My lips curved upwards in a smile. I was never going to live this down. The good butterflies were back. The doubts were still there, I still didn't know where this could possibly go. Between my issues and his recent break-up, even if we were both interested, that's a lot of stuff to work though. And I hadn't even touched on the fact that he was my teacher. I needed to stop thinking. This was going to drive me crazy.
Hope your daughter enjoyed herself. I am sure the entire female population of your class has a crush on you, Mr Anderson. And probably half the males.
I pressed send. The response was immediate.
Probably true. That's not something that holds much interest with me though. Just you. Night Em.
I sighed, and threw myself onto my bed. The pillows collapsed in a pile around my face, burying me at the bottom. Simon Anderson. I'd read stories about people who met their soul mates online and then travelled halfway around the world to marry them. I'd always though how could you marry someone you've never met? How could you possibly be in love with someone based on a few emails and Skype sessions? Those people had always been filed in the lonely and desperate category for me. And that says a lot, coming from the girl who never leaves the house.
I had never wanted love. Or maybe I did. Maybe I just knew how much easier my life would be if I just cut myself off from any possibility of love.
Until now.
We had never met, but I had developed intense feelings for Simon. Part of me didn't want to meet him. What if this spark wasn't there in person, and my bubble was completely burst?
Or worse, what if it was there?
In typical Emma fashion, I'd somehow managed to turn a wonderful moment into a mountain of uncertainty and fear.
“What did you forget-” I stopped. I had swung open the door expecting to see Tom.
It wasn't Tom.
It was Simon. Simon Anderson was standing in my doorway with a sheepish grin on his face in all his wonderfully sexy glory. His arm was stretched up the door frame, like he was holding it up. The sleeve of his shirt was riding up his arm, revealing his wonderfully carved muscles. What girl didn’t appreciate a nice set of arms on a guy? I know I did.
“Student records again?” The words came out in a stutter. My heart thudded in my chest. My hand shook as it gripped the doorknob. I couldn't handle this. I needed warning. He couldn't just show up.
That wasn't fair!
I held the door open for him. What the fuck was he doing here? I closed my eyes momentarily. I focused on my breathing.
“I've done so many things that could get me fired.” He joked. Or half joked, because there was a lot of truth to that statement. He stood awkwardly. It took me a moment to realise he was waiting for me to invite him in.
“Come in.” I finally said, standing aside. I looked down at myself. Why oh why was today a pyjama day of all days? To my amusement, he blushed. He held up a pile of notes.
“Court documents.” He explained, handing them to me.
“They couldn't be emailed?” I couldn't resist another dig.
“They could.” He admitted. “I didn't want a paper trail of me giving these to you.” He paused before adding, “And I can't Google you. That's not fair.”
God, I hadn't even showered yet. I glanced down at my blue snoopy pants and my pink spotted top. That was probably displaying nipple. I crossed my arms over my chest.
“You look fine.” He said quietly, as if he could sense my insecurity. “Beautiful even.” I blushed. He thought I was beautiful?
“Can I get you a coffee?” I asked. He shook his head.
“I have Maddie downstairs, I just wanted to get these to you.” He smiled and cocked his head to the side. “I’d love to catch up sometime if you're up for it though.”
“Sure.” I was startled with the words coming out of my mouth. No Emma, you're not up for it. The smart thing to do would be to not go forward with this. Unfortunately, one look in his eyes had me ready to sign up for just about anything.
He nodded, looking relieved. “I will call you later.” Oh god. His smile. If he smiled at me again he’d need to wipe me off the floor.
“How did you pull up after your party?” True to his word, Simon called me that evening. Of course I’d been waiting impatiently all evening like a cat on heat. An angry, frustrated cat on heat. Well, I guess all cats would be pretty angry and frustrated when on heat.
Just like that, we fell into a pattern. Simon rambled on about his daughter, his work, and how he got into teaching.
“When your father’s friend calls you up offering you a teaching position at one of the country’s top universities, you don't say no.”
“So you like teaching then?” I took a sip of my coffee, and pulled my legs up under my knees.
“I do like it. It's just more work than I thought it would be.”
“Especially when you have students leaving their work till the last minute then needing help.” I joked. He laughed, I closed my eyes and imagined him. Those deep blue eyes, his thick dark hair. Oh and his lips. Those lovely full red lips-
“Honestly, I've loved every one of your emails. And it's not like you’re slack. You can't help being sick.”
I bit my lip. I'd been biting my lip so often lately ulcers were starting to form. I'd forgotten the glandular fever fib, and I was annoyed he had interrupted my daydream.
At the time it was easier than telling the truth. Agoraphobia was an illness. It was just the stigma that came with it made me feel ashamed. I hated feeling that way. I think part of it stemmed from my family being unable to accept my illness. They didn't handle things well, and as a result, I didn't handle things well. I felt as though I had something to be embarrassed about.
I’d had a bad thing happen to me, but millions of people have bad things happen to them and they get over it. It'd been ten years, why wasn't I over it yet? Why couldn't I move on? Why did he get to move on while I had to continue to live in this hell?
