Dirty Professor

by North, Paige

  I can't look at my dad. So look at my mom instead, and see the tears in her eyes, and think maybe I should have just looked at my dad.

  "Addie." My mom forces down a sob. "Oh, Addie, how could this happen?"

  “How did you find out?” I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.

  “The school called us. They’re worried about a lawsuit, and they damn well should be. Let us in." My dad's voice is gruff. "Now, please."

  I thank God that Kensie's in class right now. She'd leave us alone, surely, but I wouldn't wish her in my dad's path for a split second.

  "We're going to sue." My dad delivers this announcement with the sternness of a true CEO. "This bastard is going to wish he'd found someone else's daughter to manipulate."

  "He didn't manipulate me."

  My mom sniffles as my dad barges ahead. "Child molestation."

  "I'm not a child," I point out. "I'm past the legal age of consent by three years and then some."

  "Sexual harassment, then." Dad's eyes are ablaze with green fire. "He's going down."

  "He didn't harass me, Dad."

  "Sexual misconduct."

  "Dad, no. Just no."

  “Addison, this is serious. Beyond serious. Do you realize what this man has caused?"

  "Are you all right?" My mom blows her nose and grips my arm. "Are you?"

  "I'm fine."

  "How the hell did he con you into this? Did he force you?" Dad, pacing around our tiny room, looks like he's about to have a conniption. "Did he?"

  "No!”

  "I don't believe it." Mom wipes her eyes. "I can't."

  "Well, believe it," I tell her. "I was a willing partner in this. Okay?"

  Dad is about to implode. "This is nothing I would ever have expected from you, Addison."

  "Addie," my mom hiccups. "Addie, how could you?"

  "Stop calling me that," I mutter. "Please. I'm not some little kid."

  Dad stops mid-pace. "You're still very much a kid, Addison. Make no mistake about it. And this asshole is a predator. And he's going to pay for it."

  "No!" I try to force back my own tears, but the combination of seeing my mom crying and the thought of Chase being slammed in court are too much, and a tear slips out of my eye. I brush it away like it's toxic. "Dad, no. Please. He doesn't deserve that. I'm an adult, and I make my own choices."

  "The hell you do."

  I allow myself to look at my dad's face for more than a nanosecond. The thing is, he's right. I'm an adult, sure, but have I been making my own decisions? Other than being with Chase on the sly? "I should," I say. "I should be making my own choices."

  “Well, apparently not, since you chose wrong, in this case."

  Case. Case is another word I hear a lot of in business school. And, because my dad is my dad, I heard it constantly growing up, anytime he felt like illustrating some business point to my sister and me. "Maybe I did. But then again, maybe I didn't."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Dad, listen. It wasn't the ideal relationship setup, no. But I don't regret it."

  My parents gape at me like I've sprouted another head. "You're in shock," Mom announces softly. "You don't mean that."

  "Yes, I do."

  "You mean to tell us you wanted this... this affair?"

  "Yes." I wipe away another tear but hold my ground. "I wanted it, and I still want it. I love him."

  "What?!" my mother gasps.

  "I said I love him." My voice takes on an edge I've never used with my parents before. "I'm in love. With Chase."

  My mom sobs again and buries her face in her hands.

  "You've upset your mother," Dad says, "and you're talking complete and utter nonsense. Has he drugged you? Is that what this is?"

  "Jesus Christ!" I yell. "No! I love Chase, and there's nothing you can say that will make me stop. I didn't plan it, but it happened. And I want to be with him."

  "You can't." Mom removes her hands from her face. "Addie, you can't. Even if you do love him. He's going back to Los Angeles, or wherever he lives. And you go to school here."

  "And then you'll be back in Portland." My dad sounds so fucking sure of himself. "At least for the summer after you graduate, and then wherever we decide to pursue your MBA."

  "We," I repeat. "We won't be deciding anything. I will."

  "What happened to you?" Dad is staring at me like he doesn't recognize me. Which he doesn't.

