AllFreeNovel
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It’s only been a short amount of time, but the burning interest the rest of the student body has had for my private affairs…and public cafeteria fights… has begun to wane. There are some of the more gossip-heavy groups that whisper as I walk by, but a lot of students, especially the older ones, seem empathetic to my plight, hence the freely shared notes. One morning, there was even a bottle of orange juice on the desk I normally use when I got to class, a Post-it note with my name scrawled on it stuck to the cap. At least I wouldn’t be getting scurvy anytime soon.
The lecture wraps up, and while the rest of the class is closing laptops and packing paper up, I don’t move, waiting for them all to depart before I gather my own things. Professor Josianne is still on the lecture floor, sitting on the corner of her desk, legs crossed and foot bouncing as she waits. I’m struck by how young she is, and in another life, I would have found her beautiful, with her makeup-free face and loose, dark hair. Now, though, I don’t register anyone at all as attractive… at least not since Roxanne. She has ruined me for other women, maybe forever.
Once it’s just the professor and I left, she hops down off the desk and motions for me to follow her. I descend to the lecture floor and through the door at the end of the room, down a short hallway, and into her office. Where the rector’s office was everything a high-ranking university employee’s should be, Josianne’s office is lighter, her single window bare of any curtains besides a gauzy thing currently tied into aknot, a plethora of plants dotted around the space, and the quintessential English professor decoration; a bookshelf full of novels and encyclopedias. Some of them are pulled out and opened on her desk, and even the floor, neon tabs marking places all throughout the pages.
I sit in the soft rolling chair across from her desk, as she takes hers. She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks me over in the natural light of her office, dust motes floating in the air between us. Finally, she plucks one of the framed photos off her desk and hands it to me.
Confused, I take it. It’s a wide panoramic shot of the professor’s graduating class, everyone dressed in identical black gowns and caps. Josianne leans forward and taps a figure in the middle of the crowd, and when I squint, I can see it’s her.
“What–?” I start, but she moves her finger to tap another figure, this one in the front row. As soon as I move my gaze to the next person she’s pointing out for me, I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. Front and center of the group is Roxanne, her hair still black and longer than I’ve ever seen it, flowing out the bottom of her cap. She’s smiling, a carefree expression of youth that I’ve never seen her wear, and my heart squeezes in my chest.
Professor Josianne leans back in her chair, still watching me closely. “I didn’t seek out the video that’s going around of you and Roxanne, but the rector recommended anyone that had you in class view it, just so we knew to act if any of the other students bothered you. Imagine my surprise to see the woman who has been causing all this upset is my old classmate Roxanne Feng.”
I breathe a sad chuckle, still holding the picture, unable to look away from this younger, sweeter version of the woman I still love so desperately. “Small world, I guess.”
“Not really. We were both English majors living in Amsterdam, but it’s a strange enough coincidence that I wanted to talk to you personally.” She exhales slowly, as if she’s justas uncomfortable as I am. “Most of our graduating class knows what Roxanne does for a living, and while I respect what she’s built all on her own, it certainly is a business that sends a shiver up my spine. She’s always been stubborn, even ruthless. Had I known you were seeing her, and that she was lying about her occupation, I would have told you, Andries. I don’t want you to think I'm complicit in her lies.”
“It’s okay. You wouldn’t have known we had dated if it wasn’t for that YouTuber.”
“I realize that, but I just wanted to be completely honest with you. I feel like I’ve failed as a professor, letting someone I know take advantage of one of my students like that.” Her tone is serious, her gaze unflinching.
“It was all consensual,” I confess. “If it wasn’t for her disgusting job and all the lies, we’d still be together now.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Even with the age gap? I could see a fling between the two of you, but this great love affair that you seem to be stuck on just seems so odd to me. What do you two even have in common, besides being English majors?”
Feeling annoyed, I hand her the picture back, wishing I had the guts to take my own photo of it with my phone camera to look at later. “A lot more than you, or anyone else can understand. The age difference was a non-issue for us. But the sex work and the lies are an issue. Which is why we aren’t together.”
At this point, if she raises her eyebrows any higher, they’ll be a part of her hairline. The professor looks endlessly skeptical about what I’ve just told her, but to her credit, she drops the subject, recognizing it as an argument she can’t win.
She switches tactics, placing the photo back where it had been originally, and pulling a few flyers with business cards attached out of her desk. “Alright. Well, regardless, your class participation is suffering. You’re clearly bored, tired, andobviously sleep deprived. I’m not a medical professional, but this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen depression pop up in my young students.”
“I’m not depressed,” I insist.
“I can also smell the alcohol coming out of your pores, now that we’re in this smaller room, so don’t tell me that there isn’tsomethinggoing on with you.” She slides the business cards toward me across the desk. “These are some resources for you, but the most important is the one on top. He’s our school psychologist, and I think it’d really benefit you to at least talk to him.”
Reluctantly, I take the flyers, leafing through them. Like she said, one is a psychologist, the other is an addiction counselor, and the third is a mental health support group. I know she won’t let me leave them, so I tuck them into the side pocket of my backpack without a word.
“Also, and this one is a more personal suggestion, but you really do need to sleep. You’re pale, and the circles under your eyes concern me. If you’re struggling to sleep, marijuana is obviously legal, and there are plenty of things that could help you get some rest. I’d be happy to give you a few days leave from my class to sleep, if you want.”
I shake my head. “I can’t stop my forward momentum. If I stop to rest, then I might not get back up again.”
She looks alarmed. “Andries, please call the psychologist.”
I stand, gathering my things. “I’ll consider it.”
“...If Roxanne is bothering you, I can contact her and–”
I stop in my tracks and fix her with a firm glare. “Absolutely not, Professor, and I say that with the utmost respect. But I can’t have my teachers calling my ex-girlfriend.”
She sighs. “I suppose that is crossing the line. But I can’t stress enough how concerned I am here.”
“Like I said, I’ll consider what you’ve said. See you in class tomorrow.”
Closing the door behind me, I hurry back out into the main hall, blowing out a tense breath. That encounter was strange and uncomfortable. I just want everyone around me to stop pulling me aside and asking after my mental health with pity in their eyes. It’s the last thing I want. Everyone, myself included, just needs to move on.
It’s a short day for me, and while I’m not exactly looking forward to hiding in my apartment for the rest of the day, at least it’s better than being around all these other students that seem to have their lives so much more together than mine. I consider picking up lunch before heading home, maybe calling Elise to join me, but my decision is made for me when my phone rings, and I see it’s my mother.
“Hi, Mom,” I say.
