Her voice is steady as she begins the lecture, but I hear the strain beneath it. The way she takes an extra second to breathe before diving into the material.
She talks about policy frameworks and environmental ethics. All shit I’ve heard before and couldn’t care less about. All I can think about is how much I’ve fucked everything up.
Hollister’s fucking words replay in my head.
She’s not worth it.
Just take another class.
What the fuck does he know about women? Other than how to fuck them? Why the hell didn’t I go to Dom that night? Why did I have to spill my guts to the one friend who’s never had a girlfriend that I know of and treats women like shit?
I should’ve punched him.
God, I wanted to.
But instead, I threw him out, slammed the door, and grabbed my phone to call her. I called and called. Paced my apartment like a madman as the line rang repeatedly, each unanswered call twisting the knife deeper. Her voicemail picked up every time, asking me to leave a message in that polite and professional voice.
I didn’t leave any.
What could I say?
No apology would be enough to undo the damage. Not over fucking voicemail. Every plan I’d started to build in my head. How we’d spend the weekends, all the places I wanted to take her to, and how I could drive her to school after morning sex from her sleeping over. It all came crashing down. And it’s my fault.
Hollister didn’t betray her trust.
I did.
I’m the one who talked out of turn, who didn’t protect what we had. I wanted her so much that I never thought about that conversation getting back to her. The fact that I talked to my friend and his accusation of needing a good grade from her passed his mouth without an ounce of truth was the nail in the coffin between us.
I watch her now. Her fingers curl around the marker she’s using to write on the whiteboard, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she explains a concept. She’s avoiding looking in my direction, and it guts me.
Does she hate me?
She should.
What right do I have to ask for her forgiveness? I broke the one rule we set to keep us private, and now she thinks everything we had was a lie. But it wasn’t.
You played me better than anyone else ever could.
Her eyes had blazed with betrayal and heartbreak. It makes my stomach churn. I didn’t play her. I never could. If anything, she’s the one who’s been playing on a loop in my head since the moment we met. Pushing me away every chance she got until I begged to be in her life, begged to stay inside the walls with her, where everything between us just made sense. Every smile, every touch, every damn thing about her.
Now it’s all gone.
The lecture ends, and the students begin packing up their things. I wait until the room is empty to talk to her, but she’s already gathering her stuff. I stand, my legs feeling like lead, watching her leave without a second glance.
I follow her into the hallway as she weaves into the sea of students, intentionally avoiding me. I get caught behind a group of chicks, blocking the hall and talking nonsense. The distance between us spreads as she veers to the right, taking another corridor.
By the time I get around all the packed bodies of students trying to make it to their next class, she’s disappeared. I slow to a stop, wondering where she’s going as she typically has back-to-back classes, or so I thought.
Maybe she’s taking the rest of the day off and getting a teaching assistant to cover the rest of her classes. Then, like a bolt of fate from the universe, I realize she’s probably in the faculty lounge. The one I sprinted to when her dad wanted coffee. I race down the hall, shoving people out of the way. Their protests yell at my back, calling me names that I don’t care about.
I skid to a stop before the closed door. My hand is heavy on the aged wood as I slowly open it to reveal her sniffling. Her back is to me. Her shoulders shake.
When she hears the door hinge squeak, she turns around quickly. Her napkins fly up to her eyes, trying to wipe away any evidence that she’s crying, but her skin is splotchy, and the tip of her nose is red.
“You’re not allowed in here.”
Her voice is slightly raw, maybe from the lecture, but most certainly from me.
