One Last Hope

I got involved with a guy at college seminar the summer between my junior and senior years. Before we finally decided it wouldn't work out, we tried to write our own version of the next year's seminar. He wrote the first three days, I was to finish it. I never did, but ran across his one night. When I was done rereading it, this came into my head. I couldn't sleep until it was finished and perfect in my mind (long night). This is my version of the seminar I never attended.

The Sunday that the seminar started was awkward. She was one of the first to arrive in her own vehicle, minutes behind her former lover. She avoided him as best she could while getting settled into her room and getting set up as far as classes went. She was placed in the same class as the year before, along with four other teens. She had also managed to have a room in the same building as last year, the one the teachers resided in. This year, she was alone.
As the hours passed, more people began to arrive, including her friend from last year, the one she had not roomed with. The other was too old to continue the seminar. They had lost touch over the year, but were quickly caught up as they headed out towards the beach to test the water. Finding it warm, they swam until there was too many people around, because everyone had finally arrived.
When dinner was served, her friend went to visit some other people, and the girl was left to eat in peace. Lost in her own thoughts, she did not notice the shadow that fell over her from the other side of the table.
"Can I sit here?"
She looked up at her former lover, somehow getting the courage to nod 'yes' and not show her emotions, although she momentarily lost herself in his dark brown eyes. He hadn't changed much from the year before, except that his hair was a little longer. He was still talkative and very happy with the way his life was going. She barely spoke during the entire meal, allowing him to entertain her with stories of friends who had done stupid things. Slowly, she relaxed, even smiling at some of the stories. But she still felt uncomfortable around him, her emotions too raw to completely tuck away. Eventually, she got up the courage to talk, and excused herself from the table, leaving to get ready for the nightly reading.
After the entertaining hour, she went to her room to get a notebook and a pen. She found her way to the building where the computers were held and walked down to the basement. There, surrounded by people, the sounds of machines, and the laughs of teens at the pool table, she felt comfortable enough to write, which she did for a long while.
When people began to shut off the laptops and the noise slowly quieted, she continued to write. She was used to working on little sleep, and would easily rouse at her alarm clock when the time came for the morning meeting. Thinking that everyone was gone at two in the morning, she began to sing to herself as she wrote, quite content to be up when everyone else was asleep.
"That's a pretty song."
She turned as she jumped, for he had frightened her again. He walked in and sat across the table from her, waiting for her to speak.
"I wish you'd stop scarring me like that. It does tend to wear on my nerves."
"Sorry. I came here hoping to find you because you weren't in your room. You left your light on, by the way." He was attempting to be friendly, and she was somewhat comforted by that.
"Oh, well. Not my electric bill. Anyways, why were you looking for me? Only the police would be looking for me, and that's only if they found the bodies," she said with a mischievious smile. He laughed at her.
"I just thought you might want to talk. We haven't really talked in a while, so I thought I'd try to be friendly. Is that a good story?" he asked about the binder in front of her.
"It's a bunch of stuff. Right now, I'm working on a story about the stars. I've got a ways to go on it, though." She flipped a couple of pages, showing him her work in progress.
"Oh. What's the rest of it about?" His curiosity seemed sincere, since he was a writer.
"Just a bunch of different stuff: cats, love, death, pain. My usual stuff, you know?" She slid the notebook to him as she talked, and he saw she only had a dozen or so blank pages left. He was impressed.
"Need a proofreader?"
"Are you volunteering?"
"Yeah, I guess I am." There was that cocky smile again. She thought about it for a few minutes, trying to remember exactly what was in the binder.
"I suppose I could use one," she told him reluctantly.
"Can we go to my room, so you can read my story while I read yours, so you're not bored?" It seemed an innocent question, but still she hesitated as her memories came back again.
"Well, I don't know. It's kinda late and..."
"Hey, I'm not going to do anything. I just want to read your stuff. Okay?" He looked her right in the eyes, but she knew she couldn't believe just what his eyes said. After a deep breath, she finally answered him.
"Okay."
"Let's go."
As they walked through the darkness, he did not try anything with her, although he thought about it. She had developed nicely over the past year, with firm, tan skin, and long, gorgeous, red hair. He knew it wasn't her real color, but it did look really good on her. Her acne had cleared up considerably, not that it really bothered him last year, but it was a noticable difference. With her current outfit, some curves were visible, but most of her body was left to the imagination. His was excellent, because part of it was memory. He talked about his unfinished novel as they walked, trying to distract himself from her.
Not surprisingly, people were still awake in the guys' dorm, and they received knowing looks from several of the guys still sitting in the living room area. If only they really knew, she thought to herself. When they reached his room, he tried to quickly clear off the second twin bed for her to sit on, but she got comfortable on the floor, against the door. He shrugged and sat on the bed he was going to sleep in. As with last year, he was alone in his room.
"Can you turn the radio on or something?" she asked. The quiet got to her too easily, but she tried to conceal it. As he turned back towards her, she handed him the binder. "Here you go. Happy reading." He smiled.
Grabbing his novel, he handed it to her, saying "and that is for you to read." They settled into their places and began reading at two thirty. The more he read from her notebook, the more he worried about her. It was very depressing, but very well written. She had matured not only in looks, but also her writing. When he was finished, the digital clock read six fifteen. He looked at her, to see how far she had gotten, only to find the novel sitting opened on the floor, and her curled up, sleeping.
Quietly, he got up and cleared off the other bed. Then, very gently, he picked her up and placed her on it, laying the covers on her delicate form. He sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying this secret moment. She looked like a child laying there, sleeping peacefully. He petted her hair twice, and leaned down and kissed her on the forhead. She stirred momentarily, but slipped back into sleep. He set his alarm for eight fifteen, giving him two hours of sleep and leaving her plenty of time to go to her dorm to get ready. He wondered what he could do to help her as he fell asleep.

