Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
IRIS
The next morning, I felt around the duvet for Boo, but he wasn’t there.
Cracking my eyes open and scanning the room, I realised he wasn't anywhere… As I got ready for the day, I chose to ignore the fact that he’d somehow managed to vanish, despite all the windows being closed, the door being locked, and the downpour that continued until morning.
I just convinced myself that he somehow managed to unlock the door, open it… and then re-lock it behind him.
Peering out of the window across the landscape, the morning was grey and damp. The rain had finally stopped, but the cobblestones of the courtyard below glistened.
I was so tired. I’d hardly slept a wink – last night was still playing on repeat in my mind.
I was standing in front of the mirror, tying my hair up with my favourite crimson ribbon, and I couldn’t help but feel that the mirror was reflecting back a girl who wasn’t me. She looked far too composed – far too calm – for what happened last night.
He was my professor.
Though as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I can’t deny how his touch made me feel. I can still remember the way his hand felt on mine. The way his breath against my ear made me tremble.
Does it scare you? Being here with me?
Heat pooled between my legs as I tried to fight it.
I wanted to see if you’d follow.
My breathing became heavy.
Moral Philosophy is at ten. I told myself I’d be fine, that I could sit through an hour in his presence without imagining us back in that greenhouse.
That I could listen to him lecture about “nature versus nurture” and what makes someone evil, without remembering how his fingers had felt entwined with mine.
Completely and utterly forbidden.
My hand rose of its own volition and gently caressed the shell of my ear. I was still in my nightgown, the red, silky fabric soft against my skin. My other hand reached down and gripped the fabric, my eyes fluttering closed.
The door suddenly swung open.
‘Iris!’ Adora called. ‘Are you not even dressed yet? Come on, let's go!’ She rushed into the room in a flurry of movement, Rory at her heels, nudging the door shut clumsily with his foot.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, wincing. ‘Good morning.’ He offered an apologetic smile and a small shrug, as if he’d been personally responsible for Dora’s dramatic entrance.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, holding out a cup. I noticed that he and Adora each had one too.
‘A peace offering for the abrupt start to your day,’ he added with a wink.
‘Oh,’ I smiled, ‘thank you! I could really do with this.’ Right on cue, a huge yawn erupted out of me, and Rory laughed.
I took the cup from his hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers, and sighed in relief.
‘Seriously, you might have just saved my life,’ I joked, breathing in the bitter smell wafting from the cup.
‘Obviously,’ Adora said, already halfway across the room, rifling through piles of clothes with no regard for organisation.
‘What are roommates for, if not for life-saving caffeine deliveries?’ I shot Rory a knowing look over the rim of my cup in silent thanks, since he was definitely the one who had bought it.
‘So,’ I said, watching Adora toss an indistinguishable item of clothing over her shoulder without even looking at where it landed, ‘what exactly are we tearing the room apart for?’
‘My purple cardigan… you know the one? With the, uh… flowers on it? Or something?’
I walked over to her unmade bed and lifted a burgundy cardigan up with bees on it.
‘This one?’
‘Yes!’ she squealed. ‘Oh, thank you, you’re the best.’ I handed it to her, casually plucking a sock from her shoulder.
‘Those are bees,’ I pointed out.
‘Eh…’ she shrugged. ‘Bees, flowers — same vibes.’ She pulled me into a quick, chaotic hug before I could stop her, knocking my coffee slightly.
‘Oh my god, careful—’ I laughed.
‘You’re the best, I love you, never leave me,’ she said in one breath, already pulling away and shrugging into the cardigan.
I smiled. ‘I know. I love you. And never.’
She spun towards the mirror and began fiddling with her bed hair with intense concentration.
‘We need to hurry before all the croissants are gone.’ Rory and I just looked at each other, stifling a laugh.
‘Wait, why are you laughing? Oh my God, do you think they’re gone already?
’ she said with complete seriousness, a look of outrage on her face.
‘Don’t worry,’ Rory said to her, ‘even if someone beats you to the last one, I have every faith that you’ll physically fight them for it – and win.’
‘Good,’ she replied instantly. Then she clapped her hands together once. ‘Right, I’m ready!’ She turned and pointed at me. ‘Iris, get dressed. And be quick – croissants wait for no one. We will meet you outside in…’ She checked an imaginary watch on her wrist. ‘Five minutes.’
