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Elio ignores everyone, thumbing through the syllabus papers until he gets to a different paper at the end. He pulls it to the front, and I recognize the names there. It’s the class’s attendance list with the names of the registered students in this seminar. Elio grabs a pen from his jacket, then holds the paper against the wall, scrawling a new name at the bottom of the list. Elio Titone.
When Doctor Frank sees the name, he clamps his mouth shut, the red instantly sucked from his cheeks.
“There,” Elio says, thrusting the pile of papers back to the prof with the attendance list on top. “Now I’m on the list.”
“So you are, Mr. Titone,” Doctor Frank says in a mangled rush. “My apologies.”
“Feel free to let the rest of the department know,” Elio responds. “Since I will be attending every one of Deirdre’s classes from here on out.”
Doctor Frank nods so rapidly I think his glasses might fly off of his face. God, I don’t know what’s worse. The scene we’ve just caused, or the fact that my prof looks like he knows exactly who I’m with. Doctor Frank watches me closely with a pinched look as Elio pulls out a chair for me, no doubt wondering how the hell the quiet violinist in his class has gotten herself mixed up with someone like Elio. If I could talk to him alone, I wonder if he’d try to help me somehow. He cares about his students, and I know instantly he probably would. But that would likely just put him in danger, so the thought wilts before I even let it take root.
Because this class is a seminar, we’re all sitting at desks arranged in a circle instead of rows, and I try not to make eye contact with anyone when I sit down. I watch Elio take his seat from the corner of my eye as I open up the laptop. In the lecture hall, Elio had typed in the password for me, as the laptop was already set up with an account for me. But it’s locked me out since I closed it up, and I quietly ask him for the password as the last few students filter in.
Instead of saying the password, he spells it out for me, letter by letter, and it’s only when I get to the last part that I realize I’ve just typed in iloveelio.
Jesus Christ.
Since it’s such a small group, and we all already know each other, Elio’s presence is a lot more disruptive than in my previous class. He’s like an invasive species, upsetting the balance of the ecosystem. Doctor Frank chooses not to introduce him or acknowledge him when he settles into a nervous, jittery version of his welcome to the new term spiel. While I normally try to participate in this class, today I don’t say a word. The other students are quieter than normal, too, and I don’t need to think too hard about why that might be.
Getting through that seminar is like pulling teeth, and the bit of excitement and relief I felt at attending my earlier lecture is totally gone now. I practically bolt out of there when class is done, barely registering Doctor Frank’s comments about next week’s assignment.
“Damn, you’re fast. You here on a track scholarship?” Elio asks from behind me as I weave through students in the hallway.
“Wouldn’t matter if I was,” I shoot back. “I’m dropping out.”
I shove open the doors and hurl myself out into the bright winter day. In my haste to get out of there, I haven’t zipped up my jacket. The bitter cold knifes right through the front of my sweater, but I welcome it. It feels so painfully good that I take the jacket off entirely, breathing in the January air. I know Elio is right behind me before he even speaks.
“You’re not dropping out.”
“Yes, I am,” I snap, whirling on him. He’s standing there with the bag, carrying my books like my fucking boyfriend or something. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what? Attend class?”
“Not anymore. Not with you,” I tell him.
“Why not? I was quiet, wasn’t I? Just sat there like a good boy.”
“Oh, yes, a very good boy,” I huff, clutching the jacket against my front. “You’re practically a saint.”
“Elio, Patron Saint of Songbirds,” he drawls. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“I can’t with you today. We are done here.”
The crackle of dark humour in his gaze goes cold, glinting like onyx.
“I decide when things begin and I decide when they end,” he growls. “You told me you wanted to go to school. That it’s important to you, and to your craft. So, you will go to fucking school. And if I have to get you up and dressed and drag you here myself, I fucking will.”
“But I don’t belong here anymore!” I stammer, off-balance from the sudden shift in his tone. “And neither do you! When we entered that room, God, it was like we poisoned it or something. Everyone was staring at us! My teacher looked like he was on the verge of passing out!”
“My sweet little Songbird, the only one you’re capable of poisoning is me. You’re in my fucking blood, and I’m pretty sure you’ve passed the blood-brain barrier, because these days I can barely think around the space you take up inside my head.” He raises the arm that’s not busy holding the bag, gesturing his thumb backwards over his shoulder towards the doors we just came out of. “And those other dopey fucks in there? They’re lucky to even breathe the same air as you. Why do you care what they think? Why would them staring at you keep you from something you want?”
“I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
“But I do,” he says, every word stony with conviction. “And your pretty little ass better be ready for school tomorrow morning, or you’ll have to stand at the back of the class because it’s going to be too sore to sit on those shitty plastic seats.”
A bolt of confused pleasure goes straight to my clit at his clipped commands.
“Well, we’ll just see about that,” I say with a shiver.
