Chapter 5

Charlie

“He did what?” Ellie says, sitting before me with her mouth hanging wide open in shock. Shortly after I got back to my apartment earlier, Ellie came in with her spare key. We’ve been sitting on the sofa ever since. I’d told her the whole story, starting from last Friday and going up to what happened today. She hadn’t said a word until now. She’d waited until I was done talking, and then she just stared at me, completely dumbfounded, for a while. “I’m going to kill him, Charlie. I know I’ve threatened to do this before, but this time I’m really going to do it.”

I wipe away another tear with the back of my hand. It really wasn’t the first time Ellie had threatened to kill him. Every time, I’d laughed it off and told her she didn’t need to, that he was a good guy who was just going through some tough times, but that we’d figure it out. I wasn’t ready to face the truth—that he in fact was a bad person and that Ellie was just trying to protect me from him.

“He is not worth going to prison for,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I should run him over with a car.”

“You don’t even own a car,” I scoff. “Or a driver’s license, for that matter.”

“Maybe,” she begins. “But Ollie has one, and if he knew what that asshole has done to you, he’d surely be happy to lend it to me.”

Ellie takes my hand in hers and runs her thumb over my knuckles. It’s a gesture I know all too well. I don’t know how long she’s been doing this to comfort me; I just know it’s always worked for me.

“Listen, darling, you know I love you and will always be there for you, no matter what happens,” she says, pausing.

“But?”

“But you deserve a whole lot better.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as my vision blurs. She’s been saying that ever since Sam and I got together. She never really liked him, even though she tried to hide it most of the time for my sake.

I can’t really blame her, because in the end, she was the one who picked me up every time he and I had a fight. She was the one who saw what he’d done to me over the past two years, and she was there for me every single time. Not once did she make me feel bad for not being able to leave him. She understood why it was so hard for me, even though she always wanted me to finally cut ties with him.

“I know.” My hand closes tighter around hers, giving it a small squeeze.

“Please, promise me you won’t take him back, Charlie.” Suddenly, she sounds very serious. The calm look has vanished from her face, and her gaze is fixed intently on me. I know she’s looked away long enough and put up with my silly excuses on his behalf. I know she is tired of watching me getting hurt over and over again.

Every time he and I had a fight, he was the one who apologized, and I was foolish enough to fall for it every time. He never really said what exactly he was apologizing for. He didn’t apologize because he was genuinely sorry, but only because it was the right thing to do. He thought that was what I expected of him. But what I actually expected from him was that he would really think about what he had done and that maybe he would change—for me.

“It’s over,” I whisper.

“It has been over before, Charlie.”

“I know.” My eyes travel down to our joined hands. I feel pathetic. I feel stupid for all the trouble that this relationship has caused.

Love shouldn’t be this hard. The thought of loving someone shouldn’t hurt. It should give you a sense of happiness and lightness, without a weight dragging you down. It should feel safe and comfortable, instead of making you overthink everything you say and do to the point where you’re eventually afraid to even open your mouth.

But how was I supposed to know what love is? My parents weren’t exactly the poster children for a healthy relationship. They called what they had love, but when I saw my aunt and her husband together, I realized that what my parents had sold me as love was anything but.

The truth is, I don’t know what love is. I don’t know what it feels like to truly love someone—or to be loved, for that matter. I’ve been corrupted by my parents and the image they created in my head of what love is supposed to look like, and I’m afraid I will never be free from the mark they left behind.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, taking a deep breath to steady my voice. “We’ll never be able to fix what we once had. I’ll never be able to fix him. I know that now.”

At first, he seemed like the cure to my sickness, but now I know that he only fed that broken part inside of me with the hope that I would eventually be healed. Yet in the end he left me even more damaged than he had found me.

“We may not have always been bad for each other, but we’ll never be good for each other either,” I finally say, realizing how long that thought had been trapped in between my hopes that this relationship would work out. I felt my whole body relax, as if I’d been holding my breath for too long and could finally breathe again.

I let the tears run down my face once more and mourn what I’ve lost, even though I know the damage it caused me while I had it. Ellie just sits there and lets me fall apart, waiting to put me back together once I’m ready. After a while, she places her hand on my face and wipes away the last of my tears.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

“No,” I sigh. “But I’ll be.”

