And I do.
I hate the way he looks right through me. The way he makes me feel like some reckless kid trying to get a rise out of a man who doesn’t care. I hate how he never raises his voice, never loses control. How every clipped word and calm stare makes me want to push harder until he finally does lose it.
Saturday is my day ofrest. It’s the only act of defiance I allow myself against this suffocating town. I don’t check my email, I don’t answer my phone, and I don’t think about the past—or at least, I try not to. It’s the only day where the ghosts quiet down long enough for me to breathe.
I could’ve escaped them a long time ago if I had been able to bring myself to leave Viridian Falls. Even now, I don’t think I could.
Sunday, though, the silence ends.
I spent the day grading papers, including Jackson’s that I assigned him after he acted out in class. I suppose I can’t blame him, even if I am a bit surprised by the attitude he’s been hiding behind his responsible student persona. I’m not proud to say that I’ve leaned into the image of me I’m sure he sees now. I’ve been a lot harder on him lately, and I can see how it seems like I’ve been picking on him. Targeting him. Driving that wedge a little deeper between the mutual respect we had before.
I’ve told myself the reason is because I don’t trust him.
My past haunts me and still holds way too much power over me.
Admittedly, the paper he turned in was good. I wasexpecting something half-assed, written at the last minute, maybe even turned in late. Instead, it was thoughtful, articulate, and far better than he seemed to think he was capable of. It was a contrast between the flood stories of Gilgamesh and the Bible, not just in structure but in moral tone, and he wrote about how both could be read as acts of divine disappointment.
I wasn’t planning on giving him an actual grade for it since the assignment was meant to be a punishment, but I would have felt guilty considering the work he put into it. So I caved and entered it in the system as extra credit.
A small concession I’ll probably regret later.
He handed the assignment in on Friday evening—physically on my desk like I told him—just as I was getting ready to leave my office, as if doing so at the last minute was an act of defiance in itself.
Maybe we have more things in common than I thought.
It’s Monday morning, and I’m heading out of my office on the way to my first class of the day. I’m hoping that Jackson hasn’t looked at his online chart and doesn’t mention the grade for that paper because then I’d have to admit how good I thought it was. And I need to keep the distance that’s been growing between us.
“Why do you have to be such a fucking dick?!”
Judging by Jackson’s voice coming from around the corner, I’m about to have another excuse to do just that.
When I round the corner, I see two of Pierce’s friends attempting to pull Jackson off of him from where he has him shoved against a wall in the hallway. They manage to haul him back, and I notice there’s an angry red mark blooming across his jaw. My own jaw clenches tight. At least there’s no blood this time.
I never imagined Jackson as confrontational, but when someone provokes you enough, the limits of what we thought we’re capable of can change.
I happen to know that from experience.
“At it again already, boys?” I ask, keeping my voice calm.
Pierce’s buddies release Jackson as I approach, but Jackson clearly couldn’t give a shit that I’m there as he lunges for Pierce again.
“That’s enough,” I snap as I grab onto Jackson’s upper arm. “What are you? Children? You’re both adults, so fucking act like it.”
“He started it again, Professor,” Pierce says with a pathetic pout on his face as he straightens out the creases in his shirt.
“I’m sure he did.”
I’m sure he didn’t.
However, I’m once again in a position where I’m forced to go against my better judgment. Pierce deserves to be reprimanded as much as Jackson does.
Unfortunately, nothing has changed.
I can already feel the invisible noose tightening, the same one that’s been around my neck since the tenure committee made me their pet project. I can’t afford to cross Professor Grant. Then again, I’m not sure if I can afford to test my luck against Jackson’s father either. But…
The lesser of two evils.
“You’re a fucking dickanda liar,” Jackson sneers.
