Chapter 9 #2
‘Yes,’ I said, swallowing. ‘Fear of being different. Fear of being alone. We learn early on what happens to people who don’t fit in.
The ostracising and bullying. The immense isolation it leads to.
And we pretend we don’t notice when it happens to someone else.
’ I looked down at my hands. I knew exactly how it felt.
‘Any rebuttal, Dylan?’
He shrugged. ‘No. It’s a compelling argument.’ He grinned. ‘Rather cynical…’ A few students laughed. ‘But yes, good argument.’ He winked at me. I noticed the secretive smile he shot in my direction.
The debate carried on around me for a while.
I just stared absentmindedly at my empty notebook.
Flashes of the past surfaced – Miss Cartwright’s home, the children there.
Were those children more likely to grow up inherently worse than those who had a good upbringing?
I thought of the marks I’d seen on their small, frail bodies on my first day there, and how my own body had begun to mirror theirs after only a few weeks.
How could that sort of environment nurture anything good whatsoever?
‘Well, okay then.’ Locke’s voice brought me back. He crossed back over to his desk and sat down in the oak chair. ‘On that note, I shall dismiss class a little early. Give you all a chance to get started on your essays.’ A chorus of groans followed. ‘Class dismissed.’
Grabbing my things and piling them into my satchel, I swung it over my shoulder and headed down the steps.
‘Miss Blackthorne,’ a low voice called. Professor Locke now stood by his desk, arms crossed. ‘I need to discuss some more assignments with you.’
My legs faltered, and I nodded. My seat was almost at the back of the room, so by the time I reached the bottom, almost everyone was gone, but I watched as the few remaining students disappeared through the door.
As soon as it thudded closed, silence encompassed the space.
I felt rooted to the spot at the bottom of the stairs.
Being alone with him brought back flashes of last night.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to bury them.
‘I have your next set of work ready,’ he said.
‘That’s great, thank you,’ I replied, still standing on the bottom step.
‘I think this will be the last set I'll give you. You seem to be doing perfectly fine with the course load, and I don’t think you require any extra to catch up. You’re already doing better than some of your peers.’
‘Oh…’ I said, hesitating. ‘Really? That’s… great.’
‘You’re doing well here.’
My eyes darted anywhere but his. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Come here,’ he said quietly, and my breath hitched. ‘I’ll gather the papers.’
Swallowing, I slowly walked over to the desk.
He strode over to a large wooden cabinet on the far side of the room and began rummaging through it.
I put my satchel down on his desk and leaned back against it.
When he returned, he was holding a small stack of parchment.
He passed it to me, arm outstretched. He’d rolled his sleeves up again and I could see the corded muscles and veins beneath his skin.
I took the papers, surprised at the sudden urge to touch him.
I hastily spun on my heel, put the assignments in my satchel and closed it.
As I turned back, I found him standing in front of me, blocking my exit to the door.
‘Miss Blackthorne—’ he began, then cut himself off.
His eyebrows drew together. For a moment, he looked worried, even pained.
But before I could read his expression any further, he ran a hand over his face, erasing whatever I might have seen.
He leant forwards and rested his palms on the desk either side of me.
Trapping me.
‘Professor…’ I breathed. He was so close. I couldn’t move.
‘Archer,’ he whispered.
‘What?’
‘My name…’ he said, his voice so quiet I could hardly hear him over the beat of my heart. ‘My name is Archer.’
‘Archer,’ I repeated slowly, testing the syllables on my tongue. I heard him suck in a breath. ‘Last night…’ I started.
‘Shh…’ One of his hands lifted and found my cheek. Even the smallest touch from him sent shivers through my whole body. ‘Do you regret it – following me?’ His thumb traced slow, gentle circles against my skin as I subconsciously leaned into his touch.
‘No,’ I said, and realised I didn’t even need to think about it. ‘Do you?’
He hesitated for a moment. ‘I know I should…’ he said, and my heart galloped. ‘But… no. I don’t.’ His thumb slowly moved to my mouth, stroking gently along my bottom lip, parting them slightly. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop.’
‘Can’t stop what?’ I asked, eyes fluttering closed for a moment at the feel of his thumb tracing my lip.
His forehead met mine. ‘Thinking about you,’ he breathed.
‘I—’ I tried speaking, but all my thoughts left me.
He tilted his head so that his mouth was at my ear, so close I could feel his breath, as the other hand gently stroked my ponytail, wrapping the strands around his fingers.
‘Fuck,’ he whispered against the shell of my ear.
Instinctively, I tilted my face up towards his, needing to see his face. His fingers met my chin and held me there. Forcing me to look up at him. He looked into my eyes, as if he were looking straight through me to my soul, and my heart began to beat wildly.
‘We shouldn’t do this,’ he whispered.
Butterflies erupted in my stomach. ‘Do what?’ I breathed.
He moaned quietly in my ear. ‘This…’ he said, as his fingers moved from my hair and came to rest on my hip. He squeezed lightly.
I pushed my body forwards, feeling a desperate need to be closer to him. I swallowed as I felt his length press into me. He was so hard… and so big. I was shocked at the sudden urge to feel it.
He leaned his face towards mine. Close – so close. His lips parted slightly, and then he paused.
‘Archer—’ I breathed.
But he didn’t move any closer.
Slowly, his hand dropped from my chin to the edge of the table, as if he were trying with all his might not to touch me. Soon after, his other hand left my body too, and he took a single step back.
I looked at his face, trying to ignore the dampness in my underwear that his mere presence caused.
‘We can’t do this,’ he said, his voice low and regretful.
I swallowed and nodded. ‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, straightening.
For a second, neither of us moved.
I looked down at my feet, then heard the soft rustle of fabric as he reached for his jacket draped over the back of his seat. He hesitated for a heartbeat, as though he might say something else…
But he didn’t.
He pulled the jacket on, grabbed his bag, and walked out of the classroom without looking back.
I felt his absence like an ache.
But – he was right… I knew that. We couldn’t do this.
Whatever this was – whatever it had been building into every time our hands brushed, or every time his gaze lingered on me just a little too long – it was a bad idea. A terrible one.
There were too many reasons. Too many consequences if we crossed that line. I knew that…
So why did it feel like something had just been ripped out of me?
I let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through my ponytail before letting it fall down my back.
I needed to get over it. That was all this was – something temporary. It was just a new feeling I wasn’t used to, something that had gotten out of hand. It would pass.
It had to.