A small smile flits across her lips, making her face glow. Even though she has dark circles under her eyes and her red hair is tied up in a messy bun, she is still one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen. The way she smiles at me warms my heart. It feels like a promise that everything will be okay someday.

Ellie is like the sun, making the people around her feel at ease just by smiling at them.

“How was Ireland?” I ask, finally changing the subject.

“Wonderful,” she says, her eyes shining even brighter. “You really should come with us next time. Mom said she wouldn’t mind at all.”

“I would love to.”

“Then you can finally meet my grandma. She’ll love you. Oh, by the way, I brought you something from Ireland.”

She jumps up from the sofa and walks over to the kitchen counter, where she had set her bag down earlier. She rummages around in it for a while until she finally seems to find what she was looking for. Then she comes back, plops down on the cushions, and holds out a small paper bag to me. I take it from her and break the small golden seal on the back of the bag. I turn it over and let the object inside fall into my palm. It’s a bracelet. A gold bracelet with a green four-leaf clover charm.

It’s beautiful.

“Ellie, I love it.” I run my fingers over the small pendant hanging from the gold chain. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, taking the bracelet from me and helping me put it on my wrist. It complements my lightly tanned skin perfectly, the green of the clover matching the color of my eyes.

Ellie and her family travel to Ireland several times a year. She lived there until her parents decided to move to England when she was five years old. Since then, her family has spent every vacation in Ireland visiting the rest of the family, and almost every time I received a gift. For Christmas, I got a pair of hand-knitted socks from her grandmother, and every now and then I get a jar of homemade jam from her aunt. Her uncle even keeps bees and makes his own honey, and I regularly get a jar of it.

Her family had never met me in person, but I was certain that every single one of them would welcome me with open arms if I stood at their door. That feeling—knowing that Ellie’s family liked me without even knowing me personally, knowing that they had taken me into their hearts so unconditionally and were always thinking of me—gave me so much strength. This family had done more for me than my own parents, and for that I was more than grateful.

“Now tell me, how was your first day back at uni?”

“Ugh, don’t even remind me,” I say, rolling my eyes at the thought of today’s literature class.

“That bad?”

“You’re going to hate the new professor.”

“What about Professor Simmons?”
“Apparently he got sick, and he won’t come back for a while,” I sigh.

“Okay,” Ellie says, raising an eyebrow as she waits for me to say more.

“Well, the new teacher, Professor Anderson, seems to have a big fat problem with me. Or with the world in general, I don’t know,” I add.

I tell Ellie about the start of the lecture and how Stella—or rather, Professor Anderson—gave me a dressing-down because of my incompetence as she called it.

“Someone must have had a really terrible day—or life.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You wanna know what the worst part is?”

“It gets worse?” She frowns.
“I’ve met her before.”

“What?” Ellie’s eyes widen. “When, and more importantly, how?”

“Last Friday after I left the club.”

“Wait, she’s the woman that helped you out with that creepy guy?”

I just nod in response.

“How can she suddenly come up with a completely different persona over the weekend and go from being your savior to a nightmare?”

“No idea,” I say with a shrug. “But after that embarrassment, it’d probably be better if I never showed my face in that class again.”

“No,” Ellie says in a very dramatic voice. “You’re not leaving me alone in there with that Anderson. She sounds like she’s going to eat me alive.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic—she’s not going to eat you,” I laugh. “She’s an asshole, sure, but she’s no cannibal. Besides, you’re not alone. Hannah’s in that class too, and even though he wasn’t there today, I bet Oliver’s taking that class as well, since you two do everything together.”

“But they are not you,” she pouts her lips.

Her words make me smile, and even though I know she’s just pretending to be sulky, I know she really wants me to be there. Besides, I really want to take this course, and I shouldn’t let this opportunity slip by.

“Okay,” I sigh. “I won’t back out. Maybe she just had a bad day and she isn’t actually the mistress of the devil.”

“That’s the spirit,” she smiles at me before we move on to another topic.

We chat for quite a while about all sorts of things—mainly about her time in Ireland and my time here.
Her stories about Ireland are, of course, much more interesting than what I have to say.

The only thing I did all summer, aside from hanging out with Sam, was working at this little restaurant called The Ladbury near my apartment. It’s a pretty expensive place where I could never afford to eat, but it’s quite nice there.

