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Karly died. She didn’t just die. She killed herself. And there was only one reason for her to do that—only one person who has her blood on his hands. The note she mailed to me drove that point home. I never imagined that Karly would find herself in that kind of situation. I guess she didn’t either—that’s why she didn’t know how to handle it.
She was more than my cousin. She was my best friend. My family. She was my person, my rock. Hell, she was my world, and her death consumed me. I lost the ability to focus on anything other than her.
All of my other relationships fell apart with the exception of Dillon, and these are some rocky waters we’re navigating. And my brother, but he’s so far away, I’m not sure if that really counts. My parents, family, and friends…to them, I might as well have died when Karly did. It’s hard to love when your heart is so full of hate.
And I harbor so much hate for him.
His friendliness caught me off guard. I wish he was the asshole I portrayed him to be in my head. The kind of man that the world could do without; that the world would be better with him not in it. But he wasn’t. He was the exact opposite of what I needed him to be.
If I didn’t know any better, I could totally imagine myself liking him. He was definitely attractive, with his crystal-blue eyes and short, curly dark hair. And it had been clear I wasn’t the only one who thought so. All the girls in that class hung on his every word—not that they’d had any idea what he’d been talking about. They would have been too focused on listening to the way words rolled off his tongue.
If I didn’t watch myself, it was going to be an uphill battle keeping my head in the game and not falling for his lines of bullshit. I have to stay clear-minded. It’s the only way this works.
Refocusing my brain, I try to think about how many of his other students he’s had sex with. How many other lives has he ruined? Surely Karly couldn’t have been the only girl who’d fallen for his charm. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was merely one in a long line of female coeds that got fucked, then fucked over.
My heart sinks as I begin to doubt myself. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong….Maybe I should ask Dillon for his advice? Talk to the dean about what he’s been doing with his female students?
No. I have to do this. I have to do it for her. The only way people will believe me over him is if I have evidence. Time to start gathering all the pieces to this puzzle.
Chapter 4
Noah
When I got home last night, I went right to sleep after giving Shannon her beloved cheesecake that she had no problem eating in the living room while watching a rerun of some fashion television show. Those who can, do…those who can’t, watch?
During my shower this morning, all my thoughts revolved around Zara. Would it be awkward in class today? Would she bring it up again? Maybe she’d pretend it never happened? I don’t have any idea, but freaking out about it ahead of time seemed like an excellent plan.
On my way out the door, I briefly kiss Shannon on her cheek while she sleeps the morning away. It’s summer vacation every day for her; up late watching TV and resting well into the afternoon. After scratching the fur behind Gio’s ears, I pull the door closed behind me and relish the slight breeze in the air this morning.
Usually, the greater Chicago area doesn’t get blustery in the mornings until the end of October, but the feel of fall is upon us and it happens to be my favorite season. A reason to break out the sweaters, but not yet the winter coats, bonfires on the weekends with friends, and the boys of fall taking to the gridiron as the football season gets under way. It’s perfect weather. The only thing terrible about it…pumpkin spice. Everything is laced with this terrible spice, if you can even call it that—candles, coffee drinks, lip balm, snacks…I’m pretty sure you could find pumpkin-spiced condoms if you looked hard enough.
I park at the edge of the lot, enjoying the lo
nger walk. Northwestern really is a beautiful campus: old brick buildings holding years of history, lush quads with large trees, the smell of the lake in the distance. I am truly lucky to be teaching at such a wonderful university. Sure, the winters are harsh and the summers stifling, but where else in the world could I be that’s more perfect? Pulling my jacket tight around my middle as I walk through the main quad until I reach my building, I pass by a few students on a morning run. The hallways are empty except for the few overachievers and other professors that are gearing up for their first class of the day. Once inside the safe confines of my classroom, I place my messenger bag on the desk and pull out the day’s lesson plans. I write a little on the dry-erase board and pull a few pages to make copies of over in the administration building.
It takes less time than I expected, and I’m back in my classroom, one hand holding the assignment for the day and the other carrying a steaming cup of coffee I snagged. Across the hallway, the lecture hall begins to fill, alerting me that I have just a few more minutes before my students arrive. Carefully managing to pull open the heavy wooden door, I nearly drop my coffee when I enter. Cursing to myself, I almost drop my cup again. The giggling from inside my classroom tells me I’m not alone. Sitting on the edge of my desk, wearing a short black skirt and combat boots, is Zara, rifling through my bag.
Fumbling to set the papers down on the table closest to the door for the students to take as they mill inside, I nervously glance at Zara. “Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Hamilton?” I should have known she wouldn’t let my actions from last night go. This is turning bad fast. Time to put a little distance between us so I don’t give her the wrong idea.
She glances up from the file she’s currently studying and stares into my eyes—no hint of embarrassment, no deer-in-the-headlights look—she just refocuses her attention. “No. Not really.”
I step farther into the room, closer to Zara, and immediately notice the slight shift in the air. It’s charged with something. Not sure what, but it’s strange and something I’ve never felt before. “So, may I ask why you’re going through my belongings?”
“Well, if you’re able to invade my personal space, I should be afforded the same privilege,” she replies, deadpan. “You’re more boring than I thought. I was hoping to run across something interesting, but it appears your most recent reading material is my student file.” She places the file on the desk, her fingers still grazing the thick card-stock folder, and zips my bag shut.
“Maybe we should discuss the events of last night, Ms. Hamilton. I don’t want there to be any reason that there’s an uncomfortable feeling for either of us.” I’ll bring it up and put it to bed if she doesn’t want to. This isn’t the way our student-teacher relationship should have begun, but the damage is done and all I can do is redefine the boundaries.
“Oh, I’m not uncomfortable, Noah. It is okay that I call you that, right? Of course it is. What was I thinking? Now, Noah, I’m not uncomfortable at all. I just figured you wouldn’t care if I went through your bag. After all, it’s my file that’s in here.” She grips the file with her name printed on the tab, waving it sarcastically. My discomfort is quickly changing to annoyance.
Zara hops off the corner of my desk and sits in the one across from it. Well, she doesn’t actually sit in it, per se, but on top of it, in the same position she was in just a moment ago. I desperately attempt to remind myself that I’m her teacher, but the man in me ignores that thought and I can’t help but zero in on her long, ivory legs and where the tops of her thighs disappear under the skirt. She’s a student, I’m her teacher, I chastise myself, and I’ve already crossed a line that should have never been crossed to begin with. The dean could take my job right now if she knew about the improper conduct.
“Zara, I’m not going to lie to you. I read your file yesterday afternoon, and I wanted to be sure you were living in an okay area and were taken care of. Your file said you live here alone and all of your family is back in Ohio. It struck me as strange that you would just transfer mid-semester, and you arrived too late to be assigned any student housing. It was inappropriate, and I apologize for intruding. I’ve concluded that you must be doing all right and it’s none of my concern. Also, it’s not okay to call me Noah. My name is Mr. Bain or Professor Bain.”
“If you wanted to know more about me, you could have asked. I’m not upset with you, though. I might have done the same if I were in your shoes. Thank you for caring.” When she finishes her statement, she shifts slightly and the fabric of the skirt rises up her thigh high enough for me to get a glimpse of her underwear. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was doing this on purpose. Of course she isn’t. She’s a beautiful girl and has a boyfriend. Granted, I’m only twenty-six, but in her eyes, I might as well be fifty. I try diverting my gaze, but the red panties she’s wearing call to me like a beacon in the night.
Snap out of it, Noah. Eyes. Off. Thighs.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Hamilton.” I try to remain stoic, but with Zara it’s difficult. I know I’ve said it before, but she doesn’t come off as your typical college student.
