Chapter 11
EMMA
Ialways found it odd coming to campus on the weekend.
There were minimal classes running, and therefore minimal traffic.
My first year I spent a lot of spare time here studying.
The library was like a second home. I preferred spending my time there over the parties my brother dragged me to. I enjoyed quiet weekends.
Then Mitch and I got our place off campus with Vahn, and I became less used to the empty walkways and lack of activity. Something I didn’t notice until now.
Heading down to Professor Winston’s office felt almost exposing. My paranoia was in full gear. Every person I passed who looked at me a little too long caused those do they know thoughts to pop up. It probably didn’t help that I was all dressed up.
I had my hair piled in curls on the top of my head, makeup on and was wearing my favorite navy flared skirt, white silk tank top, with black strappy heels.
Not typically what one would wear for a meeting with their professor, but I couldn’t exactly hold up my going on a date lie by walking out in jeans and a t-shirt.
What possessed me to lie in the first place was beyond me. Being teased by my brother and Vahn was nothing new. They did it all the time. Pretty bird Ruby was a perfect example of that. Yet for some reason, this time Vahn’s smug face really pissed me off.
I don’t know if I wanted to show him he was wrong, or if it was something else. Whatever it was, the look on his face when I walked out the door was extremely satisfying. Now however, I wasn’t sure my brief moment of satisfaction was worth it.
Stepping to the side, I gave a couple of guys who were eyeing me from a bench a wide berth as I walked around them.
I didn’t like the way they were staring at me. Or at least the way I thought they were staring at me.
It wouldn’t be the first time I misread someone. Like the other day with Vahn. I never in a million years thought he would do that. I was starting to think I was just as naive as my brother said.
He once told me that the only way I’d know if I was being hit on, was if I was actually hit. I brushed it off as typical big brother treating me like a child crap, but now I wondered if he was right.
Although one could argue that I was like a child. I was twenty-one for Christ sake. I should have some experience with men. Most girls got that in high school. Not me. I had a temperamental brother who made sure that didn’t happen.
“Hey there.” A guy heading in the opposite direction on the path smiled at my breasts. That’s where he was looking, not my eyes.
I suddenly wished I’d brought my cardigan.
“Hey,” I said back and continued walking past him. Just because he thought I was a walking pair of boobs, didn’t mean I needed to be rude.
Thankfully, the administrations building wasn’t too far into campus, so I didn’t have to put up with too many lookie lous. I was also thankful for the professor booking this meeting on a Saturday when there were less people walking around.
The receptions area was empty, so I walked past the desk, and headed down the hall to my art history teacher’s office. Since I’d never needed his help, I’d never been to his office before, but I knew where it was. All of his students did. He had directions hung up in the classroom.
I could hear music coming from the other side of the door, and was hesitant to knock. Maybe he was busy? He might’ve had another meeting before me, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
After waiting for a few minutes, and not hearing any voices talking, I raised my hand and rapped on the door.
“Come in.” Professor Winston called from the other side.
I did as was told and walked in.
The first thing I noticed was how different his office was from the others I’d been in. Most professors had what my brother would call stuffy, high priced education interior.
Some kind of dark wood desk, with matching bookshelves, polished and clean hardwood floors, and a rug for decoration. The air always smelled like books and cedar, and they always sat in a leather chair that creaked when they moved.
Occasionally there would be some extra touch. Some kind of couch or loveseat, a musical instrument, or art. They all varied in different ways, but they were all cold and formal. As a place of business should be. That was what I expected here.
However, the room I walked into was oddly inviting. The standard things were here. Desk, chair, and bookshelves. But nothing about it was cold or formal. The rug was so soft my feet sunk when I stepped on it.
The loveseat in the right corner was light blue and so pillowy it looked more comfortable than my bed, and there were lit candles on a table in the corner, sending the sweet scent of vanilla in the air.
It was strange and made me feel oddly uncomfortable, despite it’s warm atmosphere. This place was closer to a small apartment than it was an office.
I looked over at Professor Winston, who was standing by a small bar on the other end of the room, pouring himself a glass of what appeared to be scotch or whiskey.
He waved over his shoulder at me, “Close the door and have a seat.”
