“—which brings us to the heart of what we’ve been discussing this semester. Cruelty isn’t just an action. It’s a tool. One that every single person in this room has access to.”
The white glow shrinks to reveal a lecture hall. A blackboard. A lectern. The low whine in my ears becomes someone’s voice—deep, melodious, theatrical.
That voice.
This place.
I’ve heard it before.
Been here before.
Right?
“The question isn’t whether you possess the capacity for cruelty,” the voice continues, “but whether you’ll be the one wielding it, or the one subjected to it.”
I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. The edges of the room remain blurry, indistinct.
Is this a dream? I claw for memories, for a solid thought, but my mind is as insubstantial as the room, the furniture, the figure up front.
He moves with purpose and grace. Tall, slim. He turns toward the blackboard, and I catch his profile. Strong jaw. Dark hair. The sleeves of his white button-down rolled to reveal pale, toned forearms, dark blue-green veins standing proud as he gestures passionately with his strong hands.
Those hands…
“Consider for a moment cruelty in relationships,” he says, scrawling on the board. “In particular, intimate ones.”
POWER DYNAMICS
He taps his chalk beside the bold letters. “Here, the capacity to inflict pain could easily intersect with the capacity to give pleasure.”
His eyes cut to me, sending a thousand volts deep into my lower belly.
Professor Rooke.
I’m in his class.
What day is it? How the fuck did I get here? Last thing I remember is?—
The flick of his wrist as he underlines the term sends another jolt through me.
A flash of memory—that same wrist flicking to unzip his jeans.
…open your eyes…
But I squeeze them closed. And that’s when the memory hits me even harder. Bastian’s taut stomach muscles. The trail of dark hair leading to his cock. The weight of him. The smell of his cologne mixed with something coppery.
…you fight like prey, but you take my cock like a slave…
My lungs seize. The room tilts sideways.
“Attachment theory gives us a useful framework,” Bastian continues, eyes moving away from me like I’m just another student. Just another young mind for him to corrupt, another warm body for him to defile. “Let’s focus on its darker applications. How attachment styles may become weaponized in abusive relationships.”
He sweeps across the front of the room, coffee cup in hand, taking a casual sip before setting it down.
As though nothing has changed. As though he didn’t?—
twist me open with his fingers and spit inside my?—
No. No, no,fuckno.
