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It reminds me of why I came here in the first place.
Not for a crude hookup, but Professor DeMarco… he struck me as someone I might like.
Swallowing a lump of uncertainty, I call out a bit timidly, “Professor DeMarco?”
I don’t even know where his bedroomis.
I’d also much rather he meet me out here, somewhere safe with windows and books… Oh, he has such a nice book collection.
I wander into the living room, gazing lovingly at the beautiful built-in bookshelf. I move closer and run my hand gently along the spines of some of them.
The floor creaks, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
My heart beats so loudly I feel like he must surely hear it, but that movement definitely came from upstairs.
I guess his bedroom must be upstairs.
My crummy instincts whisper that going up there is a bad idea. They’re the same ones that told me not to go back for Dylan, the same ones that told me not to go upstairs with Silvan.
I should listen to them, but I don’t want to believe them this time. Not about Professor DeMarco. I don’t want to believeallmen are like that, but I don’t have a great case with the evidence I’ve gathered so far in my lifetime.
You can’t disprove a hypothesis if you’re too big a chicken to run the damn experiment.
Besides, I’ve survived the failed experiments in my past. If I’m wrong, I’ll survive one more.
The old wood creaks as I ascend the staircase. I keep a hand on my purse, cognizant of the pepper spray inside.
Not that I want to pepper spray him, but I’m betting everything on the hope that he’snota fucking creep, and I could be wrong.
Please don’t prove me wrong about this.
I’m so tired of constant diligence. It shouldn’t be so fucking hard to just exist in the world and not be used and tossed aside.
Perhaps it’s the environmentalist in me, but I loathe this culture of easy disposability. Everything can’t be replaced, and even the things that can be… should they be? I don’t think so. Not always. I believe in the value of people and things, and I believe some things are well worth the effort of fixing them up instead of throwing away.
A flash of Dylan with Elle surfaces, but I stomp it down with more force than any of the other memories.
He doesn’t deserve to have someone loving him when I’m trapped in solitude, unable to trust or let anyone in because of whathedid to me.
I wish I hadn’t come here, but I’m here now. It’s too late to turn back.
Iwantto go back to my safe little bubble. I don’t want to unearth any more unpleasant truths or bet on the decency of any more people.
I’m tired of being alone, but alone is… safe.
If you don’t have anyone, then you don’t have anyone to hurt you.
Only that’s not fucking true either, is it? Because I sure as hell have been hurt by men who weren’t mine.
My face is warm by the time I reach the top of the stairs.
I’m fighting back anger because I know the hope I’m clinging to is fragile, and it won’t take much to snap that thread.
Please be decent. Please be decent.
If he’s not, I might push him down the stairs.
Time slows as I walk down the quiet hallway. My stomach rocks with nerves. Ahead of me are closed doors on both sides of the hall, but one is cracked open.
