Divine: A Novel

by Jayce, Aven

  “I thought we were talking about my boyfriend,” Hannah whines, in need of attention.

  I’m suddenly extremely disappointed. Saddened by Dan’s words about Margaret and the fact that a student would break into my home because of her brainwashing. That woman... argh.... she infects all parts of my life and I can’t stand it anymore. Even on the weekend, when I’m on a date, she’s here, causing problems. I hate her! And I hate the fact that the students are so buddy-buddy with her that they call her by her first name!

  “Div, you okay?” Dan whispers.

  “Fine. I’m just fine.” I turn on the faucet and fill my hand with water then splash it in Bridgette’s face. “Get up. I want everyone out of my house.” I turn to Hannah and point my finger in her face. “Listen to me, and listen very carefully. I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to Luke. Nothing. I was here, in my home that night, and I probably have a trail of online searches to prove it. I’ve done nothing but help you and my other students in my classes and I’m an incredible teacher. If you think otherwise then you’re going to have a shit-ass time trying to survive in this world after graduation. And another thing, I want you to cancel your appointment with the Dean and drop that petition or I’m calling the police.”

  “Is that a threat?” she asks.

  “No, no threats,” Dan steps in. “Div,” he says quietly in my ear. “Hannah’s father’s a lawyer. Be careful.”

  “I don’t like you,” Hannah says as Bridgette moans.

  “You don’t have to,” I respond, walking out to my bedroom to grab my laptop. “Here, do it now. Sign-in to your email and cancel that meeting. This is my job you’re fucking with.” Brat-face-piece-of-shit.

  “No need. I never rescheduled after the morning Luke disappeared. I haven’t been in class since that day. If you were a caring teacher you would’ve noticed.”

  “I’m perceptive, Hannah. I know what’s going on with my students, but I haven’t been on campus either.”

  We stare at one another with quivering lips. I need to back off. I’m the adult, I’m the Professor; I’ll be professional and stop this.

  “Hannah, someday you’ll look back on all of this and realize I was the one who taught you skills that you can, in fact, use in this world. I’m not out to get you, as you’ve been so misguided to believe. Hopefully, in the future, you’ll be able to make your own decisions about people, and not rely on the words of others.”

  “Whatever,” she puts her hand in my face and leaves the bathroom. “Your bedroom’s boring, by the way. Why don’t you hang some posters or something?”

  I hear the back door shut and her heavy footfalls along the stairs. Now, what the fuck to do with the other one?

  “I’ll take her home,” Dan says. “To my parents’ home. I think it’s time for an intervention and a wake up call for Little Miss Bridgette. She needs to get the fuck out of that sorority house and back in the dorms.”

  “Some students do well on their own and others can’t handle the freedom,” I say.

  “My parents aren’t using their savings for her to walk around shit-faced and break into people’s homes. She needs a swift kick in the ass.” He looks at me with apologetic eyes. “It sucks that they did this to you, but thanks for not calling the cops.”

  “I still might.”

  He nods. “And I’ll understand if you do. You sound like a great teacher. It’s too bad you’re struggling with Margaret.”

  “You really liked her?”

  He shrugs. “She was fun.”

  “Yeah, but did you learn anything? Did you make anything? Did you do anything in her classes?”

  He thinks for a moment then looks at his sister. “No, we just hung out. I guess I was too young to notice, or it was an easy A, so I didn’t care.”

  See. I know I’m right about this woman. “You need some help?” I ask. “Should we put her in my truck? It’s closer than yours.”

  “No, I’ll carry her. She already threw up on your carpet and in your tub, I don’t want her to infect your truck as well.” He shakes his head and takes her in his arms. “Sorry again, Div. This isn’t how I wanted to end our night.”

  I hold the bedroom door open and he kisses my cheek on his way out.

  “See you. Good luck with her,” I say.

  “Div,” he stops and looks back. “What type of collections do you have in the guest bedroom?”

  “As I mentioned to your parents, pop-up books.”

