Page 4 of Broken Princess

I have to show them that things are business as usual, and the first way to prove it is by doing the same thing I’d do if Jordanna was any other random chick I was banging. Move on to the next one. It’s the first day of the new semester, and I should have had my dick sucked three times over by now.

I scan the class for some as yet untapped mouths to make my acquaintance. No time like end of class time for the inaugural sucking to begin. I spot a new friend with glossy pink bubble gum lips. Oh yeah, that will leave an impression. My cock looks good in pink and I’m down for watching her generate enough spit, while she’s swallowing me, to blow bubbles.

Two

Jordanna

It’s the second day of the semester. I wanted to spend my free time reading Professor Barton’s syllabus to prepare for my art class. What I’m actually doing is sitting in the Bursar’s office discussing my tuition balance.

“As you know, Jordanna, your scholarship amount has increased, despite the way last semester ended.”

I thought the online account balance was a typo or system error until I got my invoice in the mail last week.

“Yes, and I’m grateful to the board and scholarship committee for the increase.”

“Don’t be. We kept our contribution the same as last semester. Your academic performance was solid, but nothing outstanding happened to show you deserved more money. And after the way things went at the auction…”

My painting sold, so he’s not exactly referencing my work, but the embarrassment I brought upon the school. As if the king asshole didn’t have a hand in that.

“I don’t understand. My invoice has a zero balance. The tuition, room and board. It all shows paid in full.”

“Yes, well, an interested party paid the difference and allocated an additional amount for a monthly stipend.” He slides an envelope my way. “We usually keep our donors and their contributions quiet, but this benefactor insisted we pass her information along.”

“Why?”

“She’s eccentric, and old-fashioned.” His eyes cloud over. “But I think she requires a thank you for her gift.”

“I’ll be sure to write her a nice note and send a card.”

He gives me a reproachful look. “I said old-fashioned. She’d rather receive your regards in person. Her address is in that envelope. When you see her, try to practice restraint and decorum. You’re still a representative of this institution. Am I clear?”

Asmud. Because, aside from having the school’s seal on the top of my transcripts, nothing about the way they’ve treated me saysI’m one of them. But he doesn’t want to hear that. He wants a perfect response to go along with the school’s perfectly fake appearance. I’m curious to know more about this woman, so I paste a smile on my face and agree. “Yes, sir.”

I promised my mother I’d call as soon as my meeting was over. She was worried that this was all a big misunderstanding and that we’d have to pay a large sum of money by the end of the week. I’m glad I can give her some good news. And with the stipend, mom can use the money she was paying for room and board, to pay off last semester’s balance. She picked up two more clients. But Penn’s legal bills keep rolling in, and things are still a little tight.

I told her not to believe him when he swore he was innocent. All those months of her fighting to get him a lawyer and sticking by him, cost us time and money.

She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey, mom. I just left my meeting. It’s all legit. This semester we don’t owe anything and get this… the committee is giving me a living stipend. It’s paid out in monthly installments, but that means I’ll have some walking around money and I can help you with the tuition from last semester.”

She asks about the fees for my art classes. “All covered. If I need brushes or more canvases, I can get them myself.” Between the stipend and my savings, I have more than enough money. I never told her exactly how much my painting sold for.

I listen as she tells me how proud she is of me for working my ass off last semester. I don’t deserve such high praise from her. Not on this. But I’m happy that the skid marks left on my ass from Logan and his friends, backing their entire fleet of luxury cars over me, came with a way to make things easier for my mother.

Growing up, I don’t remember my parents worrying about money. Even after daddy died, we had his life insurance pay-out covering the bills, so it’s been hard watching her worry about if we have enough now.

I willneverforgive the step-disaster for what he did. We were fine until he waltzed onto the scene, pretending he was someone my mother could love and depend on. People always said how amazing he was stepping into our lives and taking us on like we were his kids.Rescuing us. Well screw that, I didn’t need a father, and we didn’t need saving. We weren’t upper class, and sure we didn’t have any extended family close by, but we were comfortable and happy.

Moving to Kingsley Bluffs, and coming to VDU has got me wondering what my parent’s childhoods were like. I know my mother studied art in Europe, and she’s polished and professional when she needs to be. She would’ve fit right in with the Kingsley Hollow social circles, even before she married the dud.

My dad was just comfy. He spent his time linking investors with environmentally friendly community projects, preferring jeans and work gloves to slacks or a suit. Mom said he loved feeling the earth between his fingers and underneath his feet, and that’s what made him such a powerful advocate for the organizations he helped.

I used to sit for hours in the greenhouses he’d help build and I’d draw while he planted and weeded. If he were here now… well, if he were here now, I wouldn’t be attending school at the gates that lead to the ninth circle of hell. Just one more ripple effect from the accident that screwed up our lives.

“Okay mom, I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say when she mentions she’ll be home late because Summer has a game.

I check the time on my phone. I won’t have time to eat a full meal, so I grab a boxed lunch on my way to class. It usually has an apple or banana and a sandwich in it. That’s more than enough to hold me over until dinner.

The air is crisp as if flirting with the idea of snow, but I choose to sit outside while I eat, taking in the students walking to and from their classes. Watching them pass people they know, laughing and gesturing excitedly about being back at school. Holding up their phones, showing off pictures of their Christmas gifts.

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