Warning Signs (Broken Promises #2)

by Alexandra Moore

  She sighed. “You’re not a public figure.”

  “I am now. Everyone wants a picture of me, everyone wants to know about me.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Like I made the wrong choice.”

  The unnamed girl and I sat in silence while I started to calm down.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Lia,” she said. It was pretty, and so was she.

  “What is this place?” Looking around the large building, I realized I was in one of many rooms. This room was painted a dusty blue that calmed the senses. It had a couch and a few chairs, each with at least two pillows on them. The couch also had what looked like a handmade knitted blanket. I could tell it was handmade by the way the knitting had been done. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t something you could buy for cheap. The walls had posters and a few picture frames with motivational quotes on them.

  “This is a peer-counseling center. We help each other. It’s a thing from the psychology and social work department.”

  “Right. Are you a senior?” I asked her. She seemed older and more put together than some of the other people here.

  “Yeah, I am. I’m graduating in the spring. I don’t really go here, I volunteer here.”

  “Oh, okay. So you go to a different school?”

  “Yep. I’m a psychology major.”

  I laughed. “Of course.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a psychology major, and I’m practically telling you my life story.”

  “You haven’t told me the whole story. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets if you want to talk about it.”

  Somehow her words made me feel comforted. So I did what she said was okay to do; I took a leap and I told her about my entire life. My eyes didn’t stay dry through the whole ordeal, and I was pretty sure I had missed all but one class.

  “We can keep in touch. For now you should probably go get that paperwork finished and grab your student ID.”

  Before I left we exchanged numbers. Looking to my schedule, I only had five classes this semester. English Composition, College Algebra, Biology, American History and Advanced Drawing.

  “Oh, you’re taking Advanced Drawing too?” someone asked.

  “Yeah, how did you—?”

  “Oh, sorry. I read it over your shoulder. I hear Professor Long is really hot. I even heard something about how he prefers students over his wife.” The random girl laughed, and I smiled awkwardly.

  “Good to know. I should get going.” This tidbit of information, whether it was true or not, was disconcerting. I didn’t want to be a part of a class where students became possible jailbait. Even though I was over the legal age of consent, I was still pretty sure that screwing your teacher was against the law. I was really hoping he wasn’t as hot as this girl claimed he was, because if he wasn’t, it’d be easier to avoid falling into bed with him.

  ***

  Before classes started, I had admitted in family therapy, which now was only Ben and me, that the only reason I hadn’t moved yet was because I didn’t have reliable transportation. So when we got home Ben gave me Old Trusty and said that it was meant for me anyways according to Everett’s will. I didn’t want it after that, but I needed a car.

  Ben then took me to Hartford to look for apartments, and I moved into one the same day. Ben decided to help me furnish my apartment, and even though I refused to let him go to Pottery Barn, Ikea, or Pier 1 Imports, I did let him take me to Target. I got a decent bed from someone on Craigslist. It was a Tempur-Pedic, and the guy who owned it apparently didn’t have room for it. I let Ben buy me one expensive thing though: a dog. More specifically, a yellow Lab.

  “He’ll be perfect for you,” Ben said as I sat on my couch with the growing pup lounging beside me. “He’ll grow pretty fast. He’s already six months old.”

  “He’s perfect. Thank you.” I meant it when I said it. I was hoping that he would believe that.

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  “It’s not going to be like when you were on tour. Things are different now.”

  “I know. It’s weird knowing I won’t be coming home to you anymore.”

  “It was bound to happen at some point, Ben.”

  “I know but—”

  “But what? You said you wanted me to take care of myself so I am.”

  “I never got to see you grow up and now you’re living on your own. It’s hard to take in.”

  “It was hard living without you, Ben. I’ve managed through all that crap. I can do this on my own. I did it while you were off being big and famous. Because while you were doing that, you didn’t bother calling or checking in on me, yet here I am. Or have you forgotten?”

  That was enough to make him leave. When he did, and I was sure he wasn’t coming back, I began to cry. It was so lonely. Before, I had the smell of alcohol, drugs, and the company of my mother to keep me safe. Even though she never once kept me safe from anything or anyone, I felt safe knowing someone was there. Now it was me, this new dog and a baseball bat hidden in my coat closet.

  The first few days in my apartment were spent with Roscoe the dog and a baseball bat together on the couch with me while I watched Netflix on my laptop until I had to start my assignments for school. I had my first day already, and I hadn’t been able to see Professor Long. His class was on a different day than the rest. Today, however, I got to meet him. His dusty blond hair and brown eyes made me think of Roscoe when I saw him. He wasn’t half bad to look at, though I still thought of a slobbering dog as I watched him. We had assigned seating, and before I even had the chance to sit down I heard someone snapping a picture of me.

  “For God’s sake,” I whispered.

  “Is there a problem already?” Professor Long asked. It was a small studio classroom, so it wasn’t easy to hide things from him.

  “Someone took a picture of me.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked, eyeing me curiously.

  “I know what it sounds like when people take my photo without permission.”

  “Can you point to the person who took your photo?”

  “Well, no.”

