Monster in His Eyes

by J. M. Darhower

  I take it from him. "I don't understand. I knew this stuff."

  "It's not a matter of knowing it," he says, pulling out his chair and sitting down at his desk. "It's a matter of applying it. You can tell me what the man said, but you can't seem to connect it to the real world. It brings me to your essays... same problem. You can define happiness, but you can't apply it. You tell me what Aristotle and Socrates thought about happiness, but never, in the entire paper, did you tell me what made you happy."

  I stare at the test in my hand, dumbfounded. "Not making D's."

  "There you go," he says. "I would've given you at least a B for that had you applied it to yourself."

  Frowning, I unzip my bag and shove the test inside, on the verge of tears from frustration. There's no way I can turn it around at this point, no way I can pull this grade up unless I completely ace the final exam, and the rate I'm going? Impossible.

  "You had an essay due today," he says. "Do you have it for me?"

  I begrudgingly pull the paper from my bag, tempted to not turn it in at all. He stares at it when I hold it out and takes it from me, the disappointed look deepening. He sets it down on top of a stack of others as he shakes his head. "See you on Thursday, Miss Reed. And don't be late this time."

  "I won't, sir."

  Slinging my bag on my back, I head from the classroom, feeling like a weight is pressing upon me. I stroll outside and glance up, pausing when I see the Mercedes still parked there by the curb. A quick look around tells me Naz isn't anywhere in sight, so I pull out my phone and call him, getting his voicemail.

  Shrugging it off, figuring he walked somewhere, or is working in the neighborhood, I start toward the dorm, in no rush to get there.

  It takes me the entire walk to shrug off my solemn mood, trying to force a smile on my face, to act like it isn't bothering me before facing my friend. When I get there and push open the door, I'm immediately greeted by Paul's face.

  Melody's boyfriend is stretched out on her small bed, remote in his hand, watching ESPN, while Melody sits at her desk, digging through her backpack. She glances up, giving me the look I expected. Pity. "What did he say?"

  "He said I'm not cut out for philosophy." I drop my bag on the floor and plop down on my bed. "He said I say a lot of shit but I don't know what any of it means."

  "He said that?"

  "In so many words, yeah," I mutter, closing my eyes. "And to top it all off, after he says it I hand over an unfinished assignment, proving exactly what he said—I'm not cut out for it."

  "I don't believe that," she says. "That's crazy."

  "You're failing Santino's class?" Paul chimes in with disbelief. "I didn't think that was possible."

  "I'm not failing," I say defensively. "I'm just not passing."

  Paul laughs. "What's the difference?"

  "The difference is I'm surviving by the skin of my teeth but that's not good enough to keep my GPA where I need it to be."

  "Tough break," Paul says. "Seriously, though, Santino's class is a breeze. I bullshitted my way through it and still got a B."

  His words don't make me feel any better. In fact, they piss me off even more.

  My phone rings as I'm lying there. I pull it out, glancing at the screen to see Naz's name. Sighing, I answer it, muttering a quiet, "Yeah?"

  He's silent for a moment. "You okay, sweetheart?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  "You called me."

  "Oh, yeah… I just saw your car was still there, so I called to see what you were up to."

  "Ah, I was just handling some business. You back at your dorm?"

  "Yeah, just got here."

  "You want to grab some dinner?"

  "I'm not really hungry."

  "You want to come to my place?"

  "I really shouldn't. I have class early in the morning, and I still have some homework to do for it. It's probably going to be a long night as it is."

  "That's not what I asked. I want to know how you feel, not what you think. It doesn't matter if you should come over. I asked if you wanted to."

  I hesitate. "I do."

  "Then I'll pick you up in five minutes. Bring your homework. I'll help you with it."

  I start to argue, but he hangs up on me. Standing up, I grab my bag, waving to Melody as I head for the door. "You crazy kids have fun. I'm going to Naz's."

  "Will you be back for class in the morning?"