“Some days I feel better than others.” That wasn't a lie. Some days were easier than others for me. Like today. Today was a good day. And it was getting better by the minute.
“How long will you be out of action for?” He asked curiously.
“Depends. I need another round of blood tests in a couple of weeks, will see what they say then. So, you dropped by.” It was a desperate attempt to change topic. Lying to him was hard, I much preferred to avoid the subject of my illness altogether.
“I did.” He agreed. “I love your place by the way.” He said “Such an amazing view.” I let out a breath. My distraction powers had worked. For now. Eventually it was going to catch me though, and the thought of that had my stomach in knots. For a change.
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Mom and dad were insistent that I live somewhere within their apartment block if I was going to live alone. They pay for it. I wasn't happy with that, but if you knew my dad, you wouldn't argue.” How ironic. I barely knew my dad.
“That's good,” Simon pointed out, “that your parents care so much. I see so many kids who have screwed up their lives and it usually starts with something bad at home. They seem very protective of you.” I swallowed the urge to tell him my family wasn't as supportive as they seemed. I'd rather have my dad talk to me than shell out money for an apartment. He lived less than ten minutes away, yet he can’t find the time to visit?
I listened to Simon with interest. Hearing him talk about his work and his cases reinforced for me why I was doing this course, and why I needed to work past my agoraphobia. How could I help other people if I couldn’t help myself?
“What’s the case you're working on now?”
“A murder.” He thought for a moment. “Not unlike the first case you've covered, but this girl wasn't so lucky.” Simon paused as I laughed aloud. If only he knew the number of times I wish he had killed me.
“You think the girl in my first case study was lucky?” I was incredulous. My mind fought my heart to control my emotions. He didn't kn
ow it was me. Of course escaping murder would seem like a good thing. In many ways for me, I felt rape was worse than murder. At least if I were dead I wouldn't have to relive it every day.
“Well lucky might not be the right work, but at least she survived,” He observed. “She may not have felt that way then, but things get better. Providing she had the support and care necessary, she at least had a chance to move on. This girl didn't.”
I nodded. He was right. She wasn't given the chance to fight back.
Guilt suddenly swept through me. Was I wasting chances that some people just didn’t get? I was barely 20, yet the last ten years I hadn’t been living. I’d barely been coping. The difference between me and so many others was I still had a life ahead of me. Whether I chose to live it was up to me in the end, but it was there.
“I guess I see your point,” I admitted. “What she went through would have been pretty hard to live with.” I pointed out.
“I don't disagree with you for a second. Getting over something like that would have been incredibly hard, and a long process. From the victim statements it looked like she had a supportive family. Many victims don't even have that.”
“I know.” I whispered. “That’s what I want to do. I mean when I finish, I want to work with victims of violent crime. I want to be able to support people who have nobody. To experience something like that is one thing, but to go through the aftermath alone, now that's just unbearable.”
Simon stayed silent for a long time. Had he hung up?
“You’re a very surprising young woman, Emma.” He said, shaking his head in dismay. “Just when I think I have you worked out, you throw something else out at me. Not many people can surprise me like you do. Especially someone so young.”
I smiled. Goosebumps prickled my arms and shivered their way down my back. There was something amazing about hearing the admiration in his voice.
“It’s been lovely talking to you Emma. I hope we can do this again.” I could hear something in his voice. I wasn't sure what it was, or even how to describe it. It was just. Something.
“I’d like that.” I said shyly.
Chapter Seven
Re-runs of Community or a movie.
That was the big question I was faced with right now. My thoughts were interrupted by a beep. My email. I scrambled to my feet, tripping over a rogue cup as I stumbled to my phone.
Please be Simon, please be Simon, please be Simon. Yes!
Emma,
Did you have time to read through my notes? I hope it made sense to you. I am looking forward to discussing with you.
Simon
I was so smitten. I’d been so concerned that we wouldn’t connect in person, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d felt the energy between us instantly, and I think he’d felt it too. From his smile, to his amazing eyes, and right down to his personality, everything about this guy had me caught.
Simon,
I'm sure you understand I'm a very busy woman, I've spent the last twenty minutes trying to decide whether to watch old episodes of Community or the late movie. But seriously, I found your notes very insightful. I'm no longer aiming for just a pass!
Emma
My phone rang.
“Are you serious?”
It was him. My knees buckled sending me sprawling back on the couch.
“About?” I prompted.
“Community wins hands down. All the time. Besides,” He added. “The late movie stars Jennifer Lopez. That should be reason enough to avoid.”
“And if I happen to like J-Lo?” I didn't. I hated her. But that wasn't the point.
“Then I'm sorry, but our friendship is over.” He announced dramatically. I laughed.
“You’d end our friendship over J-Lo?”
“Dear Sweet Emma.” He patronized. “Many, many friendships have ended because of J-Lo. Some things are just unforgiveable. You’re lucky. I’m willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself.” He added seriously.
“Okay. I’m sorry. I’ve learnt the error of my ways.” I giggled, playing along. The sound of Abed’s voice came through the phone. “You’re watching it too.” I realised, smiling.
“I happen to love this episode. I thought we could watch it together.”
“Oh that is so cute.” The words tumbled out before I could stop myself. He chuckled softly to himself.