Although it is pretty funny to see rich people treating themselves to dessert for the same amount I spend on my weekly grocery shopping.

But I really can’t complain. The pay is pretty good, and I always get a free meal when I work the late shift.
Around seven Ellie decides she should go home now.

“I really need to unpack my stuff and prepare some things for uni,” she says as she walks towards the door.

“Yeah, don’t forget to buy a copy of Literary Theory for English or you might end up next on her hate list.”
“It is on top of my list.”

“Good,” I reply, as my hand reaches for the doorknob.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, wrapping one arm loosely around my shoulders. “Love you, Char.”

“Love you too, El.”

And with that, she is out of the door, and I fall back into the silence of my flat and my storm of thoughts.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The last few days have been more or less okay. I’ve spent most of my time organizing my schedule and trying to balance school, work, and what’s left of my personal life. But I think I’ve found a pretty good solution. I work two to three days a week after lectures. The rest of the week is reserved for studying, except for Sundays; those are for socializing.

Today is Friday, and despite the fairly nice weather, a big dark cloud still hangs over my head, reminding me of what’s still ahead of me: Professor Anderson. I spent the morning in philosophy class and am now on my way to English.

Oliver and Ellie told me they’d be waiting for me at the cafeteria. I can’t spot them right away in the dense crowd, so I push my way through until I finally reach the glass door to the cafeteria.

When I look through the windows, I see a red-haired girl and a tall man with blond hair covered by a green wool hat. Ellie and Oliver. They’re engaged in a conversation, and I can see Ellie giving him a dirty look. Whatever he said to her, she didn’t seem to like it, because now she’s lightly punching him in the arm.

Ollie is the kind of person who just says what he thinks, without holding back. Sometimes it hurts to hear the truth, but it’s also important to have someone who tells it to you every now and then.

Thanks to Ollie, for example, I’ve stopped wearing the color orange because, and I quote, it makes me look like a traffic cone on the side of the road.

The cafeteria is getting more and more crowded, so I decide not to go in there either, but just to wait outside. As I turn away from the windows, my gaze immediately falls on a blonde woman in high heels walking down the path, holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and her cell phone in the other. It’s none other than Professor Anderson.

She’s radiating so much confidence that I feel intimidated by her even from where I am standing. I hate the effect she has on me, even though she’s not actually doing anything. She really hasn’t done anything to earn that much space in my head.

As my gaze wanders over her appearance—her perfectly styled hair and the elegance of her outfit—she suddenly looks up in my direction, and before I can look away, our eyes meet.
Damn it.

I can feel the heat rise into my cheeks. Great, now she probably thinks I’ve been watching her like a creep, which I kind of have, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Something in her gaze shifts as she sees me. Those bright blue eyes of hers seem to darken a shade as they wander over me.

I know I should just look away and break this awkward eye contact, but I just can’t take my eyes off her. There’s something about her that keeps me from looking away and just pretending she’s not there. Suddenly, she stops, and I feel the nervousness rush through my veins.

Don’t come over. Please, for the love of God, don’t come over here.

My heart skips a beat when a hand suddenly lands on my shoulder. Surprised, I turn around and see Oliver and Ellie standing behind me, looking at me with amusement.

“What are you staring at, baby?” I hear Oliver’s voice, and a wave of relief washes over me. I shake my head as I look over my shoulder in the direction where she had been standing, but she’s no longer there.

I swallow hard to get rid of the dry feeling in my mouth. “Nothing,” I try to laugh.

“Yeah,” he grins. “Whatever or whoever it was—you were mesmerized by it.”

“I wasn’t.” Maybe I was, after all.

“Yes, you were, sweetie,” Ellie says, holding out a coffee cup to me.

“Anyway,” I say, taking the cup from her and setting off. “We have to hurry, or we’ll be late, and after my last experience with Professor Stuck-up, we shouldn’t risk that.”

“Professor Stuck-up?” Oliver raises an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, let Charlie tell you all about her. That woman is a real pain in the ass.”

“She’s not a pain in the ass,” I sigh. “I mean, she was a little bit on Monday, but that doesn’t make her a pain in the ass in general.”

“We will see,” Ellie says, as she loops her arm around mine.

