Chapter 2
It’s been three weeks since my father’s news shattered my whole world.
As it turned out, the numbness I felt on that day was the beginning of something much more insidious. It’s like all the meaning in my life has evaporated, leaving me with just a meaningless set of tasks that get more tedious with each passing day.
Nothing excites me anymore.
When I read my comfort books, the words swim on the page and don’t make it to my heart.
When I listen to my favorite metal band—the one that got me through all my darkest moments—their words don’t soothe the ache in my soul.
I don’t even feel excited about school because if I’m not going to be able to finish my degree, why does it even matter if I try?
My days have been a blur of waking up and trying to seem like everything is okay even though I’m falling apart on the inside. I can’t bear the shame of telling anyone of what’s about to happen. I can’t even think of it without crying.
Which only makes me hate myself more because I abhor crying.
I adjust my handbag and quicken my steps, even though I know that I’m already late. This class, Developmental Psychology, is the only one I still care about. I’ve looked forward to it every week since I started attending this school.
It’s the one thing that hasn’t changed.
As I approach the double doors of the lecture hall, I get out my phone.
I use the front camera to ensure everything is in place.
I smooth down the flyaways that freed themselves from my ponytail on the walk over, dab the sweat beading on my forehead and confirm my makeup is still as perfect as when I left my dorm.
When I’m satisfied, I take a deep breath and enter the classroom.
The heavy wooden double doors open into an auditorium-style lecture hall. I stand at the top of the stairs, scanning for an empty seat. The room is almost entirely full, as it’s nearly ten minutes into the scheduled time for our lecture.
My roommate, Cassidy, catches my eye and waves me over.
“I saved a seat for you,” she whispers when I’ve settled into the seat beside her. We’re smack in the middle of the room. I wish we were closer to the front.
I nod, giving her a slight smile. “Thanks, Cass.”
Though we’re roommates and fairly close, I haven’t been able to tell Cassidy about the future that awaits me when I head back to Colombia this summer.
Her life is perfect—she’s descended from royalty, with perfect grades, perfect hair, the perfect fucking life.
Hell, she didn’t even have to suffer through initiation like the rest of us on Hemlock House.
She would never understand what it’s like.
My mood starts sinking, so I turn my attention to the whiteboard. Our professor has his back turned to us while he writes something on the board—the Electra Complex. I could care less about what that even means.
I only came here for him.
Professor Erik Holmes is the only bright spot in my life right now.
Today, he’s dressed in a gray striped dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, showing off the shadowy tattoos decorating his olive skin.
He’s got his hand in the pocket of his slacks, and the muscles in his hands flex as he writes on the board.
Even from behind, he’s a sight to behold.
His muscular back ripples beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his tight ass sits perfectly in those fucking pants—even the way he’s standing has this sort of clever, calculated composure to it that makes my abdomen clench.
I’m gripping the edge of the armrest, waiting for him to turn around so I can see what his mood is like today when Cassidy titters beside me. My eyes snap to her face; she’s trying—and failing—to hold back a laugh.
My eyebrows furrow.
“You’re practically drooling,” she teases, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re making it way too obvious.”
My cheeks heat up and I look away from her, adjusting myself in the seat.
I look at the students around us to see if any of them noticed, but they are either staring at the whiteboard or making notes. Still, I lower my eyes. A tendril of fire blooms in my chest.
I wish I never told Cassidy about my crush on Professor Holmes.
We had been gossiping about who we would have sex with one night while coming back from a party. We were both drunk, and I guess that loosened my lips. Ever since then, she’s never missed an opportunity to tease me about him.
At first, I thought she would stop. Now, it’s just plain annoying. Especially since I don’t tease her about the fact the one guy she’s obsessed with fucks a new girl every week and won’t even give her the time of day.
I am above certain jokes, but clearly she isn’t.
“Give it a rest,” I say, hoping she understands the severity of my tone.
Cassidy rolls her eyes, swatting me away as her grin grows even wider. I’m just about to lean over to tell her I’m being serious when Professor Holmes turns to face the class. I settle in my seat and cross my legs. The thoughts leave my head.
All I can do is stare at him.
His dark hair looks like he let it air-dry after coming out of the shower. It’s still damp and falls over his forehead in slight curls. I’ve always loved the color of his hair—he’s got gray in his sideburns and at the roots by his ears, but nowhere else.
My eyes roam his face, appreciating the stubble on his sharp jaw, the well-trimmed mustache, but I keep going back to his eyes.