  And mom sounds like she's underwater. Which she is. "Something happened. You're not yourself."

  "What happened is, I met Chase."

  "We know that much."

  "So does the university," my dad adds. "So does the local news station, probably. I'm going to have to make some calls and see if we can keep this quiet."

  I bite my lip. I do want my dad to try to keep this quiet, for Chase's sake. But I don't want to owe him that. Am I forever doomed to be stuck in this paradox of needing to be independent, but needing my fucking parents at the same time? "I thought you wanted to take him to court. That wouldn't be keeping anything quiet. Which is it?"

  Dad grumbles something about putting family first. "I'd love to destroy the bastard, don't get me wrong."

  I don't. In fact, I really hope he isn't thinking about hiring a hitman. Dad could afford it. I don't think he knows anyone who'd be remotely connected with that sort of shit, but money talks, and it could be as simple as one night in a shitty neighborhood talking to someone who could use a big payday. Do I honestly think my dad would do that? No. But I've never seen him this angry.

  "I'm worried about school." Mom composes herself and goes on. "If this gets out, or even if it doesn't. How is this going to affect her studying, Jack? Is she even going to be able to concentrate?"

  "You can ask me directly," I inform her. "You guys still talk about me like I'm not in the room."

  "We can't afford for you to fail," Mom says. "Maybe we should have you drop your classes and wait a semester."

  "Ordinarily, I'd be adamently against that." My dad looks at my mom in concession. "But you're right. If she fails even one course, due to this... emotional BS, then that would kill her GPA."

  "So now you're worried about my GPA," I say. "I thought you were worried about my life."

  "We are," Mom says, at the same time Dad says "This is your life."

  "Really?"

  "This is your future we're talking about. You've set off a chain reaction, Addison."

  "He has." Mom's sniffle is defiant.

  "He has," Dad agrees. He turns to me. "And because you've let yourself go along with it, you have. And now there are consequences. And consequences mean that it might be best for you to hold off on business school for a semester."

  "Get some counseling," Mom adds. "We'll get her some counseling. I'll find her the best therapist in Portland."

  "He needs counseling," Dad mutters. "But we're still within the drop period. You'll get Ws for withdrawal, but a W is better than an F."

  "You're right," I say, crossing my arms. "I do think maybe I should hold off on business school."

  "Okay, done. We can get you packed and out of here by tonight."

  I shake my head. "No. I mean, I think I want to hold off on business school permanently."

  "She's talking crazy again," Mom wails.

  "I mean it." I force myself to look at my dad, whose mouth has fallen open. "I don't want to major in business."

  He finds his voice. "What in God's name?"

  "I'm serious, Dad. I've been thinking about it for awhile now. I was thinking about it before I even applied to this school, but I didn't want to admit it."

  "Didn't want to admit that you don't want what? To be successful?"

  "Why is business the only route to success?" I demand.

  "Well, unless you stopped fainting at the sight of blood, med school is out. You have zero interest in law--"

  "I have zero interest in business."

  "Oh, Jack." My mom starts crying again. "She doesn't know what she's
saying."

  "I do know what I'm saying, Mom. I just don't want a business career."

  "Business encompasses so many things, Addie. Something in that realm would be good for you,” my mom insists.

  "No, it really wouldn't,” I say.

  "How do you know?" she asks.

  "Because I hate it!" I haven't shed more than a couple of tiny tears until now, but I can't stave them off now. "I hate my classes, and I hate the thought of that being my future."

  "Where did this come from?" Dad looks completely lost. "We've talked for so long about this. You were excited about it."

  I love Chase. I hate business. I hate that I keep making my mom cry. I hate that I lied to Kensie, and I hate that I'm the reason Chase lost his job. But I hate the thought of keeping what I really want to do a secret any longer. "I was excited that I pleased you guys," I say. I take a tissue from my mom and scrub my eyes. "But I was never excited to become a business major. That's why I didn't enroll here right out of high school."

  "You had to establish a better GPA in some college work first," Mom reminds me.

