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Sure, the thought of him makes my skin burn, but that’s only because he’s stolen so much access to me, made me experience intimate things with him I should only share with someone of my choosing, and because I want to.
I know it should feel exactly like when Dylan violated me back in high school, but for some reason, it doesn’t.
I don’t know what it is about him, exactly, but he feels like once in a lifetime. An experience that’s more like a fever dream, and when it’s over and you try to explain it to someone, you can’t.
He’s like being Wendy, kidnapped by Peter Pan and flown to Neverland, but the next morning when he returns you home with no evidence he was ever there, everyone insists you imagined it.
The difference is Peter Pan wasn’t a monster, was he?
He didn’t invite himself to feast on Wendy and give her confusing, passionate kisses in the hallway before leaving her to come up for breath when he could have easily invited himself into the apartment he arranged to be empty and helped himself to much more.
He’s confusing.
I’m confused.
I’ve never met anyone like Silvan.
I’m certain I never will again.
That’s probably a good thing.
After spending the entire day restless and on edge, my last class comes to an end, and the room fills with the sounds ofstudents all around me packing up their things to leave. I look at my notes. All I wrote down was “misattribution of arousal,” and without context, I can’t even remember what it means.
I spent the whole class doodling. Stars in the sky around a massive clock tower with two figures flying past it.
“Nice work.”
I look up in surprise at the professor standing in front of my table, gazing down at my paper.
“Wh-what?” I stammer, embarrassed to have been caught not taking good notes.
He nods at my paper. “Your sketch. I assume you were illustrating an example of misattribution of arousal.”
“Oh. Yeah, of course,” I fib, my face flushing an even deeper shade of red.
The professor smirks, the tilt of his lips telling me he knows I’m full of shit. “If you need to go over anything you might have missed, I have office hours from three to five.”
I don’t want him to think I’m some daydreaming slacker, and I’m sure I can find my answers in the textbook, so I shake my head. “Oh, I think I’ll be okay, but thank you.”
“This will be on the exam, so you’ll want to make sure you’re familiar with the material.”
“I will,” I assure him.
Quickly, I gather my things since mostly everyone else has already left.
I’m frustrated with myself as I make my way out of the building. I’m a good student, always have been, though last year was a little rough.
After everything happened with Dylan, I couldn’t concentrate, either. I had to put in an immense amount of effort just to focus on things that used to be a piece of cake, and knowing the timing couldn’t be a coincidence made it that much worse. I wanted to be fine. I wanted to put it behind me and forget it. I wanted to fucking erase it from my past and go on like it had never happened.
I just couldn’t.
The reason I can’t concentrate is different this time, though. It’s not the trauma fucking up the wiring in my brain. It’s… him.
As I make my way off campus, I find myself anticipating returning home, but it’s not the simple act of returning I’m thinking about.
I told Silvan goodbye, and I swear he smirked like he considered it a challenge.
Some part of me expects to go home and find him leaning against the wall outside my dorm, a smirk on his handsome face.