They are the color of grass at sunset: a deep green that looks almost coppery sometimes.
There’s a certain austerity to them that makes me wonder what it would take to make him come undone.
Professor Holmes’ deep voice fills the room. I hold on to every word.
He starts talking about the Electra Complex and its implications. Pages rustle as students rush to make notes, but I focus on him, committing what he says to memory.
“Jung, expanding on Freud’s theory of the negative Oedipus Complex, put forth the idea that an unresolved Electra Complex can result in a woman who strives to dominate the men in her life, either through seduction or submission.
” He paces the length of the room, his eyes skimming the faces of the students in the front.
I watch him, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Personally, I agree with Jung,” Professor Holmes’ flashes a grin that makes my knees feel weak. His words elicit a chuckle from the class. “I hope that whatever side you choose for your thesis will be well-supported.”
I smile too, and a swatch of color bleeds into my world.
This feeling is the reason why I still enjoy coming to his class.
Not only is he the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but he’s also the smartest one too.
Every lecture feels like a quest for intellectual excellence.
No matter where I am in my head, Professor Holmes’ presence always enlivens me in a way that keeps me buzzed for hours after.
It’s like a shot of dopamine, to watch him still get excited to talk to us even though he has been teaching it for years.
He’s my favorite secret.
Professor Holmes comes to a stop in the center of the room, with his hands folded behind his back. He surveys the room again, and goosebumps prickle my skin when his eyes land on me. His gaze is harsh this morning. He’s upset about something.
Before my world imploded, I chased those looks like a high. I would spend hours making sure my makeup was impeccable, that my hair was flawless, that my boobs looked right in my tank top, that my skirt was just short enough to show a seductive sliver of thigh when I sat.
I would sit at the front and ask him every question I could think of and laugh at all his corny jokes, because I genuinely found them funny. The last three weeks, I’ve been struggling to keep my head above water.
This class is still my safe space.
“Alright class,” Professor Holmes’ smooth accented voice cuts through my thoughts. “Please pass your assignments from last week’s class to the person at the end of each row.”
My mind grinds to a halt. Panic squeezes my throat, and I turn to Cassidy, who has already started sifting through the contents of her bag.
“What assignment?” I ask her.
Cassidy grins, pulling a folder out of her bag. She takes a stack of papers from it and passes it down the row. “Weren’t you at the last class?” She narrows her eyes. “The topic for the essay was on the board for the whole time. He even spent a few minutes discussing what he wanted us to do.”
I shake my head even as my throat grows thick. “Why didn’t you remind me?” I ask, but Cassidy’s already turned her attention to her phone.
Though this isn’t the first assignment I’ve missed in the last three weeks, it’s the first I feel ashamed about. When I track my eyes back to Professor Holmes, I’m stunned.
He’s standing with his arms crossed, glaring at me.
His features are set in a slight, disapproving scowl. That’s all it takes for the wave of embarrassment to pull me under. My chest tightens and I’m hot in the most uncomfortable places—my face, neck and ears.
I want to look away from him, but I can’t. My mouth opens, but I close it when the words don’t come. What would I say to him anyway? Even in my own mind it sounds whiny and pathetic, unintelligent even.
He holds my gaze until all the assignments are stacked at the end of the row closest to him.
“Miss Garcia Vásquez, did you forget to add your essay to the pile?” Professor Holmes asks, and instantly a hundred more eyes are on me. I’m like a deer caught in headlights. “Or are you trying to disrespect this class further by not even bothering to do the work you’ve been assigned?”
My head spins. His words pierce my chest. “Uh, no—I,” I stumble over my words, my gaze bouncing between him, Cassidy and some other students in the class. “I’m not trying to disrespect the class, sir.”
I’m confused about that last bit.
“I didn’t say you were trying.” His scowl deepens. “You already have. Showing up to my class late for the third week in a row, not to mention dressing like a crackhead.”
My jaw drops and heat blooms across my cheeks.
Raucous laughter erupts from the students. I’m frozen in place with a death grip on my handbag. My eyes burn while I stare at him. It’s been harder to care about my appearance as of late, but the fact that he would notice and call me out in front of the entire class? I want to disappear.
When the laughter has died down, he speaks again. “Stay back after class, Miss Vásquez. We have a lot to discuss.” The severity of his tone has sweat beading on my lip.
I swallow thickly, covering my face with my hands.
Just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse.