Hopeless Romantic

By Gail O. Dellslee

This isn't your typical romance. This is real life.

Tony Hellquist seems perfect—handsome, intelligent, and irresistibly charming. College freshman Anabel isn't one to settle for anything less. Drawn together by fate and Anabel's determined efforts, their connection deepens into something intense and undeniable.

But as their bond tightens, the façade of perfection begins to crack. When reality intrudes, their relationship is tested in ways they never anticipated.

Dive into a gripping tale where love is fierce, life is unvarnished, and the truth is often more complicated than it seems. This isn't your typical romance. This is real life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GAIL O. DELLSLEE
• Release date: Oct 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227344397

Gail O. Dellslee

Gail O. Dellslee is a multi-racial author who grew up on the west coast of the United States. She started writing novels when she was 10 years old. Gail gets her inspiration from her cats and life experiences, and she enjoys incorporating real situations and people into her fiction.

Book preview

Prologue

HE SHOVES ME BACKWARD, out of the forest and onto a jut of gravelly ground.

You’re pathetic, he spits. A nobody.

Another shove. I glance over my shoulder and see the edge of the cliff behind me.

Look at me when I’m talking to you!

He shakes my shoulders. I turn back to him and try to look at his face to see who he is, but my vision is blurred. And the sun rising through the trees makes it hard to focus.

Dumb bitch, he spits. You’re worthless.

He shoves me again. I try to shove back, but my arms seem to move in slow motion, so he dodges with ease. A chuckle escapes his mouth.

Weak, ugly . . . not one redeeming quality.

Shut up! I want to scream. I strain to make the sound, but the words won't come out.

Another shove. My sneakers crunch on the pebbles behind me as I stumble backward. I’m dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, and below that is the cold, unforgiving ocean. I have to stand my ground. I have to stand up to him.

S . . . st— I start to say.

No one will miss you when you’re gone, he says.

He gives one final shove, and I’m sent over the edge. My arms flail, and my head snaps wildly around, searching for someone to save me—anyone. And in the next instant, my back hits the icy water, and I’m sinking . . . sinking. And I don’t know how to swim. My only hope is for someone to save me. But no one does. No one ever does. The last thing I see is my hand reaching up toward the surface, to the blinding orb of the sun obscured by the salty water stinging my eyes and filling my lungs.

Chapter #1: I Eat Dicks for Breakfast

A FLASH BLINDS MY EYES. A moment later, the old lady hands me my new ID card. My name and face stare back at me: Anabel Susan Smith, straight brown hair, brown eyes, an uncertain, forced smile. My parents named me after themselves—Andrew Smith and Susan née Bell. I look so plain without makeup. How could I have forgotten to put it on before coming?

Beautiful, my mom says, peering over my shoulder at the photo.

Just like her mother, Dad agrees.

But they’re my parents; they're required to say such things.

There’s some time left before the free dinner orientation rally thing, so we head to the bookstore next. It’s on the other side of campus, and we have to walk quite a ways to get there. My dad leads the way at a brisk clip, periodically checking the school map in his hand while Mom gives disapproving glances at our surroundings: graffiti covered wood over the windows, homeless people sleeping or doing drugs on the sidewalk.

The city has changed a lot since the 2020 riots. My parents blame it on the local politicians who catered to the spoiled brats instead of enforcing law and order. I wouldn’t know; I don’t get involved with politics. My parents tried their hardest to persuade me into going to one of those fancy Ivy League schools I got accepted into, but I refused.

Won’t you even tour them? Mom asked.

No, I wouldn’t. My mind was set on State. And really, they should’ve been grateful for my choice. It’s going to save them thousands of dollars in tuition . . . which is especially important, because our family isn’t as well off as the majority in our suburban hometown. But for my parents, it’s all about the status, and to hell with practicality. I know that at this moment Mom is likely thinking, Surely those other universities wouldn’t look so trashy. But she keeps her thoughts to herself, because she knows it’s too late for her words to make a difference.

Why did I choose State? Well, besides being cheaper and closer to home (only an hour and a half away), my friends Emma Trussel and Madison Pabon were coming here too. We’re all majoring in biology, hoping to become doctors one day. Personally, I think Emma is only in it for the money, and Madison is only copying Emma. But as for me, I genuinely want to help people. Cancer killed all four of my grandparents. A cancer diagnosis is almost guaranteed to be on the horizon for my parents and me, and I want to be ready for it. I want to be armed with knowledge of all the latest research and treatments, not only to help myself and my parents, but to help others too. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even discover a cure for cancer!

