Chapter 8 Sutton #2
Suspicion claws at my bones, and I slowly get to my feet, rounding the front row. The apricot falls out of my hand, rolling as I walk past it. I stop at the bottom of the aisle, staring up at the newcomer as she white-knuckles the railing.
Soft, dark brown locks spill down her shoulders in gentle waves, framing a delicate face with pouty pink lips.
Beneath a charcoal-colored overcoat, she’s wearing a cream blouse tucked into a short, tight brown skirt, and I follow the length of her pale legs down to the block heels she wears, buckled over frilly white socks.
Somehow the combination works, and she almost manages to blend in a bit with the rest of the student body, most of whom prefer earth tones, solid colors, and blended fabrics.
It’s a far cry from the siren I met at the gas station and again at Lethe’s, though no less devastating.
Her eyes are obscured by shadows, making it difficult for me to confirm that this is in fact her.
The woman I’ve been dreaming about—and, if I’m honest, fucking my fist to the memory of—for the past week.
Here. In my classroom.
This must be some cruel joke. A prank put on by the other theater faculty or maybe even Death’s Teeth. They’ve been known to fuck with someone’s psyche to get them to do their bidding, so I can’t put it past them.
Not that they’d know I had anything to do with her in the first place.
Perhaps the universe is merely out to get me.
Electricity buzzes in the lights hanging above us, drowning out my thoughts as I rejoin reality, noticing several beats of immobilizing silence have passed. I’ve just been staring at this woman while everyone watched.
Jesus Christ.
Clearing my throat, I lift the attendance sheet. “You’re Noelle Anderson?”
Several lifetimes seem to pass before she answers. “I am.”
My stomach lurches violently.
Did she give me a fake name? No, I suppose “Elle” is merely a lie of omission, but still.
Had she really been so concerned that her full name would elevate what we were doing, as if something serious with me would have ever been possible?
Being with her was the first time in eight years that I’d allowed anyone that close willingly. The first time that being touched didn’t absolutely revolt me and even…felt good.
Too good. My dick had been inside her, which is why I didn’t put up much of a fight when we were interrupted. Sex is a complication. A means to an end in a life where I’m bound to be a symbol—an example—and nothing more.
It wouldn’t have been fair of me to drag her into that, even temporarily. Even if I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
She’d been so soft, so pliant. Her breasts were heavy, her cunt so goddamn soaked, and the noises she made when I touched her threatened to incinerate me.
I’d been three seconds from coming in that shitty gas station condom, unaccustomed to such a visceral reaction to a woman. To anyone.
For a long time, I assumed Death’s Teeth had broken me. She proved otherwise.
“You’re Noelle,” I repeat, as much for myself as for her.
“I go by Elle, but—”
“Which is on your student ID?”
She blinks. “Noelle, but—”
“In the event someone asked you to introduce yourself,” I interrupt again, my mouth dry as if I packed it with cotton, “which name would you provide?”
I’m grasping at straws, and she knows it.
Slowly, she brings her hands together in front of her, interlocking her fingers tightly.
“Elle,” she replies, lifting her chin. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, Professor, Avernia prints its student IDs according to the paperwork submitted by each applicant.
I presume class rosters do the same, which is why you’re seeing Noelle there. ”
“It’s barely even that different of a name, sir,” someone else calls from the front. “Is it really that big of a deal?”
“A fair point.” Gritting my teeth, I take another calculated sweep of Elle before turning away and heading back to the stage, trashing the discarded apricot on my way. “‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”
Sabrina bounces in her seat. “Romeo and Juliet!”
“Correct, but I wasn’t asking. I merely hoped to convey the importance of names, especially in a class like this one, where so much of what we do will be taking on the roles of others.
It’s vital to know yourself and your peers past the surface level so you can perform well later on.
That is why a name matters. It fosters intimacy and knowledge. Encourages relationships.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch Elle take a quick seat somewhere in Lexington Abbott’s vicinity and ignore the hyperawareness of my tongue as I scan the attendance sheet once more.
“Ms. Anderson, please bring your winter essay to the stage and pick up a Visio Aternae pamphlet so we can move on with the lesson.”
