Chapter 14
Grace
Ihaven’t seen Milly since last night. An intuitive pull tells me that if she were able to come to me, she would have by now.
I can’t help but pick at my fingers with worry, though.
Is this why she wanted to put distance between us?
Because of her inability to hold that form?
Or was she worried about endangering me?
She has to realize that my mere existence here is a threat to the priest. If being near her puts me in danger, it would be worth it.
The professor walks into the classroom, and I snap out of my thoughts, pulling out my notebook and pen. I wiggle it in between my fingers as Professor Blackthorne situates himself for the lecture.
He’s one of the teachers I have multiple courses with, and this one is Rhetoric and Argument, which is by far my least favorite course.
A class dedicated to defending, or arguing against, other beliefs is truly my worst nightmare.
I tend to have a push-and-shove personality, but here? I’m finding that’s not going to fly.
Unfortunately, Creative Writing was filled to the brim.
I had no other choice but to select a composition course for my core requirement, and this was the only class with an opening.
Shocker. I would have preferred to write non-fiction stories of my childhood or perhaps a theatrical course writing musicals, but nope.
I have to sit through a course where I have to craft appeals and inevitably debate, or in my terms, argue.
Professor Blackthorne starts off the class by talking about the homework we submitted in the online portal.
I lean back in my chair and watch him start to pace in front of his desk. If I had a single bone in my body that appreciated the male form, I would think he would fit the mold of attractive.
He is incredibly tall, easily reaching 6’3”.
Dark eyes and slightly dark bags rest below them, showing days of stress or lack of sleep.
His hair is black as night with some grey strands peaking along his sideburns.
Long curls swirl around his eyebrows and the sides of his sideburns.
His five o’clock shadow peeks through on his face.
He keeps shifting glasses from the bridge of his nose to the top of his head, then hangs them from his shirt while he talks animatedly.
He talks with his hands the most, rolling up the sleeves of his button-up to allow more freedom halfway through the lecture. Veins bulge slightly as he moves around, elaborating on the importance of ethos, pathos, and logos.
Professor Blackthorne begins a PowerPoint presentation.
I glance down at my paper and ready myself to take notes when a pen floats toward my paper.
I lift my gaze and glance around the room, wondering if anyone else is noticing a floating fucking pen.
The pen presses gently to my paper and begins to scribble words.
Did you miss me, Shadow?
My jaw drops as I glance around again. Half the students are diligently taking notes while the other half are zoning out. I glance up to Professor Blackthorne, and he’s writing on the projector, completely unaware of the ghostly activity. I pick up my pen and write back underneath.
You disappear on me, and that’s the first thing you write?
I wait a moment and decide to add on.
Yes, I missed you.
I feel a stroke over my shoulder and shiver slightly at Milly’s invisible affection. I nervously look around as the pen continues with another note.
Do forgive me for keeping you waiting. I simply needed to regain my strength.
I sigh and relax into myself, knowing she is safe. She continues.
I do quite enjoy this class. You really should give it the attention it deserves.
I snort at the note, and Professor Blackthorne shifts his gaze to me, lifting a brow with a slight scowl.
My eyes widen at his attention, and I glance back down to see the pen resting on the desk innocently.
I peek an eye back up to see him continuing his lectures, still holding my gaze with curiosity.
The added annoyance on his face looks familiar, and I try to recall why.
I pick up my pen and write back to Milly.
I think the professor is uncomfortable with me in this class. Maybe he agrees with the priest’s ideas.
The pen picks up immediately and scribbles quickly.
I would trust Professor Blackthorne over all the rest.
I scrunch my brows together, re-reading the sentence. I look up to him, still scowling at me, and I fidget under his gaze.
Are you sure about that? The glare says otherwise.
I tap my pen on the paper, waiting for Milly to lift and write a response, but nothing comes. I find myself staring at the paper, desperate for another note from her.
I sigh and eventually give up on her writing back.
I try to do what Milly recommended: pay attention to the course.
Professor Blackthorne continues to elaborate on how to build strong arguments, making more notes, and asking different students their thoughts.
He always follows through with a question that rattles the student’s arguments.
I keep my head down, taking notes in hopes that he doesn’t ask me for a topic to defend.
The hour passes by quicker than I expected as I bounce between doodling and recording various tips. He concludes the class, and I hear the fellow students starting to pack up their bags and talking to one another.
I stretch my back as I rip the paper out of my notebook. I add the note to my back pocket alongside the photographs that I can’t seem to leave my room without.
“Miss Gates, please remain in the classroom for a moment,” I hear Professor Blackthorne say across the room.
I swallow as I watch the other students glance at me with curiosity and pity. Wonderful.
I take my time putting all my school supplies back into my bag as my classmates file out of the room. I make my way to Professor Blackthorne, who is sitting at the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me approach.
He waits a moment in silence, watching me squirm in anticipation of what he might say. “Were you passing notes in class, Miss Gates?” he asks abruptly, and I panic under the pressure.
“Uhm. No, I mean, no, I wasn’t.” I really need to work on my retorts; maybe this class will pay off eventually.
He raises a brow at me and waits for me to continue to fumble as I bite my tongue and fidget under his scrutiny.
“I was just writing down notes during class. I was doodling a little bit, and I apologize for that. I will pay better attention going forward.” I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. I look even more guilty rambling.
He lifts an eyebrow and stares at me, waiting for me to fumble and blurt out the truth. I wonder how often he gets what he wants out of others just from his gaze.
He drops his arms from his chest and stands up, leaning toward me with a soft voice, “Be careful, Miss Graves. Not everyone on this campus is as understanding as I am. Be discreet with your… friendships.”
I raise my brows at him in shock and quickly try to cover my reaction, replacing it with nonchalance. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about.” I laugh awkwardly.
He leans closer to me and squints his eyes at me. “You are not hidden in the shadows, Grace. More eyes are on you than you recognize.” Rage flushes through my blood, and my jaw drops as I glare at him. I know that lecturing tone. Motherfucker.
I take a step back, the rage promptly switching to shock. “Bones?” I whisper to him.
He straightens up abruptly, his turn to feign shock. “Excuse me?” he asks me with a firm yet shaky tone.
I shake my head in shock and laugh to myself. “Everyone here is a part of it, aren’t they? Let me guess, last night was my final chance? Are you going to bring me directly to the priest himself?” I grit out.
I turn, pacing the front of his desk. “I knew I recognized you. I couldn’t place my finger on it until you spoke to me in that tone.”
I turn to face him when I hear him step toward the door. He shuts it quickly with a loud bang. He faces me and crosses his arms in front of the door. “Grace, stop.”
I shake my head. “No, don’t stop me. I’m so tired of this unknown shit. Does everyone on this campus know what is happening? Because it feels like every single person here does and is somehow okay with it?”
He steps toward me with his hands up. “I hear you, Grace. But I am warning you because I don’t want you to end up like the others. It’s not an if… it is a when situation. I have spent months trying to prevent what will happen. I don’t want to see you become a part of the hidden statistic.”
I feel tears start to fill my eyes as I shake my head. “I won’t become a part of the statistic, Professor Blackthorne,” I say with a bite. “I sure don’t need you to tell me to run away again either.”
I brush past him and open the door as he calls out my name. I won’t waste another minute letting another person tell me what I should be doing.