Chapter 7
IF THAT WOULD MAKE YOU HAPPY
PATIENCE
My irritation level is at its peak when I step into Professor Gray’s class.
I didn’t sleep well last night, and every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was a giant cross looming over me.
My knees still ache from hitting the pavement, and no amount of bandaging or pain medication has helped.
All these years later, and I’m still an open wound.
That realization festers. Eats at my nerves.
No amount of defenses is enough. I’m still so breakable.
Shoving through a group of people crowding the door to the classroom, I get more than one frown and a nasty glare aimed in my direction.
“Excuse us.” Violet’s voice is sweet as she attempts to smooth over the attitude I’m leaving in my wake.
I used to be much better at pretending I’m sweet. Pretending I’m okay. This past year, I’ve been slipping.
As I break through the mass of people near the door, I spot Professor Gray at the front of the room.
He’s as relaxed as ever, leaning back in his chair with one ankle resting on his opposite knee.
An open book sits on the desk in front of him, but he’s focusing on a conversation with his teaching assistant, Sophia.
She’s sitting on his desk, tracing her long, red nail over the lines in the wood while she smiles at him.
Something she says makes Professor Gray grin, and it’s blinding. Perfect. Irritating.
He rakes his dark hair back, and his gaze drifts, catching me staring at him.
Crap.
I divert my eyes in time to hear Sophia giggle, and I avoid looking at them as I make my way to my seat.
Still, from the corner of my eye, I spot her stretching out her long, tan legs so he can get a good view of them, and for some ridiculous reason, I hate that she’s flaunting herself in front of him.
Even more than that, I hate that she can.
Unlike me, her skin is smooth. Not one scar or mark. Nothing to explain or be ashamed of.
Violet and I opt for seats in the middle of the classroom.
I learned from the first session that the front row won’t be an option during this program.
Having Professor Gray close enough to smell his cologne every time he paces in front of the class is distracting.
And it makes it too easy for me to start thinking of him as the stranger I met on the plane instead of someone who is off-limits.
My teacher.
Twice my age.
In the past few days, I’ve recited the list of reasons to keep my distance a hundred times. At some point, I’m bound to start believing it.
Once I’m settled in my seat, I dare to glance at Professor Gray again.
He’s rubbing his fingers over the stubble on his face.
It’s the perfect length. Scratchy and rough but not unkempt.
It adds depth to the angles on his jaw and draws out the color in his deep green eyes.
He’s not the first attractive professor I’ve had, but he puts the rest to shame.
One look and my blood boils for all the wrong reasons.
When Sophia finally leaves her post at Professor Gray’s desk and he stands, I break my stare and quickly turn my attention to Violet. “What did you decide your focus is going to be this summer?”
After the initial assignment Professor Gray gave us last week, he assigned us a research paper that we’ll turn in the final week. It’s meant to be a deep dive into a segment of criminal psychology that interests us.
“I think I’m going to stick with criminal motives.” Violet bites her lower lip, tapping her pen on the desk. “That’s what got me into this program. But I’ll probably narrow it down to crimes against women and how childhood trauma from parental figures factors in. What about you?”
“I’m still narrowing it down, but I think I’m going to take a sociological approach. Looking at how group and social dynamics influence criminal behavior.”
“We have a bit of a psychological versus sociological thing going on.” Violet pauses her tapping.
“I guess we do.”
“We should compare notes when we’re done. Maybe summarize it at the end. It might give us a leg up.”
“I’d love that.” I smile, and it’s genuine.
Violet’s blue eyes practically sparkle with excitement in return, and it reminds me of why we became friends when she moved into the dorm room.
She’s the only other person I know who gets a thrill studying criminals and serial killers.
It’s nice considering most people find it disturbing to discuss murder and dismemberment.
The stress in my shoulders loosens as Violet turns back to her laptop. Maybe this is exactly what I needed. A summer away to study things that excite me. Space to exercise my mind without the pressures of my parents’ judgment weighing over me. A city mostly free from the influence of Sigma Sin.
I just wish that a summer chasing my dreams didn’t take me so far away from my brother.
I can only imagine what’s happening to him now that he’s back at Sigma House.
Or worse, what they might have him doing.
I’m well aware of the blood my brother has spilled in the name of his fraternity.
It’s one of the things that drew me to criminal psychology in the first place.
Pulling out my phone, I reread the text Mila sent me last night. She finally reported in from a Sigma House party to let me know Alex seems okay. He hid his face in the picture she took, but at least it was proof of life.
“Let’s get started.” Professor Gray circles his desk.
His shoulders push against the fabric of his dress shirt, and it’s downright annoying because I can’t even look at him.
At least the lecture distracts me. Professor Gray begins a presentation on female serial killers, but it quickly turns into an open discussion on Ingrid Withers, a notorious serial killer he helped catch last year. She was known for castrating her victims before killing them.
“It’s fucked up.” A student in the front row cringes. “Isn’t killing him enough? Why’d she take out her issues on his manhood?”
“She was sexually abused as a child,” Professor Gray reminds him.
“Not by her victims.”
“No, but they represented the harm that had been done to her. She punished her victims in the way she couldn’t punish her own abusers.”
“There’s therapy for that.”
