Chapter 2: Breaking Good
My stomach growls loud enough to make the girl next to me in the cafeteria line shoot me a weird look. I haven't eaten since those chocolate chip waffles this morning, and my body's staging a full-on rebellion.
"Sorry," I mutter, grabbing a tray and shuffling forward like the rest of the freshmen cattle.
My first day at the University of Maine has been a blur of orientation bullshit. Assemblies where old dudes in suits drone on about "academic integrity" while secretly eyeing the freshman girls. Department heads listing rules I'll forget by tomorrow. Campus tours led by peppy upperclassmen who definitely drew the short straw for this gig.
The whole time, I've been trying to focus on college. New beginnings. Not on Mom's fingers brushing against mine at breakfast or the way she whispered in my ear. Definitely not on what I did with her panties this morning.
Fuck. I'm doing it again.
I grab a burger and pile fries onto my plate with more force than necessary, making the lunch lady raise an eyebrow.
"Hungry, hon?" she asks, and for a second, her motherly tone makes my chest tighten.
"Starving," I reply, avoiding eye contact as I snag an apple and chocolate milk like I'm still in fucking elementary school.
I scan the cafeteria, a sea of strange faces engaged in the awkward dance of first-day socializing. Groups already forming, laughter already shared. Meanwhile, I'm standing here like an idiot, tray in hand, wondering where to sit.
I take a deep breath, trying to dial back the anxiety. Just find a damn table, King. This isn't rocket science.
I spot an empty table near the window and make my way over, carefully balancing my overloaded tray. So what if I'm sitting alone? Rome wasn't built in a day, right? And this whole "reinventing myself" thing was always going to be a gradual process.