  "Yes," I say. "Just don't expect me any sooner."

  She laughs, wishing me a goodnight. Paul says nothing. I don't think he much likes me either, and that's okay. He watches my television and throws his dirty socks on my floor and eats my Ramen noodles and the cherry on top of the icing is he makes a better philosophy grade than me.

  I'm beginning to like him less and less.

  Naz is double-parked right in front of the dorm, not seeming to give a shit as people honk, annoyed that he's blocking traffic. I laugh as I climb in the passenger seat, seeing he's staring down at his phone, paying no mind to what's going on outside of the car.

  He lives in his own little world, where he's the king, and I'm more than happy to be his minion… although, when he looks at me, flashing that dimple, I feel like nothing less than his queen.

  He pulls into traffic and drives straight to Brooklyn. He takes off his coat and loosens his tie when we get to his house, tossing his keys down on the living room table.

  "You sure you're not hungry?" he asks. "I can make you something."

  "You? Make something?"

  He laughs. "I probably have something you can make yourself."

  "Thanks, but I'm okay. I just wanna get this work done so I can try to relax."

  I settle into the den, cracking open my math book to finish some problems. Naz distracts me more than anything, sitting beside me on the couch. He sucks at math, fucking up basic multiplication when he tries to help.

  I even catch him counting on his fingers a few times.

  I merely smile, having to do some of the problems over again, but I don't mind much, even if it does take twice as long. It doesn't feel like work with Naz involved.

  I'm finishing up the last problem as he twirls a piece of my hair around his finger. It's the typical word problem bullshit, two trains going too damn fast and eventually intersecting, but nobody gives a shit where. Naz watches me as I try to work it out, his mere gaze distracting.

  "I have a word problem for you," he says.

  "I'm listening."

  "If Naz forgoes sleep, and Karissa gets naked, how many orgasms can he give her before sun up?"

  "Hmm, I'm not sure," I say, trying not to smile, but one cracks my face. "I'm not sure you have enough fingers to count that high."

  "Oh, I know I don't," he says. "Besides, my fingers will be busy doing other things tonight."

  I'm dumbfounded.

  Santino stands at the front of the classroom, droning on and on about something. I don't know. His voice is little more than a dull murmur as I stare at the paper on my desk.

  I expected an F on this essay. It's incomplete, and impersonal, and everything Santino didn't want.

  So why is there an A written at the top?

  There's no other red. No comments, no corrections. No explanation. It's the first time it has ever happened to me. I don't know what to think. My eyes shift from my desk to Melody's, wondering if he took it easy on everyone this time around, but she got her coveted B, her essay marked up.

  It makes no sense.

  I stay quiet through the lecture, not raising my hand, not uttering a peep. When he dismisses us for the day, I stand up and put my bag on, clutching my paper.

  "I'll meet you back at the room," I tell Melody. "I have to ask Santino a question."

  She looks at me like I've sprouted a second head, like I've just said the world was going to end. She looks at me like I'm certifiably insane. Hell, maybe I am. But I have to ask him.

  I don't understand.

  I wait until most of my classmates are gone again
before approaching his desk. He looks up at me, his expression blank, and doesn't speak. He looks like I'm the last person he wants to talk to.

  "Sir, I just had a question about my paper."

  He raises an eyebrow.

  "Well, it's just that, I didn't get a chance to complete it, or type it like I was supposed to. It wasn't finished when I turned it in."

  "I noticed," he says.

  "Yeah, so I'm just curious... why the A?"

  He stares at me. Hard. Like if he stares any harder, he might telepathically blow me up, obliterate me right in front of his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is icy. "Not good enough for you?"

  "No, it's not that," I say quickly. "I just didn't expect..."

  He lets out a sharp bark of laughter, not sounding amused in the least. "I'm sure you didn't."

  My brow furrows.

  "Look, Miss Reed, I don't know what you want me to say. If you'd rather have the F that paper deserves, I'll happily give it to you. But I'm quite certain, on the topic, you're well versed, even if you didn't put forth the effort to show it."

