Seduced by Lies (2 page)

              Sam raced down the narrow, dusty stairs, his fingernails digging into his palms in anger, refusing to acknowledge the second bout of unpleasant noises that emanated from the bathroom behind him. Once in the peaceful and relatively serene safety of the downstairs living room, Sam slumped against the door and took a few slow, deep breaths in a vain attempt at relaxing. The Dali-style clock on the wall opposite (which had been a favorite of his father's) told him he had five minutes before he needed to be behind the wheel of his car and starting the engine. That unlikeable feeling of apprehension began to claw away at his stomach once more, and intensified as he remembered the sorry state of his hair. He dashed across the living room and into the open-plan kitchen, sliding across the smooth tiles in his hurry. Stopping in front of the old, battered, copper kettle, he gave one last-ditch attempt at taming his mane in the distorted reflection of its bumpy surface, but his inexplicably shaky, sweaty hands were just making the situation worse. He sighed in defeat, a feeling he’d become more than accustomed to, and reached once more into his backpack, pulling out his trusty, oversized baseball cap and shoving it on his head at a jaunty, hip, 45° angle, like the rest of his friends wore them these days. Looking back at his deformed reflection in the kettle, he tried one last, unconvincing thumbs up, before reluctantly swinging his bag onto his slumped shoulders and bracing himself for yet another day.

Within ten minutes Sam was on the main road, sat in the usual gargantuan line of traffic that occupied this section of the A4076 each weekday morning. Even with the windows rolled down he could still feel little beads of sweat soaking into the rim of his cap, and had to lean forward in his seat to prevent his back from sticking to it. It was unexplainably hot for 8:40 am on a September morning – the air was humid, heavy and still, without even the courtesy of a slight breeze – like being trapped inside a greenhouse. He tried to distract himself from this discomfort by immersing his concentration in the music pumping from his speakers. He’d set his I-pod to shuffle and now bobbed his head and nervously tapped his fingers along to one of his favorite Dire Straits songs;

“I’ll take you away…

From the anger that lives on the streets with these names.

'Cos I've run every red light on memory lane,

I've seen desperation explode into flames,

And I don't want to see it again. . . ”

The lyrics filled his ears and he let them flow over him, enveloping him. He leant his head back and closed his eyes, drifting away from reality on the beautifully-played guitar chords of the songs chorus. He felt himself relaxing, and allowed his tense hands to slide from their ridged grip on the steering wheel. The music continued and Sam remained motionless, quickly becoming more and more lost in the magical relief that music somehow brought him. A few minutes passed like this, and Sam had almost forgotten his nerves and his misery, when the loud, angry blare of a car horn ripped him viciously from his reverie, and he realized that the traffic was moving once more.

              Ten minutes later Sam was reversing into a space in the College car park, fully returned to grim reality. He killed the engine and gave himself one last minute to mentally prepare, before squaring his shoulders, adjusting his hat, slapping on a smile and stepping out on to the tarmac, as ready as he ever would be to face this day.

CHAPTER 2 - FIRST CONTACT

             
Even with her initial trepidation, Sienna couldn't possibly have predicted the odd turn her first day would take. The College receptionist had politely, if somewhat ditzy, directed her to the first year art classroom on the second floor, which was thankfully fairly empty when she arrived. Two girls in floaty, tie-dyed tops and flip flops sat in the middle of the room, cross-legged on the cheap, plastic seats, talking and laughing animatedly to each other, and Sienna automatically wrote them off as self-righteous, obnoxious hippy-types. A third, slightly more amiable looking girl sat meekly at the back of the room, thoroughly absorbed in the Stephen King novel she was reading, shoulders hunched and head bowed, hiding nervously behind a curtain of her, long mousy-brown hair. None of them paid Sienna any attention, except to jump slightly in surprise as the door swung shut behind her with a loud, echoing bang. Sienna took this as a good sign – the less interaction that was forced upon her the better, and made her way silently through the rows of tables and chairs, taking a seat right at the back on the opposite side of the room to the girl with mousy hair.

             
Once the lecturer finally arrived, and the rest of the 22-strong class were in their seats (none of whom chose the seat next to Sienna, which brought her a bitter feeling of joy and supremacy), the class could finally begin. The lecturer was a young woman – wavy, golden-blonde hair, a rosy, over-smiling face and a similar floaty top to the tie-dye monstrosities. Sienna automatically shelved her with those insufferable girls, and forced herself to listen to her high-pitched, girly yammering just long enough to get the gist of that terms project, before tuning out and allowing herself to be absorbed into her sketch pad and her dark truths that took picture form on their pages. Once again her mind began to drift towards the past – reminiscing over feelings she was sure she’d never be able feel again, over faces (well, just the one face to be honest) that she longed to see again, to touch, to kiss. Her mind flashed over the too few perfect ‘Kodak’ moments that they had managed to steal, her eyes glazed over and her hands unconsciously flitted across the paper, spilling her secret thoughts onto the pages as they went.

