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“Will you at least think about tomorrow?”
“Probably not,” I tell her truthfully. No sense in getting her hopes up.
“You suck.” She pouts.
“Love you!” I ignore her comment, quickly spinning on my heel and exiting the cafeteria.
I make the walk to Professor Clemens’s classroom in peace. I’m honestly a little surprised that I haven’t seen Archer today. Maybe he’s finally gotten the hint and decided it’s time to move on. Unfortunately, the thought leaves an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach that I vehemently try to ignore.
Knock. Knock.I gently rap my knuckles against the outside of the classroom door, peeking my head inside to see my professor sitting behind her desk, a stack of portfolios next to her.
“Rory, please come in.”
I step into the room.
“You can just have a seat right here.” She gestures to the seat across the desk from her. I do as she says, gently folding my hands in my lap to hide my nerves.
She’s never called me into class before, so I’m low-key freaking out at the moment.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, working to keep my voice even and smooth.
“Oh yes, everything is fine. Did you think I called you in here to deliver bad news?” My expression must give me away because she’s quick to explain. “I actually called you in here because I wanted to personally express to you how impressed I was with the portfolio you submitted on the work you did with Mr. Copeland.” The mention of his name causes my skin to prickle.
“Oh, well, thank you.”
“I mean it. The transformation. The way you drew him in such painful detail.” She opens my portfolio on her desk as if I haven’t memorized every pencil stroke on every single page.
She flips slowly through the pages and even though I attempt not to look, I can’t stop my eyes from honing in on the last picture when she reaches it. I drew that the same night we slept together. God, it feels like an eternity ago and yet like it was yesterday at the same time.
I stare at his eyes. Eyes that seem to look right back at me, and I remember how I felt in that moment.
How my heart pounded inside my chest.
How my fingers ached to reach out and touch him.
How taut with anticipation I was.
I wanted him more than I’ve possibly ever wanted anything before in my life.
I wonder if I had known then what I know now, if I had still gone through with it that night. If I had still slept with him knowing how the next day would play out. And the answer surprises even me. Because yes, I think I would have.
And as Professor Clemens flips back to the beginning of my portfolio and starts to mention the difference, the growth, the evolution of my work page by page, I start to realize something that maybe I hadn’t before.
Maybe the reason I so easily believed that he would hurt me that way is because I wanted him to. It was clear he was putting on a show that he wanted me to see. And instead of insisting he tell me the truth, I forced myself to believe that he really was that horrible of a person and that he duped me.
He didn’t trick me or play me. I know that now. I think I needed to believe that he did, though, because it gave me an out. It gave me an easy excuse to walk away before I was in too deep. But I failed. Because sitting here now, I realize that ship has long since sailed.
I think I fell in love with him the first time he kissed me, and I’ve only fallen more deeply with each moment we’ve shared since. And if I’m honest, it scared the hell out of me. Not enough that I would have ended things on my own, but enough that I was willing to walk away without a fight when he did.
Am I scared of what I feel for Archer? Without a doubt.
Am I scared he will hurt me again—only worse? Absolutely.
Am I scared enough that I’m willing to let him go forever? That I’m not so sure about.
My phone pings about halfway through my meeting with Professor Clemens, but I don’t check it until I’m exiting the classroom a few minutes later. I don’t think I heard half of what she said, but I appreciate her praise just the same. It’s nice to know that even if this thing with Archer doesn’t work out, it wasn’t all for nothing.
Pulling my cell phone out of my bag, my heart picks up speed when I see Archer’s name on the screen. I quickly click on the message.
