5 - Thea
Thea
THE LAW OF attraction says think about something hard enough and it pulls itself toward you. Your brain is powerful like that; it becomes a magnet.
What they don’t tell you is that wanting it and avoiding it are the same thing. You’re still thinking about it, and that’s all it takes.
I’ve been thinking about Kilian Rutherford for a few days now, which means the universe has taken my fixation and run with it. So, it’s almost not a surprise when I walk into the school and see a Harley.
It’s parked by the front gate, black and chrome in the morning sun. I’ve seen four different men with that same style of bike the night before, but I don’t need a license plate to know who this one belongs to. I know because my feet stop moving, and I’m beginning to palpitate.
I decided to come to school early today because my car is still at the garage. The walk from my rental is a mere ten minutes, and I’ve braced myself for another slap of heat when I woke up. Unexpectedly, the air has cooled overnight, so I walked into the school gate fresh and dry.
Before I saw the Harley, that is.
Because now my armpits are damp and my composure is a memory.
A few kids are trickling through the front gate with their oversized backpacks. I adjust my grip on my own bag and keep walking. I scan the lot, the walkway, the playground. No sign of him. But the bike still looks warm, which means he hasn’t been off it long.
I veer to the right. I don’t want to see him. Not because he told me to stay away. I’m not that obedient.
The truth is that Kilian Rutherford takes up too much space. Not in the literal sense, though he does that too, but I’m talking about space in my head. Every interaction with him leaves me feeling wrung out, and I can’t afford that at eight in the morning on a Wednesday.
I need a breather.
One day without him and I might remember what it feels like to have a normal resting heart rate.
I’m heading straight to the Admin building. I have paperwork to drop off that I’ve been meaning to submit, anyway. It’s a legitimate reason to take the long way around.
The Admin building is quiet, nothing but the low FM radio humming near the front desk. The music is low; I can barely make out the tune.
The lady takes my forms with a smile and flips through them while I stand there pretending I’m not using this errand to hide from a man I technically have no reason to hide from.
“All looks good, love,” she says, and I thank her, and then I linger. I ask about the weather. I ask if ’s next-day delivery is available in Hillcrest. I already know the answer, but still.
She answers both questions in detail, and I nod along because every minute I spend here is a minute Kilian Rutherford might finish whatever business brought him to the school and leave.
When I finally run out of things to ask, I thank her again and head back out.
Outside, the playground has thinned out. Kids begin heading toward their classrooms. I start down the covered walkway, then I round the corner, and my steps falter.
Sitting on the round wooden bench that rings the tree outside my classroom is the man I’m trying not to run into. Sara is standing in front of him, her back to his chest, her head tipped to one side. His hands are in her hair and he’s… he’s braiding it.
I stare.
He really is braiding it!
Those rough hands are sectioning Sara’s hair into three even strands and crossing them over each other with a patience I didn’t know he possessed. His fingers move slow. So very careful. His actions tell me that he has done this many, many mornings before this one.
Who is this man?
There is no way this is the man who cornered me at my own desk. This isn’t the man who growled at me and warned me to stay away. This is someone else entirely.
I stand there, and I can’t move. My brain is running several seconds behind what my eyes are showing me. I’m waiting for the scene to correct itself, to make sense with the version of Kilian Rutherford I’ve been so certain about.
“Thanks, Uncle.” Sara’s voice is small but clear, and there’s no fear in it. None. She picks up her backpack and runs toward the classroom. Kilian watches her go.
My certainty, the narrative I’ve been building since that first day, develops a crack all of a sudden. It’s right down the center, and I feel it in my—
“Miss Walsh.”
I jump. A reaction I can’t hide because my brain recognizes his voice before my eyes catch up.
Kilian Rutherford is standing some four feet away, in front of me, watching me with that neutral, measuring expression that never quite tips into anything I can read. He must have risen the moment Sara left. I was so deep inside my own unraveling that I didn’t see him move.
“Mr. Rutherford.” I manage. “Good morning.”
He doesn’t respond to that. His eyes shift from my face to a point just past my shoulder, and I can tell he is—
“Miss Walsh!”
Another voice comes from behind me, bright and loud, and I spin around to find the Grade 3 teacher approaching.
Her gaze slides past me and lands on Kilian. Her eyes widen. Then they bounce between him and me, and I watch her whole face light up.
“Oh!” she grins. “I know him, Kilian Rutherford? I’m Alicia Kemp.” Then she looks at me with so much brightness. “Is this him?”
“Sorry?”
“The biker you’re dating?”
I feel my face catch fire. The ground I’m standing on needs to open. Right now. A giant sinkhole, an earthquake, a biblical rapture. Whatever works fastest.
“I already had a hunch when you told me,” she barrels on, stepping closer, and I make a mental note to never ever cover her bathroom breaks again. “Your boyfriend is pure sex,” she adds, and she doesn’t even bother lowering her voice, not even a little.
I’m frozen with embarrassment. Kilian hasn’t said a word either, but I can feel him beside me, and I don’t need to turn to know he’s watching this unfold.
“I better get going. But we are absolutely talking about this at lunch.” She points at me, winks, and disappears into her classroom.
The silence she leaves behind is enormous. I count to three in my head, and then turn, because I cannot not turn. I want to not turn. I want to walk away and pretend none of this happened, or that he’s not standing right there, having heard every word. But I can’t really do that, can I?
Kilian is looking at me when I meet his eyes. His expression hasn’t changed, but there’s a slight pull at the corner of his mouth.
“You told people you’re dating a biker?”
“I told one person I dated a biker. Past tense. It was a…” I wave my hand in front of my face, grasping for a word that will make this less mortifying.
“Is this biker supposed to be me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was a confidence thing. She was saying the parents here are intimidating, and I panicked.”
“You panicked?” he repeats, and the pull at his mouth deepens, “and your first instinct was to invent a biker boyfriend.”
“It was my worst instinct, now that I think about it.”
The kids are walking past us, but none of that seems to matter because Kilian Rutherford takes a step closer.
“Your fantasy.” His voice drags low and my skin prickles all over.
“W-what?”
“Being taken by rough men. That’s your fantasy?
Help me understand this fantasy of yours, Miss Walsh.
I want to get it right.” He doesn’t touch me, but his gaze drops to my mouth.
“Is it the bike that gets you hot?” I’m arrested by his looks, the way he speaks, and I can’t do anything but stare.
“You imagine me riding you out to nowhere, ripping those panties off, eating your pussy out in the dirt while the engine is still hot?”
My lips part in disbelief. My brain is saying move. My face is so hot I can feel my pulse everywhere.
“Or the leather?” His voice drops another register, but not low enough that I can pretend I didn’t hear it. “Imagining it creaking while I pin you to the wall, hike that skirt up, and pump you full until you’re leaking my cum down your thighs while you teach class?”
My thighs press together. The reaction is involuntary, a reflex I can’t stop, and the friction it creates sends a hot, slick awareness.
I’m wet. Standing in a school hallway first thing in the morning with children walking to class, and I’m wet.
“Tell me because I’ll drag you behind the building right now and do exactly that while the kids file to class. Is that your fantasy?“
The bell rings. Loud and shrill, and it’s my lifeline. I turn on my heel and walk straight to my classroom without another word. Without looking back. My ears are ringing louder than the bell.
I could have moved at any point. Told him to stop. I had an entire hallway of witnesses. But I chose to stand there. I chose to listen. Why did I do that?