             
Lunch time arrived and Sienna headed to the canteen alone, clinging to the walls as much as she could, wishing she could become a part of the surroundings, like a chameleon. But life wasn’t that kind, so she did the next best thing and glowered coldly at anyone who made eye contact, or who paid her more attention than just a passing glance. A few of them whispered to each other as she passed –

“That must be the new girl, you know – the one that transferred or whatever.”

“Clearly a weirdo. What’s her deal anyway?”

“I think she went to rehab or something.”

“Huh. Doesn’t look like it worked.

Sienna could have retaliated, but that would just be lowering herself to their level. Besides, she found their childish, inaccurate judgment somewhat amusing, so instead
she showered her silent disdain down upon these comparative emotional and intellectual toddlers, from her position up on the high road. She got as far as the canteens swinging, double doors before coming to a halt – stopped dead in her tracks by the wave of immense noise that emanated from behind them and slapped her straight across the face, so loud it practically knocked the wind out of her. It was the sound of a thousand voices belonging to people that Sienna had no desire to be near. Just from the tone of the chatter, she could tell the canteen was full to the brim of the childish, ignorant, oblivious individuals that this institution seemed to be a sanctuary for. Where were the intellectual, interesting adults? Surely she couldn’t be the only one in this entire place?

             
Without Sienna even being aware of it, her feet had begun back-tracking, leading her away from the roaring beast that was the canteen and towards her old, dear friend – the English department.  Somehow, she automatically knew where she was going, expertly navigating the twisting, turning maze of corridors and steps, as if following some inner satellite navigation. It took her a little while – the English rooms and the library were hidden deep within the depths of the College, and the closer she got, the less and less people she came across, and the heavier the air became with the feeling of academia and the alluring, intoxicating smell of books. As she got closer and closer, her feet began pounding the corridor carpets with more intensity, her heart beat harder and faster in her chest, and nervous, excited butterflies fluttered around the depths of her stomach, as if she were on her way to a first date.

             
She was practically running by the time the double doors of the library came into view. Nothing but silence and majesty emanated from behind these doors, and for the first time in a long time, Sienna felt something other than contempt or misery. She felt like she was coming home. She barreled through the swinging doors, earning herself a sharp, cautionary glare from the bespectacled librarian.

             
The next half hour was bliss. Sienna ambled through the silent, majestic, towering bookshelves, delicately tracing all the old, cracking, dusty spines with one gentle finger, her eyes glistening with excitement, like a child on Christmas morning. She wandered down the empty aisles, free from any judging eyes watching her as she caressed her old friends, until she came to a small, deserted table right at the back of the library. It was here that she let her bag slide off her shoulder, and took a seat amongst the Shakespeare and Rilke that occupied this corner, taking pleasure in the odd fact that she got along better with these long-dead poets than with anyone her own age.

             
Sienna took a seat at the lone table, pulling a chair out as quietly as she could, not that there was anyone else in the library to disturb, and ate her pleasantly lonely lunch of a ham and cheese roll, some breadsticks & Hummus. As much as she loved to be back amongst her old, quiet, highbrow companions once more, it didn't take a huge amount of time for Sienna to begin feeling as if there was something missing - this perfect picture had a gaping hole in it, one that grew wider and wider with each bite of her sandwich.

             
After just a few brief minutes of elation, dark, miserable fingers began clawing once more at the back of her mind, curling themselves around the tiny spark of happiness in her chest and quickly snuffing it out, as easily as blowing out a candle. Sienna had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to stop the childish, bitter tears that were threatening to form at the corners of her eyes. She scolded herself silently - "Stupid girl." She thought, "What were you expecting? What were you trying to achieve by coming here?" Of course it wasn't going to be the same - it would never be the same. She allowed herself just a few moments of reminiscence - a few moments of weakness as she recalled the library at her old College - how gloriously still and silent it had been in the dead of night, how the liquid-smooth moonlight had gently fallen onto the stacks of books, illuminating some while casting others in deep shadow. She remembered the feeling of strong, sure hands gripping hers passionately as their owner led her forwards into the thrilling darkness, and goose bumps appeared across her skin as she recalled the warmth of his palms on her thighs, spreading her legs as she'd lain her naked body back onto the cold, hard surface of the table beneath.

             
Sienna was so enthralled in her own memories that she didn't notice she had company until she was ripped from her reverie by the loud squealing and scraping sound of the chair next to her as it was pulled back. Her eyes snapped open, her brow immediately angry and furrowed before she'd even laid eyes on the culprit. She became even more insulted and irate once her eyes landed on the perpetrator of the vile noise - a six foot tall, denim-short clad Jock, who was grinning sheepishly down at Sienna, and who for some ridiculous reason had chosen to wear his 'Famous Stars & Straps' label baseball cap at what Sienna assumed was an attempt at a jaunty angle. The word 'tosser' instantly sprang to her mind.