Silence.
When I look up, I see her staring, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights.
“Essay?” she calls out.
“The one on the differences between live and screen acting? I sent the prompt out weeks ago.”
“Over break?”
Sighing, I scrub at the underside of my jaw. “Ms. Anderson, are you planning to question everything I say the entire semester?”
“Well, if it requires expansion, yes. Asking questions is important.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Almost as important as a person’s name.”
For some reason, my blood feels like it’s boiling.
“After a certain point, questioning becomes disruptive. Insubordination won’t be tolerated.
” A long pause, and I glance around the rest of the auditorium, looping them back in as if this is a public lecture and not a conversation I wish I was having in private. “Do you have the essay or not?”
“No. What kind of professor assigns homework to a class he hasn’t met? How would a late addition even know what was going on?”
Someone snickers, and I know without looking that it’s fucking Lexington. Maybe even the boy next to him.
“If you have a problem with the way I run my class, Ms. Anderson, I encourage you to take it up with the dean. Though I expect he’ll give you the same answer as I’m about to.”
“Which is?”
God, why does the way she talks back make me dizzy?
“This is a monarchy, not a democracy. I’m the king, and what I say goes.”
A few students chuckle.
“Sounds more like a dictatorship,” Elle spits back.
I shrug. “Call it whatever label you prefer. Either way, you’re unprepared, and I’m done with this conversation.”
She doesn’t come to the front to get a pamphlet, so I quickly move on to the rest of the attendance sheet, noting that if I spend too much time going back and forth, it’ll look suspicious.
I can already feel Sabrina’s eyes peering into my soul, trying to determine why I gave such an unflattering welcome to a new student when I’m typically more relaxed about interruptions.
There’s no way I’d be able to explain it, so I just ignore her stare, slapping my hand on top of the stack of essays once I get to the end of the list.
“Beautiful. Now, take a good look at the person sitting directly to your left. They’ll be your warm-up, improv, audition, and set design partner for the rest of the semester.
Exchange names and emails on your own time, and take out your syllabus.
We’ll go over the bullet points and my expectations, and then we can talk about what I know we’re all dying for: the final play of the semester, which is the only way you pass the course. ”
Lexington’s friend raises her hand. Meg, I think her name was. “Will we get to vote on the play like previous classes did?”
I nod. “While this may not be a democracy, certain aspects are community efforts, and therefore I like to let the community determine them. But we’ll talk more about that in a minute. Turn to page two in the syllabus—”
A hand shoots up, and I know whose without even looking.
“Ms. Anderson,” I drone, clenching my jaw tight. “Do you have yet another question? This might be a school record you’re breaking.”
“I don’t have a syllabus.”
My fingers crinkle the corner of my packet. “So not only were you late, but you’re lacking even the most basic materials? Is unpreparedness a common theme I should anticipate from you?”
If a pin dropped from anywhere in the room, I expect they’d be able to hear it in the hallway.
Elle tucks her hair behind her ears. “Well, my roommate’s printer wasn’t working.”
“There are three libraries on campus. Not to mention an administration building and a plethora of student services. You could have asked anyone.”
She drops her gaze like she’s deeply embarrassed, despite having practically bared her entire soul to me the moment we met. Like she doesn’t know what my fingers feel like curling inside her or my dick pushing in—
Tension threads through my neck, knotting in my shoulders, as I abruptly halt those memories. Fucking hell, this is a disaster.
Nobody in the class moves a muscle. I suspect many of them, likely freshmen, are afraid that my soured mood will spill onto them, and they’ll become the objects of my irritation.
Returning my focus to the syllabus, I speak directly to Elle one final time. “You’re dismissed, Ms. Anderson.”
“What?”
“Three strikes. Please see yourself from my classroom.”
She huffs, defiant to her very core. In my peripheral vision, I watch her gather her things but pretend I’m focused on the attendance policy in the syllabus, pointing at Sabrina to read it out loud.
While she talks, my skin feels like it’s being stretched, goose bumps prickling every inch. My heart pulses hard in my throat, and I don’t relax even a little until the sound of the door swinging shut behind Elle’s exit echoes through the rafters.