After pushing the door shut, I looked around for a place to sit. There were no chairs on the other side of his desk, just the loveseat. That wasn’t normal, mind you Professor Winston wasn’t a typical professor.
He taught class in jeans, and half his students called him by his first name. So, it would stand to reason that his work space would be as easy going as he was.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No thanks.” I shook my head and took a seat on the right side of the loveseat, which was as comfortable as it looked.
“You’re always polite Emma,” he said while placing the topper back on a crystal decanter. “I like that about you.”
“Manners are important.” Sometimes manners were all someone had.
“Manners are also a way for someone to hide behind politeness.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I said nothing.
He tipped his head and rolled his light eyes over me. “I haven’t figured out what you’re hiding yet.”
“I’m not hiding anything. I was being polite.” Was there something wrong with that?
“Ah, I see.” He leaned back against the bar and kicked his ankle over the other. “And what has politeness ever got you?”
“Well, it…” What had it got me?
None of our foster parents adopted us despite how well behaved I was. Any friends I did have walked all over me, and my father only called when he needed money. So I guess it got me nothing, but…
“That doesn’t mean I should be rude.”
“There’s a difference between being rude and standing up for yourself. When’s the last time you went after something you wanted?”
Was this a test? Did he want me to tell him why I thought I was here? A timid TA wouldn’t be very effective. If I wanted it, then I needed to show him I could be assertive.
I straightened my shoulders and said, “I want the TA position.”
“No you don’t.” He pushed off the bar and walked over to sit on the other end of the loveseat. “And if you did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”
I was confused. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“No.” He said as if I should’ve known this.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because Emma, unlike you, when I see something I want, I go for it.”
Okay, but what did that have to do with me?
“Don’t be coy Emma.” He swallowed down the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the table beside him. “I see the way you look at me.”
The way I looked at him? I didn’t look at him any specific way. Did I insult him somehow? “Am I in trouble?”
“Always playing the good girl.” He slid closer and placed his hand on my knee. “But all good girls have a bad side, and I am dying to see yours.”
My eyes widened with realization. “Professor Winston, I think you’ve got the wrong…”
He cut me off. “Please, call me Adam.”
That wasn’t going to happen.
He leaned in, and I leaned back as far as the back of the love seat would let me.
“I’m flattered, really,” he was a good looking guy. A lot of the girls on campus fawned over him, but… “I don’t want this.”
That didn’t detour him. He kept bringing his face closer to mine. I had to put my hand on his chest to stop him. “Stop it.”
“Come on Emma.” He tsked. “Stop playing games.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“Then why did you come here dressed like that.”
That was a little harder to explain. “It’s complicated.”
“No it’s not. We’re both consenting adults.” His hand slid up my leg making a shiver of fear shoot up my spine.
He was crowding me. I had to use one had to stop him from going further up my skirt while the other held him at bay. Neither of which I was doing very well. He was too strong.
“Stop it.” I demanded louder.
When he spoke all I could smell was the whiskey on his breath, and it was making me nauseous.
“Not such a good girl now, are you.”
When his fingers grazed the edge of my panties, I panicked and slapped him across the face.
That’s when things got violent. He slapped me back. So hard that my ears rang with the sting of his strike.
“Little bitch.”
My mind was foggy. I could barely hear him speak, let alone move my limbs. I think I tried to fight when he grabbed my hair and pushed my face down into the cushion. I assumed that was why he hit me again, but I couldn’t be sure. I wasn’t sure of anything.
Was my heart pounding so hard I couldn’t feel it, or had it stopped all together? Was it fear pulling on the hairs at the back of my neck, or was it his hand yanking on my scalp.
How did I not see this coming? He seemed like such a nice guy, how did I read him so wrong? I walked right into this situation, and now I was trapped. Either by his weight holding me down, or because my body still refused to move. I couldn’t think, let alone fight. But I felt everything.
I felt his hands tearing at my clothes, and the air skim across the back of my thighs when he flipped my skirt up. I felt my stomach flip when his belt buckle jingled, and I felt the world fall out from under me when something hard brushed against my thigh.
My brother was right. I was naive. I didn’t know men, and because of that I was going to be raped by my professor. A tear rolled down my cheek as I closed my eyes and accepted my fate.
Then the weight holding me down was suddenly gone and a loud crash rang through my ears.