The grounds were pristine, the buildings well-maintained. I hadn’t loved the school before Aspen Omerich’s accusations, and I wanted nothing more than to leave immediately, regardless of the offer of employment on my desk even now. Why would I want to remain here, after my colleagues so readily believed Aspen Omerich’s accusations?
I hadn’t wanted to stay before this drama, but turning down the tenure-track position was a worry for another day. Now, I needed to prove my innocence. My fists clenched and unclenched. Prove my innocence. For doing my job. That sick weight grew.
We arrived at the building, and I stomped up the stairs. I pulled out my keys and opened my office. I ushered in the president, provost, and a few other senior officials. The students crowded around the door, Libby at the back, clutching Hudson to her chest. She offered me a smile, her eyes filled with fire. I stood there for a moment, soaking her in, needing her belief to buoy me through this nightmare.
She touched her thumb to her lip, as I’d done when we were outside her apartment. Her eyes smoldered as she let the tip slide inside. Heat curled through my belly, stripping away some of the greasy illness that slushed there.
* * *
I showed the cadre of personnel the cameras, shocked they’d been useful.Hatingthat they were. Escher had been the one to suggest them. He’d worried over me as a “cool single dude”—his words.
“I’ve heard how the women talk about you, Dad. You need to be prepared.”
That my then twelve-year-old son understood the current climate of sexuality better than me was deeply unsettling even as I now found comfort in his suggestion.
“I keep a file of every student interaction.” Again, Escher’s idea, which I’d implemented with some level of skepticism. I was going to have to thank my son for his intelligence. “I don’t know exactly when Ms. Omerich visited my offices, but I know it was twice.”
I played footage, starting at the beginning of the semester. While tedious, I found the correct ones relatively quickly.
I stepped back as the interaction unfolded, wincing at Ms. Omerich’s clumsy attempts to seduce me hit my ears again.
I backed away from the computer, trying to catch Libby’s gaze. She was sitting in a chair in the hallway, feeding Hudson a bottle. I’d wanted that time with her today. I’d wanted to make her dinner, settle Hudson in my lap, and wrap my arm around her shoulder as she drank part of the excellent wine I’d hoped she’d share with me tonight.
“You said she visited your office hours twice,” the president said, pulling my attention back to the seriousness of the situation. “Show us the other interaction.” His tone was imperious, his request grating.
Libby shifted so that I could see her face. She offered me a smile, which I returned, but it felt…off. Like something important had snapped inside me.
I’d been careful with my students, always remaining ethical and precise. Until Libby. With her, I hadn’t been able to control my attraction—hadn’t wanted to. So, maybe I deserved to be accused of moral crimes. Worry and self-loathing crashed through me as I realized I hadn’t asked Libby what she wanted that day outside her apartment; I’d told her whatIwanted.
My behavior with Libby hadn’t been acceptable, even if Libby felt the pull between us. I was sure she had—possibly still did. But that didn’t give me a right to push my agenda, my desires onto her.
I struggled with the implications of all the thoughts, all the worries coursing through my mind.
I inhaled as I turned away. Maybe it was for the best that nothing more serious than a few kisses had happened between us.
Now, with each breath I took, with each flash of video I’d felt compelled to record, everything about my interactions with this university, the students, felt sordid. Sullied.
I was glad to be leaving this place, thankful my sabbatical was over.
The second of the two videos played, and I cringed at Ms. Omerich’s bolder attempts at seduction. They made my stomach churn, and my breath catch. I heard my clipped response, but I felt like I was underwater.
“I’ve seen enough. Send those to me, and I’ll deal with the student,” the president said. He clapped my shoulder. “Can’t be too careful these days. You were smart to have this here.”
“That girl had piss-poor behavior,” another administrator said with a vapid smile, unable to meet my gaze. “You came much too highly regarded to degrade yourself so.”
Moments before, the woman had clearly thought I’d forced sex with a student. Forced my will on another person. Nausea engulfed me, and I bolted from the room and barely made it to a trash can before I emptied my stomach.
God.God. As if I’d ever use my position to force a student into sex. I was a teacher; I shared my knowledge and love of mathematics, not my body.
I shook and heaved. Cool fingers touched my neck, soothing me. Libby.
My tightly sealed eyes eased a little as I leaned into her touch. I needed that touch,her, to calm the horrors of this day. I never thought I’d need those videos.Never. They’d been a mental exercise, really.
Yet, here I was, showing them mere months later. I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. Libby continued to caress me. Her touch calmed me.
Ineededher. I couldn’t quite explain it, just that I did—almost as much as I needed to leave this wretched place. I wanted to go home. Escher did, too.
“There’s one more thing you should know,” Libby said.