‘That’s not enough time—’
‘Five minutes!’ she repeated, already herding Rory towards the door.
‘I have legs, Dora,’ he protested as she shoved him out anyway, shutting the door behind them.
Laughing, I quickly threw on some clothes – sacrificing my hair and cleanliness for the sake of croissants and my friend's mental state – and followed them into the crisp morning air.
‘Are we made by the world around us?’ Professor Locke’s voice boomed around the echoing room.
‘Or are we already predestined to be someone, whether we like it or not?’ He walked around the room with such confidence that my mind struggled to keep up with what he was saying.
His suit was impeccable as usual – a pressed white shirt paired with crisp tweed trousers that fit his figure perfectly.
His white hair was a stark contrast to his stormy eyes that I could see gleaming even from this distance.
I attempted to look like I was busy taking notes.
‘In one of our previous classes, Miss Blackthorne made a very good argument,’ my head shot up.
‘Which I would like to use to begin today’s class debate.
’ My heart began pounding at the sound of my name on his lips.
‘She said that we live in a society that is unaccepting and judgemental. She told us that if a person is different… or an outcast, they are ridiculed and shunned…’ He paused, locking eyes with me.
I couldn’t help but notice how his stare lingered just a little too long, his gaze burning into me.
Clearing his throat, he continued. ‘I can’t help but agree with her statement.
’ He resumed pacing. ‘She said that she believes even the best of us can be affected by the “cruel” world that we live in.’ He propped himself against his desk and folded his arms – I could see his muscles tense beneath his shirt.
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. ‘So, using Miss Blackthorne’s statement as a starting point, let’s discuss – is society to blame, and therefore is nurture more at fault than nature? Why and why not? Go.’
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was Professor Locke tapping his pen against his desk, eyes sweeping the room. I felt bare without his gaze on mine.
‘I think it depends,’ said a girl from the front row, her voice soft but steady.
‘Take Christie, for example. He began showing signs of disturbing behaviour from a very young age – and he grew up in a supportive household. That’s all genes and hereditary factors in my opinion,’ she said. ‘He was born like that.’
‘Interesting.’ Professor Locke shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘So, you’re saying you believe in nature alone? That nurture doesn’t stand a chance?’
The girl hesitated, nodded slightly, but before she could respond, another boy called from across the room.
‘I disagree,’ he said. It was Dylan. ‘People aren’t born cruel.
They learn it. Society teaches it.’ He turned to the girl.
‘Have you not studied Christie? He did not grow up in a supportive household. For a start, his father was an abusive dick—’ He stopped at the look he received from Locke, raising his palms. ‘Sorry, sir…’ He cringed.
‘Anyway, what sort of mess would that make of a kid’s mind?
Plus there’s alleged abuse from his mother and six siblings.
Does this not speak volumes for the nurture argument?
That much mental suffering at such a young age isn’t going to make you particularly stable, now is it? ’
Murmurs rippled amongst the students and Professor Locke titled his head, intrigued.
‘So you believe that even if a child is born inherently good, family and those around you can corrupt that?’
‘I guess so,’ Dylan said. ‘If you throw a baby into a fighting pit, don’t act surprised when they learn how to bite.’
Professor Locke paced on the platform, slowly nodding his head. ‘Who agrees with him?’ he asked the room.
No one spoke.
His eyes roamed slowly, until they landed on me. His gaze made my cheeks burn. My brain fog.
It was so intense I felt a sudden heat growing within me. Deep in my stomach.
Lower.
I pushed my knees together to try and remain in control, but still his eyes looked at me in challenge, daring me to speak up.
I took a deep shaky breath, ignoring the ache between my thighs.
‘Maybe…’ I began, willing my voice to be steady. ‘Society just helps to show us who we really are. The truth, when everything else is stripped away.’
He nodded. Just once.
‘I agree with Iris,’ came a voice from a few rows across.
I sighed in relief when I realised it was Rory.
‘Following on from a point she made last class – the one about society shunning people who are different? Well, I think people are so afraid of standing out that they start tearing down everyone else. It’s not… evil, exactly. It’s fear.’
‘Fear,’ Professor Locke repeated. ‘So, you believe society is built on fear? And that fear adds to the nurturing of people?’
‘I guess, yes. I do,’ Rory said.
‘And you agree, Miss Blackthorne?’ he asked me.