“It’s going to be ok, baby. Mama’s going to be ok and so are we.”Maybe if I keep telling Sunny we’ll be alright I’ll start to believe it as well. Fat chance, but it’s worth a shot.
I press Sunny closer to me, crying into her hair and trying to get a grip on myself. Suddenly, I feel a soft squeeze on my shoulder and look up to see my dad, eyes glistening with silent tears. “Everything is going to be alright, Alis. We’ll get through this, together.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything right now. I just nod my head and look back to my sister, still holding her hand. I refuse to let go until I absolutely have to.
I hadn't even noticed my mom had left until she returns, accompanied by the doctor. A hush descends upon the room as the doctor approaches the opposite side of Belle's bed, close to the ventilator.
His gaze is heavy, burdened with the weight of the moment. He offers a faint, reassuring smile, the unspoken question evident in his eyes: are we prepared?
Dad envelops mom with one arm, the other firm on my shoulder, anchoring us all. He plants a tender kiss on mom’s temple, then meets the doctor's gaze, giving a slight nod.
With a soft click, the ventilator falls silent. We remain by Belle's side, holding onto her and each other. Time blurs, and after what feels like both an eternity and an instant, she’s gone.
She’s really gone.
I feel like somebody just stuck their hand in my chest and ripped out my heart. This is a fucking nightmare.
EIGHT
Dexter
I standat my office door and watch Alis leave, rubbing my chin in confusion at her reaction to me today. It’s not like I wasn’t caught off guard when she was introduced as my new grader, but I was at least happy to see her again. Alis is beautiful and intelligent, and now I learn she speaks my mother tongue — I can just imagine the sounds she’d make as I whisper how much I want her.
I can almost feel the goosebumps spreading across her skin as I nibble on her earlobe —Je veux lécher chaque centimètre de ton corps nu— trail my tongue down her neck —T'es la plus belle femme que j'aie jamais vue— brush her hair off her shoulders and nip at her collarbone as I push her sweater off the side of her shoulder —Je rêve de te toucher depuis notre première rencontre...
“Dr. Belanger?” Deborah’s voice shakes me out of my fantasy. Fuck. Please God don’t let her see how tight my trousers are right now.
I cough. “Yes, Deborah. Do you need something?” She cocks her head to the side as if I should know what she wants from me.
“No, sir, I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’ve been standing in your doorway staring at nothing for nearly five minutes.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I have a few things to finish up. When Dr. Euler arrives, can you send him in?”
She nods, and I turn and shut my office door, letting out a deep breath and shaking my head to clear out thoughts of Alis. What is it about this woman? She says she doesn’t want me — wait, did she actually say that? I get the feeling she wants me just as badly as I want her, but she doesn’t WANT to want me.
But, why? Aside from her professor/student argument, which frankly is not a big deal given we are both in our thirties and I am not her professor, why is she so adamant about pushing me away?
I get that she just moved here, but I’m not asking her to marry me. I just want to get to know the woman. She’s stunning and we have great rapport, our banter is sexy as hell, and if I’m guessing correctly, her professional aspirations closely line up with mine. If nothing else, we could casually get to know each other over the next few months and see where it goes from there.
I run my hands through my hair, push my back off from the door, and head back to my desk. I have a shit ton of work to finish before Leo — yes, his parents named him after that Euhler and yes, he’s a math professor — meets me for lunch, and there’s no way I’ll get it all done with Alis invading my every thought.
Pushing thoughts of Alis aside, I sit and get to work rifling through the stacks of summer essays that litter my desk. I know my office is a cluttered mess, but I truly do have my own system. Just because others don’t understand it doesn’t mean that I’m a slob.
I’m halfway through grading the fourth essay when Leo knocks twice and walks into my office.
“Bro, you ready?” Despite his genius namesake and predictable career in mathematics, Leo is the most laid back of the friends I’ve made since moving back to the States. I’m surprised he hasn’t been reprimanded for skirting the faculty dress code, but he looks professional enough when he adds a sport coat over his V-neck shirts.
“Yeah, just a sec. I’m finishing up this paper.”
Leo nods and walks in, settling into one of the visitor chairs infront of my desk and setting his ankle across his knee. “Thank God I don’t read essays for a living. My head would explode.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, I thank God that I don’t teach polynomials to freshmen. That would drive me fucking insane.”
“You’re just pissed that you’d fail my class and get your ass kicked by my freshmen.”
“Sorry, Mathlete. But I did, in fact, pass algebra with flying colors.”
I flip to the last page of the essay, scribble some concluding notes and give the student a B-minus.
