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I won’t boreyou with the details of how I managed to get a doctorate in anatomy, through a combination of taking advantage of every allowance given to people with disabilities as well as just studying my ass off. When you go from having a near-photographic memory to not being able to remember what you had for breakfast that morning, it’s a tough transition. My memory improved, though, thankfully.

But you don’t want to hear about that. I’m sure what you’d really like to know is how it came to pass that I started having sex with my twenty-two-year-old student.

About a week before the school year was set to begin, I got the call from Dr. Michael Hirsch. I was in my office, going over the syllabus for the upcoming year. I was debating in my mind what to get for dinner that night (who am I kidding—it was going to be a TV dinner) when the phone rang.

“Is this Dr. Conlon?” a deep voice wanted to know.

“Yes…” I said.

“Matthew Conlon?” he persisted. “The anatomy professor?”

As if another Dr. Conlon would be answering my phone.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“My name is Mike Hirsch,” the man said. “Dr. Hirsch. I believe you have a former student of mine in your upcoming class. Rachel Bingham?”

I faced my computer and clicked on the class roster for the upcoming year, which contained each student’s name, a photo, and their undergraduate university and major. I searched under B and found a plain-looking brunette named Rachel Bingham who had majored in evolutionary biology.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said.

“Dr. Conlon,” Hirsch said. “The reason I’m calling is to give you a heads-up. Rachel is… someone to look out for.”

I raised my eyebrows at the innocuous-appearing photo of Rachel Bingham.

“Does she cheat?”

“Rachel destroyed my marriage,” Hirsch said, his voice filled with anger. “And if you let her, she’ll wreck your life.”

The whole thing sounded ludicrous. I laughed it off at the time. But then, a week later, I saw Rachel in person, and I got it—I understood how this girl was capable of wrecking a man’s marriage. She had a certain seductively dangerous quality to her—it was incredibly alluring.

Still, I had every intention of turning her down. Truly, I did.

Then… well, I don’t know what happened. I was giving her Patrice’s number, and she was getting ready to leave my office, but then I made the dire mistake of peering down her shirt, and I got to thinking about how long it had been since I’d been with a woman. Three years—three years. So I thought to myself that I’d do it just this one time. Just once, and then I’d set her straight that it would never happen again.

Then, somehow, I fell in love with her.

You might be wondering why I fell for her, which is the same thing Patrice asked me. I’ve never been the shallow type, so I can assure you I didn’t fall for her perfect twenty-two-year-old body. If I’m being honest, I’d have to say that I genuinely don’t know how it happened.

I suppose it mostly had something to do with the way she made me feel about myself. Who doesn’t want to feel desired by a beautiful young girl?

All I know is that I’ve been taking antidepressants for over a decade, and the first time since Kurt shot me that I could remember being truly happy was when I was with Rachel.