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Let me know, he texts.It would be nice to see you.
Nice, how?I write.Nice, like you want to kiss me, Elias? Like you want to take this further?
I delete it all quickly, feeling like a jackass for even writing it out, to begin with. But I can’t stop imagining his strong arms wrapped around me.
“I’ll always keep you safe,” this phantom Elias whispers in my ear.
I haven’t even heard his voice. I’ve got no reason to fantasize about any of this.
But it doesn’t make it stop.
Maybe later today?I write quickly.I’ve got a couple of problems we could work through. But we don’t have to.
Do you want to, Della?he responds just as fast.You don’t need to be shy with me.
I squeeze my legs together, thinking of him saying the same thing as he glides his hand up my thigh, his eyes locked on me the whole time.
He’ll push my legs open and slide up and down my sex, whispering urgently that I never have to be shy, afraid.
I’m safe with him…safe to give into my desires, and he’ll be there after, holding me.
I guess some students are shy about math, I send, knowing that’s what he meant.
But I need to confirm it. Or I’ll become obsessed – or even more so – tricking myself into believing he was talking about so much more.
Yeah, he replies.What time do you want to swing by?
I slump in my seat.
It’s better that we keep this about the topic at hand, but I can’t help but wish, at least a little, and way more than that, if I’m being honest. I wish he’d told me I don’t have to be shy with anything.
I don’t have to doubt this connection we’re forming.
But it’s in my head.
I wonder if I should tell him I want to cancel. I’ll say I can’t meet today, after all. And then I’ll handle the math stuff on my own so I don’t keep thinking, dreaming about all the things which will never happen.
What time works for you?I text instead, something else guiding me.
Lust, need, affection, hope…all of it, clashing, surging.
How about three? I think that’s when Mary’s class ends.
An absurd flutter of jealousy makes my chest feel light.
Mary is married. She talks about her husband often, but the thought of Elias and her being intimate is suddenly thrust into my mind.
I can’t say Eliasputit there, because he’d call me insane if I ever shared these feelings.
Yes. I’ll see you then. Thanks, Elias.
I stuff my phone in my bag, staring out the window again, my heartbeat pounding hard and making my belly tight.
A second later, I grab my phone on impulse, needing to check if he’s texted back.
He has.
You don’t have to thank me. I’m here for you.