  "Maybe I didn't have the highest GPA in high school because I knew I didn't want to come to business school."

  Dad blinks. "Is that true?"

  "I don't know," I answer honestly. "At the time, I was just content to get Bs, but maybe subconsciously... maybe I was dreading something? I wanted to make you guys happy. But this isn't making me happy."

  I close my eyes, remembering high school. I remember my parents' frustration that I didn't have a 4.0, even though I was doing way better than, say, Kensie. Or my sister, who gave up on college altogether. I remember my mom asking me about getting a tutor, and my dad rolling his eyes and telling me that Portland State would be a good place to get used to college, and then I'd be mature enough for business school.

  I knew kids whose parents literally stood over them barking while they did their homework. I knew people who would never, ever have been able to even think about Portland State as a place to get their bearings. I also knew kids who would kill to have the money to go to Portland State, let alone a private school like Noland.

  I'm spoiled. I know it. I've been so lucky, and so fortunate to grow up in a family that can send me to college at all. And then loan me their extra car they had sitting around, and let me use a credit card linked to their account so I can go to places like the Green Tavern, and about a million other things. Even now, after what's happened, my mom is talking about getting me the best counselor money can buy.

  But does all of that mean I have to commit to an entire career that they want me to have? One that I know would make me miserable?

  I love my mom and dad. I appreciate so much of what they've given to me. But I can't bring myself to let think continue thinking business school has a chance with me. I just can't do it.

  "I know what I want to do." I look at both of them. "What I want is to be a writer."

  "Oh, God!” my dad says, running his hands through his hair as he begins to pace the room. “That bastard's really gotten into your head."

  "Dad, no. I'm good at it. And I actually enjoy it."

  "Maybe what you enjoyed was being in his class," Mom suggests gently. "I can see how an admired, famous author would get people inspired to do what he does. Or maybe you just liked being around him."

  "That's not it! I'd want to write even if I never met Chase. But he's the one who made me see it."

  "Of course he is." My dad sounds defeated. "Of course he is."

  "I'm sorry for disappointing you." I squinch my eyes, which only makes the tears fall faster. "And I'm sorry for scaring you. But I can't be sorry for not wanting to finish business school. Or for making my own decisions from now on."

  My parents don't say anything. They just look at each other, shocked.

  “I have to go,” I say, grabbing my keys back off my desk. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Where are you going?” my mom says.

  But I don’t answer her.

  I’m sick of answering to anyone but myself.

  CHASE

  "Shit," Abigail, my publicist, spits into the phone.

  "I'm sorry," I say, digging the Ibuprofen out of my bathroom medicine cabinet. I have a raging headache, and I down two without bothering to get a glass of water.

  "What the fuck were you thinking, Chase?"

  "I wasn't," I mumble. "Clearly, I wasn't." How can I explain to Abigail that I couldn’t stop it? That I couldn’t have stayed away from Addison even if I’d tried?

  "Jesus H. Fucking... this is going to be pretty impossible, Chase. Not going to lie."

  "I know. Just... anything you can do. Anything at all."

  Abigail hangs up and I stare at my iPhone for a minute, as if it can tell me what to do or what's going to happen. I don't know how much of this mess she'll be able to minimize, but I've seen her manage to keep the lid on some pretty gnarly shit for her other clients, so maybe there's hope.

  Students tried to stop me when I walked out of the Liberal Arts building. They didn't know. They just wanted to say hi to Chase Brooks. That meeting with Dr. Wilkes was hard. But having to smile at those college kids who said hey and told me they love Bryce, and look so happy to talk to me? That was brutal. I felt like an even bigger fraud doing that than I ever did writing a dickwad character whom I can't stand.

  My iPhone clock says it's almost one. I've been hiding out at home since getting shitcanned a few hours ago. I've been trying to do damage control, but now that I don't have anything to keep my thoughts occupied, I keep catching myself staring out the window at the forest on the edge of the property, wondering what I'd need to survive there, and wondering how many people have set off into that forest to escape something, with the intention of actually making a life in there somewhere, somehow. I'm sure in the old west days, people did it all the time.

  I have millions of dollars in the bank, and I'm standing in a luxury rental contemplating taking off into the backyard wilderness and never coming back.

  I heft my suitcases out of my walk-in closet and lay them open-faced on my bed.

  This fucking blows.

  I open my dresser drawers and get to work, grabbing stuff out of the hamper to toss in the wash. That's what I'm doing when I head downstairs and see the movement outside the glass double doors through my foyer.

  Fucking Luna, back again?

  No. The person's wearing light blue and I know that silhouette.

  She shouldn't be here. I've gotten her into enough trouble. That's why I haven't been responding to her messages, and that's why I'm doing what I'm doing.

  She knocks, and I think she sees me through the designs in the glass, because she stops still.

  My heart thuds and my jaw tenses. This is going to be difficult. Beyond difficult.

  I open my front door and gesture for Addison to come inside.

  ADDISON

  My heart catches when he opens the door.

  Despite everything that’s happened, he still looks sexy as hell.

  His hair is slightly disheveled, and the stubble peppering his strong jaw casts darkness over his face. He's holding an armful of clothes. "Hey."

  "Hey," I say. It comes out as a squeak.

  Chase leads me away from the door. "I don't know if anyone's keeping an eye on this place," he says. "But I'm done taking chances."

  I was a chance he took.

  "Doing laundry?" I ask as he pads toward the laundry room with his clothes.

  "Yeah."

  This conversation is painful. I hope he comes over to hug me when his arms are free, but after he dumps the clothes into the washer and turns it on, he just turns around and walks past me, to the stairs. Not knowing what else to do, I follow him.

  "I did it," I inform him as we ascend the stairs.

  "Did what?"

  "Stood up to my parents."

  "How?" Chase doesn't turn around when he reaches the second floor, so I'm forced to keep following him down t
he hall.

  "They came to my dorm. And I told them. I said I'm done with business school. And now we can do it. They weren't happy, but now we can really do it."

  "Do what?"

  "Be together." I can't stand talking to his back. "Chase, look at me."

  He glances at me, then enters his bedroom with me at his heels.

  I freeze in the doorway. There are suitcases on his bed. "You're packing?"

  "Yeah," he says. "I guess I am."

  I watch open-mouthed as he calmly marches from his dresser to the suitcases and back again. "Why?"

  "Addison." Chase's voice is sad, beaten. It reminds me of how my dad sounded when he realized I was done with business school. "Don't, okay? Just don't."

  "Don't what?" My throat catches. "I'm not doing anything."

  "Yes, you are. And it's not going to work. I think we both know what has to happen."

  "No," I say. "This is rash. You're just panicking a little, is all."

  "I'm not panicking, believe me. I might have done that at first, but what happened, happened. I have to go."

  "But... your book."

  “It’s finished." Chase closes one suitcase and zips it. "Bryce Bowker is done, and my time here is done."

  I perch on the edge of the bed, the panic rising in my throat. "Chase, can we talk about this?"

  "Isn't that what we're doing?"

  "I mean really talk."

  "Addison, no." He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "It's over."

  "What's over?" I ask, fighting to stay calm. He isn't. He won't.

  "This." He points at his chest, then at me. "This... thing. Whatever you call what we did."

  "This whatever thing," I repeat. "Is that what we are? Some whatever?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "No, I don't." Damnit, I cannot cry again. "Chase, please, just sit down and talk to me."

  "I think the time for that has passed, don't you?"

  "When were we supposed to, then?"

  "Anytime prior to this shitshow. We could have ended it and avoided this. Could have. But didn't."

  "So you'd have been fine with ending it?" I can't wrap my head around this. "You would've been okay with... breaking this off, and still seeing me in class?"

  "I would have dealt with it." His tone is dismissive, like I was nothing more to him than a distraction, like he’s talking about losing a favorite shirt or a twenty-dollar bill.