcome."