Chapter 41 - Lila
Lila
I was a wreck that night, a mess of anxiety and negative thoughts that continued to spiral long after Jace and Brock fell asleep on either side of me.
It all felt so stupid, now. Every individual act. Having sex with Jace in my office a few weeks after the semester began. Wearing a sex toy to class one day. Grinding and groping in the student section at the basketball game.
But my anxiety spiral went beyond individual acts. It was stupid to do this in general. Having an affair with one student was insane enough. Three was downright suicidal for my career.
I had always been the smart one. The logical one.
When my high school girlfriends were going to parties and having sex, I played it safe.
When I was in college—a student at college—I made a lot of personal sacrifices in order to prioritize my education.
I’d worked my ass off to get to this position.
And I’d thrown it all away for a little sex.
It felt wrong to boil everything down to that simple word.
Sex. The way I felt about Jace, Brock, and even Cam went so far beyond physical that it made me question everything I knew about love.
But right now, with my entire career teetering on the edge of a cliff, I was thinking of things in the worst possible way.
I felt so stupid. Like a child unable to resist her most basic impulses.
Cam gave an update at four in the morning: it was going to take him longer than originally expected to track the accuser down. Days, maybe even a full week.
That only increased my despair. I didn’t think I could survive another day of this, let alone a full week.
But the guys all agreed that the worst thing I could do is reply to the accuser. Better to wait for Cam to do his work. Then we would know what we were dealing with.
Jace and Brock stuck around on Saturday, but their presence just reminded me of the trouble I was in, so I eventually kicked them out. But not before they came up with a plan that made me feel like I was living in a spy movie.
Brock left first, getting in his car and circling the block once before parking down the street where he could watch my house and all traffic nearby. Then, while Jace got in his car and left, Brock watched for any suspicious cars or witnesses to drive away.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone who did.
Their paranoia brought up a good point, though: it was reckless for them to visit my house while someone was accusing me of sleeping with my students. Better to lay low for a while. I texted them about that point on Sunday, and all three of them agreed that it was a no-brainer.
Monday morning sucked.
I felt like a criminal with a bounty on her head.
Walking from the faculty parking lot to the Criminology building, I glanced at every face I passed and wondered if one of them was the accuser.
In my first lecture, the class with Brock and Jace, I felt totally unnatural on stage.
Like my every move and comment was being analyzed and recorded.
When my two favorite students walked out of class, they didn’t glance in my direction.
Which was the smart way to act, but it only made me feel even more alone.
All day, it felt like my head was stuck in a guillotine. And some random person was holding the rope. It was almost impossible to teach my classes in this mindset, let alone sleep at night.
Cam wasn’t in my Computer Crime class that afternoon. I sent him a text to insist that he focus on his studies, that he shouldn’t sacrifice his grades just to chase after my accuser.
He didn’t respond, but he was in class on Wednesday. And when he left, instead of a smile, he gave me a determined nod.
It was nice to know I had allies who were trying to help. Even if they had to keep their distance.
But by Friday, when Cam gave us an update, my hope was fading again.
Cam: Still no luck. I’m making progress, but the accuser spent some time covering their tracks when they created that email account.
Me: What about that girl from my 204 class? The one who overheard me giving you an extension on your assignment?
Cam: She’s clean. I’ve been monitoring her traffic. The last time the accuser’s inbox was accessed, she was at soccer practice.
Brock: You don’t have any other leads? I thought you were supposed to be this big hacker dude who could break into anything.
Cam: I’d like to see you try tracing an anonymous email account that was only accessed through a VPN on a Windows Virtual Machine.
Brock: Relax, I’m just jerking your chain. I’m glad we have you working on it.
Me: Same. Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what I would do without all of you.
Jace: Without us, you wouldn’t be in this mess.
Lila: True. But still.
Cam: I’ll get the info we need. I just need more time. Every time the accuser accesses the account, I get a little closer to tracing their IP.
Jace: Would that have kept you from hacking my Tinder account?
Cam: Shit. Lila told you about that?
Me: Sorry. I told him a while ago.
Jace: I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.
Jace: And I’m waiting for the perfect moment to get my revenge.
Cam: Great. I’m super happy about that.
Brock: The accuser still hasn’t emailed you since last Friday?
Me: Correct.
Brock: Don’t we think that’s a little strange?
Jace: I don’t think so. They’re just being patient.
Brock: But why?
Jace: Because they can afford to be patient. They probably think that the longer they make Lila wait, the more she’ll sweat.
Me: They’re right. It’s working.
Cam: Whatever you do, don’t respond to them. Let me work.
Me: Then what am I supposed to do?
Jace: Nothing!
Brock: Nothing.
Cam: Nothing
Jace: Jinx!
Cam: Jinx
Brock: Jinx.
Me: I’m giggling on my couch right now. I miss you guys.
Jace: Miss you too.
Brock: Same. I wish we could help you release some tension.
Cam: Phone sex?
Jace: You’re supposed to be working.
Cam: I have a script running to ping that email account. I’ve got some free time until the ping comes back.
Me: Sorry, but I’m too much of an anxious mess for anything fun. I promise to make it up to you all when this is over.
Cam: I assumed as much, but figured it was worth a shot.
Me: What’s the soundtrack for the evening, Cam?
Cam: Wicked. The first one.
Me: Again? I thought you were listening to that yesterday.
Cam: It’s my comfort soundtrack now. I’ll probably be sick of it by Sunday.
Brock: Am I the only one who doesn’t understand what’s so great about that movie?
Me: Please don’t say anything more. My heart can’t take it right now.
Jace: Confession: I’ve been pretending to like Ariana Grande since February.
Me: WHAT
Jace: Just kidding. But I hope it made you laugh.
It did make me laugh, but the feeling faded fast. While I sank into the couch and queued up another episode of a sitcom, I felt more powerless than ever.
And I hated feeling powerless! It went against everything I had worked for. I was an Assistant Professor! I was supposed to be respected among my students and peers, not blackmailed by one of them.
“Professor Carrington? Lila? Are you well?”
I blinked at my desk and smiled at Professor Galloway. “Sorry. I didn’t see you standing in my doorway. What was that you asked?”
Galloway stepped into my office and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest.
And I was struck with a sudden fear: what if he’s the accuser?
“I know this job can be stressful,” he began. “There are a lot of ways educators such as ourselves handle the stress. Some better than others.”
Oh my God. It is him. He’s confronting me right now.
“Oh?” I tried to keep my face blank, but on the inside I was screaming.
“It is perfectly natural to feel overwhelmed, especially near the end of a semester,” Galloway said. “Do you have a healthy way of relieving stress?”
“I, um, don’t understand what you mean.”
He smiled. “You should join myself and Professors Anstrom and Du Bois this weekend. We have a court reserved down at the park every Sunday.”
“A court…?”
“Pickleball, of course!” Galloway beamed. “I myself prefer tennis, but as I grow older, I appreciate that pickleball is far more accessible. Do you play?”
“Oh, pickleball.” I gave myself a shake. “I’ve played before, but I’m afraid I’m not any good.”
“Then you’ll fit right in! Between you and me, Professor Du Bois is a far better orator than he is an athlete. But we would be grateful to have a fourth, regardless of your skill. And it would help relieve some of this stress that I can see you’re carrying around.”
“I… I’ll think about it,” I said. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
Professor Galloway smiled. “It can be lonely being an educator. I do hope you’ll join us.”
I slumped back in my office chair after he was gone. If my stress was obvious to my colleagues, then it was becoming problematic.
And I knew it was only going to get worse.
My mind kept going back to the worst case scenario: being outed publicly. The University would have disciplinary hearings. My conduct for the past two semesters would be scrutinized. Everyone would discover my dirty secret.
And then, after I had experienced a sufficient amount of public humiliation, I would lose my job.
That was the scenario that played in my head when I tried to sleep. The more time went on, the more I realized I would do anything to avoid that happening.
And I was afraid that if I didn’t respond to the accuser, they would go public with their information. They probably just wanted money. I could make a deal with them. Buy their silence.
The thought made me feel like I was somewhat in control of my fate.
That small kernel of an idea grew in my mind until it seemed like the only logical path forward. By Saturday night, a full eight days since the email, I couldn’t stop myself.
I replied to the accuser.