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“I don’t allow my students to listen to music in my class when they should be listening, Miss…”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t. I dropped that on my way in.”
“And where is the other one?” I sheepishly take it from my ear and Puddle of Mudd’s ‘She Hates Me’ plays loud and clear for all of us to hear. Right on the chorus. That’s unfortunate. Fitting though.
“I see.” He pauses long enough for the heavy weight of his disapproval to settle in my gut. Then he turns away from me towards Bhodi, angling himself in such a way that even as bad as I am at reading body language, I know it for what it is: a clear dismissal.
“What seems to be the problem here, Bhodi?”
It annoys me that he’s asking mountain man what’s going on when he was just speaking to me. Why not ask me? Yes, I was talking out of turn but I feel like I’m getting all the blame here while Bhodi gets none. How is that fair?
“Sir, she kicked off at the start of class, claiming I was sitting in her seat—”
“What are we, five?” His lip curls in disdain but he still looks breathtakingly handsome. Bhodi laughs cruelly.
“Then she threw herself on the floor for attention.” I want to protest that’s not what happened at all, but I’m frozen once again. I hate conflict.
“She didn’t take any notes during the whole lesson. Honestly, I don’t even think she was listening to you sir. She was too busy touching me and asking where I’d been all week like some damn crazy psycho stalker. And then, at the end of class, she has the audacity to ask if she can copy my notes! Which I’m sure is just a ploy to see me outside of class. And now that she’s been caught, she’s going to turn on the waterworks and cry victim!”
The tears that were threatening once more are gone the instant he uses the V-word. Fuck him. I have never been a victim. I’m not even a survivor. I’m a fucking warrior.
Just…you know…a quiet, timid one.
I get to my feet, sweep my unused supplies from my desk into my bag, and snatch the lost earbud from my professor’s hand. I want to snarl at Bhodi but I don’t have a smart comeback or put down. So I simply turn on my heel and leave.
“We’re not done here, Miss!” The teacher calls, but I keep walking.
Being strong doesn’t always mean forcing yourself to stay and see things through. Being strong can mean taking the steps needed to protect yourself. I would never dream of disrespecting a teacher like that normally, but self-preservation kicked in hard. I wish I could be badass and say something clever to the lying mountain man, but sometimes it’s more badass to walk away with grace and dignity. Well, what’s left of my dignity anyway.
One thing’s for sure. If I have to return to that lecture hall again – and I really don’t want to – I’ll be avoiding Bhodi like the damn plague, no matter how alluring his silence is to me. I hate him.