  “Oh, goodnight,” he winks and disappears down the stairs.

  I lock the door and run to the front bedroom where the light’s still on. I know they were in here, but I hope it was just Bridgette.

  A box is open and one of my books is on top. One of my books. This room not only has erotic pop-ups on display, but it’s also storage for the paperbacks that I sell. Fucking shit, I can’t believe one of them opened the box and took a book out. They saw it. One, or both of them saw it. Damn it.

  Those wenches aren’t smart enough to make the connection. They haven’t a clue those are your books. They’ve probably never even heard the term ‘nom de plum.’

  Why don’t you ever say anything during sex or when I’m in an argument with someone, like Margaret? You’d think I’d hear more from you then, in those moments, instead of now.

  Because, that’s when I actually like being you and I can just sit back and enjoy the ride. There’s no need for me to talk to you when you’re doing okay on your own.

  I count the books to make sure they’re all here then check my pop-ups. Someone was playing with them. I know when my things have been moved or fiddled with, and I can tell the figures have changed positions. The people doing it doggy style are in the slide out position, not in, and the mile-high club couple have lost their footing on the sink. That’s their beginning position, not how I have them set to fuck with the woman’s feet off the floor. This pisses me off.

  I pick up my cell and call Dan.

  “Hey,” he answers with music blaring.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “My sister has room spins so I’m making the ride as excruciating as possible so she’ll always remember this as the worst night of her life.”

  “Don’t play around in the car, Dan.”

  He turns down the music and I hear Bridgette say thank you.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Someone was in my front bedroom. Find out if Bridgette remembers anything.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the pop-ups, or... anything. I want to know if she was in there, or if it was Hannah. It’s important.”

  “Bridgette won’t say anything, I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I’m worried about the other one more than your sister.” I say in a stressed voice.

  “Hey Div?”

  “What?”

  “Smile.”

  And I do. Dan’s good at that. I shouldn’t smile or be happy right now, but hearing his voice and his request to let go of my frown is certainly helpful.

  I have massive feelings for this man. He’s wonderful.

  Like, what kind of feelings? Love?

  Like. I like him.

  Whatever.

  “Goodnight Dan.”

  “Night, Div.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Marketing, writing, reading, Facebook, that’s how I spent my weekend. Dan called to let me know Bridgette believes she was the only one in my guest bedroom, but she’s not a hundred percent certain. He asked about the petition too, and it took some time to explain the situation with Margaret and my students. He seemed sympathetic.

  And Dan’s parents are furious. They moved Bridgette out of the sorority over the weekend and back home for the remainder of the semester, not giving her much of a choice. Either she commutes from home and gets her shit together, or they’re done paying her tuition.

  Good.

  I like the Kellers.

  But now, I’m sure that’s another student who hates me. It
’s my fault, right? She had to move home because of me? Yes, well, that’s how it goes.

  It’s Margaret’s fault that the students think I had something to do with Luke’s death. It’s not like they broke into my home all on their own... just because. Well, Cole, my dead fly collection from the windowsill in my office is growing and soon I’ll take the brown lunch bag filled with them to your building and dump them over your head.

  Yes, I’m back at the university and just as angry as I was last week. I thought the long weekend would bring about some peace in my life, but not after the Hannah and Bridgette incident. I’m not ready to see or deal with either one this morning, but there they are, sitting in the front row of my classroom, wearing their pink Greek lettered shirts, with clasped hands on top of their desks, bright eyes, and big grins. Why so happy?

  Shit. They’re getting a thrill from the fact that the Dean and my Chair are in the back row, probably here for a teaching evaluation. They can attend any class on campus whenever they want, unannounced, and as an untenured faculty member, all I can do is smile and be polite.

  I’m fucked. I have nothing planned for today. It’s a workday, which means the only interaction is if one of my students has a question. On days like this, it’s common to go through the entire class period in silence.

