by Celeste, B.
Della
The ache between my legs was the only indication that what happened last night was real. As I stretched out my spent body, I turned in bed and examined the empty spot beside me, patting the cooled sheets and frowning.
Memories surfaced of waking up in the middle of the night together in my bed when Theo’s fingers had found my core, playing with me until I writhed for more. I’d returned the favor a few hours after by tasting the part of him I’d been secretly dying to for longer than I admitted to him. The way he hissed when he woke up to my tongue grazing the side of his cock as I sucked him off had me feeling like a goddess. It was a feeling I didn’t know well at all, and he only fed it as he put his hand in my hair with a groan and murmured, “You’ll be the end of me. I fucking swear it.”
It’d made me grin. Not as much as the faint remembrance of soft lips pressing against my temple and the words, “Anthony would fucking kill me” racking around my mind.
Thinking about my father was the last thing I wanted, but I could tell it plagued him. I didn’t want it to, of course, but I didn’t fault him for it. What we’d done wasn’t some light thing. It was crossing a lot of lines that people would frown upon, but I didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t care what people thought.
And that was…freeing.
Sitting up, I clutched the sheets to my naked body and glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. Swearing, I kicked my legs over the side of the bed and bolted toward the closet to grab whatever outfit was quickest to slide on. The jeans and sweatshirt weren’t flattering considering everything else I owned, but it was comfortable, and I was going to be late for my exam if I didn’t leave now.
Stumbling into the bathroom to run a brush through my hair, I gaped at the green dyed locks from the paint last night that didn’t come out during the shower we’d taken together. Shaking my head, I threw it back into a messy bun and called it good.
It was when I reached for my bag on the kitchen counter that I saw the piece of paper with words scribbled on them next to it.
Left for work. Took the dog home.
Throat thickening, I ran the pad of my thumb over the last word. The light feeling in my chest made me breathe easier as I tucked the note into the front pocket of my jeans and threw the bag over my shoulder.
It didn’t take long for me to get to campus, where I managed to slide into the last seat of the lecture hall with a look of disapproval from the professor. Sinking down, I grabbed a pen and barely had time to catch my breath from speed walking before a packet was dropped in front of me.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Saint James,” Professor Ribbons said dryly. The elderly woman never liked me, but it’d gotten worse after things with my father hit the news. To her, I was as guilty as he was by association.
I murmured an apology and watched her white brow arch in disbelief. Staring down at the questions, I waited until she was walking back to the front of the room before expelling a breath and getting to work. I was halfway through when I realized I didn’t study enough and could only hope I got a passing grade that didn’t tank my overall class average too badly. I’d struggled as it was catching up in this class because political science wasn’t an interest of mine, even though it probably should have been with the amount of times I’d heard my father talking about the subject matter over the years. It came with his role as governor, I supposed. That lack of interest didn’t help Ribbons’ expectations of me though. And flashbacks of last night, of that blissful ache nestled between my legs, certainly distracted me from the paper I should have focused on.
People left the room one by one until it was just me remaining, and my leg bounced when I felt piercing eyes on me for the better part of the period. I wanted to ask why she was staring, why she hated me when she didn’t know me beyond being one of her students. But part of me knew. People like Professor Ribbons thrived on the rich getting what they deserved. She’d gone on a thirty-minute rant once during the beginning of the semester on how politicians used their money and power to get away with anything. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what I expected given her role as the political science department head—she studied politics and political scandals for years. If I didn’t need the elective, I would have avoided her and her reputation at all costs given who I was related to, but I had no choice by the time class signups were available. Evidently, I didn’t have the money or power to get out of it. Not anymore.
Relief filled me when I answered the final question and closed the packet. Stuffing my pen in the side pocket of my bag, I stood and walked the test up to her desk where she watched me carefully. “Finally finished?”
Teeth grinding, I nodded.
“Did you study for this?”
“Yes.” I paused. “Not as much as I would have liked.”
She looked at me with bored eyes.
“Can I ask you something, professor?” I was surprised by my own inquiry, but not as much as she was considering I tended to avoid any conversation with her if I could help it. When she didn’t answer, I went ahead and continued. “What did I ever do to you? Not my father. Not my family. But me.”
She blinked slowly, her body leaning back in her chair as she tilted her head. I didn’t like being studied, it made me uncomfortable, and she knew that. “You don’t try.”
My lips parted at the unexpected answer. “What?”
She repeated herself and added, “I’ve taught many people like you, Adele. Some of them worse, some of them far better. But you always folded into yourself when things got tough.”
“That isn’t true.”
“No?” She stood, flattening her hands down the purple blouse she wore. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt given the circumstances, which I’m certainly not known to do, but I thought I saw potential in you. However, I realized you were no different than others raised privileged. People go through far worse things and still make it out on the top, so coddling you helps nobody.”
“I lost my father. And—”
“Excuses.”
Anger bubbled inside me. “I keep to myself because it’s better that way, not because I don’t care or don’t try. All due respect, but you have no right to judge me as anything more than a pupil to educate.”