When we reach the classroom, Professor Anderson isn’t there yet, but I immediately spot Hannah sitting in the same seat as last week.

The few rays of sunlight fall on her tanned skin, and her jewelry reflects the sunlight, making her look as if she’s glowing. The light falling through her beautiful hair makes it appear a softer shade of brown instead of her actual, darker hair color. I don’t even know why I’m paying so much attention to her.

Her gaze meets mine, and a broad smile spreads across her lips.

“Hannah,” Ellie calls out, running over to her and giving her a warm hug. They bounce up and down with joy before letting go of each other.

Ollie also puts an arm around Hannah’s shoulder and greets her with a warm smile. They step away from each other, and then her gaze falls on me.

She’s probably expecting me to greet her just like the others. She takes a step toward me, and before I can think about it, I hold out my hand to her. She freezes in her tracks, and I realize how silly I must look holding out my arm to her.

Fear rises in my throat, and I want to pull my hand away, but Hannah’s gaze softens. She does something I never would have expected—she simply takes my hand in hers and shakes it with a smile.

“Hey,” her voice reaches me and draws my attention away from our hands and back to her.

“Hi,” I say and smile back.

“Charlie isn’t really into hugs,” Ellie suddenly interjects.

“I figured as much,” Hannah says, letting go of my hand. “That’s fine.”

A warmth washes over me. She doesn’t make fun of me or asks me questions about it—she just accepts it.

Suddenly, the sound of loud heels fills the room, interrupting our conversation.

My gaze darts toward the source of the noise, and I catch sight of Professor Anderson for the second time today. Her expression is even more serious now than before, and I’m afraid I’d drop dead if she were to even glance my way.

“So that’s Professor Stuck-Up?” Ollie asks, leaning over my shoulder with his mouth close to my ear.

“Uh-huh.”

“And the person you were staring at earlier,” he adds. I turn my head toward him.

“What?” I act confused even though I know exactly what he’s talking about.

“She’s the one you were staring at earlier, isn’t she?”

“What are you talking about?”

Instinctively, I cross my arms over my chest and immediately regret the defensive gesture.

“It’s okay, Charlie,” he laughs and walks over to the desk right next to the one where Hannah and Ellie are now sitting.

I slide down into the chair next to Ollie and turn to face him. “What do you mean, it’s okay?”

“I may be gay, but even I can see how hot she is,” he says, looking at me as if his words are supposed to clarify anything.

“But I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies, raising an eyebrow. “You can admire someone’s looks without being into him or her, Charlie.”

“Yeah,” I say, a little confused.

I recognize that look on Ollie’s face. He thinks he knows something but doesn’t want to say it because he wants me to figure it out on my own. But I don’t get where he’s going with this.

I’m just about to open my mouth to tell him that I hate this game he’s playing and that he should just tell me what he’s thinking instead of expecting me to figure it out on my own, but I’m cut off before I can even get the first word out.

“Ms Campbell, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get started with the lesson.”
I turn my head toward Anderson. She’s leaning against her desk, arms crossed over her chest, tapping her upper arm with her index finger.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at her words.

“Sorry,” I mumble, ignoring the shiver running down my spine.

“If your neighbor’s face fascinates you that much, why don’t you take a picture of it and admire it after class?”

The heat rises in my cheeks all the way up to my ears. This is already the second time she’s made me look like a complete idiot in front of the whole class. I want to snap back, give her a quick-witted reply, but I just can’t think of anything. Instead, a bitter taste spreads across my tongue, and I consider just walking out of the classroom.

But I don’t. I just stay seated, my fingernails digging into my palms.

We look into each other’s eyes for a few more seconds before she just turns away and starts writing something on the board.

My leg starts to shake, bobbing up and down in the rhythm of my anxiety, which is spreading throughout my whole body, making me feel numb. I know no one is looking at me anymore, but I still feel like I’m being watched.
I flinch slightly when I suddenly feel Oliver’s hand clasp mine and loosen my clenched fist under the table. He squeezes it gently to reassure me that everything is all right.

I don’t dare look back at him or take my eyes off her, so I simply squeeze his hand in response.

“Today I’d like to discuss the first two chapters of Literary Theory, which I hope you all have a copy of by now,” she says, turning her gaze back to me.

