Darling Seven
TL,DR: Writing is hard.
Do not get discouraged when your pre-drafts and first drafts feel like absolute trash. I know that mine were. But all of that writing did lead to something I’m rather proud of and I had to write all of this extra material to find my plot and find my characters.
There is a reason why I very early on decided to ditch the whole “college girl” trope. It honestly isn’t that compelling. The original (see darling 6 *add link*) felt chaotic and read like I was trying to do too many things all at once. It also didn’t make sense upon re-read and it was a poor introduction to the main plot. I’m still not entirely certain what a “chestnut beauty” is but hey- maybe I’ll get it one day.
What I took from the original and put into this “edited” (aka re-written) version were the basic concepts. Charlotte is a college student with a friend named Alan who has a crush on the professor.
I still do not consider the re-write to be a shining example of what a first chapter should feel and sound like (If you’re interested my actual first chapter is available on the home page), but I do think given the source material it is more readable. It was also nice to write Alan again... He did make it into my first draft but was cut shortly before the second draft to give room for a better-developed character. I will probably discuss cutting characters in a different darling and go over how I got to know mine so well.
Anyway, enjoy ^_^
I
Heat seeped through the thin paper cup that held Charlotte's coffee. Her fingers impatiently drummed the outside while she waited for its contents to cool. Taking a sip so shortly after pouring a cup of the bitter brew was not a mistake she would make twice. The stinging ache on the tip of her tongue served as a not-so-subtle reminder that her greed for caffeine wasn’t worth losing all of her taste buds.
Still 15 minutes before the lecture started, she sat in her usual spot towards the middle front - a blinding beacon of wispy white-blonde hair and freckles on full display. It was a regrettable choice to sit in the eye-line of the professor, but she’d naively selected the spot on the first day of class and knew better than to sit elsewhere. Though no seats were assigned, students were creatures of habits and gravitated to the same chair weekly. On the rare occasion that someone sat in the wrong spot, it would cause unparalleled disruption.
Cautiously, she set her coffee down, then picked up her pen and began to tap it against the desk's worn wood surface. Her percussive beats echoed throughout the cavernous lecture hall. She hated the nervous roiling in her stomach and the hitch in her breath that no amount of fidgeting seemed to relieve.
The nerves were new to her. Usually, she was overly confident in her academic abilities or aloof enough not to care. Now, well into her last semester, she felt the typical senior slump. Classes that once were a breeze seemed to tick by painfully slow. And despite having absolutely no prospects post-graduation, she desperately needed to get off campus- or at least, get away from him.
Poor choices and what amounted to the silliness of a high school-style crush had motivated her to become Dr. Roan Ashwood’s TA halfway through her sophomore year. She took one of his Intro to Theology classes early in her college career as a blow-off humanity elective but genuinely found the subject interesting. It surprised her, considering she had never been much for spirituality or religious studies before. A part of her still wondered if his piercing blue eyes or the depth of his voice had her adding the subject as a second major and not the actual class material.
All of this was fine, though. She’d been content to stew in her unrequited feelings, and the extra cash as a TA had definitely been helpful. That was until a few nights ago when things got weird.
Fingers snapped in front of her face causing her to violently stir from her thoughts and nearly knock over her coffee.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “When did you get here?”
An individual with bushy hair - which was offensively red - stared back at her, unimpressed. “First, we’ve been through this. It’s really okay to just call me Alan. I only go by Jesus Christ on special occasions, and I’ve been here for like 10 minutes,” Alan said.
She grumbled loudly and dared to take a sip of her coffee.
Fuck. Still too hot. The roof of her mouth blistered, and she forced herself to swallow the molten liquid.
Alan continued. “Now, at first, my feelings were deeply wounded when you didn’t immediately get up and exclaim your sheer joy at seeing me… but then I decided I wanted to see how long you could stare straight ahead without blinking. It was honestly very impressive, but I imagine your eyes are burning, and I have eye drops in my bag if you need them.”
Her only response to her friend's rambling was to hold her mouth open with her tongue hanging out like a Labrador and pray that the air might soothe the pain.
“What is wrong with you?” Alan asked.
“Coffee’s hot,” she mumbled with her tongue still cooling in the breeze.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I have absolutely no argument for that-” She stopped mid-thought as a tall, brooding man stalked towards the podium in the center of the room. He wore his shoulder-length hair tied back and his characteristic tweed jacket and jeans.
Alan glanced in the same direction, then dramatically rolled his eyes before slumping low in his seat.
“I need to tell you something.” She kept her voice low. The lights in the room dimmed as the PowerPoint fired up. Charlotte felt her mouth go dry. She tried swallowing a few times, but nothing helped the lump deeply nestled in her throat. “I accidentally kissed the professor.”
“I’m sorry, you did what now?” Alan’s loud incredulous tone caused a few glances from nearby students and a scornful glare from Roan, who paused his lecture long enough to clear his throat before continuing.
Heat radiated off Charlotte’s cheeks and her shoulders sunk. “Keep your fucking voice down,” she hissed. It required every ounce of self-control not to meet Roan’s gaze that she felt boring into her skin.
Mistakes had been made. It was as simple as that. What was once a shy, innocent crush had officially taken on a new life. Not a single time in all the made-up scenarios that played in her head did she consider that he might have returned her affection. And now, she couldn’t even remember who had initiated their contact. But the fluttery feeling in her chest refused to leave, and the soft warmth of his lips pressed to hers remained firmly entrenched in her mind.
“Is that even legal?” Alan whispered.
“Jesus, of course, it is. I just think it's ethically frowned upon.”
“Really? Is that what you think? That making out with a professor is perhaps an ethical gray area?”
“I was drunk?”
“No, you weren’t.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was entirely sober and had full control over my faculties.” She scrubbed her face. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
“It’s not great. But hey, if you sleep with him, you might be able to get out of the final. So call that a win.”
“I seriously hate you so much right now.”
Alan didn’t bother with a response, but his raised eyebrows and pursed lips were enough to convey that he disapproved. His reaction was predictable and it was what Charlotte expected. She had planned to keep the entire encounter a secret, even from her best friend. Still, the moment Alan sat down, she inexplicably felt compelled to tell him.
It was real now. She had released it into the ether and no longer wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. As the lecture continued, she filled the space by counting the steps it would take to reach him. Her mind was filled with images of pulling him close and wrapping her arms around him. She was dying to know his take on this situation. Was it a harmless mistake made by two mutually attracted individuals that should not - and would not - be repeated? Or was there something more to the way his hands lingered in her hair the other night?
But it was too late, she had breathed him. And now, she was perched on a precipice waiting to topple over.
