11. Dimitri
Of all the people to walk through my door, I hadn’t expected it would be her. Wren isn’t an extremely common name, but I’ve had a few students who shared it, and every time I’d been disappointed when it wasn’t her.
I had to push her emotions aside as I worked and built this life for my brother and me, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the connection, even if I’d never intended to have it.
She was always there in the back of my mind, a part of me that was almost comforting even when she was on the edge of losing it like she had been earlier.
I’d read her file, knew she had lost her brother and that she’d been in therapy prior to attending, which is why she hadn’t enrolled last year when my brother did. It’s also why I offered to talk to her if she needed it, though that didn’t seem like it was going to happen.
What I didn’t realize when I read the file a few days ago was that she was the same girl I met, alone on the stairs, crying about that same brother three years ago.
Fuck.
Now I felt like an even bigger asshole.
We’d texted a lot for almost two years after that night, but when I finally got this position and secured my brother a spot in the dorms, away from our father, I had to put this first.
This was our one shot, a place he couldn’t follow us, that gave us our first real chance. They’d taken a risk hiring me, given my background; everyone knew who my father was and what he did.
Thankfully, the dean wanted Gavin, and I’d done pretty well in college. I was far overqualified to teach the humans and offered more than enough help with the rest of them.
I couldn’t chance messing it up, and talking to her was doing just that.
She was a distraction I couldn’t afford, even if it killed me to think of her that way.
I’d felt how sad she was when more and more of her messages to me sat on read, then just delivered.
I had to buy another phone just to avoid the temptation, unable to bring myself to delete or block her number.
I’m weak for her, have been since the moment I laid eyes on her.
I pull the lanyard from around my neck that has my teacher ID, my office key, and the key to my desk. Reaching down to the bottom drawer, I unlock it, fish out my old phone, and power it on.
It lights up, flashing to life before my eyes, and I wait, anxiously tapping my thumb on the side of it as it loads.
387 messages.
12 missed calls.
I click the messages app, and I’m not surprised they aren’t all from her. She wasn’t the only one I got rid of when I switched numbers.
This is the last number my father and my ex, Rebecca, had for me.
Father had only sent 7 messages, and it didn’t take more than a glance to see the nature of them. I don’t even bother clicking on it; the preview is more than enough.
If you don’t get back here…
Threats, his favorite.
The last timestamp was over six months ago, and while I’d hope that means he gave up, I know better. That only means he’s given up texting me, not that he’s willing to let us go.
I know better than that.
He’d done his damnedest to get the perfect kids, going so far as to mold me into the perfect gopher, even if that meant getting caught could have landed me in prison.
I also don’t dare click on Rebecca’s; the last thing I need is for her to see that I’ve read anything from her, and knowing my luck, she probably still looks.
Her last message was last week.
Baby, please answer me. I miss...
The preview cuts off, but I get the idea. We’d broken up just after Gavin and I had made a break for it, so I’d gotten a fair share of those messages before I changed my number.
She just didn’t know what the meaning of “over” was, even a year later, it would seem.
300 of the texts and all 12 missed calls are from her, which means 80 are from Wren.
I sit staring at the preview, chewing my lip as I debate what to do.
She’s my student now… as if I needed another reason to stay away from her. My brother already hated her, but somehow that didn’t stop me.
I didn’t know who else to…
The preview of her message taunts me as I remember the way she went tense at the mention of talking.
It was like a punch to the gut knowing she’d turned to me and I’d let her down. My stomach drops, and for the first time in nearly a year, I let the bond open fully as I click on the thread and read back through all eighty messages.
She’d needed me, needed someone when there was nobody else, and she’d turned to me…
And I’d let her down.
Worse still, she doesn’t even know it was me.
I had to trade in my leather jacket, piercings, and colorful hair to look the part of a professional. Not that I minded; that other version of me was fun, but it was also a part of my father's world. I’d fit in there; I never wanted that again.
Most don’t even know that version of me ever existed, and if they do, they look at me differently now.
As if I’m better somehow, and while I agree, I’m biased.
Wren is the exception, though, as she often seems to be.
She looked at me as if I were someone back then, whereas now I’m just another face.
It’s strange if I’m being honest. Most girls and even some guys her age, at the very least, eye-fuck me when I’m not looking, if not outright offering to blow me during office hours.
Wouldn’t it be my damn luck that the first girl I might have caved for can’t even manage to look me in the eye?
Not that I don’t deserve that.
I didn’t know who else to message… everyone I love is gone, and I’m alone. But I won’t bother you anymore. I hope you and your brother are safe. Thank you for being my friend.
That last message reads so much like a goodbye that I have to actively remind myself that she’s here, alive and kicking, despite being lost.
Or maybe because she’s lost.
Fuck, it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is she’s here, and maybe, just maybe, I have a chance to fix this, to be what she needs.
I pull her file out and check her phone number; it matches the one I have, and that’s all I need.
You never bothered me.
It doesn’t seem like nearly enough, not after so long, but I’m not sure what else to say, and as I sit staring at the screen, I worry that if I hesitate too much longer, I might just bitch out completely.
I hit enter before I can talk myself out of it, tossing the old phone down on my desk and rubbing a hand over my mouth.
No going back now, I suppose.
I sit watching the phone as if I expect a response right away, and I kind of do. She’s always been fast to reply, but I guess at this point I should be happy if she even reads it.
Letting it fall to the desk, I drop my face into my hands with a groan.
This is not what I thought my day would be.
The room smells of her, and now, with the connection open, I can feel every jumble of emotion that filters through her.
