by Dark Angel
I get lost in the writing, and I try to think about only that. Every few paragraphs, I start to imagine how this paper is going to be in Dr. Ethan’s hands, and I start to run my fingers over the paper. As if, somehow, by touching the paper, I’m running my fingers over his hand. Totally inappropriate, and I pull myself back into the story. It isn’t inherently personal. The story is internal. The writing might be insufferable. But when I write, I don’t let my doubts go beyond knocking on the door. The more I write, the less I hear them.
When class is out, everyone passes their papers up. I pass mine, and I head out of class as quickly as possible. The room is suddenly stifling, and I shuffle out of there and fill my lungs with the outside air as fast as I can.
I settle under a favorite tree of mine for my between class sessions, pulling out my phone and earbuds. I’m grateful to have my normal rituals, and my general excitement for being back at school with a new semester is all that’s on my mind.
I click the music app on my phone, but my screen goes black and then a call notification blurs out my home screen’s apps.
‘Mom’ flashes over my phone screen when I’m about to start my study playlist. Between classes, I like to annotate my class notes, while everything is fresh. I open up my pencil pouch but answer the call. I can highlight and talk, surely. I don’t know that I can forget a word of what Ethan said in class.
“Hey mom!” I answer, grateful to hear her voice.
“Hey, how’s my baby doing? How’s the new semester treating you?” My mom is her normal cheery self, just calling to check in.
I smile. I probably talk to my mother every day, still, and I’m glad she’s my other closest friend. Her, and Delia. “I’m doing good, Momma. How about yourself?” I say into the phone.
I pull out my second assignment and start to read over it, but I can’t stop imagining Dr. Ethan’s voice reading it … and that makes reading a lot more difficult.
“Not up to much. Busy with work, same ol’ same ol’,” my mom says, and then she pauses. “Everything okay, sweetie?”
Well, shit. I’ve been on the phone with her for two seconds and she already thinks something is up.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just reading over this new assignment and I think I need to go ask my professor something before my next class starts,” I say. I feel bad lying to my mom but there’s no way that I can explain this.
“Okay, sweetie, you sound busy so I’ll let you go,” my mom says, her words slowing at the end.
I can tell that I'm supposed to insist otherwise, or spill. Instead, I sound like I’m in a rush and say, “Okay, bye, love you, Mom,” and as soon as she tells me that she loves me too, I hang right up.
I look back over the writing assignment and I try not to feel too put off by the prompt.
‘In class today, why did you write something personal? If you didn’t write something you consider personal, explain why it is.’
The mental jujitsu required to write for this class is absolutely maddening. I may not be the only person to know that he wrote about Mary Shelley, but her assessments on the value of life spring to mind as my possible opening fodder. But if I hook with the line, how do I lead into something personal?
I start trying to mind map, but I just waste a bunch of graph paper. I don’t get my notes edited. I need to clear my head and get ready for my next class. I can’t screw up every class I start this semester over what Delia calls my “old timey lady boner” over a professor who’s like 200 percent off limits.
Emmaline
After the hellish English class debacle this morning, I'm grateful that all my classes went smoothly today, when I finish my after-class notes for my Calculus II lecture today. I’m the only sophomore in that class, the first in the university, and I had to get special permissions for it. That was easier than the English class, in my major.
That’s because the professor didn’t distract me with his voice. I could be the good student I normally am, instead of the girl who’s thinking about drawing their professor’s name in little hearts rather than writing down important notes. This is not who I am!
Not only that, my thighs are sticky … I'm not the person to be sitting around with pent up lust and thinking filthy thoughts and not about school…
I need to go for a run.
I slide into some leggings, and change from the bandeau bra I was wearing into a sports bra. I put a racerback tank top on, and find a pair of socks, and then lace up my running shoes. Every step I take, I’ll clear my head. When it starts to burn, then I can get past all of this. I’m not looking to be this girl. Emmaline Travers doesn’t have a perfect GPA, a shiny organized planner, Instagrammable notes, and the insatiable urge to let some dumb crush on my teacher ruin my life!
I start running, and I’m working up a sweat, but I’m still thinking about how I started to sweat when Ethan chastised me in class. I never thought of myself as the kind of girl who would get turned on being scolded, but something about the way he had authority over me and I was in trouble for being late … why the hell was it hot? I guess I should talk to Delia about it, but that’s the problem-solving stage, and I’m not actually working on solutions. I’m literally trying to run from the problem and make it go away! I laugh inwardly for a moment, picking up my pace and heading for the trail down the river. How did I let myself get so caught up in this? I know a run by the river is just what I need to cool my head. When my legs start burning, I know that I should slow down some, get myself to a more tolerable pace so that I don’t over-exert my stamina, but all the same I’m trying to distract myself. Maybe the aching muscles and pushing myself harder are just what I need.
After all, I didn’t put on the freshman 15, but I do have about five solid pounds that could stand to leave. That’s what I get for getting too hyped about avocado toast when I’ve got a ramen budget. Back to brown rice for me and time to remember that ‘good fats’ still make your ass fat!
Yeah, no more green douche fruit. Avocados are a fruit right?
