“Let's just get on with it.” I breathe out, not missing the way she smirks at me backing down.
This is not what I do, but she's tutoring me and I can't fail, so I need to be the bigger person here. Even though I hate it.
“Like I was saying,” she takes out her pen and starts writing some notes, “cell structure is going to be on the test. You're going to need to understand the definitions of some key components, okay?”
Her tone takes me by surprise. It's as if she's slipped into the suit of my tutor. I don't hate it, but it's bewildering. She sounds so serious, like she actually cares if I understand what she's saying. This just makes me realize something utterly annoying.
I have to actually listen to her.
***
That’s what I did. I've spent the last hour listening to her and absorbing the information regarding animal cell structure.
I have to give props when they are due; Adaline is actually excellent when it comes to tutoring. It's probably because she is so passionate about biology; it's practically been oozing out of her for this whole session.
However, my attention is wavering now, mostly because I'm tired of the biology talk. I understand what she's been saying and I've consumed it. I'm a quick learner, so I cannot be bothered to continue talking about animal cell structure right now. Not when I have much more interesting topics of conversation that I would like to bring up.
“Remember that the nucleus contains genetic material,” she twirls her pen, “don't forget about ribosomes either. Remember they are tiny structures where protein synthesis occurs—”
“Your motorbike …” I cut her off, clearing my throat in the process.
She looks exasperated that I've cut her off. I don't blame her; we should be talking about biology. I should be letting her continue because I desperately need to pass. But my brain just won't let me; I won't be able to rest until I hear her answer.
I squeeze my pen tighter, inadvertently, when she looks at me, so intently. I'm not used to Adaline listening to me. It's like a shot of adrenaline—her eyes watching me.
“Yeah?” she questions, confused and annoyed, urging me to continue.
I cross my legs, take a deep breath, and decide to do just that. “How many people have fucked you on it?”
She raises her eyebrows as annoyance swells deep inside her magnificent green eyes. I can see her clenching her fists at the sides of my chair. I refrain from smirking at her clear discomfort and keep a straight face.
I admit I like asking inappropriate questions when it comes to her, but this time, I’m genuinely curious.
“Were you dropped as a child? Is that why you come up with such bullshit?”
Don't deflect. Answer me.
“Are you too much of a pussy to answer?” I question smugly, closing my book.
She is the furthest thing from a coward. This isn't the 1950s, so it's not like she's embarrassed to discuss her sex life either. She's just more bothered thatI'mthe one asking the question and that makes me really happy.
“No. I just don't know why you're so interested,” she says, shrugging. Before I can answer, she continues talking. “Why are you interested in the head I got from a girl on this bike? Why are you so interested in the three orgasms she gave me?”
Three. Three?
Adaline is provoking me, making my fists clenched and my head pound. Her smug face indicates to me that she knows she's gotten to me; she thinks I'm angry because of my homophobia.
She wants so bad for me to admit that her describing her sexual deviancy with girls is bothering me. But why does her being with a boy bother me just as much?No. I can't let her get to me.
“I just wanted to find out if your sex life was as average as I assumed it was.” I deliver the words in a bored tone that I myself am shocked at.
I've never been good at hiding or controlling my feelings, but in this moment, I'm forcing myself to.
She looks baffled, scoffing. “Average? On what planet?”
“That girl giving you three orgasms isn't as earth shattering as you think,” I mumble harshly, pretending like I'm not interested in this conversation as I stare at my nails.
Are you one to talk Juliette? Your boyfriend can’t even give you one.