Including the attraction to, fuck knows who. I hate to admit it, but that one hurts.
Like, physically makes my chest ache.
She’s so much like the girl I met that night, but also nothing like her. She’s a woman now, and while she was crying then, she somehow seems sadder now.
Ugh, if only I weren’t such an idiot, then I could just message her the way I used to, and she would actually talk to me.
Hell, I wouldn’t be asking what's wrong if I weren’t such an idiot; I would already know and could have helped her fix it.
Once upon a time, it had been easier to talk to her than to anyone else.
Maybe if not for me, she wouldn’t look so sad.
I rub a hand down my face and let myself wallow for a moment more before I push back from the desk and move to the coffee pot. Not every office has one; mine hadn’t, but after so many long nights in here grading papers and lesson planning, it had become necessary.
Most everything I need is in here, from snacks and caffeine to a few backup pairs of clothes. I’ve passed out at this desk and had to rush to class more than a few times now.
Lesson learned.
I make it back to the desk and tuck in, trying to do anything productive, when pounding at the door has me jumping out of my skin, knocking said fresh coffee everywhere.
Fuck, is this karma?
“I know you're in there. It's your office hours!” Gavin shouts from the hall, and yeah, that makes sense, karma in the form of my annoying little brother.
Huffing a sigh, I don’t move from the chair, instead focusing on saving everything on my desk from the rapidly moving liquid as I look around for a way to clean this and come up empty-handed.
Shit.
“And your phone's location shows you're in there!” Gavin shouts, and I take a second to curse that stupid app I’d insisted he have. He doesn’t really remember our father and how bad he was; the need for me to keep tabs on him was silly in his eyes, but it kept me sane.
If today could tone it down a bit, that would be great.
Of course, I have no such luck, and my brother continues to pound away on the door as my sanity slips with every rap of his knuckles.
For once, I wish it were the police at the door; they would no doubt be easier to handle.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I move the last of the papers, some of which have been hit with the dark liquid, which in turn drips all over me as I move them.
With a harsh rub of ?my face and a groan, I force myself to breathe as I unbutton my shirt. I guess if nothing else, this gave me a way to clean up the mess.
Dropping my shirt onto my desk, I watch it quickly soak up the liquid as the ever-present pounding continues.
“I’m coming!” I snap as I move around my desk to grab my spare shirt and curse again when that doesn’t stop him.
“What the hell?” Gavin’s face scrunches up in disgust as I yank open the door in a rush, my new shirt still hanging unbuttoned.
“If you would have given me a fucking moment,” I hiss as I hurry to button my shirt, remembering where I am now that his knocking isn’t going to send me over the edge.
“Damn, Mr. Adler, can I get some guidance?” It’s impossible to miss the double meaning of the words of the girl I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before, as her eyes roam over the small bit of skin still visible as I continue to button my shirt.
“You think he guides all his students like that?” she says to her friend, again, not even attempting to be quiet.
“That’s his brother,” her friend, a student I’m pretty sure I’ve had in my classes once or twice, says, her face redder than a tomato, and I thank the universe that someone has some sense today.
I glare at Gavin as I finish buttoning my shirt, and he has the decency to look apologetic as he rushes into my office so that I might close the door, but not before I hear her last comment.
“I’d be down to be the meat in that sibling sandwich."
I let the door swing closed; at this rate, I’ve given them more than enough of a show. The last thing I need is for them to take a picture of this to pass around the school.
“Why do you let them talk about you like that? I’m sure the dean would be fine if you gave them detention or something.
” He’s probably right, but that would mean I'd have to sit with them during those detentions, and I’d be giving people something to complain about.
Considering how much of mine and Gavin’s futures hang in the balance, I’ve learned quickly to deal with what I can.
If I run to the dean with every little thing, he’ll eventually get sick of me.
“Also, maybe don’t open the door half-naked. As if you don’t already have enough of the student population thirsting after you,” he says as he drops into his usual chair opposite my desk, the same one Wren had sat in not long ago.
Not the one I want, though…
Shit, no. That’s a dangerous line of thought.
I couldn’t have her before, and I can’t have her now; nothing has changed…
Except for the fact that I’ll have to see her twice a week in two of my classes and at a minimum every other week for office hours, hopefully once a week if I can swing it.
Most students don’t need more than once a month, but with all her classes and her past, I’m sure I can make once a week seem necessary.
Oh, I’m so fucked.
“If you hadn’t come pounding on my door like you're the police, I wouldn’t have spilled my coffee and had to change.
” I gesture to the shirt still soaking up the coffee on the desk, and he grimaces.
I also ignore his comment about the student population because while it’s no secret to him that a lot of girls his age and mine often hit on me, right now seems like a bad time to talk about it.
I can’t imagine he would be happy to know that his rival has just enrolled and that the very same girl was the one I used to text damn near constantly. The one he used to say I would drop anything for and gave heart eyes. At least part of that was true.
“Damn, sorry.”
I wave him off as I drop into my seat and ignore the mess for now.
“What’s the problem?” I ask because something has to be wrong with the way he’s acting and the scowl that seems stuck on his face.
“They put a girl in our dorm,” he hisses, and that scowl turns into full-on anger, his jaw clenching as he stands to pace the small area before my desk.
I know who it is even before he says it; who else could it be? Not only is she the only new student as far as I’m aware, but it’s the only thing that makes sense given his reaction.
My brother is pretty docile, quiet, nerdy, and shy, even. But something about her has always fired him up, pushed him, and clearly, even years later, she still has an effect not only on me but on him as well.
“They put Wren Indra in my freaking dorm!”