I really try to see the good in everyone I meet, but I swear, this woman is truly the devil’s mistress.

I let go of Ollie’s hand to pull my copy of the book out of my bag. For once, a look of satisfaction crosses her face when she sees me put the book on my desk.

“You will read the first two chapters and discuss them with your partners. This will be the only time you’ll be able to read the chapters in class. As for the rest of the book, I want you to read the chapters in advance so we can discuss them in class. You now have thirty minutes.”

I open the book to the first page and skim the table of contents. The first two chapters discuss what literature is and the difference between reading and understanding a text. Over the next twenty minutes, the room grows quite quiet. All you can hear is the rustling of pages and the scratching of pencils as the students mark the passages they’re currently reading.

“Are you done reading?” Oliver whispers.

I nod.

“Are you okay?”

I nod again.

“You can talk to me, Charlie. We’re supposed to discuss the chapters.”

“I know.” My voice is so quiet I almost didn’t hear it myself.

“Why does she hate you so much?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I’d met her before. At the club, after I caught Sam with that other…girl.” The pain of that memory still runs deep in my bones. It’s gotten better, less painful, but it still hurts.

“So?” he asks impatiently.

“She was really nice and even helped me out of an awkward situation. To be honest, I thought I’d never see her again, but then she came to class and was like a totally different person.”

Oliver’s eyes wander to the front of the classroom to the woman sitting behind her desk.

“If she didn’t look exactly like the woman from that night, I’d bet a million pounds that it’s not her.”

My gaze drifts toward her as well. I watch as her hand reaches for the small charm on her necklace.

It’s a golden star.

How original for someone named Stella.

Her fingers gently wrap around it, and she begins to play with it, almost nervously. The cold mask she wore earlier seems to have vanished completely.

She appears almost calm, vulnerable even.

I’m not even sure if Oliver notices the change in her demeanor, but I do. The way she sits there, playing with her necklace and absentmindedly writing something in her notebook—that’s the woman I met in the alley that night. The one with the warm, reassuring presence who helped me without even knowing who I was. 

“Are you done yet, Mrs. Campbell?” her harsh voice suddenly echoes through the room. I have to blink a few times before realizing that she isn’t engrossed in her notebook but is looking directly at me. Her features are tense again, the gentleness in her presence completely gone.

Now I see the woman I met this week again. The one who apparently has a problem not only with the world but specifically with me.

“I really am,” I say, with much more confidence than I actually intended.

“Then why don’t you enlighten us all and present your results to the whole class?”

“Why?” I can see how hard she’s trying not to roll her eyes at my question.

“I want you to present your findings to the class,” she repeats.

“I understood you the first time,” I say. “The question wasn’t what I should do, but why I should do it.”

“Because I said so,” she simply replies.

I want to argue back, to defend myself, but I know it’s no use. She knows she has the upper hand, and she doesn’t hesitate to use her power. She could easily kick me out of this class, so I either have to do what she says or I’ll fail. And I have no desire to give her that satisfaction.

I stand up from my chair, my legs wobbly, grab my notes, and walk to the front of the room. With her arms crossed over her chest, Professor Anderson leans her hips against the desk and watches my every move.
As I walk past her, I shoot her a dark look, hoping she’ll understand my displeasure with this situation—my displeasure with her.

Even though Ollie and I haven’t gone over the content yet, I’m still pretty sure I’ve got a good grasp of it.
I begin by talking about what literature is, how to define it, and how to understand it in all its depth.

While I talk my gaze wanders to Ellie and Hannah, who are smiling encouragingly at me, then to Ollie, who gives me a subtle thumbs-up.

I don’t dare look over at my professor, but I can feel her gaze piercing right through me. I try to ignore it, to not let her gaze unsettle me, but I still can’t help feeling a shiver run down my spine.

Only after I’ve finished and explained the last point from my notes in detail do I turn to her. She looks at me with wide eyes, as if she can hardly believe that I’ve actually grasped the material completely.

“Did I miss something, Professor?” I challenge her. I know that’s not the case, and judging by the look on her face, she knew it too. She thought I was going to fail. She underestimated me. I may never have been a top student, but I did what I had to do, and most of the time I did a good job. Except in math—no matter what I did, I was never better than below average.