* * * * *

When the alarm sounded, she awoke, not recognizing her surroundings. Vaguely, she remembered sitting in the computer room writing, then he came in and they began talking. Suddenly she realized that she was still in his room. She looked across the room to the other bed and saw him sprawled out, slowly stirring at the noise. Before he was awake enough to shut his alarm off, she was already gone.
As she shakily got ready for the day, she wondered what time she had fallen asleep and how she had gotten into the bed. After a hot shower, she tore her room apart looking for her notebook. She realized that it was in his room, forgotten in her quick departure. She walked directly to the computer room, not wanting to eat. She had left her hair down and wet, so it looked crimson in the early morning sun. Everyone she passed was half asleep, but friendly, and she began to feel more relaxed with each step.
She reached the computer room 15 minutes early, so she played pool with last year's champion. She lost, just as she had last year. Several people were already typing on the computers, but she wasn't awake enough for that. Soon, the seminar director walked in, followed by a stream of people from the dining hall. He began talking, even though not everybody was there. Several minutes into the lecture, the last stragglers wandered in, including the current possessor of her binder. They all received scoldings, but the director was smiling as he did it.
When the meeting was adjurned, she walked out, waiting for her notebook by his dorm building. He still was not awake when he reached her. Annoyed with herself, she reached for the binder, but he pulled it away, smiling groggily.
"Why'd you leave so quickly?" She tried to get it without answering, but he was too tall. Getting frustrated, she finally answered him, keeping her eyes to the ground.
"I had to get ready for the meeting. Showers take an awful long time with hair this long." He seemed to accept her excuse for he handed her the notebook. As she turned to walk away, he grabbed her wrist, wanting to tell her a little about his opinion of her writing. Her cry of pain startled him, causing him to look down. He saw the fresh cuts, still slowly bleeding. He tried to look at her, but she avoided his gaze, ashamed of herself. He let go without a word and she fled.

