Page 20 of Beautiful Trauma
“How can you be sure?” Ryder asked.
“I never gave Henry my full name nor discussed my occupation with him. I’m listed as Dr. E. Meyer in the school’s directory and opted not to include a photo, so it’s not likely he—”
“Wait! Are you telling me Henry is one of your students?” Ryder asked me. I nodded. Both his blond brows inched toward his hairline. “One of your Biology of Human Sexuality students?” I nodded again, and Ryder snorted. “Dude, I read the material for your class. You’re about to have some seriously awkward moments.”
“It gets worse,” I said, averting my eyes to my plate.
“Worse, how?”
I spilled the rest of the tea.
Ryder placed his elbow on the table and rested his chin in the cup of his palm. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to eat lunch,” I said wryly. “Then, I’m going to stay busy so I don’t think about how fucked I am.”
“Fucked because you’re worried about your job, or fucked because you want to drag this Henry guy back to your bed and never let him leave?”
“You think the only two options are covering my own ass to preserve my job and holding Henry hostage in my apartment?” I asked with a smirk. “The truth lies somewhere in between, I think.”
“What are you going to do?” Ryder asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” What was I going to do? Knowing I was hours away from seeing Henry again both thrilled and terrified me. I couldn’t have him, but I couldn’tnothave him either.
I hid in my office like a coward for as long as I could, not strolling into my classroom until the last minute before class was due to start. Attendance was mandatory and counted for a decent chunk of my students’ grade, so I started each class by glancing around the room and documenting who was missing. I dreaded the moment my gaze connected with Henry’s, but it seemed I had nothing to worry about because Henry wasn’t in his seat, nor did he arrive to class late.
I should’ve been relieved for a reprieve from the strain of being in the same room with him while ignoring the magnetic pull I felt toward him, but I was worried instead. I had confused, hurt, and angered Henry, so it made perfect sense he needed time to figure out if he wanted to stay in my class, but more than that, I hated the idea of knowing I caused him distress.
The following day, I fully expected to receive a notice from the school that Henry had withdrawn from my class, but it never came. It didn’t come the next day nor had it arrived the following Monday when he was due to sit at the center table in the third row. Finding his seat empty again triggered a range of emotions to swirl inside me, forming a cyclone that grew larger and more devastating with every passing minute. Worry, anger, disappointment, and even rejection tossed me around in the maelstrom, battering me from every angle. I made the classroom my life raft and clung to it desperately, but by the time the last student filed out, I was left breathless and feeling unreasonably broken.
Was that how Henry felt? If so, why? We had one night of meaningless—I couldn’t finish my thought because it was a bald-faced lie. Nothing about my night with Henry was meaningless, and pretending it was hadn’t gotten me anywhere but chasing my tail. Knowing I shouldn’t want Henry didn’t change the fact that I did. Understanding I wasn’t good for him didn’t stop me from driving to Mamma Maria’s after class ended. I already knew he lived in an apartment above the pizzeria after accessing his student records to find out where to have Jessie’s car towed to.
I easily found the door to the apartments at the rear of the building and was pissed to find it unlocked. A person didn’t have to ring a bell and get buzzed in; they only had to turn the knob and walk up a dimly lit staircase to the two apartments above the pizzeria. According to Henry’s records, he lived in 201B. I stood in front of the door with my hand raised to knock for a solid minute before rapping my knuckles against it.
An overwhelming urge to run washed over me; I was too old to be making foolish mistakes like this. What the hell would I say if he answered? Self-preservation kicked in, and I started to step away from the door just as it suddenly jerked opened, revealing a young woman with platinum hair liberally streaked with pink and purple highlights. She had piercings in her eyebrows, nose, ears, and her ruby red lips were tipped up in a snarl.
“Is Henry home?” I asked politely.
“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded to know.
My reservations fled, replaced by irritation. Who the hell was this girl answering Henry’s door, and why did she think she had the right to treat his visitors so rudely?
“I’d like to talk to Henry, please.”
“Answer my question first, asshole.”
“Listen here, I—”
“It’s okay, Jess,” Henry said from somewhere behind her.
Jess? As in Jessie?That little shit never corrected me when I’d assumed Jessie was his boyfriend and probably got a laugh every time I brought it up.
Jessie looked over her thin shoulder at Henry to be sure. I couldn’t blame her because his voice had sounded lifeless. Whatever she saw in Henry’s expression must’ve satisfied her because she opened the door fully and stepped aside, giving me my first look at Henry. His pale face and the dark, half-moons under his eyes made me gasp in shock.
“I don’t look that bad,” Henry said, rolling his eyes.
“You look worse than bad,” Jess said. “I leave town for a week, and you look like an extra from a zombie movie.”
“Jess,” Henry said, tipping his head toward the hallway that probably led to their bedrooms.