The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller(3)

Linda’s intake of air doesn’t go unnoticed, just unmentioned.
“It wasn’t your fault, honey. How were you supposed to know that too much chocolate can poison a dog?”
Puppy, Linda.
And why the hell she refuses to just give in and call me by the name I prefer I have no idea. Trying to dissolve the conversation about poor Walter before it starts, I correct her.
“Raven. My name is Raven. Please use it.”
She expels her breath forcefully before speaking, the same response I get every time we broach this subject. And I couldn’t agree more with her gesture. I’m tired of having this same conversation with her. We’ve been having it since I was twelve, when my new naming convention was prompted by the loss of Walter.
Sigh.
Like I said, I took his death pretty hard.
“No, I will most certainly not. I refuse to reinforce your ridiculous theory that you are some winged bringer of death to all who come across your path.” She inhales deeply, then once again exhales her breath. “I’m so tired of having this conversation with you.”
Likewise, Linda.
Rolling my eyes, I shift in my seat and lean my forehead against the window, watching the terrain slowly evolve from trees and open ranges to tall, grey buildings offset with stop lights at every corner. Shortly after entering the city, we turn onto campus and are immediately greeted by a huge academic building with a square-shaped, limestone sign placed just at the edge of the grass-laced clearing.
Welcome to Titan University
Gooooooo Titans.
Mental fist-pump in the air ensues before I inhale a much needed calming breath. My heart begins to pound within my rapidly rising ribcage, the knowledge of required social gatherings just on the horizon sending it into overdrive.
Barely able to squeeze our way through the congested roadways, we follow the green signs with arrows pointing us in the direction of my dorm, practically running over three unsuspecting pedestrians paying absolutely no attention to the cars around them as they walk with their noses melded with the campus maps in their hands.
Three.
Jesus.
After sideswiping the curb and nearly taking out two more possible victims, Linda finally lands the car right in front of Harris Hall. My arms are tingling, the result of being forced ramrod straight for the past five minutes; muscles I didn’t even know existed are flexed to full capacity as my nails dig into both the leather-covered handle of the door and the center console separating us. Slowly, my head turns in her direction. Mouth wide-open and with eyes the size of saucers, I watch as she carefully runs the palms of her hands over her blonde hair before returning my aghast stare.
Hair important.
Pedestrians not so much, I guess.
Peeling my eyes away from her, I watch in fear while several people nonchalantly carry luggage, boxes, microwaves, and mini-fridges as they file into the main hall. Seemingly mindless activities for them as they chat and laugh upon their entrance. My mind is, however, continuously pounded with the same recurring thought.
So many accidents waiting to happen.
I sigh to myself in resignation before opening the car door.
Well, I guess it’s official.
Ready or not, Titan University…here I come.


Chapter Two

“HOLE. LEE. SHIT.”
Three separate words make up the only response I’m capable of speaking when observing my dorm room for the very first time.
Linda huffs behind me, and the sound of her fishing through her purse directly behind me is all I can hear as I take in the sight before me. There are no words.
Well, actually, there are three very choice words.
Just before I take another step, Linda’s heels click against the floor and a pint-sized glass jar mysteriously appears right above the curve of my shoulder. I don’t even have to turn my head to know what it is.
“Quarter in the swear jar, please.”
Sigh.
Reaching into my pocket—which happens to always be overflowing with “swear quarters”—I dutifully deposit one into the already half-full jar, pushing it past the make-shift “swear slot” in the top. Not bad, considering she just emptied it yesterday.
I have no idea what she does with the money, but I’m pretty sure she has a Swiss bank account receiving the earnings from the priceless gems that tend to fall from my mouth.
Just as the quarter lands on top of the mountain of silver, my eyes rake over the left side of the room. It looks like someone threw up cotton candy, drained an entire bottle of Pepto Bismol into their stomach, then threw up again.
Pink.
It’s everywhere.
Pink poster of a ballerina, pink knick-knacks lining the shelving built into the walls, pink scepter with matching tiara lined in clear crystals along its edges, and—wait.
Hold up.
Is that a pink boa?
Fuck. Me.
Without even registering that the expletive was internal, I reach into my baggy Dickies to grab another quarter. Before I can retrieve it, Linda’s palm lands on my shoulder blade and she presses forward gently, trying to force my entry into the room. My feet, however, are in total sync with my brain and refuse to step any further into this atrocity. As I remain rooted to the floor, my hand makes its way out of my pocket and crosses my body until my fingers find the skin of my forearm, which suddenly has become unbearably itchy. Is it possible to be allergic to a color?
Pink teddy bear.
Pink comforter with darker pink crowns donning its surface.
Pink. Pink. Pink.
Every single time my eyes fall on something new, my brain is assaulted.
After shaking my head, I finally manage to force myself into the room just as the bathroom door to the left of me swings open and my eyes land on the person responsible for this mess. Long, straight blonde hair gathered into a high ponytail, exuberant light green eyes, and the widest, brightest smile you’ve ever seen make up the person suddenly standing right in front of my blank face. In fact, if I had an “exact opposite mirror” and placed myself in front of it, I’m pretty sure…no, I’m 100% sure that this person would be my reflection.