Page 9

I t’s embarrassingly gushy, immature and not at all like me, but it feels like I float the entire way to Jefferson Hall, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the amount of sugar I consumed for breakfast.

“What I can only describe as an incredible body.”

It’s about that.

It’s all about that.

Like water is 70% of the earth’s surface, I am 70% that.

I’ve had guys be interested in me before. Had a singular boyfriend during my short time in high school, but that was a long, long time ago.

Danny was his name. He was cute and sweet, or so I thought, and my first. Despite sex with him being pleasurable but kind of terrible, we went at it like rabbits. But he, or no one else has ever, ever, ever made me tighten and clench and heat and coil like Noah Petterson just did. That big body, and flirty winks and even flirtier mouth are addictive.

Nothing can take away this high.

Except maybe economics.

It’s the most hated of all my classes. It’s beyond boring and the teacher is utterly horrible, terrifying, and worst of all. Professor Carole wasn’t happy when student disability services helped me switch my major from Psychology to Accounting mid semester. Not only because his judgment was tainted by a brief relationship he had with my mom when I was ten, but because he’s a prejudiced asshole. “A normal student couldn’t just switch at this time of year.”

Normal . His hand was forced though, and even though I caught up on the workload within a few weeks, nothing I ever do is right. Meaning when I arrive, the crash down to earth is rapid and brutal.

It all starts when my usual hiding hole in the far left corner of the back row has been taken by a couple making-out. They’re both in the same seat. Ass on lap. Hands up sweater. The normally empty spot beside it holds their bags.

It’s disgusting. Not the kissing and grinding so much, but the taking of my spot. We don’t have assigned seats or anything, but still. I’ve sat there each day for weeks. People should know better. Their hot and heavy panting ceases when Professor Carole enters, spots the loved-up pair and slams the door extra loudly behind him. They scatter like rats back into separate seats, but I remain standing, indecision rendering me useless.

“Quick, before he points you out, and makes you sit in the front row.” A voice whispers to my right. “It’s horrible. Trust me. I learned the hard way.” Peering through my bangs, I lower my head and turn to face her. Kind eyes smile back at me and a pink hue fills her cheeks. She looks way too pretty to be nice. “I won’t bite. I promise.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Dropping my satchel onto the floor as quietly as I can, I slide into my seat then bend down to take out my things. “I’m Quinn,” she whispers. “Are you new this year?”

“No, I normally hide.”

Professor Carole’s glare as he clears his throat, has me melting into my seat. He must have the hearing of a bat. Despite the initial appearance of fear I saw in Quinn’s eyes, she leans into my shoulder. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

“I’m only part time, and take some classes online and again, hide.” I pop on my glasses, then bury my face into my laptop. Hopefully she’ll take the hint.

“What are you studying Economics for?”

Sigh.

“Um. To learn about economics.” I reply without looking up.

“Duh, obviously,” she laughs. “But what do you want out of it? What field do you want to work in?”

This whole conversing with peers thing is making me decidedly uncomfortable. “Accounting. I would like to work in the field of accounting.” I reply, probably rudely, then reposition myself, twisting so my legs are pointing into the aisle and I have as much of my back turned to Chatty Cathy as possible. It’s even more rude, but seems to work. She falls silent. But so does everyone else too. And when I widen my gaze from the keyboard, I see a pair of brown suede clad feet, one of them is tapping.

I know those boots.

Our professor is hovering above me. His rank breath tickles against my head and it’s not at all as heavenly as when Noah’s caressed over my cheek at the cafe.

“This is the first time I’ve heard you speak in my lecture. It’s Miss West, correct?” Words escape me, so I just nod. “Oh, so now, when I am speaking directly to you, is the time you chose to remain silent.”

“Um. I ….”

“It wasn’t her fault.” Quinn’s head suddenly rests against my shoulder. Since one ass cheek was barely hanging on, the weight of her is almost enough to dislodge me from my seat. “I was asking to borrow a pen. I’m sorry.”

“Miss Harris. I would have thought a faculty member’s daughter would know better than to disrupt class, but then again, you do hail from an … athlete.” He winces as he says athlete like it’s a dirty word. I know I should say something to defend Quinn, but I’m too distracted by suppressing my tics.

“Yes. You’re right. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“No it won’t.” Icy blue eyes drop to my chest, then flick back up. Hopefully he was checking out my Green Line Ice t-shirt and not the body lying beneath it. Eww. Lip curled, he sneers, “Follow me, Miss West.”

“What?”

“Follow. Me,” he says like I’m three or an utter twit. “Come on. I believe there is a spare seat right in front.”

This is a freaking nightmare.

Every eye in the room is on me. I’ve already bitten the inside of my cheek so hard the sharp metallic taste of blood is flooding my tongue and I’m blinking so rapidly I can hardly see. I literally fall into my chair and hope to God now that he has forced me into the walk of shame, my punishment is over.

It is not.

Every question raised is directed at me, and every answer I give is incorrect or insufficient. It’s like he’s trying to humiliate me into submission. If only he knew I am already there without him having to do a damn thing.

Fifteen minutes later, my neck and shoulder muscles are in spasm from the physical restraint I have to use to suppress my tics. I’ve used all the tissues and embarrassingly, shredded pieces of a sanitary pad I tore up to discreetly clean the blood from my lip. He must be able to see it, and my distress but doesn’t care.

Then, it all gets worse.

“Miss West, would you please stand and read the highlighted passages in sections 32 and 45.” Stomach turning to stone, I freeze. “Did you hear me, Miss West?”

Nothing. I can do nothing. Not sure I’m even breathing. “Please stand, read the sections or exit my lecture.”

