Picking up my phone, I type out another text to Dylan.
Ethan: Son, I know you’re going through some stuff at the moment, but I’m here to listen when you’re ready. No judgement. I’m proud of you, and I know I don’t tell you that enough. I’m sorry.
This time, I don’t even get a thumbs up. There’s nothing. No response.
I try to pinpoint exactly when our relationship broke down. Was it after the divorce? Before? Was it back when he was a moody teenager, sitting in his room listening to his punk rock music? The truth is, I don’t know, and that makes me feel even worse.
Eventually, I realise staring at my phone waiting for a text that’s not coming won’t get this last assignment marked, so I turn my focus back to the last writing piece.
My stomach bottoms out. Not only is this piece raw and unfiltered, it’s a cry for help. I straighten in my seat as I read the words, each one detailing the abuse this poor girl has suffered since a young age. First, her father left, leading her mother to remarry. This girl endured an attempted sexual assault at the hands of her stepfather in her early teens, and then the sexual exploitation by her high school boyfriend. I feel sick thinking about what she’s been through.
I continue to read, amazed by her strength and resilience when she writes about how she felt like ending things on numerous occasions, but with the support of her best friend, she reinvented herself instead, taking back the power of her own body and overcoming the feeling of beinga victim. My heart breaks, though, because despite the steps she’s taken to move forward in her life, the fact remains she lived these horrific events.
When I finish, I lean back in my chair and rub a hand over my face, contemplating what I just read. As an academic, I’m supposed to assess her writing, but as a human, I can’t ignore the subtext. This isn’t just catharsis on a page; it’s a lifeline thrown into the ether, and whether intended or not, I’ve caught it.
The university’s policies on duty of care float in the back of my mind, and I know this is why they exist. This student is strong, but strength doesn’t mean she still isn’t hurting, or that she’s safe. What if writing this assignment has brought all those dark feelings to the surface?
Fuck.
There’s nothing I can do this late at night, but tomorrow, I’ll ask her to stay behind after class. I’ll let her know there’s support available, that she’s not alone. It’s the least I can do.
Chapter 18
Leni
Willow meets me at the coffee shop before my creative writing lecture on Tuesday morning, and I can already tell by the massive smile on her face that she’s leaving.
“If he hurts you,” I warn as I wrap her in a giant hug while we wait in line to order our coffees, “I won’t hesitate to fly over there and kick his arse.”
“Am I crazy for doing this?” she asks as she pulls away and bites down on her bottom lip, the fear evident in her blue eyes.
“Yes,” I tell her honestly, and her face falls. Squeezing her hand, I offer her a reassuring smile. “But it’s crazy romantic, and I’m so happy for you. You deserve this, and is it wrong for me to comment on how smoking hot your stepbrother-slash-boyfriend is?”
Willow snorts a laugh then groans. “Oh my gosh, what are people going to think about him dating his frumpy stepsister?”
“First of all, you’re not frumpy. Second, who needs toknow you’re his stepsister? You have different surnames. No one will even know. It’s not like George or Gwendoline will be making a big announcement. They won’t want anyone to know.”
Pink creeps over her cheeks. “I’m only going to embarrass him.”
“Willow Hepburn, listen to me when I tell you I’ve seen the way Luca looks at you, and he is far from embarrassed by you.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” an amused male voice says from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to grin at the man in question.
“Hey, Luca,” I greet him as he steps in behind Willow, and my best friend melts into him.
“Red Devil.” His smirk grows as he arches a brow, and I roll my eyes. He turns his attention to his girlfriend. “You could never embarrass me, Angel. I’m gonna need you to stop talking like that.”
“Exactly what I said,” I point out, almost swooning when he leans down and kisses her neck.
The barista calls our names, and I leave the two lovebirds to grab our coffees.
When I return with the liquid gold, I narrow my eyes at my bestie’s boyfriend as I pass her coffee over.
“I also said that if you hurt her, I won’t hesitate to fly over to England and kick your arse, soccer boy, so you better treat her right.”
“It’s football,” he says with a roll of his eyes, but then his expression turns serious. “I won’t hurt her, Leni. I promise.”
Checking my watch, I sigh. “I’ve got to get to my creative writing lecture. When are you leaving?”