See, this is the sort of high-quality, collegiate thinking I should be doing.
I see that some of the typical jock itches that were in English class with me are on the trail. I don’t even have time to finish a thought about how they are the kinds of guys that I'm supposed to be interested in before they start howling.
Greeeeeat.
“Hey, you could come sweat on this dick, save yourself some trouble!” One of those dicks yells out, and I can hear them over my running playlist.
They all laugh together like a pack of hyenas.
“Naw, naw, let her get all sweaty, make sure that ass is lubed up before I break it in!” Another one shouts that out.
Wow, boys my age, they sure know how to charm a girl. I roll my eyes and just keep running. Now I’m keeping my pace because I’m feeling a little winded, but no way in hell do I want to be near those douche bros.
I’m going to head up the river and then back, and I’m already thinking about turning up my music to drown those fuckers and my thoughts out. I would never get within a mile of dating a guy like that. But if Ethan wanted to touch me, I’d be up for anything.
Wow, I can’t believe I just thought that. I'm so distracted by my thoughts that I almost don’t see one of the guys from class catch up with me.
“Emmaline, right?” As far as I can tell, he was one of the one’s laughing before, but I don’t recognize his voice from some of the catcalling, so I guess he thinks he still has a chance?
As fucking if.
“What?” I say. I really don’t want to talk to him, but I’ll hear what he has to say, shut him down, and head back to my room. I want to get started on that next English assignment. I'm thinking about English and not Ethan giving the assignment. I don’t have this class again for a few days, but I like to finish assignments, or at least get started on them, as soon as I get them. I like to keep on track of things.
And honestly I should probably meet up with Delia. Study and tea — our
commitment to avoid snacking so that we stay trim and focus on doing homework instead of things like drinking.
“Basically, just wanted to apologize,” this guy says. “I’m Aiden, my bros, they weren’t trying to hurt your feelings or anything.”
“Okay, sure,” I say, and I nod because I’m looking to keep running without company. “Thanks for apologizing.”
“No worries, babe. You just gotta learn to take a compliment. You should appreciate the attention. I know you must not get a lot of it, so it was really a favor—”
“Hold the fuck up,” I say, turning to face him. We both stop. “I'm so sick of entitled shits like you and your damn friends. There’s not a single bit of compliment to be had when you’re being pigs, talking about fucking me. I’m trying to run. Not deal with fuckboys,” I say, keeping my volume normal level but I’m screaming on the inside. I'm so sick of guys my age. This is why I never date them. I don't have time for this shit.
I turn to leave, but Aiden grabs my arm.
He pulls me against him, and he’s clearly much stronger than me. I get afraid, but when I get afraid, I don’t want to lock up. I have to resist the fear. I push against him, and even though he’s stronger, I know that his balls aren’t. I draw my knee up and slam into him as hard as I can. I get away from Aiden for a second, but then two more of his friends are there.
Fuck.
My eyes scan the area, and there is no one; these guys are the only people around. I can run off the trail. After the woods, there are streets, and I can get away from them. I start running hard as I can, desperate to get away from these assholes chasing me.
I run hard, and right into Ethan.
I can’t believe it for a second. I’m breathing heavy and I almost start crying out of sheer relief. He’s holding a dog leash in one hand, and the other catches me. Despite slamming into him as hard as I could, he keeps us both upright.
“Here,” Ethan says, handing me his car keys. His hand is on my shoulder and he gives it a slight squeeze, the only relief I have right now because my fear is still rushing through me. “Wait in my car, now.” His stern voice demands I obey.
I don’t question him. I go right for the car, my adrenaline rushing through me. I get in his car, breathing in the scent of the leather of the car and that scent that, having slammed into Ethan, I recognize as him. Despite all my fear, my relief, I’m turned on at the thought of him. I feel safe, finally. I’m not worried about Ethan, even with three guys, maybe more, and I don’t know why.
It isn’t the dog.
There’s just something about Ethan that makes me feel safe, and that makes me feel like he can handle whatever these bastards try. I doubt they’re going to decide to beat up a professor, even if they could take him.
I sit in the passenger seat and try not to think about anything. I don’t want to think about Aiden and his buddies, and I don’t need to think about Ethan. But I am…
I can’t believe that he’s trying to help me and my stupid brain is trying to make it about more.
When Ethan shows up, I jump for a second, but the instant I see it's him, I relax.
I unlock the car, and he gets into the driver’s seat without a word.
I note that he’s unscathed except for bruised knuckles. He looks at me, then gets his dog into the backseat and returns to the driver’s seat.
We say nothing during the drive, and he’s pulling up to my dorm.
“How do you know where I live?” I ask, breaking the silence.
I don’t know, and he doesn’t answer. I’m just so relieved for this to be over.
When he parks, he walks out and opens my door. Takes my hand as I step out. Ethan looks at me and my blood runs hot, there’s something sparking in the air between us that I can’t ignore. I don’t want to.
“Are you okay, Emmaline?” Ethan asks. His finger brushes through my hair and tucks it behind my ear. The electric current in the air connects at our touch. I’m hyperaware of my breathing.
