Chapter Three #2
Of course, he’s not hard. Who would get hard for the freak mute? I swim to the other side of the pond as he dives in and sure enough, he stays on his side, I stay on mine until I swim back to the dock. He turns his back to me and I get out, wring my undergarments, and then step into my clothes.
I leave without a word. What’s there to say? Nothing.
Once I’m in my room, I shower, change into my favorite oversized Metallica T-shirt, and begin selecting my textbooks for tomorrow since my uniform is already pressed and put together. A wave of nostalgia hits me and I feel eighteen again, ready for my first day of college… again .
My morning classes are in the left wing across campus so I need to leave fifteen minutes beforehand which means I need to leave by eight to make it to class by eight-fifteen.
I decide to only take half of my prescribed sleeping pill then open my window just a fraction to listen to the cicadas and fall asleep to the sounds of a fading summer.
______
I’m one of the first to stride into Professor Harrington’s class. I take out my notebook, a new .5mm ballpoint pen, and make sure to sit on the end side of the aisle in case being in a crowd makes me have a fit and I need to leave.
I love the smell of this classroom. It smells like old textbooks and cedar with a hint of lemon pledge.
As more students fill in, I keep my eyes down when I notice they stop talking when they spot me, even though I notice more and more female students striding in.
The ones that sit directly behind me talk about how hot our professor is and how their older siblings had him last year and had loved him.
Except he won’t take on a TA and doesn’t like to share about himself.
Which he should. Because he worked for the FBI.
My ears are practically strained from trying to listen in on their conversation so hard I don’t see the pair of expensive sneakers in my peripheral.
“Mind if I sit here?” I look up to see Jonas. My heart goes still as I gaze up at him, a halo of light surrounds his chestnut hair and those green and gold-flecked brown eyes make me feel so squirmy.
I answer him with a blink and bow my head so he can’t see the blush that spreads across my face.
I can’t look at him. It’s been so long since I’ve had a crush, and Doctor Archer doesn’t count anymore since I’m no longer seeing him.
I think of him for a moment, wonder what he’d think of me right now, sitting in public for more than ten minutes now without an episode.
It’s not that I don’t like crowds… there’s just certain places I don’t like to be touched and being in a crowd, well, it’s easy for people to touch you even if they don’t mean to. It’s not their fault I’m a freak.
But I’m here to find the ones that made me this way. Someone here knows something.
Soon enough a man not dressed in RMU attire but a tailored navy sports jackets, navy slacks, a white button up and a book bag comes striding in with such a nonchalant flair, his dark hair slightly tousled like he just woke up, black rimmed glasses balancing on his aquiline nose and puts the bag on the desk.
I swallow the drool before it can escape my lips.
What’s wrong with me?
“Good morning, students. I’m Professor Maverick Harrington.
” He grabs a black Expo Marker and begins to scrawl his name in what I believe he believes is legible cursive on the whiteboard.
“This is Criminal Psychology II, and over the next sixteen weeks we’ll be going over different crimes, killers, and their Modus Operandi, listening to tapes and watching recorded interviews as well.
I take it you’ve all had a chance to go over the class syllabus that’s on your student portal.
If you haven’t I can already tell you’re going to fail this class.
Class discussions and debates of whether one case was Nurture vs.
Nature will also begin commencing in two weeks so make sure you have valid arguments. ”
I stiffen. That was not on the syllabus.
“Now, I’ll be taking attendance the old-fashioned way. Adam Alberts?”
“Here,” Adam responds from the far-left side of the room.
“Jonas Anderson?”
“Here.” Jonas says from beside me. The silkiness of his voice warms me.
Harrington lists the students one by one and when he gets to me, I bow my head further. Fuck. I wish there was just a stupid sign-in sheet. “Raven Monroe?”
I grip the edge of my desk.
“Raven Monroe? ”
“Here!” Jonas squeals in a shrill voice beside me and the students around us laugh as the whispers begin.
“Quiet! Who was that?” Professor Harrington steps closer to the side where I am, and I hunch lower in my seat.
Unfortunately, he catches the movement and comes toward me.
My heart beats wildly. From here, I can see the green of his irises even behind those black framed glasses of his. They’re so bright. I love them.
I shake my head once and he catches that movement, too.
“Did you say that?”
I blink at him from underneath my lashes.
“Speak, Miss…?”
“Monroe.” Jonas answers for me and I’m grateful even though Maverick's stare is making my body feel wicked, vile things.
“I’ll let her answer for herself, Anderson. Speak now, Miss Monroe. I won’t tolerate insubordination. I don’t care who mommy and daddy are.”
The heat in my cheeks is now a torrent flame and I will the tear that wants to fall back into my eyeball. My breathing increases as I try to calm myself but it’s not working.
“She can’t speak, Professor.” Jonas explains and covers my hand with his almost possessively and gives it a squeeze.
Someone in the back says “freak!” behind a cough and other students murmur something along the lines of, “faking it.”
Maverick looks up to see who's said what but then he glances back down at me and quirks a dark eyebrow as his eyes bounce between Jonas and me. I blink back the tear that wants to escape again. “Explain.”
“Look, I know you’re new here and don’t know much about this place, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that in front of everyone.”
I could kiss Jonas.
Professor Harrington sighs. “See me after class. Both of you.” He takes his leave of us and heads back over to the whiteboard and directs us to open the textbook to page thirty-four, chapter one.
“You okay?”
I shoot him a side-glance in appreciation, barely nod once and keep my eyes locked on my textbook for the next eighty-minutes, barely glancing up as Harrington pulls down a screen, turns on a projector and begins to write KEMPER .
Harrington’s eyes drift to me every now and then, glaring. When someone starts childishly shooting spit wads into my hair, he just continues on with his lecture until Jonas sits up, turns around, and screams at whoever is doing it to fucking stop.
Maverick’s eyes only narrow when he sees Jonas reach under the desk to put his hand on my thigh and squeeze.
______
After class, Jonas and I stay behind. But that doesn’t mean students aren’t staring at us (me) as they leave the classroom.
Professor Harrington is sitting on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. I can’t help but stare at the ink crawling over his skin now that he’s folded his sleeves over them.
He did that during class, his eyes on me while he did so and I couldn’t help but feel that stare go straight to my core.
He only looked away once he saw me squirm in my seat.
Jonas had looked over at me, too but I ignored his hazel gaze.
When we reached him, I couldn’t help but squirm under his stare again, shifting from foot to foot, then looking straight at his chest where those tattoos on his forearms were exposed. What’s wrong with me?
“So, what is this about a verbal issue?”
Jonas sighs heavily. “There was an incident on campus a few years ago, Professor. You can Google it yourself, but she can’t tell you her story, and I won’t either. Just know, due to the incident, she can’t talk.”
Maverick nods and then shrugs. “Miss Monroe,” I look up at him. “Do you sign? Can you get an interpreter?”
I blink once, look at his shoulder, then back up at his face and blink again.
“I see. Well, Miss Monroe, you should probably drop this class and find another. The debates are critical to your grade and if you can’t speak, and refuse to get an interpreter, then you’ll fail this class.”
I can’t control how rapidly I blink. That wasn’t on the syllabus.
I want to argue. I inaudibly gasp a few times, my mouth opening and closing.
The words want to come out. They do. But it’s been so long since I’ve used my voice.
I don’t even know if I can form the right syllables anymore.
I scrunch my face up, face turning red, panic rising.
It’s only when Harrington realizes I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack, his peridot eyes widen, and he holds up his hands.
“Okay, okay. Let’s breathe,” he says, concern in his voice but it’s too fucking late for that. I hate myself. No, not myself. What happened to me. I hate what happened to me and what became of me afterwards.
“Look, Prof, in her defense, she probably took this class because you didn’t have open debates on your syllabus.” Jonas argues, putting his hand on my back and begins rubbing slow, soothing circles. His touch should hurt. It should burn me… but it doesn’t.
Jonas deserves a fucking blowjob. If I ever learned how to give one.
I point at him, Maverick’s gaze once again bounces between us, while I try to gulp down air.
How am I supposed to go to my other classes now? My face is entirely numb and probably red as fuck. This is so embarrassing. Why? Why can’t I just be fucking normal again?
“C’mon, Raven, let’s go get you some water. Maybe some breakfast.” His hand slips down to my waist and he tugs me closer, his thumb rubbing circles under my ribcage where my lungs still hurt from semi-seizing, leading me away from the hot professor glaring at me.
“Yes, in the meantime, Miss Monroe, I believe we’ll both have to make some decisions going forward.”
Shit.