And . . . there might be another reason I chose State: a guy. But I haven’t told anyone about this reason, even my friends. Emma and Madison are blabbermouths who would’ve let the secret slip years ago if they knew—whether on accident or during one of those times when they were mad at me and wanted revenge. My friends haven’t always been the nicest people, but they’ve certainly been useful—especially Emma. For one thing, she’s his cousin. And being friends with her made me a member of the top girl clique in our school. That means I was off limits for bullies, the envy of all other girls outside the clique, and one of the dream girlfriends of all the boys in school. I got asked out by a different boy more times than I can count. But I always declined. I didn’t want to be taken if he ever decided to ask me out. He hasn’t yet, but hey, going to the same college gives him four more years to figure out what I’ve known since sixth grade—we were made for each other. Ever since I read in the high school newspaper that he was going to State, I knew I had to go there too.

Mom breathes an audible sigh of relief once we step off the street and into the school bookstore. Right away I see a familiar chubby redhead behind the checkout counter.

Hey, Anabel! he greets with a wave. Hey Mr. and Mrs. Smith!

We all wave back.

I didn’t know Justin was working here, Dad says quietly.

Me neither, I reply.

Justin has been my friend since elementary school, back when the other boys started calling him gay for playing with me. I guess I should consider him my best friend, since unlike my female ones, he has never gone periods where he’s ignored me or gossiped about me behind my back. He’s like a brother to me. We text or chat on social media pretty often, so why did he neglect to mention that he was working where he knew I’d be going to college? I knew he was choosing employment over continuing education, but I didn’t know he started working here.

Need me to help you find your books? he asks us as he rings up a customer’s purchase.

The line has quite a few students in it, and he looks to be the only worker in the store.

No thanks, I reply. We can find them.

The bookstore isn’t too large since it only has books required for the classes here. There are helpful labels on the shelves which list the course each set of books is for. So it’s pretty easy to find all the books I’ll need. This semester I’m taking Humanities 100, Psychology 150, Biology 155, and Science 170 (Astronomy).  They’re all on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so I get Tuesdays and Thursdays off!

My parents help me haul all 15 books to the back of the checkout line, which now only has one student in it. I heard that taking 12 credits as I am is a light load. But all these books sure won’t be a light load on my back!

At last, it’s our turn to step up to the checkout counter. I drop down my stack of books with a huff, then rub my sore arms.

Justin chuckles. Find everything okay?

Yeah, I reply. Why didn’t you tell me you were working here?

I wanted it to be a surprise, he says with a wink as he scans the books.

Are you taking classes here too? Mom asks him.

Nah. College isn’t for me. Too expensive. He rings up the last book. Okay, your total is $550.

Damn. Expensive is right. I pull out my blue credit card and shove it into the chip reader. A second later, the 15 books are paid for, courtesy of my lovely parents who will cover it; I don’t have any money myself, never having had a job.

Justin opens up the book called The Awakening and uses a nearby pen to scrawl his name into the back of the front cover: Justin Nichols.

Hey, what’re you doing? I ask.

Signing my autograph, Justin replies with another wink. This’ll be worth big bucks once I become a famous author.

His dream job that he’ll probably never get.

Dad frowns. "You should’ve given her a signed copy of one of your own books. Now she can’t sell this one back at the end of the semester."

Oh. Justin’s pale face reddens. I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry, Anabel.

I roll my eyes. It’s fine. Not a big deal.

His hands shake as he starts packing the books into bags.

I’ll make it up to you, he says. Hey, I could take you out to dinner tonight. My shift is almost over.

No, that’s okay, I say.

You could bring your parents too if you want, he adds quickly.

No, I really can’t. I have to go to the freshman dinner tonight.

Oh. He looks crestfallen. Another time maybe?

Yeah, maybe.

I grab the bags of books and lead the way out of the shop.

I think he likes you, Mom whispers to me.

I roll my eyes again. Well, if Justin does like me, he’s certainly never asked me out in all the years we’ve known each other . . . until just now, that is. I feel flattered, but at the same time embarrassed and uncomfortable. He’s a nice guy, but honestly not attractive to me in the least. Thinking of his bearded, freckled face leaning in for a kiss makes me shudder.

The three of us head to my dorm building to drop my books off in my room. The freshman dorms are three brick buildings arranged next to each other with a triangle of green space between them. Each building is labeled with a black sign in the front: Gilbert Hall, Rolly Hall, and Schmick Hall. I’m in Rolly, and my friends are in Schmick. I heard Schmick is nicknamed Shit Hall, because it’s the oldest of the three, and the loud partiers tend to get placed there. When I filled out my dorm preferences form over the summer, I made sure to say I preferred quiet and wanted a kitchen.