* * * * *

At dinner, she sat with her friend, both of them still wet from swimming, with towels wrapped around their bathing suits. Their giggles filled up the hall. They were still celebrating their encounter with some jerks on an inflatable raft, whom they tipped over after several minutes of cat calls. Eventually, her friend had to get some writing done, and left. She continued eating, but wasn't alone very long. He sat directly across from her, demanding her attention without really saying anything.
"Do you want to talk?" he asked.
"Not really." Her earlier happiness quickly faded as the conversation began. She knew where it was headed and wasn't sure she could handle it.
"Why?"
"Why what? Why don't I want to talk? Or something else?" Her anger was rising, but she didn't know if she wanted to contain it or not.
"Why don't you want to talk?" He told her.
"Because you weren't worried when I needed a friend back in January, so why should you worry now? Why should I trust you with my secrets?" He could now sense the anger in her, and the strength he sensed blew him away.
"I'm concerned about a friend. Why is it so hard to talk to me? You used to be able to all the time." He tried to keep his emotions calm and not set her off at the same time. It was difficult.
"That was before you hurt me. Before you lied to me." Before her anger erupted, she got up and left.
He followed her, not letting himself be seen. When she reached her room, she was crying, hard. He did not allow her to close him out. He forced her to give up on closing the door, then blocked it with his body so she couldn't run. Frustrated and trapped, she threw herself onto the bed, facing the wall and visibly shaking. He sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to comfort her.
"Why won't you talk to someone?" She stayed silent, so he continued. "Why do you do this to yourself? It can't be that bad." He stopped when her body froze, waiting for the bomb to explode.
"How would you know that it can't be that bad?" she asked in a weak voice. He could still hear that she was crying. He reached over and touched her hair. She remained frozen, now frightened about what was happening.
"I'm not going to do anything except try to calm you down. That's all." As he continued, she slowly relaxed, and her body no longer quivered. Time passed, and soon it was time for the reading. Quickly, she composed herself and presented an image of a happy teenager to the outside world. Inside, she wanted to curl up and hide.
She sat away from the groups of people, enjoying the reading. When it was over, the author began answering questions and talking to individual students. She tried to run to her room, but the director wanted to talk.
"Hey, how've you been?" he asked her.
"Pretty good, how about yourself?" she responded. He was fun to talk to because he had an open mind about everything, which could be attributed to his religion: budism.
"I'm fine. Are you sure you're okay? You haven't been as outgoing as you were last year." His concern was truthful and touching.
"Well, I've been working on this really good story and doing a lot of thinking. Don't worry so much," she told him, feeling guilty that she lied to him.
"Okay, but remember that you can talk to me if you need to, okay?"
"Okay," she said, smiling. "Thank you."
When she reached her room, he was sitting on the floor, facing the door. Her anger was high, but again she controlled it.
"Well, are you going to tell me your opinions about my writings?" she asked him. She began to organize her stuff out of sheer nervousness, noticing that her backpack was open. That meant that he had seen the contents. Now I'm in trouble, she thought.
"It's very well written. I wrote any possible changes down in pencil beside the spots where I thought they could be used, so you can erase them if they don't work. You could possibly put all of it together into a book." He paused. "But, why is it all sad?" He stood up to get her to turn, but she remained as she was.
"Because I'm sad. That's all I know," she answered. Her response made him grab her shoulders and turn her around to face him. The tears he saw suprised him. When he looked into her brown eyes, he was frightened. Last year, there had been happiness, and at times anger, but always something. Now, there was nothing there.
"Why do you feel sad?" His voice was a whisper, just barely audible.
"Because nobody wants me." She tried to look away, but he held her still, forcing her to look him in the eyes, but careful not to hurt her. The look in his eyes asked her to elaborate, so she did. "I moved right after graduation, and my family never tries to call me. I left my boyfriend, because after two years he decided to get angry at me for wanting to try alcohol, without even giving me a chance to prove his thoughts wrong. The girls I'm living with are never home, so I'm constantly alone. Everything has changed, and everyone has forgotten me. My mother acts as though I never should have been born."
Talking about her situation took all of her strength, and she folded like a doll. He barely managed to catch her, and struggled to get her onto the bed. After several minutes, she had the strength to sit up, so he backed up to the other bed.
"Haven't you made friends with anyone there? Where exactly is it, anyways?"
She looked away as she began to speak, "three and a half hours from here..." He pulled her chin in his direction, getting eye contact, "and 15 minutes from you." His shock showed on his face, causing her to smile faintly. "I've even driven by your house a few times. Very nice." He smiled in return.
They sat there together, not talking. The sky grew dark, but neither turned on a light. Slowly, she drifted off to fitfull sleep, making small noises. He wanted to wake her, but only managed to cause her to stop making noises. He left her alone and creapt out without a sound, going to his own room. He had forgotten to remove the backpack as he had planned to do.

