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“What are you thinking about?” The prof’s words startle me. He’s so close beside me, our arms are almost touching. Heat radiates from his skin, making me shiver. I don’t really feel cold, but compared to his heat, I feel bereft.
“A number of things,” I reply evasively.
“Such as…”
“Why you brought me up here. What I’m doing here. What’s really going on. Why girls are dying and disappearing. What it all has to do with me. My meds.” A massive tremor wracks my body and doesn’t go unnoticed by him.
“You’re struggling.”
I scoff. Way to point out the obvious. “You could say that.”
“You know you can overcome it, right? It’s a simple case of mind over matter.”
I want to punch the jerk. My skin feels like it’s on fire, the need to medicate burning through my veins, and he thinks I can just…what? Switch the compulsion off if Iconcentratehard enough? What an arsehole.
“Like you’d know anything about it.”
“I would actually. I’ve only ever had three vices and right now, all three are playing havoc with me.”
“How? What are your vices?” I don’t overly care, but the distraction from my own pain and suffering would be nice.
“Well, the first is my job.” I stare at him incredulously. He’s aterribleteacher. He laughs. “In case you haven’t guessed yet, I’m not just a cranky, uptight professor who needs to get laid.”
I burn with embarrassment, the words ringing in my ears. “You heard that.”
“Guilty.”
“How?”
“Cove’s call was still connected.”
“Oh.”
He stares at me expectantly. I know thatsociallyI’m expected to apologise now – society demands it – but I’m not sorry, and I hate lying. So what do I do?
“You got anything to say?” he prompts me with a smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement.
I like him like this. Approachable, almost friendly. Teasing.
“Erm…you really are cranky. You’ve been an absolute asshole to me, and Idothink getting laid might solve some of your problems.” He raises an amused brow at me, encouraging me to continue. “I don’t like lying so I’m not apologising for saying it when I’m not sorry at all. But I will say I didn’t mean for you to hear that, so I’m sort of sorry if it upset, offended or made you even more cranky.”
“Apologies aren’t supposed to have an ‘if’ in them.”
“I know! I’ve always said that too. But this wasn’t an apology, so you’ll live…are we going to talk about why you were such a dick to me?”
“That depends. Want to share ideas on why you apparently don’t remember the rest of my team, but you have no problem with me?”
“I have plenty of problems with you. Sadly, memory loss isn’t one of them.”
“Well…?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, why do you remember me and not them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because they were nice to me and you weren’t?”
“Bhodi wasn’t always nice.”