“Shut up and watch.” He laughed. God I loved his laugh. So sexy. Like him. I couldn't concentrate on the show. All I could hear was his slow, sexy breathing. He laughed, I laughed, even though I had no idea what I was laughing about. I felt so happy when he was in my thoughts. Which was nearly all the time. I cannot remember the last time I honestly felt happy.
“So, tell me something I don't know about you.”
The show had finished, and Simon had turned his attention back to me. We had been on the phone for over an hour now, but I wasn't ready to let him go, and by the sounds of it, neither was he.
“Um. Let me think.” Something he didn't know. There was plenty that fell into that basket, none of which I was ready to share with him yet. “I can be pretty shy.” His laughter rang through my ears.
My heart literally skipped a beat.
“Em, I said something I don't know.” He sounded amused. Okay, so maybe I didn't hide my shyness as well as I thought I did. I'd have to work on that.
“What do you want to know? Ask me something. I'm not good at these games.” My voice wobbled. I was nervous. It was a risk, putting him in control like this. There were so many things he could ask that I knew would make me clam up.
“Okay. What's the deal with this Tom guy?”
“Tom?” I said, relieved. I could talk about Tom. “He’s just a good friend. We have known each other for a long time, and he has helped me through some really hard times.”
“Hard times? Like what?” He asked, intrigued. Could I do it? Could I tell him, just like that? I so badly wanted to open up to him. I must have been silent for longer than I thought, because next thing I knew he was saying my name.
“Em, don't feel you have to answer that. We all have things in our past. If you're not ready to talk to me, I completely understand.” He spoke gently.
I felt the tears as they rolled down my chin, forming a pool in my hand. I brushed them away angrily. Why do I always cry? If someone said 'boo' I'd burst into tears. I hated that about myself.
“I don't like to talk about the past. With anyone.” I added. Especially not you, I thought. It wasn't that I didn't think he would understand. It was more I thought he'd understand too much. He saw people like me every day. Victims. I didn't want to be his victim.
“When you are ready, I'm here Em.” He changed the subject. “What are you doing Friday?”
“Friday?” I repeated. “Nothing. Why?”
“Well I think you need some lessons on what classifies as a decent movie. I will bring some over.” He was having a go at my taste in movies? I rolled my eyes. I saw no point arguing though. That would be like baiting a wild dog with a piece of raw steak.
“Sure. Come over and teach me a lesson, professor.” I cringed. Did I really say that? He was laughing at least.
“I will see you Friday then.” He was still laughing as I hung up the phone.
So was this a date or two friends watching some movies? Friends. I had to think of us as friends. Anything more would be bad, bad, bad. I flung open my closet and began tossing through options to wear.
I realised as I pulled out the final top in my closet, my clothes sucked. Sure, they were fine for sitting on the couch twiddling my thumbs, but I had next to nothing suitable for Friday. I needed sexy, but not slutty. I texted Cass. I needed a fashion intervention. I could imagine her reaction.
She loved clothes and anything fashion, and she was forever trying to get me to dress up a little. I didn't see the point. Who was I dressing up for? The doorman? Mom and gran? I'm sure they'd appreciate a little sexy number.
Well, gran probably would, b
ut then I'd have to sit through another lecture on the benefits of online dating. Or the marvels of modern medicine and the benefits Viagra can have on a woman's orgasm (yes, deadly serious).
The last time she'd called she had hinted that some of them will even come to your house. I blatantly ignored that very obvious hint. I wondered how long until Gran ended up murdered. I'd called mom to have a talk to her about inviting strange men to her house. Not that it had done much good. Gran had insisted Bernie and Neville had been nothing but gentlemen. I didn't want to know if that was some kind of twisted threesome.
Between the stories I'd heard from Cass and gran, I was pretty sure I never wanted to date anyone, ever.
Scones in the oven, tea ready in the pot, house cleaned. At last, I was ready. Most of the time I loved seeing Mom and Gran. Today I was glad for the distraction. It had been a weekly tradition having them over for lunch, and I'd felt bad about missing our date on Monday. Besides, I missed grans stories.
Gran was moms grandmother (so my great grandmother). She had raised mom after mom’s mom had died during childbirth. Gran was very 'spirited'. She was a young woman trapped in a pensioner’s body. She was more tech savvy than me, could drink my father under the table, and got more action than even Cass.
She was loads of fun and always full of great (although often embarrassing) advice. She had slowed down considerably since pop died five years ago, but recently, it seemed like she was hitting her stride again. Apparently (if you asked mom) it was the bad influence of her friend and room-mate Dulce.
I had met Dulce once. She had come to a Christmas party with Gran. I remembered her spiking mom’s punch and trying to seduce my uncle Gerrard. All the while trying to convince Gran to have a go at the 'hot' 50 something head waiter. Not that Gran needed much convincing after her sixth sherry and apple juice. I still remember the look on mom’s face when she caught the pair in a rather compromising position in the study.
I jumped again (of course) when the doorbell rang. Mom and gran were here. The smell of half-baked scones wafted through the kitchen as I cracked open the oven door. Almost ready.
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