Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
YOU’LL LIVE
PAST
W hat is temptation?
Is it the lure of latest styles that stare back at me as I frequent expensive boutiques with Miley, fighting the desire to make an irresponsible purchase of my own?
Is it wanting to sleep in and miss my first class of the day because I was up late the night before, studying?
Or is it the daily text messages I ignore from Professor Pugliesi, asking me how I’m feeling or if I’ve seen a certain movie?
If it isn’t, it certainly is the long stares in the middle of his lectures, where he pins me to my seat and I wonder what it would be like to be touched by him while I worry that other students notice the momentary attention.
I used to think I knew what temptation was, but this is nothing like turning off my alarm and sleeping in. It’s nothing like making a purchase that doesn’t fit in my budget.
It’s exhilarating and intoxicating, and I relish the flush of desire it brings.
It’s the end of my day when my phone pings with a notification. That shot of adrenaline I get when I think of Abraham courses through me as I try to tell myself that it’s likely Denise.
But when I see his name on my screen, I glance around before opening it, pressing my lips together to hide my smile.
What are you doing?
This isn’t supposed to be happening. I’m not supposed to be attracted to my professor. He isn’t supposed to be texting me.
It shouldn’t be this hard to ignore him.
Give in. Just this once.
I close my eyes, pressing my phone to my chest for a moment as I think it over. And it only takes that one moment to let myself give in.
I type out a response and send it before I can second-guess it.
Trying my hardest to ignore you.
I press my tongue into my cheek to keep my grin from splitting my face wide open. My phone alerts me of another text and I open it immediately.
I’m not sure why. I’m only attempting to further your education, Miss Milas.
It isn’t hard to read the innuendo in his words, even through text. It isn’t hard to understand how his type of flirting makes him a hit with my peers. He doesn’t even have to flex his connections and no-doubt billion-dollar bank account. Not when his charm works so fucking hard for him.
My response is immediate. I’m no one’s instant gratification.
I’m not interested.
Again, he texts back swiftly, before I have the chance to tuck my phone away. And this time, his words make me pause.
It’s okay to be curious. But it isn’t okay to be a liar.
Is it okay to flirt with students?
I find nothing about our interaction inappropriate.
I’d hardly consider you the authority on that.
You wound me.
You’ll live.
I try to imagine his voice, the curl of his accent, saying these words, just up against my ear. Who am I? Hardly the girl who graduated high school.
Not yet the woman I’d hoped to be when I graduate from college and head back to Boston.
Somewhere in limbo, I exist. And I find myself unable to do what I know I’m supposed to do: leave Abraham Pugliesi alone.
Nothing good can come of this.
But I’m reminded of the last text message I sent him.
You’ll live.
“How’s school going?” Denise asks as I unlock the front door to my apartment. I set my bag down on the kitchen counter and glance around for any sign of Miley.
“Fine. Hectic, but I’m managing.” I slip my shoes off and head to my bedroom, grabbing a few things for a shower. I’m in desperate need of one, my desire to wash the sticky city air and my sweat off my skin.
Since I’m home alone, I start to strip in my bedroom, tossing my dirty clothes in the hamper in the corner of my sparsely decorated bedroom. I didn’t put too much into this space, figuring I would only be here for a few years, anyway. This isn’t home.
Funnily enough, Boston doesn’t quite feel like home anymore, either…
My sister interrupts my inner thoughts as I walk out of my bedroom in my bra and panties.
“Don’t forget to have fun, Sabrina. If you’re gonna kill yourself at that fancy ass school, make some fucking memories too.”
Her voice is gruff and I imagine the emotion I might see in her eyes if she were in front of me. My tough little sister who speaks in words you have to decode to truly understand. A language she and I perfected in a shared hell. We know each other in a way no one else in the world could ever understand.
“So be more like you?” I opt to joke, favoring the idea of lightening the mood instead of getting emotional. My leaving her behind wasn’t an easy decision.
“Fuck you, I’m fun,” she blurts out, and I hear people talking in the background.
“I’m fucking fun too,” I exclaim, peering at my tired reflection in the bathroom vanity. I’m not as busty as Miley, my small chest making me feel more boyish than anything. But the curve of my waist is something I take pride in, the swell of my hips a force to be reckoned with. What I lack in breasts, I make up for with a nice ass, if I do say so myself.
“You used to be.” Denise’s words rip me from my personal examination, and I roll my eyes.
“I promise to have fun,” I assure her, pausing a moment before opening my mouth again to tell her about Professor Pugliesi. I have to tell someone .
“Well, I’m meeting up with my friends, so I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I press my eyes shut, nodding before I speak again.
“I love you most,” I mumble our usual parting words.
“Impossible.”
I feel the weight of my loneliness in that moment, nearly naked and staring back at my reflection. My bright red hair against my untanned skin makes me yearn to spend more time in the sun.
My sister was shocked when she saw my hair. But she is my partner in life and she knows more than she’d ever let on. More than I’ve ever verbally expressed to anyone in my entire life.
I am a vault. And locked away, next to everything I fear is the man who’s plagued my thoughts from the moment I met him.
You’ll live.