Clearly, it was the wrong thing to say because her lips tugged into a cocky smile. “Let me educate you then, my dear. Malik versus State. Heard of it?”
Of course, I had. George Malik was the state comptroller before my father took term as governor. They’d known each other for years, but my father insisted he didn’t know what Malik was doing with funds. I believed him. I still did. And sure, maybe that made me naive, but he was still my father no matter what happened.
“I have,” I answered carefully.
“Then I’m sure you know that Malik took more than just the funds he was responsible for. There was a very long list of those he hurt along the way. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Even the court system said his crimes were true, but where is he now, Adele?”
I wasn’t sure where he was because I hadn’t wanted to follow the story when it was all over the news. My father would sometimes mention it, but it was rare. Instead, we focused on each other. How our days were. How classes were going. If business was successful. I loved my father, but things between us, regardless of how close we were once, were restricted. Looking back now, it made me wonder if I was subconsciously preparing myself for the inevitable. He’d been too invested in the Malik case when he did bring it up, like he knew more than most people. There were answers I didn’t want, things I couldn’t allow myself to know because it changed how I’d feel about the man I looked up to my entire life.
“According to social media, he’s in Fiji with his wife celebrating their thirty-eighth wedding anniversary. Sweet, isn’t it?” The tone in her voice told me it was the opposite of that. “I find it strange that somebody who was so blatantly guilty could be out celebrating of his own free will. Don’t you?”
Trick questi
on. “Does it matter what I think about it, Professor Ribbons? You’ve made up your mind about it already.”
“Are you telling me you don’t find that he deserved punishment?”
Straightening, I readjusted my bag and stared her directly in the eye. “My father went to prison, as he should have, for the misuse of authoritative power. So, do I believe a man I don’t truly know outside the media’s reports of him deserved some sort of reprimanding for his ill actions? Yes. Does that mean I’m shocked he didn’t? No. That’s not because I believe it’s okay that people could be bought off by false forgiveness and dirty money. It means that I’m aware of how faulty the system is. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Interest piqued in her features, her brows raising and eyes widening in the slightest way. “I didn’t put words into your mouth, nor did I place ideals in your head. We can both agree the system is skewed though, which is more than I thought I’d get from you.”
“This has to do with me not trying how exactly?”
Walking around her desk, she stopped just in front of me. “What did you do when your father was incarcerated?”
Why was that any of her business? “Did what I could to cope. Anybody would have no matter what circumstance they came from.”
“That’s a cop out. What did you do?”
“I…” Didn’t she watch the news? “I’m sure if you saw the media—”
“I’m giving you a chance to prove me wrong, Adele. Unless you’d rather me continue with my assumptions? You see, teachers talk. You used to be quite dedicated to your education here. In fact, I heard your academics were next level, second to the scholarship you were offered, but that wasn’t for your original major. What was that again?”
I said nothing.
“I believe it was business, correct?”
“If you know, why do you bother asking? I’m sure you also know it’s not business anymore since you’ve clearly checked up on me.”
“You got into this school because of your skills in dance and who your father was. Why don’t you do that anymore?”
I’d gotten into Bentley University because I was a talented dancer, not because of Anthony Saint James. If that had been the only case, administration would have probably found a way to kick me out, so their reputation wasn’t as tainted as my family name was. “Why do you care?”
“Who says I do?”
My eyes caught the time on the wall before I sighed, resigning to this pointless conversation. “I need to get going if I’m going to make my next class in time.” Turning, I stopped and gave her one last look over my shoulder. “I stopped dancing because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. And maybe…maybe that was for more reasons than I originally thought.”
The scar on my stomach weighed heavily on me, but I fought to place my hand there. I was stupid, weak even, and the anti-depressants Ripley had put me on amplified how I felt. Did that excuse how far I let myself go? How badly I could have injured myself with those scissors, like slicing into my flesh would somehow help? No. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and a slew of other things for letting my emotions win. But I couldn’t change that. I could only hope that one day I could look in the mirror for a long time and not hate the person staring back.
The tiniest grin tilted Ribbons’ lips, but I couldn’t decipher what it meant. Not willing to think about it, I tipped my head and walked out before she could say anything else. When the breeze hit my face as I walked outside, I replayed the odd conversation that just occurred and shook my head.
I didn’t like Professor Ribbons, but I was starting to think maybe she didn’t hate me as much as I thought. She’d once seen potential in me, and I wondered if she still did and masked it under tough love. Then again, I wasn’t foreign to that concept and what she offered went beyond that. Her reputation didn’t help me think that I had an ally in her either, so, as always, I drew back into myself and tried brushing off the conversation completely, shooting Theo a text.
A text that was left unanswered.
My finger lingered over the dial button after a day of staring at my phone waiting for him to make the first move. I was officially that girl. I’d told myself I’d wait instead of making a big deal out of it, but I couldn’t focus, got snapped at by more than Professor Ribbons, and nearly took out a student in the hall because I wasn’t paying enough attention.