  “So you aren’t sure someone actually did take your photo?”

  “I—”

  “Alright. If that’s enough dramatics from you, Ms. Morrison, please take your seat.” The whole class whispered over how cruelly the professor had scorned me. “Everyone, we have a princess in our midst. Please don’t take pictures of her. She might not enjoy it. She can easily sue, but that isn’t very ladylike. Give her some privacy. Until you can prove your phones are not an extension of your body, if I see them out I’ll take them up.” Everyone began to complain, but I smiled a little then. Even though it was a general rule outlined in his class rules handbook, I still was happy to hear that there were no phones allowed during class.

  “Alright, now let’s get to drawing, shall we? Use that thing we call imagination. Draw something you believe in. Make it abstract, not so obvious. Go on! Draw.”

  I got out my supplies and began to think of something I believed in. I drew nothing but blanks. By the time class was over, he had taken up at least four phones, and four angry students went to complain to the dean.

  As I was leaving, one of the older students stopped me and said, “Professor Long wants to see you. Sorry he keeps calling you Princess. He’s big on nicknames.”

  I made my way down the stairs to where he was waiting, and once the lecture hall was empty, I was alone with Professor Long.

  “Beatrice Morrison. My, my, my. What an honor.”

  I sighed and instantly became annoyed. “Can I help you, Professor Long?”

  “Sure you can. But that might be considered inappropriate considering my station here.”

  My eyes narrowed as I looked at him. “Professor, I don’t like where this is going.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling you will if you give it a chance.”

  “Unless you want to talk about something cla
ss related, I should go.” I turned to leave when he grabbed my wrist with a strong grip, and it made me spiral around back to facing him. “Please, let me go.” I was in bargaining mode. I didn’t think he would try to hurt me, but anyone who had such a strong hold on my wrist made me believe they were capable of destruction.

  “I’ll see you at that little club the students like so much. I hear you’re the best cocktail waitress they’ve got.” He let me go, and I ran out of the lecture hall before he could find a reason to keep me there. I didn’t want this. I didn’t like it and I was hoping I was wrong. God I wanted to be wrong.

  ***

  I kept seeing Professor Long at work, and I was beginning to wonder how many waitresses I’d have to make deals with to serve him so I wouldn’t have to. I watched him from the bar, and I couldn’t tell if he was watching me or not.

  “He’s asking for you again, and he can see you watching. Why don’t you go talk to him?” one of the other waitresses said. “He’s probably lonely.”

  “He’s got a wedding ring on.”

  “He may be a part of the dead wives club. He may keep it on in memoriam.”

  “How likely is that?”

  “I’ve got no clue. Please go talk to him. He’s keeping me from my other tables.”

  I sighed and gave up. No one was willing to help me stay away from him anymore. I went up to his table and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “When are you going to realize I’m only going to keep avoiding you?”

  “When are you going to realize you’re missing out?” He drummed his fingers along the tabletop, and I screwed up my facial features as I looked at him.

  “What am I exactly missing out on?”

  “A good time with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, because I’m totally missing out on that from people who tell me that.” He grabbed my wrist, and I eyed his wedding ring. “You’re married. Or you were. What about your wife?”

  “She is never home. Please, keep me company for one night.”

  “What kind of company do you keep?”

  He smiled. “Any kind of company, as long as it’s pretty and willing.”

  I withdrew my hand from him and shook my head. “No, I’m not—I can’t…I won’t.”

  “You’ll soon find that giving in is easier than resisting, my dear Beatrice.”

  I walked away and as I did he smacked my ass. I kept walking and ignored him for the rest of the night. He made it easier to do so by leaving.

  When I went home, Roscoe was happy to see me. I tried to find comfort in his excitement, but all I did was get on my knees and wrap my arms around him while I cried. He began to whimper, and he rested his head on my shoulder with a big sigh. He knew I wasn’t okay. He wanted me to be, so he calmed from the excitement of my return and let me cry. He knew the drill better than anyone at this point. I went to bed that night with visions of Crosley, the person who relentlessly stalked me and nearly killed me, in my head. I tried to keep them out, but every time I told them to leave, I’d think of Professor Long and my fear would only escalate. I wasn’t sure if he was right. I didn’t know if resisting would be worse than giving in, but I knew that with Crosley resisting was the worst decision I had made. It dragged things along and took people with it, and nearly took me. I didn’t want to end up like that again. So that night, I gave in. And boy, did I regret nothing more. Because he didn’t want only sex, he wanted a punching bag. He wanted something or someone to break. He chose me. Because somehow, I was someone he knew would break evenly and still be pretty enough to fuck when he was done. I was once again that porcelain doll up on the shelf. I was cracking on the surface thanks to his heavy hands that hit harder than he realized, and I was shattering on the inside because I knew that I was trapped. It was the hell I never experienced with Crosley. It was the Royal Hierarchy all over again, except I wasn’t the queen of anything; I was a flea compared to the prowess of David Long. When he was done with me, he told me to take a shower and to lick my wounds.

  “I expect another round when I’ve recovered. God, you’re such a good fuck.”

  I showered, licked my wounds, and tried to keep my lip from bleeding too much before swallowing my pride and going back into the depths of my new personal hell.

  Paddles, whips, chains—they were a few choice tools in David’s arsenal. Sex with him was torture. It wasn’t pleasurable and it wasn’t fun. It was agony and it left me in pain every time. Professor Long liked pain. At least, he liked to inflict it. He got off plenty while I writhed in pain from his senseless torture. His hands did not caress my every curve; they left bruises on every inch of skin. His lips did not kiss mine; they spat insults. And lastly, his offer wasn’t for my pleasure, it was for his. After he was done with me for the night, he threw my clothes at me and watched me redress with care. So many afflictions that would soon become marks and bruises left me feeling small, weak, and afraid. I went to school the next morning and dropped his class. I had a feeling he’d fight it, but I didn’t want to be his favorite bit of company that he kept. Because the kind of company he kept wasn’t kind, or safe, or gentle. It was vulgar, violent, and he hit not only with his hands, but also with wooden paddles and leather belts. While I tried to pretend I was okay with it, it was obvious that my body had rejected the notion that it was all right. I knew I wasn’t okay, and going home I felt safe for only a fleeting moment. Because once I fell into the bed I had missed so dearly, I got a text from Professor Long.

  Until next time…

  Followed by a picture of his dick. I rushed to the bathroom and proceeded to vomit. This wasn’t what I wanted at all, and now I was stuck. I was so fucking stuck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Weeks had passed since my first sexual encounter with David, and I was still attending his class once a week. When I went to drop his class the official statement I had been given was: “I’m sorry, we can’t accept your request to drop his class. You’ve missed the cut-off date by a day.”

  I tried to hide my trembling as I made my way through campus after the academic advisor broke the news to me. I didn’t want to see him, but I had no choice. There was no escaping him now. I had to deal with my own worst nightmare as a professor during one day of every week for the rest of this semester, and deal with him as my masochistic lover by night. I didn’t know if there was a cut-off date for that.

  When I entered his class, I could see the pile of phones he had taken up since he had instilled the no-photo rule in my honor. I tried to sit in the seat with the most obscured view from the front desk, and I tried my best to avoid being seen. I knew he still saw me. It was a small studio class; he could see everyone. This made my feelings truer; no matter how hard I tried to hide he would always manage find me. By the time the class ended, I took a quick exit from the art studio, but someone had grabbed me to say he wanted me.

  “I can’t see him. I’m going to be late.”

  “He said it was important. He said he’d fail you if you don’t come see him right now. Sorry, got to go.”

  The look of shock on my face didn’t register with the person who had delivered the message. For all they knew I was on the brink of failing anyways. I went to him and when the studio was empty, he grabbed me and tried to be affectionate, while I was trying to keep him at arms’ length. He had my arm in his tight grip, and tears ran down my face. He tried to keep me still and unable to move from him as he pressed a kiss to my head, which had been hit on the bedroom floor the other night.

  “You seem afraid of me. Why are you afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid,” I lied. It was pointless to lie when he could see the fear so crystal clear in my eyes, but I knew that I couldn’t possibly admit that. My fear gave him more power.

  “Beatrice—”

  I spat in his face. I always hated the name, and when he used it, it made me sick to my stomach. He swung at me and slapped me in the face with all the force he had. I tried my best not to wince o
r cower in pain; I couldn’t show him how much it hurt, how much I knew I was going to pay giving in. Because suddenly I realized giving in wasn’t easier than resisting. Giving in was hell on Earth. Resisting meant you still had a shot for the stars.

  “Did that hurt? I’m sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. He was smug, and he didn’t seem to care at all. I slowly returned to my normal stance, and I didn’t dare touch my stinging red cheek.

  “What did you want?” I said in a monotone voice.

  “I want your undying loyalty.”

  “You think you can have that from me? Fat chance.” I tried to walk away, and the only thing stopping me was his little piece of blackmail.

  “I’ve taken pictures, y’know. Of you, in my bed, naked, bloody, and totally exposed. There are even some of you in the shower I believe.”

  Turning abruptly, I began to show more anger than fear. “Professor Long, I’m going to ask what it is you want now. Because you’ve picked me out of every female in your classroom and you are trying your hardest to make me break. Why? Why do you want to destroy me so badly?”

  “I want power. You have power, and I want it. You have the media running circles around you, princess.”

  “I am not a princess!”

  “I can call you whatever you like. No need to throw a fit.”

  “I’m not throwing a fit. I’m getting fed up!”

  “Fed up of what? Of me?”

  “Yes, you. Only you. Because you’ve got everything you can possibly have from me and you’re asking for something I can’t give you.”

  He pulled me closer and stuck his hand down my pants. “I have this.” He grabbed my crotch, and I tried pushing him away. “That’s all the power I need. You try to take it away, and these pictures will go viral.” He showed me his phone’s camera roll, and with every picture my pride and sense of self began to diminish.

  “What more do you want from me?” I asked between the threat of tears.

  “I want you, your body and your consent.”