  I feel like a fool. The man gives me an A and I'm questioning why instead of taking it and running. Whether it's deserved or not, he threw me a lifeline, giving me a fighting chance of scraping by this semester.

  "Thank you," I say, clutching the paper as I back up a few steps.

  "Don't mention it," he responds, looking away from me. "Ever again."

  I nod, turning around and quickly getting out of there. The air is warm when I step outside, spring well upon us. It's so warm that even I feel the heat, and push the sleeves of my long-sleeved shirt up to my elbows as I pull off my scarf. It's the last week of April, and in a mere two weeks classes will be over for the semester. I have a lot of work to do between now and then, but I feel calm, like maybe I won't screw it all up, after all.

  Just two more weeks, and I can say goodbye to the professor known as Satan, never having to step foot in that godforsaken classroom again.

  Two weeks. I can do two weeks.

  I'm in Hell.

  It's dressed up pretty to look like a renowned private university, but don't be fooled—it's Hell. I've been trapped in the deepest pit for going on fourteen days, the world pressing down upon me until I'm barely able to breathe. The toxic cloud of smoke from the raging inferno swept out from the gates of Santino's classroom and blanketed everything, suffocating everyone in its path. Judgment day is coming, and it's coming fast.

  Finals.

  I'm being dramatic, but it's hard to see the world clearly when you haven't had a full night sleep in two weeks. Everything's drowning in a haze of notes and practice tests.

  "Okay, what about this one?" Melody says, holding up an index card with something in Latin written on it: modus tollens.

  "Modus tollens," I say out loud, not sure if I even pronounced that right. "It's, uh, one of Voldemort's people in Harry Potter."

  She laughs, spouting off a definition that makes just as little sense to me as the words themselves. I wave her away, motioning for her to show me the next one.

  Probability.

  "Oh, this one's easy," I say. "It's if something's, like, probable."

  Another laugh.

  Another flashcard.

  Another wrong answer.

  "I'm done," I say, falling back on the bed and draping my arm over my eyes, getting a whiff of something rancid as soon as I do. "Ugh, what stinks?"

  "That would be you," Melody says, tossing the flashcards down.

  "Gross." I grimace, begrudgingly rolling out of bed and seeking out a clean towel. "I'm going to go shower."

  "Please do," she says. "Soak the stench away."

  I flip her my middle finger as I trudge to the bathroom. I turn the water on hot, hoping the steam and heat will loosen some of the tension from my muscles. I stand under the spray and close my eyes as the water pelts me until I damn near fall asleep.

  Swaying, nearly slipping, I blink a few times as I reach for the knobs to change the temperature. The moment the cold water hits me, I'm jolted awake, a shiver ripping through me. I wash up quickly before getting out, not having the energy to stand there.

  I half-ass dry off and wrap the old pink towel around me as I trudge back into the room. As soon as I open the door and step inside, I come face-to-face with Paul. He stands in the middle of the room, half on my side, half on Melody's, tossing one of her balled-up dirty shirts into the air. He turns to me as I freeze, and I expect him to look away, seeing as how I'm damn near naked, but his eyes rake down my body instead. Gross.

  Melody groans when he finally looks away, but he just lets out a laugh as he tosses her shirt in the vicinity of her overflowing hamper, like it's a basketball. He retreats back to his girlfriend's side, flopping down on her bed, laying his head on her lap. Melody covers his eyes with her hands, shooting me an apologetic look.

  I ignore it, grabbing some clothes from my closet and heading back to the bathroom to change in peace. When I step back into the room, the two of them are kissing. She makes no apologies for that.

  Melody's a great friend, and she's always willing to listen, but when it comes to sharing a living space, I've decided she's a terrible roommate.

  I block them out the best I can as I fix my hair and try to pull myself together, not bothering with makeup or much more than a ponytail. My eyes flicker to the clock. It's nearly noon. We have about two hours until exam time.

