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ChapterSixteen
Emelia
After Professor Barclay leaves, I sag down in one of my kitchen chairs, feeling like all of my energy has been sapped out of me. Riding home in his car put me on high alert. Like prey caged in with a predator, I kept track of his every movement. Every time he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. Every time he peered over at me. Every little nuance. I might have taunted him with the promise of leaving his car, but I never would have. He could have taken me wherever he wanted. He could have kept driving forever and I would have stayed, happily.
I sweep my gaze around my apartment, embarrassed now to see my home through his eyes. It’s small, sparse, maybe even a little childish with my yellow tablecloth and silly pictures. He made it clear he didn’t think much of my building. He turned his nose up downstairs, in the lobby, and I can only imagine he was restraining himself from saying anything negative about my apartment itself. If his car is any indication of what his house looks like, he lives in the lap of luxury.
But then my embarrassment and shame give way to curiosity as I remember his words from just before he left.
“Whatever I do…whatever happens, I hope you don’t lose sight of the fact that your merits stand on their own.”
But after that warning, he did nothing.
Iwas the one to stop him on his way out, to boldly ask a question that’s been on my mind for years, and he didn’t answer.
Even without the answer, though, his words mean something.
They have to.
I cling to them as I stand and make my dinner. I chop and sauté vegetables and add them to rice and leftover chicken. The meal is nothing fancy, but it’s nutritious and fills me up. After I eat, I clean my apartment, tidying everything as if I’m expecting Professor Barclay to waltz through the door again. I imagine him standing at the threshold, only this time he stays. He takes off his jacket and folds it neatly before draping it over the back of a chair. He comes to me, backing me up toward my bed like a bully taking what he wants.
My fantasies carry over to the next few days, taking on a life of their own, and they’re not always sexy either. Some are simple…almost sad, an indication of how lonely I feel in Boston. Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like if Professor Barclay helped me cook dinner or if we shared a bottle of wine together after work. Sometimes, I imagine him bringing me home and not wanting to leave, staying the night and sharing my small bed.
But regardless of the subject, the fact is, I fantasize and I fantasize and there’s nothing I can do to make it stop.
Dreams about Professor Barclay are something I long for because they’re out of my control.This?Me on my bed with my hand between my legs? It’s a fully formed, wide-awake admission. I want Professor Barclay, and it’s not always sweet or simple or easily explained. There’s murky consent, taboo locations, him in his office at Banks and Barclay, me on his desk.
I feel so guilty about it all. I can barely meet his eyes when we cross paths, which is rare considering I go out of my way to avoid him. The more I think about him, the more I dread the idea of him finding out the dirty truth. I’m guilty, and it’s written across my scarlet-flushed skin. All he has to do is look, linger on me for a moment too long, and he’ll know. I’m a school girl in this crush, innocent and wide-eyed and impossibly obvious.
More days pass and I pray for rain so he’ll have to drive me home again, purposely leaving my umbrella behind every morning, but the sky is a horrible cheery blue. Birds sing and fluffy white clouds slide by.
Once, as I’m returning to the Banks and Barclay building from lunch, lost in my own thoughts, I turn the corner in the lobby and find Professor Barclay standing in an open elevator with Mr. Banks. The doors are about to slide shut, but Mr. Banks steps forward and holds them open for me.
I hesitate on the threshold like a deer caught in headlights, and when I don’t immediately join them, Mr. Banks smiles curiously. “Are you going up?”
My gaze flits to Professor Barclay. He looks devastatingly handsome in his black suit. The color only serves to make him more intimidating, a sharp contrast to his light eyes.
“I…”
I wait for Professor Barclay’s permission, and when he simply stands there, looking as if he barely knows me, I step back and shake my head.
“I actually forgot something. Sorry.”
Each day that passes makes me feel more and more out of sorts. I can’t get a handle on what’s happening. Had he not driven me home, had he not spoken as if he was contemplatingdoingsomething, I would assume he wants nothing to do with me at all. It would be easier then, I think, to cast my feelings aside instead of feeding into them day after day.
I feel hungry and never sated, anxious and never at peace.
Work is overwhelming, but in a good way. I like the tasks that take my full attention, like to be distracted. Instead of letting Professor Barclay adversely affect my productivity, I only work harder, more eager to please than ever, as if I expect word of my accomplishments to make their way all the way up to him.
That Emelia, she’s such a hard worker.
As ifthatwould convince him to fuck me.
I’m hopeless and IrealizeI’m hopeless, and that realization doesn’t soothe my worries; it only makes the situation hurt more.
When Alexander calls me on Friday, two weeks after the gala, I leap at the chance to have an outlet other than wallowing in plaguing thoughts of my boss. I’m still at work, so I step away from my desk and head over toward a bank of windows as I answer my phone.
“Alexander! Hi!”