  “Happy Monday, everyone,” I say in my most pleasant voice. “I hope you enjoyed your weekend and...”

  “My boyfriend died,” Hannah cuts in. “What you just said is rude and inconsiderate. You know I didn’t enjoy my weekend, so why would you say such a thing. You’re not a good teacher.”

  That turd face! Smack her! Who cares if you get fired and arrested, knock her on her ass.

  “Hannah, I apologize.” I fumble through a folder, trying to keep my cool, but uneasy and nervous with her taking control of my class. “You know my door’s always open if you need to talk about any personal matters. And that goes for everyone in this room. I’d like to remind all of you, and for our freshmen who may not be aware of this, we have a wellness center on campus that also offers counseling services. It’s a wonderful...”

  Hannah grunts and cuts me off. “I can’t believe this. Now you’re saying we’re crazy and need a shrink. You’re the disturbed one and I saw all that porn in your house.”

  “Eww,” the class rumbles in unison as the seats are filled with wide eyes, whispers, and laughs. Oh God, Hannah was in my guest bedroom.

  “Hannah, my dear,” I gaze down at the desk, ready to snap, but remaining as friendly as possible. “Why don’t you tell everyone how you got into my home?”

  “Eww,” the students say again.

  The Dean takes notes on his iPad and my Chair, Richard, has closed his eyes. Shit. I guess he can’t bear to watch, or maybe if he shuts his eyes the disaster in his department will vanish. Poof! It will all just disappear.

  “Hannah, please step outside for a moment. The rest of you can continue working on your assignment from last week. I’ll be back to answer any questions you may have.”

  I step outside and Hannah follows... and Richard.

  “This behavior and the disruption of my class comes to an end now,” I state in a firm tone.

  “I’m paying to be here, so I have a right to voice my opinion.”

  “Opinion about what?” I ask.

  “That I don’t think you’re a good teacher.”

  “Fine, you’ve said that and everyone’s heard it, so let’s get back to work.”

  “No, I want a different professor,” she whines.

  Goddammit, these worthless shits have some nerve. I would’ve never been so impolite to any of my professors, and if I had, I would’ve been kicked out of the class. Just like that, the professor would’ve wiped his or her hands clean of me, but not here, not at a dipshit, tiny school where every body, every filled seat counts.

  “Hannah,” Richard says. “What seems to be the problem? Be specific.”

  She tosses her hair over her shoulder like she’s blowing me off. “All we do is work. Nothing in this class is fun. We have assignments and readings and tests. It sucks.”

  Richard smiles and I laugh. I mean, I laugh hard. I laugh my ass off. That dumbass kid.

  “Go back to class, Hannah,” he says.

  We watch her return to the room and when she’s out of sight, he places a hand on my shoulder. “That was...painful. I’m going to talk to Dean Whittaker and explain the situation. Sorry, Div. Some students aren’t ready for college, but their parents force the idea down their throats. Hannah’s a perfect example. I found out recently that both of her parents are alumni, wealthy alumni, if you get my drift. Make the best of it and the semester will be over before you know it.”

  Easy for him to say.

  I return to class and start to relax after Richard whispers something to the Dean and the two of them leave. Hannah continues to bitch under her breath, but I ignore her, and luckily there aren’t any other major outbursts that hour.

  And thank fuck, it’s over. Get out of my way and out of my face sorority girl. I’m heading back to my office to type my resignation letter.

  Check your book sales first. Don’t resign without a backup plan. You don’t want to be living in your truck. Hell, I don’t want to be living in your truck.

  I’m selling a hundred books a day. After taxes that’s close to three grand a month, about equal to my salary at the university. I could do it... but I won’t.

  It won’t last. You have to write more books, Div. Eventually sales will dry up and everyone who wants the books will have them, and then what? Don’t be foolish.

  Still, it feels good to write the letter, which is how I spend my afternoon. It’s therapy to put my concerns and feelings into words, even if it’s just for myself. And it’s long. When I finish it’s three pages... I had a lot to say, but I also know no one cares. Out with the old, in with the new, the wheel spins, people get on and off, come and go, and nothing ever changes. Isn’t that sad?

