25. Of my own volition #2
‘What’s the worst that could happen, G?’ Dylan asked earnestly.
‘With what?’
‘With us and the university.’
Greta took a steadying breath. ‘Well, I could, and most likely will, lose my honorary contract…and if they deem me to have coerced you in any way, or used my power and influence over you, I could face a professional misconduct hearing. The PCI would be informed, of course…and if it’s deemed serious enough, the GMC.
’ She huffed out some air. ‘It’s their perception of us that matters, not ours. ’
With her face pushed into Greta’s chest, Dylan inhaled until her chest was full, as if breathing in Greta’s words would make them less serious, less profound.
She so wanted to say she would step aside, that she wouldn’t allow Greta to face it all, that her career was more important than them.
But those words were impossible to say. After almost smothering herself and drowning in the smell and warmth of Greta, Dylan turned her head to the side.
‘G—’ The emotional weight of the words made them lodge in Dylan’s throat.
She sucked in a breath. ‘I need you to know something.’ Greta’s chest was calm, steady breaths entering and leaving her nose, pushing into Dylan’s curls.
‘I know that this is all insane. I know that what we have is so left field and blindsiding…the speed of it all I mean, and that it’s left us both feeling a bit, well, you know…
like what the actual fuck.’ She gently squeezed Greta with her whole body.
‘I know what you are risking for us, and I know the stakes are insanely high for you but I—’
‘I won’t panic,’ Greta interrupted softly.
Dylan screwed her eyes shut, holding onto the words, sighing as Greta pressed her face into the top of her head and breathed her all the way in.
‘I promise, Dyl,’ she kissed her curls and turned her face to the side, her cheek resting on them and whispered, ‘I promise, I won’t panic. ’
***
With narrowed eyes, Dylan watched with an ever-growing annoyance as Phil Hegarty, the university’s safeguarding representative, clicked his pen and breathed irritatingly loudly through his nose.
The room felt suffocatingly small, the walls almost too close.
The air thick and stifling with insinuation and defensiveness from their so far heated conversation.
His propensity to spit when he spoke—and the fact that he looked a little like a Jack Russell in a wool-knit tank top—were making the whole encounter all the more irritating.
With his gaze fixed on Dylan’s, he stroked his beard and gave his pen a rapid bout of clicks.
Dylan glared at him as all her pent-up frustration and fear seemed to settle in one bouncing restless leg. ‘I’m sorry, Phil, can you stop clicking your pen, please.’
Phil looked at his hand holding the pen, clicked it to retract the nib and put it down on the desk. The final click made Dylan want to ram the entire thing up his right nostril, but she managed to refrain.
Phil drew in a breath, exhaling loudly. ‘Look, Dylan, I understand that you wish to protect Doctor Vincent, but we have a duty of care to protect you.’
‘Protect me? From Greta Vincent?’ Dylan barked a laugh.
Phil gave a sharp nod. ‘Potentially.’
‘How old are you?’ Dylan asked as she stole a furtive glance at his wedding ring.
‘How is that relevant—’
‘Come on. How old are you?’
Phil shifted in his seat. ‘I’m thirty-two.’
‘And would you allow anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t be with your partner?’
Phil ignored the question, clenched his jaw as he steepled his fingers, resting them on his lips. ‘Dylan.’ He huffed out some air. ‘This University strictly prohibits sexual or romantic relationships between students and faculty because of the potential for harm—’
‘But I told you—’
‘Even,’ he said, rudely snatching back the talking stick. ‘Even if both parties believe it’s mutual or think they have feelings for one another.’
‘Think?’ Dylan echoed incredulously. ‘I see, so because we are two women we’re just being a bit silly?’
‘This isn’t about your sexuality, Dylan. It’s about Doctor Vincent’s position here and your potential vulnerability. You’re a carer as well as a Master’s student. We have been over this…we believe—’
‘Jesus, this is arduous,’ Dylan snapped, she pushed her fingers into her brow. ‘It doesn’t matter what you believe, Phil, I am sitting here telling you precisely how it is.’
In the short time she had been in the room she had become someone she didn’t recognise.
Being rude or disrespectful wasn’t like Dylan, she thought about her mum seeing her like this and was immediately ashamed of her manner.
Though she knew her uncharacteristic reaction was all to protect what she and Greta had.
The idea that what they had was something to be ashamed of, and anything but wonderful made her physically nauseous.
