Dexter holds me tightly to him and kisses the top of my head. He doesn't say anything — doesn't need to. We haven't spoken since I said goodbye to him Friday night, and he should be furious with me, but instead, he's holding me.
I, too, don't offer any words. I have none. Instead, I wrap my arms around his body and pull myself tighter to him. I nuzzle my face into his chest and cry.
It'safternoon when I wake in Dexter's embrace. His fingers run through my hair, and I sigh at how good it feels.
"You're here," I say, not yet allowing my gaze to meet his. For now, I'll stay exactly where I am — nose buried in his chest, smelling the delicious scent that is Dexter Belanger.
"I'm here," he replies, once again placing a kiss on my head and leaving his nose buried in my hair. We're quiet; I don't know that either of us knows what to say next. Finally, thankfully, he speaks.
"I don't want to push you, but I need to know what happened. I've been going out of my fucking mind this last week wondering why you disappeared. If I hadn't known you'd be at your parents' for the week, I would have thought something had happened to you."
He's right. I know he's right, but that doesn't make explaining this any easier. I push back from his chest and meet his eyes. I've never seen him like this before — relaxed, hair loose, wearing an old college tee and sweats. This is how I imagined waking up to him last Saturday, had the night before not gone to shit.
"I'm sorry I disappeared. I was overwhelmed and — no, that's not it. I don't even know where to begin." I sit up, running my fingers through my hair to somewhat tame my bedhead, and let out a deep breath.
Dexter turns fully onto his side, leans on his elbow, and props his head on his hand. "Do you want me to suggest starting at the beginning, or should I be quiet?" he asks, unleashing that intoxicating half-smile on me.
I swat his arm and laugh, thankful for levity when what I'm about to reveal is anything but light. "How about you start with how you know Jonathan Ryan."
Now I'm sitting next to him, legs crossed. I fold my hands in my lap and pick at my cuticles, trying to find the words to begin.
"Right. Dr. Ryan. I attended a lecture of his while I was still in high school, and knew immediately I wanted to study under him at Grant. School was never difficult for me, so I didn't have trouble getting a scholarship or into the English lit program. I spent my undergraduate years preparing myself to be one of his select graduate students."
"Impressive," Dexter says, adoration and respect gleaming in his eyes.
My cheeks pink at his praise. I'm not typically shy about my accomplishments or academic prowess, but I know Dexter understands the weight of what it means to study under Jonathan Ryan.
"Thank you. I assume you gathered from the party that my work paid off, and I secured a spot in his grad program, and then eventually I became his TA. I had about a year left when the accident happened…" I drift off, not sure how to explain the next part because I'm still coming to terms with the situation myself.
"You're tensing up again. When you saw Jonathan at the party Friday, your body reacted the same way. What happened?"
"I… I…"
"Look at me, Alis." I look in his eyes, so full of comfort and understanding. I know that no matter what comes out of my mouth next, even if it doesn't make sense to me, he'll know how to help me through it.
"I went to Dr. Ryan's office to talk with him about adjusting my schedule so I could become a commuter student. I had already decided to sublet my apartment until my lease was up and movehome so I could raise Sunny with my parents. It was just a few days after the funeral, and I was a wreck. My emotions were everywhere, I hadn't slept well in days." I rub my forehead, trying to remember the details of that day as best I can.
"Dr. Ryan was incredible that day. He sat with me for probably an hour, reworking my schedule so I could stay in school and also still work as his TA. Instead of handing off my position to someone else, he was going to let me cut back and take on another student to fill in the gaps. I don't know if it was his generosity or something else that set me off, but I started sobbing. I couldn't stop crying, and he held me while I fell apart. I knew I looked up to him and respected him; I knew there was a reason why people loved him so much, but his sitting with me and reworking everything to accommodate me wasn't anything I expected. I guess I was overwhelmed," I shrug, stare up at the ceiling, and prepare to tell him the rest. I take a few seconds to gather my thoughts, and I'm thankful that Dexter doesn't interrupt or prompt me to continue. He knows I'll finish the story; I just need a moment.
"I honestly don't know any of the context for what happened next. It happened so fast, and I was already overwhelmed and overstimulated from everything that had taken place that week. All I remember is that Dr. Ryan was telling me everything was going to be alright, and then his office door opened, and his wife, Margaret, started shooting accusations at me, at him. I think she accused him of favoring me because he spoke of me at home. She insinuated that his working late had something to do with me. She seemed to start in the middle of an ongoing argument, and I had no context for what she was saying. At first, Dr. Ryan tried to calm her down and tell her she misunderstood what she walked in on, but she wouldn't stop. I tried to protect him by interjecting, but all that did was turn her ire on me. She accused me of trying to seduce him, of worshiping the ground he walks on… I don't remember everything she said. I tried to offer an explanation for why he was hugging me, even telling her that my sister had just died. She wouldn't listen. I think she even accused me of using my sister's death as a way to further manipulate her husband into my bed or something? I don't know. Like I said, it's a bit of a blur."
As the severity of my story grew, Dexter sat up from his position and sat back against the headboard, legs stretched in front of him. He's fisting my sheets on either side of him, visibly upset by what I've revealed.
"And Jonathan?" he asks.
"He just stood there. At first, he defended himself, but it's like once she really started going off, he cowered back and didn't say anything."
"Let me get this straight," Dexter says. "You were distraught and had just gone through the worst week of your life. He knew this, and when his wife burst in and started verbally attacking you, he did nothing?"
"Correct," I nod.
Dexter runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots. I can see he's trying to calm himself, trying not to fly off the handle at what I've just revealed. Eventually, albeit through clenched teeth, he asks, "Is there more?"
"More? Not really, no. Once I realized he wasn't going to defend me, protect me, whatever, I left. I remember hearing them yell at each other through the door as I left the offices, but I don't know what they were saying. I never went back."
"You just walked away?" I cannot tell if he's annoyed that I walked away or if he's simply trying to understand, but even if he is annoyed with my choice, I refuse to feel ashamed of my choice to leave that day.
"I did. It was all too much, and the moment I realized he wasn't going to bat for me, wasn't defending me or protecting me after I put myself in the line of fire to protect him, I was done. I hadn't done anything wrong — neither had he, really. He never touched me, never came onto me, nothing. Jonathan Ryan's only fault in all of this is being a spineless coward."