* * * * *

Throughout the next day, she was in a good mood, even flirting with some of the guys, including her former lover. At dinner, he decided it would be okay to try to please her that night, getting permission first, of course.
After the reading, he again followed her to her room without her knowing. Once there, he placed his note under her door and left. In it, he asked her to meet him at the beach at midnight, since everyone would be busy at the main building.
No one else was there when she arrived. Checking her watch, she saw she was 15 minutes early. The warm water was inviting, and she stripped for a moonlit swim. She watched the shore carefully for him to arrive, not realizing he was already out in the water.
"Hello," he said from behind her, frightening her again. She tried to hide her body with the water, but tried not to be obvious.
"Hello," she responded, nerves on edge.
"Is it safe to assume that you are as exposed as I am?" he asked her. She blushed and nodded. "Well, the moon is trying to show me your beautiful body, but it wouldn't be very nice if I looked without permission, would it?" She shook her head.
He had started circling her as he talked, but she stayed motionless, not wanting to disturb her cover. She was surprised that he was being polite, since he was male after all. His hair was matted to his head, as hers was, making his eyes stand out more. They shone in the moonlight, revelling in the feelings he had for her. Slowly, his circle got smaller and smaller, until he was standing directly in front of her, though not touching her. He brought his hand up to her face, cooling it with the water. He slowly leaned his head closer and gently touched her lips with his. She did not object.
He backed away suddenly and started for shore. After a few moments, she slowly followed. When they reached the shore, she realized that she hadn't brought a towel. Before she had a chance to say anything, he had his wrapped around her. When she tried to protest, he put a finger to her lips. The gesture made her smile. He dressed despite the water on his skin and they walked to her building, slipping in without being seen.
At her room, she opened the door, pulled him in, closed the door and locked it, and pushed him against the wall. He was expecting to be slapped. Instead, she kissed him, pushing her body against his. Immediately, he held her tight, lifting her legs off the ground. The kiss was hungry, demanding satisfaction. He knew that he'd have to stop, but didn't know how to tell her.
He literally dropped her on the bed, and soon got on next to her. Her towel was gone. Again, they kissed, both wanting so much from the other. After several minutes, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop. Her body was better than he'd remembered. Her chest was fuller, her curves were more defined. Her kiss was delicious. He no longer controlled his own thoughts. Her hands had begun to pull off his wet shorts and underwear, which landed on the floor next to the towel.
"Please," she begged between kisses, but her body was doing most of the asking, showing him how ready she was. Without realizing it, he had given her what he had sworn to keep until a steady relationship. But he could not stop. His instincts had taken over, and they continued until both of them collapsed from pure exhaustion. The clock read three fifteen. As soon as he had the strength, he got up to leave. She sensed his anger.
"What?" she asked timidly.
"That shouldn't have happened. I never should have started that." His voice scared her.
"But didn't you enjoy it?" He turned to look at her, anger flaring in his eyes.
"It shouldn't have happened," he repeated. He got dressed as she began crying on the bed. He grabbed his towel and left. Had he not been angry, he would have remembered the contents of the backpack and either stayed, or taken it with him.

* * * * *

Whatever might have happened, her body was driven away the next day in the early afternoon. He had found her before he went to breakfast, ashamed of his words as he had left her. He found the bloody knife, empty vodka bottle, and empty box of sleeping pills. The bottle and box had been unopened in her backpack. The coroner would have a hard time deciding what had killed her: loss of blood, or mixture of drugs.
He had gone through her stuff and collected her notebook and a couple pictures before he went to tell the seminar director. He also snipped a lock of her hair, just so he could remember her better. He did not watch the ambulence drive away.
The stories in the binder had been her life. Everything was a memory, spun into a story somehow. Not everything was bad, though. The story at the end was finished, and there was an addition at the end:
He was the last hope I had, and he didn't want me. Now I know no one will miss me.

* * * *

The seminar continued for the rest of the week, with one day set aside for mourning. On the last day of the seminar, he finished his novel, dedicating it to her memory. He should have known not to leave her alone, especially knowing what was in the backpack. He had been too wrapped up in his own anger to remember the danger she posed to herself, and now he had to make it up to her.
She hadn't known how much he'd missed her over the year they were apart, even when he told her it would never work out. He sat down and began to type at his computer when he got home. He started at the beginning of the notebook and worked his way up to that terrible night, making some of the changes he had suggested along the way.
Now everyone would miss her, because everyone would get to know her.