“God,” I groaned, setting the phone down before I could hit the button that tempted me. Walking into my apartment, I’d hoped I’d find him and Ramsay again like the night before. No such luck. I wasn’t sure if it was disappointment that I felt weighing on my chest or something else. Expectation?
Swallowing, I set my things down and walked into the spare room to assess the damage. It was no longer messy, something I hadn’t noticed this morning in my rush out the door. Theo was the only one who could have cleaned it considering we were the only two who’d known about the mess.
Clicking my tongue when I saw some paint missed in the corner, I couldn’t help but reach for my hair. The ghost of his touch lingered everywhere, but the dyed strands of my blonde locks made the replay that much more intense in my head. It helped ease the doubt over why he hadn’t reached out once all day. He’d known I was busy, logically he was too. I couldn’t overthink the reasoning, which was my body’s first response no matter how hard I tried rewiring myself.
Closing the door behind me, I quickly changed into pajamas, let down my hair, and forced myself to stare at my reflection. Ribbons got into my head and she knew it. What I admitted to her wasn’t something I said to many people, but maybe it was time to change that. Ripley told me at the beginning of our sessions that admitting the problem aloud was the first step in changing it.
In my reflection, I noticed some pieces of my blonde locks had faded green, others black in them. I fingered them and frowned, wondering how many washes it’d take before it was back to normal.
Gripping the edge of the counter, I bit into my bottom lip and remembered what’d happened in this very spot. Theo was proving a point, trying to get me to admit what I knew deep, deep down.
I was worthy.
I was beautiful.
I was not deserving of my own criticism.
But I knew that wasn’t going to be enough, and that familiar feeling wiggled its way under my skin until I couldn’t bare anymore face time with myself in the glass.
Eying the tips of my hair as they bounced with my steps, I grabbed my phone from the counter and hit a button with an idea that I might regret but didn’t want to walk away from if I was going to try, really try, like Theo wanted. Hell, like the world wanted according to Ribbons.
“To possible regrets,” I whispered, listening to it ring as I bit my thumbnail.
“Hello?”
I wet my bottom lip, hesitating only for a microsecond but refusing to chicken out. “Can you help me with something?”
There was no hesitation, which I found comforting. “When and where?” Blowing out a sigh of relief, I said my address and a time and hung up, smiling to myself with a new fluttery feeling in my stomach.
The knock at the door had me running my palms down my thighs as I peeked through the little hole in the door. Silver blonde was on full display, making me unlatch and unlock the door before pulling it open.
“Swanky place,” was the first thing out of Tiffany’s mouth as she walked in. Looking around, she assessed the art-filled walls, colorful furniture, and finally me. “I didn’t think you’d ever reach out.”
“Neither did I,” I admitted, closing the door and crossing my arms over my chest. Pausing for a minute, I decided to rip off the Band-Aid. “I’m trying to get past a lot of things, but I need to do that one step at a time.”
She just nodded slowly, waiting for me to get to my point. It wasn’t a rude gesture, just who she was. We’d seen each other a few times at yoga when I went, but I didn’t frequent the classes as much I usually did. Part of that had to do with avoiding her so I didn’t feel bad
about not using her number.
“Can you do something with my hair?”
She blinked. “What?” Her eyes went to what I held up, squinting at the odd color. “What did you do to it?”
“Not important.” My face heated, which meant it was probably red and I didn’t want to go into details. “You used to do the other girls’ hair all the time before recitals. It was what you wanted to do at one point.”
Surprise flickered across her face. “I didn’t know anybody remembered that.”
All I did was shrug in return. I remembered a lot about those days. Just because I cut dance cold turkey didn’t mean I stopped thinking about what it was like to have a routine, a set schedule, and how much I enjoyed being around some of the girls. Not that I’d ever admit it to Tiffany, but I always liked her head-strong, no bs personality.
“Why don’t you just go somewhere and pay a professional to do it?” Walking over, she examined the hair and made a face. “I don’t know what you did to this, but it’s hideous.”
Rolling my eyes, I swatted her hand away. “I know it is. It wasn’t on purpose. And you offered to help me, so I thought…”
“With dance, Adele.” I just stared at her with a pleading look until she groaned. “Tell me why you asked me. You have plenty of friends and probably a personal stylist like the rest of us.”
Blinking, my throat got thick. “I think you’re forgetting that personal stylists cost money.” I wasn’t embarrassed over my current financial standing. I worked hard and was proud of what I had. Commissioning some of my work, selling pieces I’d collected over the years, and working different smaller jobs on campus had kept me afloat. But everything else? “Listen, I’m trying to be careful about what I spend and going out isn’t always the most comfortable for me.”
“But you do it.”
“For school,” I reasoned.
She pointed toward the stool in the kitchen and gave me a relenting sigh. “Fine, but you need to give me more than that. Sit down and tell me where your scissors are. And I’m not cleaning up.”