“I want you to stay after class,” she says out of the blue. I open my mouth to say something, but she is not up for an argument. “Sit back down.”

Okay, I get that she is mad about me talking back, but I did a good job. I did what she told me to.

Why does she punish me for something that she asked me to do?

First I have to present in front of the class because I talked to Ollie, as I was supposed to, I might add. Now she wants me to stay after class because I presented the material well, as I was fucking supposed to.

A sigh escapes my lips as I let my hand, in which I am holding my notes, drop and walk back to my seat.

I feel like throwing up for the rest of the class. My stomach churns, making it impossible for me to listen to what is being said.

Oliver tries to talk to me several times, asking if everything’s okay, but I just ignore him. Not because I don’t want to answer him, but because I’m just hoping that if I do, I’ll stop standing out, and she’ll just leave me alone. I just want time to pass as quickly as possible so I can get out of here.

For the next twenty minutes, I stare at the wall as if I could bring it crashing down with my gaze alone.

“Read the rest of the book over the weekend and work through the material. We’ll discuss everything next Monday. Have a nice weekend.”

Finally.

Ellie and Hannah are already standing next to me as I slip my notebook back into my bag.

“No matter what she says, everything will be fine,” Ellie assures me.

“We’ll wait outside, okay?” Hannah says, placing her hand on my shoulder as if I were about to descend into the darkest depths of hell. Well, basically it’s almost the same thing, considering who’s waiting for me up front in class.

I just nod in response and then watch as my friends and everyone else leave the room.

My gaze drifts forward, where she’s already looking at me.

She seems so confident. As if she knows exactly who she is and what she’s capable of. Normally, I’d admire her for her confidence—but right now, it just annoys me.

I walk past the tables toward her. For a moment, we just stare at each other. Her blue eyes pierce right into my very soul.

It almost feels like a challenge. Who will blink first? Who will back down first?

The air catches in my throat, and my eyes start to burn. The room suddenly feels much smaller than it has before. Everything seems so close—she seems so close.

Even though there’s still enough space between us, I could swear I can feel her breath on my face.

Something shifts in the atmosphere between us, and I know she feels it too as her eyes widen and her jaw seems to tighten even more. I’m not sure what’s going on, but whatever it is, I don’t like it. The tension between us is almost unbearable; the air is thick with something I can’t quite put my finger on.

To my surprise, she’s the first to blink and look away from our staring contest. It probably wasn’t a staring contest at all, but if it was, I’m glad I at least won it.

I watch her as she closes her eyes again and takes a deep breath before opening her mouth, as if she has to muster every ounce of patience she has left to speak to me.

“I deeply disapprove of your behavior,” she says, scaringly calm.

“My behavior?” I look at her in disbelief.

“You don’t bring the required materials when I ask you to. You disrupt my class and you don’t pay attention. You spend more time staring at the wall than listening to what I have to say, and if you think you’ll pass the exam that way, you’re wrong. But worst of all, you’re talking back. Your behavior is highly inappropriate, and this is the first and last time I will kindly ask you to leave your attitude at home. If you don’t, I will expel you from the course.”

I felt my face go slack, my mouth falling open in slight shock. She can’t possibly be serious. I know I should probably just apologize and give in, but I’m fed up with whatever this is between us. I can’t think of anything I might have done to actually upset her—other than not having that damn book with me.

“From the moment I came into this class, you pick on me every chance you get. I didn’t bring the book because I didn’t even receive your email. I do pay attention, and I am not talking back; you just make it pretty hard not to feel the need to defend my every breath.”

“And here you are talking back again,” she says, taking a step toward me. “It doesn’t matter to me how we met, Charlie. You don’t get special treatment just because I found you in a dark alley in need of help. Don’t confuse my support with general friendliness. I didn’t do it for you. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. I didn’t even expect her to treat me differently just because we’ve met before, but she could at least treat me with some respect.

She says it doesn’t matter that we’ve met before, but somehow it seems to matter after all—otherwise, why would she pick on me at every opportunity?

“Was it also the right thing to do to walk me home afterward, pretending your hotel was in the same direction when it was in fact not?”

“Get out,” she snarled.

Without another word, I turn around and walk, or rather run, out of the classroom. I hate this class, and I hate her, and there is no way this is ever going to change.