  “Anyone home?” I hear a voice coming toward my office. “Div, you here?”

  Margaret. Great. I must’ve summoned her with my resignation letter.

  “Door’s open.”

  “Hey.” She looks around, standing before me in her cake batter covered jeans and a white smock. Her hair’s short and gray, thin and flat, and she looks anorexic, boney and fragile. It’s deceiving to those who don’t know her. At first glance, she looks like a sweet grandmother who’ll offer you cookies and a glass of milk.

  “So,” she says.

  “So, what?”

  “Hannah’s not taking her petition to the Dean and she’s staying in your class, accepting the grade she gets from you.”

  “And?” I lean back and swivel in my chair. “Is that a problem?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” she shrugs. “She worked hard on that petition so I don’t know why she’d just let it go. It seemed important to her.”

  “Important to her, or to you, Margaret?”

  “I heard...”

  “You hear a lot of things, that doesn’t mean they need to be repeated or that they’re true. Is this the only reason you came over here?”

  “I heard,” she says slowly, in a more direct and aggravated tone. “I heard you have erotic books in your home.”

  “Oh Jesus Christ.”

  “The students are offended. It was a hot topic this morning in my class.”

  “Why?” I steam. “Why did you let them discuss it? Can’t they do actual work and not worry about my personal life? Get real.”

  “So it’s true,” she says.

  “What do you care? Didn’t you just send me an email that you were going to suggest my program be deleted?”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She picks at her rubber cement covered fingernails then chews away at them nervously. I continue to swivel, not backing down.

  “We used to have a good program,” she whispers.

  “When?”
/>
  “When I started here.”

  “That was fifty years ago and was probably a hold-over from the former faculty. What about since then? You can’t blame me if the program hasn’t thrived in half a century; I wasn’t even born back then. What the fuck? Seriously?”

  “Oh, the language. I can’t handle it.” She throws her hands in the air and walks out.

  “When are you retiring?” I call out to her.

  “I’m reporting your erotic books to administration. You’re not a worthy representative of our university.”

  “My private life is just that, private!” I yell. A moment later the elevator dings and she’s gone.

  What a bitch. I fucking need a drink.

  Div Hallowell

  Anyone want to get drunk tonight?

  0 people like this.

  Violet Cuddlecock

  I’m getting wasted tonight, you Sluts! Monday drunken special - get my book for .99!

  204 people like this.

  The beginning of a relationship is always the hardest in terms of knowing when it’s okay to call the other person. I don’t want to seem too needy or possessive, but I also don’t want to disappear or act uninterested. Dan’s home. His car’s out front when I return from work and he probably parked it there so I’d know he’s home, but then again, where else would he park?

  And it’s not only the call that’s difficult; it’s also figuring out when it’s too soon to meet up to make out. That’s personal; every couple’s different when it comes to how quickly or slowly a relationship develops. Some people like to fuck on the first date, while others wait days, weeks, even months, although I’d have to believe waiting months is quite rare these days. I’m normally a second or third date whore. I guess whatever happens naturally should be the answer. There’s no right or wrong. If and when you feel it, go for it.

  I don’t feel it. Not tonight. Mondays pretty much suck moose balls. Besides, I’m in the mood to read in the tub, which has been scrubbed clean from Bridgette’s vomit... twice.

  Bubbles, soft music, wine, and an erotic western, a nice ending to my day in Hell. I’m almost through book two of Hayden’s trilogy, and yes, it’s dark. The main character’s a necrophiliac. He dismembers his victims and gets off on, and in, their body parts. Hands, feet, arms, legs... he puts himself inside and fucks away, using the blood as a lubricant. It’s nasty and I need a break from it before I seriously do have a nightmare. I wonder if that’s why Dan gave it to me? Because of his foot fetish? No, can’t be. That’s not the same.