Despite that, we still have to dodge girls playing soccer in Rolly’s halls. My room is quieter, but not completely silent. The walls in this building are evidently thin, and I’m dreading having to study here. But it’s part of the college experience, and it's exciting to live away from home. At least I got lucky with the roommate assigned to me. Lia Jung is a shy Asian girl who hardly makes a peep. She’s clean and tidy too, at least from what I’ve witnessed so far. Lia isn’t here right now; she’s likely at the orientation rally thing already, or will be soon. I drop my bags onto my Disney princess bedspread (childish, I know), and then we’re off.

The orientation is held in a theater. I search the seats, but I don’t see him. Emma spots me though. She waves and jumps up and down, her long straw blonde hair bobbing around her. I grin and wave back. The seats by her are full, so we just take a few empty ones a couple rows behind her.

While we’re waiting for the orientation to start, I keep looking for him. I only see Madison, who looks like she got her black hair curled. My friends and I are wearing matching denim short-shorts with frayed edges; we planned it in advance.

The orientation is predictably pretty boring. A counselor on the stage speaks through a microphone, advising us students to study 30-45 hours a week, 2-3 hours per semester hour (credit).

Don’t be a loner, she says. Get involved. Join clubs.

She goes on to tell the parents in the audience that they have to let their kids go out into the world to become who they’re meant to become. Mom wipes a lone tear that drips down her cheek and squeezes my hand.

Next, three college students perform a skit of how they were each the normal college student, wanting to get away from their parents but not knowing how to operate at all on their own. It’s comforting to think every freshman in this room is going through the same thing. And I’m again glad that I chose to go to a college where there’d be students I knew already rather than go to one across the country where everyone would be a stranger.

I finally spot him in the audience. He must have come in late. He’s sitting so far away, but I can still make out his smooth, dark hair and the hard line of his jaw. I’ve been enchanted with him from the moment we met in sixth grade. He was the cutest, tallest boy I'd ever seen. And now too, his head towers above the others in the audience, save for the old man who sits beside him, likely his father.

It was shortly after sixth grade started that my Basset Artesian Normand dog died of old age. His name was Norman, and my parents got him from France. When he died, I cried for hours. Mom and Dad got a kitten named Luna to replace him, but she just wasn't the same. It felt like a part of me had died along with Norman. For the first time, I didn't want to go to school; I was too depressed. But my parents made me go anyway. At lunch, that cute boy saw me sitting alone in the cafeteria and asked me what was wrong.

My dog died, I answered quietly.

Oh, he said. "At least you had a dog. My parents won't let me get one."

I sniffled, looking at him and wondering if this was meant to make me feel better. Then he smiled a radiant smile at me and said, Cheer up. You look so much prettier when you're happy.

The hollow feeling inside me was replaced by butterflies. I must have blushed, because he burst out laughing. That only made my blush deepen. My automatic response was to act mad at him for laughing at me, even though secretly I was over the moon to be called pretty by a cute boy. I've been hopelessly in love with him ever since. 

All of a sudden, my beloved turns my way, and his eyes lock on mine. He caught me looking at him! I look away, back at the students on the stage. My heart drums in my chest, my head drowning out all other sound. He always has this effect on me. It’s a funny paradox—wanting someone so desperately, but then becoming terrified in their presence. And I’m always left wanting more. It’s like an addiction to roller coasters or something.

Dinner comes after the orientation. Emma, Madison, and their parents join up with us. We sit at the same table. Lots of different food options are provided, but my friends and I stick to salad, not wanting to get fat. Madison is already on the heavy side. Being short, it's hard for her to look thin even though she usually doesn't eat much.

I love your hair, I tell her after swallowing a cherry tomato.

Thanks, Madison replies. I wasn't sure if I should have tipped my hairdresser or not.

"I always tip," Emma says.

Madison nods. I'll tip next time.

They're both decked out in all their usual makeup: lipstick, eye shadow, mascara, and foundation. I really should've remembered to put mine on, but I've been in the habit of not wearing it since I've been on summer vacation the past three months; no need to go through the hassle when no one important will see me, right? But today I should look my best. Did he see I wasn't wearing my makeup? Oh God, I hope we were too far apart in the theater for him to notice. I don't dare look around the room for him now.

My friends and I talk about our classes and books and roommates. Emma and Madison both complain about the roommates they got stuck with. I'm only half paying attention; I'm still recovering from the memory of seeing him again after the long summer break. Before today, the last time I saw him was at our high school graduation. He looked so dashing in his blue cap and gown, which matched his eyes. Every year I wonder if the three months apart will kill my feelings for him. But after school resumes, I see him again, and that love floods my veins just as powerfully as before. How is it possible to care about one person so much when we are nothing more than acquaintances? How is it that every year since we met, we've shared at least one class together? I can find no other explanation but that it's fate. Destiny. We're meant to be together. I just know it.

