Chapter 33
SUMMER
It’s been a few days since my meeting with Dean Callahan. I’ve spent most of those days curled up in bed with Milo, pretending like I wasn’t floundering with everything that had transpired.
I feel bad for ignoring Asher, but I’m not sure what to say to him. It doesn’t feel like there’s any solution to the problem we’re in.
I feel terrible. I feel responsible. I initiated what transpired in that car, and it makes me sick to think that someone had photographed us in such a vulnerable state.
If I had just let Asher take me out to dinner, the evidence wouldn’t have been so damning. We could’ve made some half-assed excuse that no one would be able to punish us for without more concrete proof.
I feel like I have a hundred different things I can beat myself up for.
A sharp knock echoes through my space. Milo grumbles but remains fast asleep amongst all of my blankets.
I look around my apartment, which has fallen into complete disarray.
Dishes are piled in the sink, and empty take-out containers litter the counter and floor near my bed.
The plants along the windowsill are drying out and on the verge of dying.
Paperwork is scattered across my comforter along with the tangled cord attached to my laptop.
God, I’m disgusting.
I groan as I push myself to my feet, my joints popping as I stretch sore, unused muscles. Milo mews in annoyance at the loss of body heat while I make my way to the door, stepping over the debris on the floor.
“Sam?” I mumble as I open the door to see my best friend standing in the hall.
“Summer,” he sighs in relief. “You missed our group therapy today. Are you sick? You never play hooky.”
I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. I wave him inside, but he pulls me into a hug first. I grip him back as the first sob wracks my body.
“What happened?” he asks quietly as we both sit down on my bed. Milo jumps into my lap, butting her head against my hand with a soft meow, as if she’s comforting me.
“Someone sent pictures to the dean,” I respond, deciding that ripping the band-aid off is probably best.
His brow furrows in confusion. “Pictures?”
More tears race down my cheeks as embarrassment washes over me for what feels like the millionth time today. “Of Asher and me,” I hiccup.
“What kind of pictures?” he responds slowly. I can tell he’s trying not to make me even more upset, but I can also hear the dread in his voice.
“Of us in his car,” I cry. “Having sex.”
“Goddammit,” he groans. “Who the fuck would do something like that?” He pushes to his feet, anger quickly taking over all other emotions. “Who would photograph someone doing something so private?”
“We weren’t in a private place,” I admit, wiping tears off my cheeks.
“I don’t give a fuck!” he exclaims, making me jump in surprise. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he continues in a much quieter voice as he sits beside me once again. “I’m not upset with you. I’m just upset that someone would do something like that to you. It’s not fair.”
“Some might say that having a relationship with someone who decides my grades isn’t exactly fair,” I mutter, feeling nothing but a dark self-loathing low in my throat.
Sam takes my hand with his. “Summer,” he says softly. “I know you. We’ve known each other for years. You would never sleep with a professor to get ahead.” He squeezes my hand to comfort me. “You don’t need to. You are an annoyingly good student who always seems to get good grades.”
I snort through my tears. “It’s called studying, Sam,” I respond half-heartedly.
“And,” he continues, ignoring my pathetic excuse for a jab.
“You wouldn’t want to cut corners like that.
You want to go out into the world and help kids who have few people to rely on.
You know that if you were to half-ass anything or cut corners, you wouldn’t be the best psychologist that you could be.
Anyone who knows you knows you would never do what they’re accusing you of.
” Sam rubs soothing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. “Will you tell me what the dean said?”
It takes very little time to catch Sam up to speed with everything, but I feel like I’ve been talking for hours by the time I finish.
Sam chews on the inside of his cheek as he mulls everything over.
After a few beats of silence, I decide to speak up again. “I think I have to leave him,” I say, barely above a whisper. My throat aches with the pressure of wanting to lie down and sob until I have no tears left to cry.
Sam lets out a defeated breath. “Isn’t there any other option we can visit before jumping to that? Can’t I help in some way?”
I shake my head. “The dean implied that if we were to continue, it would make everything look worse. That even though he’s no longer my professor, it still doesn’t look good.”
“Fuck that,” he scoffs. “It’s already done with. They’re regrading every assignment of yours that Professor Stirling touched. What does it matter if you two stay together now that he has nothing to do with you academically?”