             
"Sorry." The intruder blurted all too loudly in the silent room, causing Sienna's frown to deepen even further, and even making himself flinch at the noise and dart nervous looks over both his shoulders. "Sorry." He repeated in a chagrined whisper, followed by an uncomfortable silence during which Sienna simply stared coldly and challengingly at him, while the boy continued to grin like a fool, seemingly unsure of his next move.

             
"I...I'm Sam." He finally managed to stutter out. "Can I...erm...Is it ok if I sit with you?" He asked, his eyes cast downwards as he gestured to the chair next to her, a red flush beginning to creep up his neck.

" I was actually just leaving." Sienna replied in the most cool, calm, blasé voice she could muster, turning indifferently away from Sam and packing her things quickly back into her bag before standing up abruptly.

"Oh, right...OK." He muttered, looking and sounding as dejected as a puppy that had just been kicked, so much so that even Sienna almost found herself feeling slightly sorry for him, until she turned around and was confronted once more with the ridiculous 'hip' angle of his cap. Ostensibly oblivious to her disdain, Sam continued gibbering at Sienna in another vain attempt at starting a conversation.

"I just wanted to say 'Welcome!'" He blurted, taking a nervous half-step towards her. "You...you're new here, right?" He finished uncertainly.

"Yes." She snapped impatiently.

"Well, I hope you enjoy it here." Sam offered proudly, his cheesy grin now firmly back in place and his right hand forming into an automatic, equally cheesy thumbs up. Sienna scoffed at the display, almost laughing at the thought of actually 'enjoying' herself here, and hoisted her backpack further up onto her shoulders, walking purposefully and pointedly away from the blubbering Jock behind her.

Just when she thought she'd escaped, Sam called from behind her once more.

"Stephen King!" He practically yelled, an edge of desperation now marring his voice. Sienna could have simply carried on walking away, but something in her made her stop and spin around on the spot, partly just to glower once more at the fool.

              "What?!" She hissed, her eyes slits of scorn that seemed to burn through his very flesh and caused his cheeks to instantly turn a deep shade of mauve. He reached nervously to the bookshelf next to him, shaking hands plucking one of the volumes off the 2nd shelf from the top, and holding it out towards Sienna like some kind of offering.

"Stephen King." He repeated less confidently, his voice quickly turning to a mumble that Sienna had to strain to hear. "I...I assume you like books. You should...You should read this one - it's really...well...good." He finished feebly, his shoulders slumped in embarrassment. She glanced down at the novel in his hands - Stephen King’s 'The Stand' - and her eyes involuntarily widened in surprise.

"Yes, I've read it." Sienna heard herself saying, the ice suddenly gone from her voice. "It is very good."

Sam’s eyes rose to meet hers hopefully, but Sienna speedily came to her senses, quickly adding -

"But everyone knows that." In as cold and dismissive a voice as she could muster. She didn't wait for the boys reaction, turning and marching briskly out of the library before he could ambush her into talking to him again, furious with herself for falling for his trick, however briefly.

             
By the time she'd stormed back out of the catacombs of the English department and had made her way back to the main entrance hall of the College, she was already ten minutes late to her next lecture. Not that she cared - there was nothing that giggly, blonde woman could possibly teach her that she hadn't already taught herself, and it wasn't as if anyone would notice whether she was there or not. She didn't even glance at the staircase leading up to the Art department as she passed it on her way across the main entrance hall and towards the College's automatic main doors, that revolved eerily round and round on their own, accompanied by a faint and ghostly swishing noise. She dug frantically in her leather jacket pockets, fumbling for the pack of Richmond's and sparking one up the second those spinning doors had spewed her out into the harsh, bright heat of the outside world. She angrily blew out a thick cloud of nicotine and tar, before taking another deep, vicious drag and charging around the corner to the bike sheds. That Jock boy had confused her, and Sienna didn't appreciate being confused - it was an insult to her intelligence. She paced back and forth in front of the rows of chained up bikes, puffing away furiously until there was nothing left but a hot, burnt filter, sizzling in her fingertips as she squeezed it tightly between them. She flicked it away, sparked up another and continued pacing, unable to figure out whether the boy had chosen Stephen King as a lucky guess or whether he actually had some level of taste, intellect and acumen. Could he possibly know what that book meant to her? Of the bittersweet memories it induced of being read to in a secret, sunny park, her head cradled in a loving lap?  On one hand a person would have to possess some kind of sagacity and insight to appreciate and recognize Stephen King’s work as the little pieces of genius that they are. While on the other hand, how could a Jock - just one of the millions of sheep in a mindless flock - have even a scrap of intelligence and still want to be a Jock, to follow the brain-dead herd? Moreover, what could a Jock possibly want with her - the girl who went out of her way to show that she didn't want to follow the crowd? The sort of girl who would usually be fodder for their childish jibes? The second cigarette came and went just as quickly as the first, and Sienna still felt just as flustered, baffled and irritated.