  Gathering up my things and snatching the notecards from the floor beside Melody's bed, I head for the door. Melody pulls away from Paul when she notices. "You're leaving already?"

  "Yeah, I'm going to go downstairs and grab a cup of coffee." I pause. "Or a whole pot."

  "Oh, well I'll meet you down there when it's time to go."

  I walk out, shutting the door behind me, and head downstairs to the attached dining hall in the back of the building. It's busy, surprisingly, given that a lot of finals have already finished, some students already leaving for the summer. I'm on my last day, my last exam, before the break. The rest have gone smoothly, but philosophy will be my make or break.

  I use the last little bit of money on my meal card to purchase the largest coffee they have, drowning the bitter liquid with copious amounts of sugar, enough to leave me bouncing off the walls for hours. I find a small table in the corner and sit down, scattering the flashcards out around me. I scan the terms on the front before flipping them over, trying to memorize the definitions on the back, but it all seems to be floating around in my head and not sinking in.

  I know better than to cram at the last second.

  It never helps.

  But I do it anyway.

  I go over them again and again, refilling my coffee twice. By the time Melody surfaces, sliding into the chair across from me, I'm jittery and frantic and ready to get it the hell over with.

  "You look like a crackhead needing a fix," Melody says, grabbing my coffee and taking a sip. "Ugh, how much sugar is in this thing?"

  "Enough," I say as I glance across the table. Her hair is tousled, but not in the intentional way. "You look like you've been fucked six ways to Sunday."

  She takes another drink, grinning, her expression telling me yep, that's precisely what she's been. I grimace when she holds the coffee out, offering the rest to me. "Yeah, no, I'll pass. I know where those lips have been."

  Rolling her eyes, she downs the rest of it before tossing it in the nearest trashcan. "Well, come on, fellow sinner. Satan awaits, and you know how he feels about people being late."

  We get there early today, the first ones in the classroom. Santino's sitting in his chair, rolling his pointer stick around on his desk. He glances up, hearing us, his eyes meeting mine as I take my usual seat. He looks like he wants to say something but remains silent as the rest of the students filter in.

  At exactly two o'clock, when every seat is filled, he stands up and grabs a stack of papers.

  Wordlessly, he passes them out, waiting until everybody ha
s one before clearing his throat. "I only know one thing, and that is that I know nothing. Let's hope you all know just a little bit more than Socrates today, ladies and gentlemen. There's no time limit. Turn it in when you finish."

  He retakes his seat, going right back to tinkering with his pointer stick. I watch him for a moment before taking a deep breath and glancing down at my test, reading the first question.

  Explain the equation of universal modus tollens using examples from real-life situations.

  I'm fucked.

  It takes me well over an hour to get through all five pages of the exam. My hand is cramping, my head is throbbing, and an irrational surge of anger flows through my sleep-deprived, caffeinated body whenever someone else gets up to turn in their finished test.

  How dare they be done already?

  I turn the page to the back, ready for this to be over with, and read the last question.

  Thales said 'the most difficult thing in life is to know yourself.'

  Who are you?

  I try to contain it, to swallow it down, but a bitter laugh escapes that disturbs those around me. I can feel their eyes but I don't look up, my gaze glued to the paper. What kind of fucking question is this? I glare at it, and glare at it, and glare at it some more, before turning my head to subtly peek at Melody's. She's also on the last question, the entire back of the paper filled, like she just wrote her autobiography for him. She sets down her pencil while I'm looking, a smile touching her lips as she stands up to turn it in.

  I almost trip her.

  I think about it.

  I consider it.

  My leg bounces in anticipation of darting out in her path, stopping her from walking up there. It's childish, and irrational, but she looks so damn confident while I'm struggling to finish.

  Sighing, I turn back to my paper and glare at the question some more. Melody returns and gathers her things, mouthing that she'll see me back at the room.