A few students laugh, and my fingers clench. “Crime triggered by sexual trauma isn’t surprising or new. You’re just shocked because it’s a woman releasing her aggressions on a man and not the other way around.”
Professor Gray’s eyes snap to mine, and I sink back in my seat. But then he waves a hand, urging me on. “Please. Continue.”
I swallow hard, steadying my breath as I look at the student in the front row.
“If a man sexually mutilated female victims because he was abused by his mother as a child, would you tell him: There’s therapy for that?
Or would you consider the impact and how that shaped him both psychologically and emotionally, taking that into account when determining his motive? ”
“You’re defending Ingrid for chopping off dicks?”
“Of course not.” I scoff. “We aren’t here to defend. We’re here to understand. It’s not uncommon for sexual trauma to be a part of their reasoning. Whether it be assault, overstimulation, obsessive fetishization, performance issues… actually, Ingrid’s ties to that quite well.”
“You’re drawing a parallel between Ingrid castrating her victims and men who resorted to violent crimes after experiencing impotence?” Professor Gray cuts in, and I appreciate that he followed my somewhat sharp turn of thought.
“Yes.” My body tenses when I realize the entire class is staring at me.
“Ingrid was angry that she couldn’t find pleasure during intercourse because it brought back memories of what happened to her as a child.
The only way she could experience release was when she castrated a man because it gave her control.
It’s not that different from the case of Harold Tetree, for example.
He couldn’t find release sexually and thus acted it out through forcible penetration with various objects before killing his victims. It’s rarely about just sex. ”
“What is it about then?” Professor Gray challenges me.
“Power.” I swallow hard, and my skin prickles beneath his attention.
“Very good.” The corner of Professor Gray’s mouth ticks up ever so slightly. “Is that all?”
My cheeks are on fire from his praise, but I try not to let it show. “I could continue if that would make you happy, Professor.”
The second the words are out, I know it’s the wrong thing to say.
His jaw clenches, and his throat bobs with a thick swallow.
I didn’t mean for my comment to come out so breathy and laced with insinuation. At least no one else in class seemed to notice because the energy in the room hasn’t changed. But I sense it in the air between me and him. A current ebbs and flows.
“No, that will be all.” Professor Gray lifts off the desk, tucking his hands into his pockets, finally breaking my stare to look around the room. “Tomorrow we’ll meet at the library at eleven. You’re all dismissed.”
I immediately start shoving my books into my bag, avoiding looking at the front of the room.
Something about my professor rattles me—draws out every bit of my defiance—and if I’m not careful, I’m going to do something stupid like talk back until I’m kicked out of the program. Or worse, try to climb him.
Sophia pauses at Professor Gray’s desk, and I dare to look up in time to see his attention land on her. He offers her a genuine smile. The kind that knocks the wind out of me.
Clearly, I’m not the only one who is affected because she wets her lips as a blush crawls her cheeks. She laughs at something Professor Gray says, tucking her hair behind her ear.
He must get this kind of attention all the time from students. Given his casual grin and relaxed posture, I wouldn’t be surprised if he acts on it.
My stomach churns, and I push that thought aside as Violet slides up next to me.
“That was interesting.”
“What was?” I play coy.
She bats her eyelashes. “If that would make you happy, Professor.”
Her imitation of my voice is exactly how I was hoping I didn’t sound. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do, that’s why you won’t even look at me. Things between you and Professor Gray seem so…” She bites her lip, thinking. “Tense.”
“Well, they aren’t,” I lie. “I was just participating in the class discussion.”
“You’ve been participating a lot lately.”
“Because I need this recommendation.”
“Is that what you were discussing with him in the library stacks? A recommendation.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I glare at her.
“Never mind.” Violet hums, clearly amused. “Although, for the record, I’m with Mila. The professor is hot, and it’s not like he teaches at our school. Would it be so wrong—”
“We aren’t having this conversation.”
“Whatever you say.” She grins. “Do you want a ride back to the apartment? Kole’s outside.”
Of course he is. Kole is always in the vicinity of Violet in one way or another. It’s annoying and overprotective and absolutely ridiculous when she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And for some reason, that gets under my skin after my argument with Jacob.
Not Jacob.
Professor Gray.
“No thanks. I think I’m going to stick around campus for a little while longer. I have some books I’d like to check out.”
These assignments don’t come as easily to me as they do to Violet, and I need to make sure I do everything in my power to stay ahead.
“Okay, well, call me if you want us to come by later to get you.”
“I’ll probably just pay for a ride back to the apartment when I’m done.” I sling my bag over my shoulder.
Violet frowns but doesn’t try to convince me. She leaves through the side door to the classroom, and I see Kole snatch her in his arms before it closes behind her. My chest aches with that strange reminder that no one cares about me enough to be waiting outside the door.
No one has ever waited for me. Or wondered about me.
If anything, people avoid me at all costs. Dreading how I might ruin their day.
From the front of the classroom, Sophia giggles. We’re the only two students left, and she’s standing so close to Professor Gray that it practically confirms my suspicions that there’s something going on between them.
Good.
Maybe knowing that will make it easier to shake him. I have no claim on him, and I refuse to ever let anyone lay claim to me.