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I thought I knew it all.
Whitney turned everything I knew about the world, and myself, upside down.
And I’d hurt her.
Without thinking, I ran to her, grabbing her arm and whirling her around to face me. She looked up at me, surprised, her eyes wide with snowflakes clinging to her lashes. I brushed her hair from her face, my thumb tracing her jaw and her lower lip, taking it all in, giving me something to remember, something to find in the future.
And then I kissed her like I loved her.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and stood on her toes. I tangled my fingers in her hair and roped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.
Someone walking by whistled at us. I ignored them, holding her against me and only breaking from the kiss when I lost all the air in my lungs.
Once the kiss was broken, however, that magical moment snapped, and she pushed away from me.
“I’m not sorry for what we did,” she cried, her cheeks stained with tears that were slowly freezing on her face.
“I’m not sorry either.”
With that, she turned and ran to her car. She took off in a blur of headlights and snow.
I stood there on the curb in a trance, feeling worse than I ever had.
Had I just ruined something great, possibly the greatest thing that I’d ever known in my life?
I looked down at my watch and cursed under my breath before rushing back inside, grabbing my suitcase, and running at a full sprint to my gate.
I boarded my flight, sat down in a window seat, and rested my head against the wall, closing my eyes and trying to ignore the lingering feeling of her lips against mine and her taste on my tongue.
I woke up somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. I sat in my seat feeling both heavy and totally, utterly numb, like pieces of me had been left behind.
I knew I’d see her again. We’d be at Gatlington together in a little under a month. She wouldn’t be taking any of my classes next semester, though, not after switching to the graduate fine arts program. But I’d see her. In passing. Glimpses in the hallways and library.
“Coffee?” a stewardess asked as she pushed her cart down the aisle.
I nodded, accepting a paper cup from her, and sipped lazily for the better part of an hour. Unable and unwilling to get any more rest, knowing I’d see Whitney every time I closed my eyes, I pulled out my phone and thumbed through my emails.
Dear Professor Ellis,
We’d like to offer you the opportunity to utilize a TA during the Spring semester in your upper level undergraduate sociology and anthropology courses, specifically Soc 207, and Anthro 214. We have a candidate that would be an exemplary match to your class structure and curriculum. More information to follow.
Happy Holidays,
Dean Richardson
I stared down at my screen, reading the email over and over. A TA? I wondered what exactly I’d need a TA for, considering my classes, even at the undergraduate level, were lectures.
Not having to grade every single paper next semester sounded like heaven, however.
Just as the idea started to sound like a good one, I remembered something.
“Oh, no,” I whispered, running my hand over my tired eyes. I sent an email back, asking who the TA would be, knowing I wouldn’t get a response over the weekend.
Not Whitney, surely. We couldn’t. We could not work together like that, not after everything that happened and how it ended.
“Dammit,” I sighed, sinking down into my seat and forcing my eyes closed. Please, anyone but Whitney. Because if Whitney was my TA, and we had access to each other, private access...
I’d lose my job.
And I wasn’t sure I’d regret it, either.
THE END