Somehow, I do as he asks. Rising from my seat, I again feel every set of eyes upon me but see none. Standing is the last thing I do before my mind becomes paralyzed with fear and shame, because my body is no longer under my control. All I can do is hum, roll my eyes, blink and shrug as chuckles and giggles and straight up roaring laughter echoes behind me.

With a thud, Professor Carole slams his laptop shut and peers at me over the top of his already tiny glasses at the end of his nose.

“I’ve had plenty of students like you over the years. All expecting a free or easy ride because of their quote unquote disability. ” He marks disability with fingers above his head so it’s visible for all to see. “Your condition may have been enough to get you into this class, but it won’t be enough to keep you here. Pack your things and go, Miss West.”

Broken. Fractured. Uncountable chunks of time, filled with heinous dreams and little rest consume my afternoon, evening and night, then a good portion of Wednesday morning. I’ve missed an online lecture but that doesn’t concern me. Work is the issue. Each time I’ve been awake long enough to gather any type of cognitive ability, I’ve reminded myself to call in and let them know I’m not well, but that thought itself has been enough of a stressor to lull me back into slumber.

Pounding at my door wakes me again. I blink my eyes open, brush my tangled hair from my face and frown. Only the faintest hint of light filters through my binds. Shit I’ve slept all day. A further reminder of the time I’ve lost is the rumbling in my stomach. In the past, no one would call, and certainly not come and check up on me. There’s only one person it could be.

“I know you’re there, Lotte. Please open up.” Claire’s voice gives my heart a much needed spark. In the grand scheme of life having a, dare I say it, friend, knocking on your door to check on your well-being is a nice but possibly insignificant moment. But for me, it feels huge. If I Iet Claire in, I’m inviting another person into my life in an unprecedented way. If I don’t, I’m choosing to stay alone. Miserable.

But safe.

When I’m by myself there is no one to judge me, but me. I’m fairly low maintenance. When needed, I can easily be swayed into adulting with a cake or chocolate. There is no rejection. No ghosting … other than the pale face I see looking back at me in the mirror.

That face is a lonely one. Too old and bitter for the number of years it has existed on this earth. As scary as this all seems, I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Don’t want to just exist.

“Coming, Claire.” The words exit my mouth but rattle internally as I rise from bed, slip a hoodie that lays on the floor over my head and walk to the door.

C laire is here. She came to check on me.

With each step I remind myself what she has already done.

She took me to lunch.

She called me Lenny … Or Carl. We never did sort out who was who.

She let me rest.

She asked for my number.

She brought me a cake and gave me a party.

She introduced me to her brother.

She brought me flowers.

She smiled while running her fingers over my painted walls.

She came to check on me.

She doesn’t want me to hide.

Opening the door, I preemptively narrow my eyes to lessen the impact of the 10000-watt security lights that line the hallway. “Hello, Claire,” I whisper, to the glowing pink silhouette.

“Thank fuck, Lotte. Why aren’t you answering any calls? Are you alright? You never came to work, and Mr. Bowe said you always call in. Are you okay?” A bag so heavily laden it may split, is thrust into my hands. “I brought food.” Whatever is in here smells hot and greasy, and my stomach growls in anticipation.

“Do … do you want to come in?”

“I do. As long as you’re comfortable with that. I know I come across as pushy, but, I mean—”

“You’re not being pushy. You’re being nice, and to be honest, after yesterday I could do with some nice.” Stepping back. I move away from the door and wave Claire through. “Do I smell burgers?”

“Double-Double. Lotte-Lotte.” Giving me the same cheeky wink as her brother as she passes, she heads straight to the table, pulls out a seat, then laughs when I plop beside her. “Was that your stomach growling, or do you have a pet bear I didn’t notice last time?”

“No bear, all belly. I have been asleep for a while, but I’m not sure if it would qualify as hibernation.”

Claire opens the bag, pulls out a napkin, places a burger fries on top, then a shake beside it. “I got extra cheese on the burger. It just felt like an extra cheese kind of day.” Thank you has barely left my mouth before beefy, cheesy, greasy goodness replaces it. “You want to tell me what happened, or can I guess?”

“Humor me,” I mumble around my mouthful. “Let’s see how close you can get.”

Claire pops a fry in her mouth, chews, and squints. “Okay. How’s this? Some asshole professor discriminated against and humiliated you in front of your class. Your body coped how it copes, so you came back here and hid.”

My burger slides from my grip, landing with a plop on the napkin. “How the—?”

“Long story short, Noah came home from school as a furious ball of rage, so much so that Kel and I had to sit on his chest to stop him from seeking revenge. Apparently, his coach’s daughter is in your class and busted into training to tell her dad what this horrible professor had done to this poor girl. Noah overheard, put two and two together and for once, it seems got four.”

I take another overzealous bite, chew loudly as I decide what to say. Instinct points me towards denial, deletion, and minimization. Strategies that have helped me fly under the radar for so long. But Claire doesn’t want that, doesn’t want me to be alone anymore.

“It was horrible.” I admit. “The worst day I’ve had in a long time.” Shaking, I hold my hands before my face, displaying the torn, burn-like marks on my hands where I’ve twisted and pulled at my skin. “He’s hated me since I switched majors because he thinks I take advantage of my tics.” Needing to move, I begin to pick the seeds off my bun then toss them to the floor. “Why would I do that? All I want is to remain unseen, but all they do is make me stand out?”

“Has something like this happened before?”

“Yes, but not this bad. He would always use my work to highlight what not to do on papers, so I worked even harder to make less mistakes, now there are no flaws in my work, all he can do is highlight me, the biggest flaw of them all.”

Claire’s brows knit together, and she shakes her head, “Lotte, that’s not—”

“It’s okay, Claire. I will be okay. Come Monday I’ll make sure I am early; slip back into class and hide like I normally do. Hopefully he won’t even know I’m there.”