Caroline didn't come to my room the next morning, and I didn't see her at all during the day. Even when she wasn't around, I couldn't stop thinking about her, wanting to see her, hoping I might spot her across the quad, feeling like any minute she might appear at my side. But by the evening, I was feeling frazzled and jumpy. I wanted to see her -- I didn't know how to contact her -- and she had proved entirely unpredictable. I even tried knocking lightly at the door to her room, but there was no answer. I certainly wasn't bold enough to attempt going through the door we shared without an invitation.
Classes hadn't started yet, but the hallways were bustling as the upperclassmen moved into their rooms for the year. Every time I heard activity outside my door, I hoped it was her. And every time, I was disappointed that it wasn't.
The only time I locked my door that evening was when I took a few minutes to masturbate, reliving the events of that morning. And when I was finished, I unlocked it again -- what if she showed up, looking for me?
But Caroline didn't come at all that night. And the next morning, I brewed a single cup of coffee for myself, which I took to the last orientation assembly, wishing that Caroline was a freshman like me. At least then I'd know she was in the room with me. But she wasn't.
I plodded off to lunch with the rest of the group, by now feeling quite depressed. Where was she? Didn't she know I was waiting for her? What -- or whom -- was she using as her toilet in the meantime? And why did the thought make me so jealous...?
In the afternoon, I met with my adviser, feeling like I was going through the movements on autopilot. She even commented on that fact, asking me if I was tired from all the sudden change and excitement. It was easiest just to nod my head and agree with her conclusions.
During dinner, I thought I might have spotted Caroline across the crowded room -- but it was just a girl from the lacrosse team who resembled her. I managed to sit with some other kids who had been in my orientation group that day, and did a passable job of pretending like I was just as cheerful as them. To be honest, I didn't remember anything we talked about afterwards.
I couldn't stop thinking about Caroline -- where was she? At that point, I would have been so thrilled to see her that I wouldn't have minded if she forced me down on the floor to use me in the cafeteria, with the whole student body watching.
I was trying to distract myself from her absence, and postponing the moment when I had to return to my own empty room to be alone, so I agreed to tag along with the other freshmen when they made an expedition to the ice cream parlor down the road.
All the little things they were chatting about -- our upcoming first day of classes, our advisers, our peer mentors, the location of campus relative to the town, and all the interesting things to do nearby -- seemed to pale compared to the magnitude of how Caroline had shown up and unexpectedly rocked my world. It was no exaggeration to say that I was a completely different person even from just a few days ago.
It was a couple of hours before I made it back to my room, finally mounting all the stairs with a weary, ice-cream-bloated attitude.
And realized, with a shock, that there was a light on in Caroline's room; I could see it spilling under her door into the hallway. I felt the deep pang of realization that I hadn't been here when it mattered, when she might have tried the door to my room. Damnit.
I didn't even think about it. I just reached out my hand and knocked at her door.
There was a shuffling noise, and the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, and after a moment the door opened.
"Hey, piss slave," she said cheerfully, though her face looked tired.
"Are you...are you okay?" I asked with uncertainty.
"Sure," she yawned. "I just spent the last two days in the archives trying to finish my research before classes start tomorrow."
"Oh." That made sense.
"What?" she said slyly. "Did you miss me?"
"Um."
"That's slave-code for yes." Caroline opened her door wider. "Come in, then."
"R-really?"
I had never been in Caroline's room before. It was neat, and pretty, and colorful. Here were some photos above the desk of Caroline with friends and family. On the desk was a lamp in the shape of a camel. Her bedspread was paisley. A poster on the wall read: CAPITALISM IS EXPLOITATION. Essentially, it looked like the bedroom of a normal, though quirky, college-aged girl.
But then she grabbed me by the collar and I was reminded that she was not a 'normal girl.' This incredible, zany woman was a force of freaking nature. Even without being prompted, I dropped to my knees in front of her. My expression, as I looked up at her, was entreating.
"You want something, don't you, slave?" she murmured.
"I do, mistress," I whispered.
Her face indicated that she was relishing this. "Unfortunately, slave, I'm all tapped out right now."
"I...I could fetch you something to drink."
She laughed. "You're sweet. So sweet that, although I was tempted to soak your sheets when you weren't in this evening, I abstained."