The notion of losing the one thing she wanted to hold onto with both hands was as ridiculous as it was inconceivable.
As the uncomfortable silence stretched, Dylan dragged a hand over her mouth.
‘Listen,’ she said finally, slapping her hand to her bouncing thigh to hold it still, though it still jerked rhythmically beneath her palm.
‘We could sit here all day, and our perspectives still never align, Phil. Your report needs to contain nothing other than the words consensual, non-coercive, and very much real... I understand you’ve got boxes to tick and that your policies are there to protect, and if that means derailing love to find one baddy, then fair enough.
But Greta is not that baddy, and I am not an easily swayed, impressionable eighteen-year-old being coerced into shagging her forty-nine-year-old tutor for a Distinction. I am in love with her.’
Phil leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. His, until now, unrelenting gaze dropped to the desk. Dylan’s leg stilled as the words she had just said aloud for the first time bounced off every surface in the room and reverberated in her own head.
‘I understand your point, I really do, but—’
‘Please don’t remind me of the policy again, Phil.
I can’t bear it. It’s all getting a bit Groundhog Day.
I get it… I get it more than you could know.
Please, just write your report fully aware of the fact that I love her.
Not because she coerced me, not because she holds an honorary contract, or because of the fact that she’s an oncologist.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘All the things that have triggered your policy are irrelevant. I am twenty-eight years old, and I have fallen for someone of my own volition and free will. That’s all your report needs to say. ’
***
‘Bloody hell,’ Greta breathed while pouring a glass of white wine in Dylan’s kitchen. The dated room, filled with lots of honey coloured pine, was a stark contrast to the sparse contemporary surroundings of her own apartment, but she loved how homely it was and how warm it felt.
‘I know,’ Dylan replied. ‘He was a prick.’ She shook her head as her fingers fidgeted with the spout of her sports bottle. ‘Honestly G, he was such a sanctimonious—’
‘Dyl, don’t get angry,’ Greta interrupted softly. ‘They have to go through the process. It has to happen this way.’
Dylan dropped her head. ‘I know,’ she heaved a sigh. ‘I know. I just want it to be over, G. I feel like the more they pick at this scab they think they’ve found, the more it’s going to push you away.’
Greta tutted softly. ‘Dylan…’ She reached for Dylan’s arm, which was still warm and damp from her gym session. ‘It’s not going to push me away.’
Dylan pushed herself back in her seat, shorts tight over her thighs, vest clinging to her sweat-drenched skin, her curls dark and wet.
‘I can’t lose you now, G.’
Greta silently moved over to Dylan, straddling her lap—a manoeuvre she quickly realised was easier thought of than done in tight jeans.
They shared a soft laugh as she hooked her arms around Dylan’s neck to pull her into a slow, deep kiss.
As Greta’s weight settled and relaxed, Dylan’s hands spread against her thighs.
‘Mmmm,’ Greta hummed as she pulled away, smacking her lips. ‘You’re all salty.’ A smile tugged at the corner of Dylan’s mouth, the events of the day not allowing it to spread any further. ‘Whatever happens, Dylan, I’m not going anywhere. Nobody’—she kissed her again—‘is going to panic.’
‘I should walk away,’ Dylan said softly, her reticence giving way to tears the moment the words left her mouth.
‘It would make no difference, Dyl. They know, and I’m glad they know. I wouldn’t want to have what I had before and not have you. I can’t imagine that life anymore. If there is an indelible mark next to my name then so be it. I don’t want a life without you in it with me.’
As tears rolled down Dylan’s face, Greta wiped them away with her fingers.
‘Do you mean that?’ Dylan said, her bottom lip quivering.
Greta kissed it softly, leaned back in her lap and moved the curls that were fused to her brow with sweat.
‘I fucking mean it,’ Greta whispered emphatically before kissing her again. She pulled away and searched Dylan’s eyes as she ran her hands down her face. ‘Do you always get this sweaty when you train? Because this does not seem normal to me, St John.’
Dylan laughed, wrapped her arms tight around Greta’s waist and began rubbing her sweaty head into her chest and neck.
‘Dylaaan!’ Greta yelled, pushing her back with her forearms. ‘Stop it!’
Dylan relented and sat back in the chair, chuckling. Curls now frizzy from the friction, her cheeks even pinker than they were before.
She smiled up at Greta. ‘Kiss me, Doctor Vincent,’ she demanded softly.
Greta cradled her flushed face and did just that.