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Eden
For the past few weeks,I’d felt like I was being watched, but that was nothing compared to the fuckery still to come. It started with weird phone calls. When I’d answer and it’d just be someone breathing heavily. Also, there were flowers left on my countertop—every morning now. I could not shake off the fact that I've been running through shampoo like I’ve been using it three times a day. Like, who would steal shampoo but leave the bottle?
The worst thing, though, was finding my favorite pair of fire-engine red panties balled up in the laundry though I hadn’t worn them for weeks. I thought I’d lost them. They were back…and crusty.
I was losing sleep over this. I tried to figure out who was breaking into my apartment, but to no avail. I hadn’t been harmed, but it was unnerving all the same.
My rattled psyche said that I should contact the authorities, but my upbringing prevented that. That wasn’t how I was raised, and I knew better than to call the cops anyway.
For one, I grew up in Florida. In Florida, we always handled shit in our neighborhood ourselves. Because nothing fucked up shit more than involving the popo. And two, everyone knew that going to the police only pissed off a stalker, upping his timeline to kidnap, rape, and kill his victim faster.
The point was I refused to bethatstatistic. I refused to be another victim that a flimsy piece of “official” paper failed to protect because the authorities didn’t take the woman seriously. They never do.
I did two things to combat and catch this menace. I put in some cameras and threw an extra deadbolt onto my door. Anyways, I was too busy to allow some weirdo masturbating outside of my window to scare me off. I’d confront him and kick his ass. Then maybe—maybeI would call the cops to come get him.
Too bad it wasn’t Silas stalking me.
I hated myself for thinking that. I would have been flattered. Why was I so twisted?
Shaking off the ill feelings, I tried to find my smile. It was a new day, a new semester, and nothing was going to keep me down.
My phone rang, and I rushed towards it, hoping it was one of my new study partners. I looked down and saw it was my mother again. Ugh. She kept calling repeatedly. I just rejected all her calls to forward them to voicemail. When I listened later, it was just the same-old-same-old. She’d whine about how ungrateful I was, how I was her only daughter now, and how I needed to come home. How it would be better if I lived in Florida with my family. My family needed me.
“Yeah, under her thumb,” I thought aloud.
I left all that behind. She could play the grieving widow and lost mother all she wanted. We both knew it was just as much her fault as it was mine. We both lost people. She wasn’t the only one in mourning. I couldn’t trust her, either. It was one reason I applied myself and got a full ride to Hampton University. To get away from her.
I still wasn’t far enough away in my mind. Fourteen hours by car might seem like a lot, but I honestly wished I was on the other side of the world. Somewhere she couldn’t sink her manipulative claws into me. Somewhere that wouldn’t remind me of everything I had lost.
No. I had to buck up. This was my dad’s legacy, and I wouldn’t fail him again.
The calls kept coming as I made my way across campus to my Italian class. If wanted to get into that program in Italy, I needed to focus and do well. I couldn’t let my mother distract me.
If I aced this class, I would have an advantage over the other kids applying. I could rush Alpha Kappa Alpha and it would give me a leg up in my career choice.
If I survived hell week, that is.
But once fully indoctrinated, there would be opportunities after graduation. I could wind up in a prestigious research lab, breaking glass ceilings and stumbling upon a cure for genetic disorders.
It was rare for a junior to make it in, and I needed to do my best. If I didn’t get tapped this year, I knew I would next year for sure. I couldn’t fail.
I declined the call from my mother again as I entered the classroom and took a seat. She was on my phone as “The Bitch” because that’s what she was. My mother always spoke about family, but she did not know what that word really meant.
“Good morning class,” a familiar rasp slid into my ears. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up in response to his voice. I looked up quickly to see with my own eyes what my body was already telling me.
This couldn’t be happening.
Silas Caputo was standing in front of the whiteboard at a podium in my lecture hall. He wrote Professor Silas Caputo across the board with an underline below it. My stomach soured as his eyes scanned the other students and finally landed on me. He smirked, and I swallowed hard.
I had been avoiding him since he asked me out. Now, I wouldn’t be able to. He was my professor. He was my neighbor and my professor.
Even if I wanted to give in to my fantasies about him, I couldn’t. I needed to focus on my future, not be distracted by men. Especially not this man. Why was this happening to me?
His eyes stayed locked on me as he went through his introduction. I wanted to get up and walk out of class. I could be at the advisor’s office in less than ten minutes and drop this class for something else. Just as quickly as the idea hit, I rejected it.
I wouldn’t drop it. Nothing was getting in my way of making it to my goals. Not even the insanely sexy professor who was also my sexually promiscuous neighbor.
When we did introductions, I had to force myself to stand up and introduce myself. I didn’t want any more eyes on me. His were enough. Seeing his eyes flick down my body as I stood, I straightened my spine. I wouldn’t let him get the best of me.
