Chapter 11 #2
My mouth feels like sandpaper and I moisten my lips with my tongue.
“This is what I’m going to pull from to improve anywhere you find my paper lacking,” I explain.
“Whether it’s faulty evidence or a lack of a sufficient explanation, the only way to improve will be to further my understanding of the topic at hand.
Using the material now and highlighting the areas I need to focus on will make the process after this meeting more streamlined. ”
My voice wavers towards the end but he smirks, accepting the answer. “Fine, keep it open.”
I exhale a breath I’d been holding as if it could push the interaction one way or another if I released it too soon. A ridiculous thing to contemplate and by the look Professor Richards gives me, he agrees. He’s like a predator that smells weakness and mine is dripping from my pores.
“I was actually looking forward to this session, Ms. Matthews,” he says, flipping through my paper.
“You can call me Berlyn,” I offer. The sound of my last name always makes me feel even more jumpy than I normally am. Not something I really want to increase when it’s already a higher than average level of jumpy.
His smile should calm me, but it only unnerves me more. “Okay, Berlyn,” he agrees. “I found your paper to already be quite solid even before your revisions.”
I blink my surprise. “You did?”
Professor Richards chuckles. “Have more confidence, Berlyn. Don’t you know what they say about it?’
Confidence has never been my strong suit, but in this type of situation especially. I had prepared myself to have my paper ripped apart and berated, not praised.
My chuckle sounds weak and awkward even to my own ears. “I just…” I trail off, unsure how to tell him everyone knows what a hard ass he is when it comes to this assignment.
His laugh is the complete opposite of mine, light with amusement and an edge of something that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable as he stands from his chair and sits on the corner of his desk.
I lean back in my chair, but it does little to increase the distance between us that he just narrowed.
“You’ve heard I’m a real ball buster about this, right?”
I swallow and nod my head, that same awkward sounding laugh spilling from my lips without permission. He seems to take it as an invitation to lean closer and I fidget with my hands in my lap.
“I can be,” he agrees, his hand resting on the desk space directly in front of me. He taps my paper. “But I can also recognize potential when I see it.”
I hold my breath, my stomach turning sour as I wait for his next words.
“It just depends how far you’re willing to go to reach that potential, Berlyn.” Professor Richards reaches out and catches a lock of my hair and begins to twist it around his fingers, gently tugging on it as I clear my throat.
How am I supposed to respond to that?
I swallow past the lump in my throat, searching for anything I could possibly say. “This opportunity is one I’m willing to work hard for.” I hate the way my voice wavers, my unease clear in every shaky syllable.
It only excites him more. Goosebumps rise on my flesh, an all too familiar numb creeping over my skin as I freeze.
He tugs the lock of my hair once, twice, three times before dropping it and cupping my cheek with his hand.
I hold my breath as he forces my chin up until our eyes meet.
The sick glee radiating off him makes it clear this isn’t the first time he’s done this and I’m playing the exact part he wants me to.
The cowering and scared girl who doesn’t have the strength to fight or even say no.
Doesn’t even have the strength to breathe.
“Sometimes working hard isn’t enough to get ahead.” His voice is laced with a predatory malice, the insinuation impossible to miss as his hand leaves my cheeks and he traces his fingers down my throat to the collar of my shirt.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. I can’t.
Everything feels like too much as his touch radiates throughout my whole body, making my stomach turn, and yet not nearly enough as I begin to get lightheaded.
I have to breathe, but I can’t.
Despair and shame choke me, making it impossible to even string together a single coherent thought. My body trembles and his breathing grows more rapid in his excitement.
“You’re a smart girl, Berlyn,” he praises and I finally release the breath I’ve been holding. Not in relief but in a shuddering release as I fight to not hyperventilate as his hand begins to trail lower. “I know you know what I mean, right?”
His hand falls free from my chest but the sound of his zipper echoes in the small office.
I could scream. Maybe run. I could fight. Or just calmly get up and walk away.
But even as all the different scenarios of how to escape run through my mind, my body refuses to move. A statue locked in place.
From experience I know not to trust myself. Not to trust my body when fear begins to turn the blood in my veins to ice. The heat of my body seeping out of me with every rapid beat of my heart until I can’t feel anything at all.
I’ll escape into the worst parts of myself. The place where secrets are stashed away. A place that used to be filled with magic and wonder, but has been left rotted and decaying in the wake of my worst demons.
There’s no hope for safety or light or comfort.
As if I really have turned to stone. No mind. No will. No control of my own.
Is control something I’ve ever really had in the first place?
Or have I always been a placeholder at the helm of my own life?
Waiting for the next powerful man to come in and rip the freedom I’ve slowly and methodically built for myself out of my grasp before I’ve ever really had a chance to enjoy the fruits of my labor?
As my professor grips my chin in his hand and forces my mouth open I fear I have my answer.
There’s no peace in this world for a girl like me. Too soft, too alone, too scared, too stupid to ever fight back. Too unworthy, too damaged, too broken to ever be saved.
All there’s left to do is take it and hope I survive another lash against my body, against my soul, against my hope that maybe the world isn’t as bad as I thought it was.
A silly dream really.
The demons are always bigger and badder than even the worst of our imaginations can conjure up.
A sharp knock on the door makes Richards jump a foot back from me and all the air comes rushing back into my lungs. I hyperventilate, the world around me fuzzy as I grab all my stuff, not even bothering to put it back in my bag and stumble away from his desk and towards the door.
I’m in a daze as I brush past a boy I know I should recognize but can’t make out his features as my breath comes in and out in a short rushed pants. Never enough and I feel like I’m suffocating.
I need to get away.
As far away from all of this.
From Richards.
From his office.
From the very worst version of myself.