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I had one more class to endure after leaving his office, and it’s a miracle I was able to commence anything I was told. I feel like I’ve been living in an alternate universe, or some kind of twisted dream, ever since that shocking revelation this morning.
The mysterious and irresistible Dominant who invited me to one of the most exclusive kink parties in existence is my number theory professor for this semester. I still can’t believe it. It feels like fate is playing with me, as if I was being tested.
As if I didn’t have enough on my plate. This semester, and the TA position that comes with it, already promised to be challenging on its own. Now I have to get through it while pretending my professor—and the man I will work for—doesn’t have a steady presence in my thoughts and dreams?
I was so happy when I left the house this morning, practically dancing and jumping all the way to campus while listening to my favorite playlist. There was so much promise, so much excitement for the things that were to come. Or so I thought.
Now, as I find myself on my way home after my last class of the day, the bounce in my step is gone completely. I’m dragging my feet, shoulders slouched, and my gaze is glued to the ground, while somber tunes that sing of heartache and loss fill my ears. My prospects have darkened, for my personal life and my academic career.
I’m so pathetic. Dwelling is so unlike me, but I just can’t help it today.
I was hoping that the house would be empty when I got home. At just after four p.m., there’s a good chance that my roommates would still be out.
But when I unlock the door, I find my roommate Stephanie lounging on the couch. She points at the phone she keeps pressed against her ear, signaling that she’s in the middle of a call.
Relieved, I throw her a quick smile and an acknowledging nod before I make my way through the living room and the open kitchen area, leaving my empty water bottle on the kitchen table before I continue to the small corridor that leads to two of the three bedrooms in this apartment.
My room is the smallest and cheapest of the three, and it’s next to my other roommate Colleen’s room. Stephanie has the third and largest room on the other side of the apartment. She used to live in Colleen’s room, but among the three of us, Steph is the only one who thinks of the college experience as just one long, and very loud party. I tried to save myself with noise-canceling headphones at first, but that didn’t help when I was trying to sleep at night and Steph either had guests over or was talking on the phone for hours every night. I’ve never met someone as outgoing and chatty as she is.
So, after a very awkward conversation, I asked her to move rooms, so I wouldn’t share a wall with her any longer—and I’m pretty sure she’s hated me ever since. We’re civil with each other, but I’m certain that she believes Colleen and me to be the most boring people on the planet. I’m fine with that, and I’m sure so is Colleen, who hides in her room most of the time.
I can’t tell if she’s home right now because her door is always closed, so I try to close my own door as quietly as possible after fleeing into my tiny sanctuary.
The furious disappointment that’s been accompanying me the whole day makes me want to slam every door I walk through today, but I don’t want to potentially disturb my roommates—or worse, give Steph a reason to knock on my door and ask what’s up. She has a very annoying habit of doing that.
My room feels a lot smaller and so much more depressing than it had this morning. I’ve never felt more alone.
We have been chatting for weeks, and after that night at the masked ball, our text messages have only increased. He was the first person I thought of when I woke up, and the last I thought of before I went to sleep. He was never a part of my everyday life, and yet he was.
And now all of that is gone. Just like that.
I’m so angry I want to scream. After years of fantasizing, and being scared of the things my heart and mind crave, I finally dared to venture out into the world to get what I want—what I need—and it turned into a disaster.
I leave my bag next to the door and throw myself on the bed, where I faceplant onto the mattress and remain there with my limbs spread out like a starfish.
I don’t get to wallow in my misery for long before my phone rings.
I don’t need to look at the display to know who is calling, so I just fetch the phone from my pants’ pocket and answer it, after propping myself up on my elbows.
„Hi, Aunt Maureen,” I say, trying to lift my voice to a more cheerful tone.
„Oh, you know I hate it when you call me that,” she replies. „We’re no stuffy people, remember?”
I chuckle at her indignation. I grew up with my aunt after my parents died in a car crash when I was still in elementary school, and she always insisted I should just call her by her name, and not the way only „redundant and archaic” guidelines dictate. She’s my Dad’s older sister and never had any children of her own because she never wanted to be a mother. But after my parents' death, there was no one else left, and her life was turned upside down, just like mine.
„I’m only teasing, you know that,” I tell her. „You’re making it almost too easy.”
„That’s good to know. You never know what the Ivy League can do to your soul,” she says. „How’s the new semester? Did you get any TA assignments, yet?”
Once again, I’m reminded of how hard this semester is going to be. Maureen was so excited for me when she heard that I got the TA position this semester, after it didn’t work out last time, so of course she’s going to ask about it.
„No, I…erm…I mean the semester just started, and Professor Beck, the guy I was supposed to work for, is out sick, so—”
„Wait, so you’re not going to be a TA after all?” she interjects.
I can hear the panic in her voice, the outrage about me possibly losing an incredible chance to nourish my career in academia. My aunt is a tenured professor of Political Theory at Brown University down in Providence, where I spent my teenage years growing up, and she always hoped for me to follow in her footsteps.
„No, no, don’t worry, it’s…they found a replacement,” I stutter like an idiot.