“I don’t know, Sam,” I say, suddenly exhausted. My body feels heavy, and my chest aches. I have a headache from all the crying, and my eyes feel swollen and irritated. I just want to sleep. “There’s nothing that can be done about it.”
Sam must see the wave of tiredness wash over me because the next thing he says isn’t insisting that there’s some way out of this or that we can find a loophole.
Instead, he says, “Summer, can I cook you some dinner before I go? You can have something to eat and then fall asleep with sweet little Milo watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. ”
There’s a twinge in my heart as I remember how Sam compared Asher and me to characters from that show.
Milo hasn’t left my side since I entered this sort of numb state. She meows and headbutts my side to remind me that she’s still there.
“Yeah, Sam,” I agree. “Dinner would be nice.”
“All right,” he says, clapping his hands as he rises to his feet. “Be prepared to have the best dinner I can offer from your shoebox of a kitchen. But first, how about a glass of wine?”
I spend the next few days researching different options and ignoring more messages from Asher.
I feel terrible. I’ve refused to go anywhere near campus. I haven’t gone to The Pour House even though Sam has begged me. But I couldn’t risk running into Asher. I wasn’t ready to see him.
But today is different. Today I walked into Dean Callahan’s office for a second time, but this time, I had a plan. I’ve already set everything up; I just needed to tell the dean what my plan is, hopefully to take any remaining heat off of Asher.
Dean Callahan didn’t seem surprised when I told him I’d be transferring. He looked almost relieved. I’m sure he’s happy not to have to replace a professor like Asher.
Even though the decision hurt, I can feel the smallest bit of happiness over the fact that I hadn’t ruined Asher’s career.
That he gets to keep a job he loves so much.
Isn’t that what everyone wants? To have a job they genuinely love showing up for?
I’m glad I could make a choice that allows Asher to keep that.
I’m leaving the dean’s office and have made it halfway back to my car when I catch sight of Matt. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. I have to go home and finish packing—and dear lord, I have to tell my mother.
I give him a polite smile and a small wave as I pass by him.
“It was me,” Matt blurts.
I stop dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
He takes a deep breath, as if he needs to gather his courage. “I’m the one who gave those photos to the dean.”
It feels like I’ve swallowed a stone and it’s settled deep in my stomach. Disgust, anger, and embarrassment all swirl in my chest, leaving me feeling uncomfortably hot.
“Why would you do that?” I ask quietly.
“Because I saw you two in his car. I saw the way he grabbed you. And you were so far out of town that I just knew he was holding something over your head. Your grades, the clinic you’d get into, something.
” He sounds deranged. Like, there couldn’t possibly be any other reason that I would ever consider being with Asher unless he was blackmailing me somehow.
“It wasn’t like that,” I mutter, still attempting to think through everything.
It was Matt. Matt had been the one to follow us and take compromising photos of us, and then he printed them out and dropped them off in the dean’s office.
How long had he watched Asher and me having sex?
How much of my body was Matt now privy to?
Did he follow us from my apartment, or did he see us while he was out doing something else?
How long did it take him before he pulled out his phone?
Or before he decided to give the photos over to the dean?
I’m going to be sick.
“What?” Matt’s voice broke through my quickly derailing thoughts. He sounded like he didn’t believe me. Like he refused to believe me.
“It was completely consensual,” I snap. “There was nothing abusive about it.”
“But…” he trails off, dumbfounded. He shakes his head. “No, it’s the reason you didn’t follow up about our date, because you couldn’t.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “I said no to the date because I didn’t want to go. I didn’t lie when I said I’d gotten together with someone unexpectedly over break. I did. Asher and I—”
“Asher?” he scoffs.
“You took pictures of me, Matt,” I murmur. “Pictures of me at my most vulnerable. You documented me during an intimate, private moment… and then you shared those photos with others.”
“I didn’t print any of the… more explicit photos,” he explains defensively.
Anger and mortification wash over me, heating my face and making me grit my teeth in fury. “Oh, that’s so kind of you,” I say with heavy sarcasm. “Thank you so much for not printing out any of the photos where my tits were on full display.” I turn on my heel and start to stomp away from him.