“Talon.” I set my palm against his sternum and push. He barely moves. “What part of no are you not understanding? I do not date students. I do not date club visitors.”
He tips his head, studying me like I am the lecture and he is trying to catch up. Something flickers behind his eyes. Mischief. Challenge. Need. “Does Professor Brose know what you do on weekends?”
The floor tilts for a second. Cold runs under my skin.
“Keep your mouth shut.”
He grins, dragging his thumb across his lips like he’s zipping them. “Relax, babe. I won’t tell a soul. Our little secret.”
I narrow my eyes, forcing my voice to stay calm even though I want to scream. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”
“Guess I’ll find out,” he says, stepping back just enough to let me go.
I push past him, heels clicking against the tile, every nerve burning with frustration.
He laughs softly behind me, a cocky, careless sound that makes my skin prickle. It’s the kind of laugh that says he knows exactly what he’s doing—getting under my skin on purpose.
I don’t look back. Not once.
I turn the corner and keep moving until the hall bends again, and he is gone.
The nearest bathroom is empty. I lock myself in the last stall and press my palms to my forehead as I pee.
When I’ve done my business, I step out and face the mirror. The fluorescent light is not kind. My reflection looks fine. Polished. Professional. The kind of woman who files forms on time and gets recommendations on letterhead. No one would guess my pulse is doing that hummingbird thing. No one would guess that a nineteen-year-old boy with a smirk that looks like sin incarnate has rattled my bones.
“Pull yourself together” I whisper.
I reapply my lipstick, smooth my blouse, and fix the little flyaways at my temple that always escape when I'm stressed. I stare at my eyes and remind myself why the mask exists. Not because I’m ashamed. Boundaries keep you safe. Because I worked too hard to let a look across a classroom tear a hole in the plan.
I splash water on the inside of my wrists and breathe until the last of the adrenaline burns off. When I can hear my own voice in my head again, I leave the bathroom and head for the stairwell.
My office hour slot is not until afternoon, but I hide in the TA room, anyway. It’s a small space with two desks, a microwave that smells like popcorn, and a window that faces a line of scraggly trees. I set my bag down, pull out my laptop, and post the slides. I link the office hours, update the deadlines, small tasks, and click save. Done. Each checkmark returns a little piece of myself.
I think about asking Brose to move me to a different lecture. The idea makes me angry. I will not run from my own place ofwork. I will not reroute my degree around a nineteen-year-old with a grin and a habit of ignoring the word no.
So I make rules.
I will not engage him outside professional needs.
I will not be alone with him in enclosed spaces.
If he crosses a line again, I will put it in writing and loop in Brose.
I will not go to Velvet House until the weekend. I will not use the club to bury stress.