I see Ethan swallow. He feels it, too.
“I’m fine,” I say quietly.
“I’ll take care of this with campus police,” Ethan says, his hands gripping my upper arms, near my shoulder. He releases me almost instantly but his touch feels so good it makes me dizzy.
“Thank you,” I say, walking toward the door.
I look back, and he doesn’t go back to his car until I’m inside.
I can’t breathe. I feel drunk, intoxicated by how safe I felt when he took me home. I found him attractive before, but his protectiveness threw my attraction into overdrive.
Fuck. I can’t stop thinking about how Ethan looked at me. How he touched me.
I’m working on that assignment. I won’t have that clear-headed focus I hoped for at all, though.
If I’m being honest, I’m thinking about Ethan the whole time I’m writing it, and that just turns me on more. There’s something kind of … dirty sexy about that. The way that he made me feel safe was warm, gentle, but when I think about him as my professor, there’s a whole other dimension to this. I contemplate that for a second when I hold my pen between my lips, and imagine his voice reading the assignment prompt again.
‘In class today, why did you write something personal? If you didn’t write something you consider personal, explain why it is.’
I can almost hear Ethan’s voice asking me, “Emmaline, why is it personal?” I can practically feel his eyes on me, like they were when he opened the car door for me.
Ethan
Touching her, and not kissing her … that’s the most willpower I think I’ve ever exerted in my life. I barely fucking know Emmaline, but I’m stalking her. There’s no other word for it. Today, I planned to run into her, knowing she was taking a jog because I saw her today between classes, getting tense. I knew she wanted to let off steam. I saw her planner when she was doing notes between classes, and her little routine included running. I figured I’d get to see her again…and I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.
Today, after I looked her up, I knew I was going to poke around campus.
Planning to run into her, well, they say your willpower lessens later in the day.
But then she ran into me. Emmaline Travers, the student, the daughter of the woman it took me years to get over. I got irrationally fucking angry about the boys who were going to hurt her…I don’t know Emmaline.
But I really fucking want to.
I’m pulling up to my gate, almost entering my own damn code wrong because I’m so distracted. The moving iron gates take a few seconds longer than I’d like, but I’ve got to get inside. I need a shower. I’m sweating, and I didn’t get my dog a run in today, but I know he’ll happily sleep when we go inside.
Which is good, because I’m going to wash off all this sweat and stroke the throbbing erection tenting my pants right now.
I’m like a fucking teenager, sweating over a 19-year-old and hurrying back home so that I can jerk off thinking about her.
Well, when I step into the palatial home that’s just my dog and I, and Victor, well, I’m not so much the teenager.
I’m just obsessed. Stalking her the way I did today — looking her up online, making sure to take turns around campus between my classes that would lead me to her getting out of hers. This is exactly the kind of psycho killer shit that made me come on too damn strong to Joelle. This is different, already, though.
I couldn’t keep my fucking hands off of Emmaline. Touching her hair, inhaling the scent of her so close to me. The way she leaned into me when I held her arms … Emmaline looks at me with an unmistakable return of my own attraction.
This is nothing like what happened with Joelle. I was an overbearing ass as a friend, controlling, possessive, and that shit turned Joelle off. But Emmaline … she likes this about me. Well, she did ask how I knew where she lived. I didn’t answer. But the fact that she’s attracted to me makes my own growing obsession that much more dangerous. It would be just me that got hurt if sh
e wasn’t interested and I had to do the smart thing and ignore it. But how do I ignore a sweet little girl that fucking wants me too?
That rage that made me punch all those cocky little shits into hamburger, that rage is a product of my desire for Emmaline. But I’m already fucking in too deep.
It reminds me of another night that went a little differently than this one, but I think of it all the same. I head down my hallway, to my massive library, fingering stack after stack of leather-bound books, and pour myself a drink. I need to dull the ache within me now. The first sip burns good going down, but I can’t swallow back the memories.
***
I see Joelle’s form fading behind the crackling bonfire. She’s wandered off with some guy that’s not her friend. He’ll probably be her boyfriend, and after the way that I looked at Joelle at lunch yesterday, I could tell she knew how I felt about her.
I know that she doesn’t feel that way. I know that we’re friends, and I’m still being a fucking creep.
But I follow her, not so close that she knows.
When they start to kiss, I expect to feel jealousy. Instead, my cock starts to stiffen. Fuck, I’m disgusting. I keep watching though, because it does turn me on.
They’re kissing, pawing each other over their clothes. I shouldn’t watch, but I keep looking. I won’t stop looking, either, when I notice that Joelle’s lips are not actually kissing this jackass’s back. He’s pawing her, but her hands are trying to push him away.
I tense up. He better get his fucking hands off of her.
“Hey,” Joelle says, finally breaking away from him. “That’s enough. I just wanna slow down a little,” she says. The nervous trill in her voice makes me furious for her.
“Don’t be such a tease, bitch,” the asshole says.
“Fuck you, Ronald, we're fucking through!” Joelle gives him the finger. She turns to walk away. Her path won’t cross mine, but I have to stay put because if this goddamn Ronald tries anything, I’ll fucking pulverize him.