And so when we freshmen are separated into groups, it comes as no surprise that I get placed in Pod #13, the same one as him. Chris, our pod leader, is a college student too, but older than us. He takes us outside where the late summer sun barely emits any heat this evening. My legs get goosebumps as soon as the breeze hits them.

Stand in a circle, Chris instructs us.

We do. I stand to the left of my beloved, where I swear I feel heat radiating from his body. He's so close to me, but I dare not look up at his face. Oh, why didn't I wear makeup today?!

We're going to play a game, Chris continues. We'll take turns introducing ourselves. Say your name, your major, which dorm you're in, one unique thing about yourself, and then do a dance move. The person to your left has to repeat what you said and copy your dance move. I'll go first. I'm Chris. I'm a film major, and I live in Marsh Hall. A unique thing about me is I'm into time travel and alternate dimensions.

He puts his weight to one side, taps his foot, and points to the sky with one hand on his hip. Looks like an Elvis impersonation.

Your turn, he says, gesturing to him, which gives me permission to turn toward him without other people wondering why I am. He's wearing the same type of clothes he wore in high school—loose jeans paired with a tight white undershirt that clings to his chiseled abs. Over the undershirt is an unbuttoned short sleeved shirt that flutters in the wind. He repeats Chris' words and dance move, then gives his introduction.

Hi, everyone, he says, his deep voice sending a warm tingle down my spine. I'm Tony Hellquist. I'm a business major, and I live off campus. A unique thing about me is I can read palms.

I raise an eyebrow. Seriously? I ask.

Yep, he replies. Don't look so surprised. Wait'll you see my dance moves.

This I've got to see. I never went to school dances because I never had a date. I could've gone with just my girl friends, but I didn't want to see Tony dancing with whoever he was dating at the time.

Tony closes his eyes, puts his hands on his hips, slides them up to his chest, then pumps his hips back and forth.

Ah, ah, ooh, ohh, he moans. Then he opens his eyes and smirks at me. Your turn.

Heat rushes to my head. I can't believe the nerve of this guy! Making those embarrassing moves in front of everyone and now forcing me to do the same?!

I look incredulously at Chris. I don't seriously have to do that, do I?

Chris shrugs, barely able to hide his smile. The rules say you do.

He's a fucking pervert just like Tony. This is outrageous! This is sexual harassment! Surely there's another female in this group who will back me up. . . .

But my pleading eyes sweep around the circle and realize that I'm the only girl here. Each of these guys have ugly hairstyles—too long, too short, or bald. All except for Tony whose dark hair is uncombed and yet infuriatingly perfect, with wavy locks hanging slightly over his ears and amused blue eyes.

Relax, one of the other guys tells me. It's not like he's asking you to strip.

Yeah, another chimes in. And you're an adult now, aren't you? So stop acting like you're some innocent little girl.

Technically, I'm not an adult until next week, but why should it matter? Does adulthood mean dropping all sense of decency?

Some of the guys chuckle, Tony included. I'm fuming. A part of me would like nothing more than to stomp off and refuse to participate. But my pride won't let me. I can't let these jerks think I'm a coward or a prude. They'll spread it around to everyone they know. I can't let my reputation be tarnished, so soon in my college career, before classes have even started! Most of all, I can't back down from a challenge from Tony.

So I square my shoulders and spit, This asshole over here is Tony Hellquist. He's a business major like a capitalist pig, lives off campus like an anti-social nerd, and he reads palms like a fucking gypsy. I imitate his dance quickly, void of passion, glaring each one of these pricks in the eye one by one. My name is Anabel Smith, biology major, living in Rolly Hall. A unique thing about me is I fantasize about cutting off dicks and eating them for breakfast. Here's my dance move.

I flip them all off with both hands.

Some say Ooh! while others laugh hysterically.

Capitalist pig? Tony says in mock hurt. Anti-social nerd? Gypsy? I'm offended.

Tough shit, I snap.

The other guys hoot and holler some more.

All right, all right, Chris says. Settle down.

The guy to my left is the next to go, but I don't hear him. I stand with my arms crossed and a scowl on my face for the rest of the insufferable time I'm forced to be there.

By the time it's all over, the sky has grown dark, and I can't wait to get back to my dorm. As soon as Chris dismisses us, I take off at a quick clip. I hear someone jogging behind me to catch up. Maybe it's Tony coming to apologize. Before I can decide whether I'll forgive him or not, he speaks.

I never knew you had so much fire in you, he whispers, his minty breath caressing my ear. It was . . . hot.

I raise a hand to slap him across the face, but he dodges and runs off laughing. Damn him!

Chapter