“But it could be something. Don’t let the past hold you back from being happy, life’s too short for that.” She pats my arm comfortingly. “Well, I better be going. I’ve got a hot date with my man.”
I laugh as she stands from the chair and I follow her. “It was so good to see you, Pamela.”
“You too, Dwight. You’ll always be a son to me and if ever you want to talk, I’ll be here.”
Chapter 9
Dwight
Istand on the grass, overlooking my wife’s grave.
Has it really been three years since I last stood here on this exact spot, watching as they lowered her into the ground?
The whole area surrounding her grave is in pristine condition, the grass clipped perfectly, the headstone immaculate and the flowers that are placed by her headstone are fresh and vibrant. Her mother must visit often.
I read the inscription on the headstone,‘beloved wife to Dwight’, beloved, yes, but she deserved so much better than me, she deserved more than I could ever offer her. Guilt grips me and I swipe away the stray tear that trickles its way down my cheek and laugh to myself. If Grace were here right now she’s tell me to get a grip. To grow the fuck up and move on.
But it’s hard.
Deep down I know she’d want me to be happy, not to mourn her for the rest of my life, she said it herself as she laid in our bed, cradled in my arms on what turned out to be our last night together. I know that she’d want me to find love again, to find happiness with someone else, but it’s been so long since I was truly happy that I’ve forgotten what it feels like.
I drop into a crouch and press I press a kiss to the rose I’ve been holding, and place it down on top of her headstone, touching the stone fondly before backing away.
I wind my way down the path towards the exit, it’s not overly huge, only being a five minute walk between Grace’s grave and the gates that lead into the cemetery.
After a few minute of walking, I pull off my jacket and drape it over one arm, it’s way too hot out here, for saying it’s just turned October, the thick humid air feels sticky, my shirt clings to my damp skin as sweat beads on my forehead.
I glance up, and a wave of black hair catches my eye. There’s no mistaking who it is this time. My footsteps falter as I come face to face with the girl who’s featured in one too many of my dreams this week alone.
Quinn, is sat on a bench, her knees tucked under her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs.
My mind flashes back to my dream and my cock stirs at the memory. This is not the time nor the place, I’m in a graveyard for fuck sake.
Shit.
How am I supposed to look her in the eye knowing that in my subconscious, I’m living out every fantasy that I’ve had since the day I met her?
Every night since that first dream a couple of nights ago, I’ve been plagued with a different dream, each of them featuring Quinn. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing a mile a minute and my dick rock hard. I jerk myself off in the shower, her name on my breath as I come. And as my release begins to wear off, the guilt and disgust creeps in. She’s my fucking student for crying out loud, but try telling that to my subconscious mind.
Fuck.I have to stay away from her, but I can’t just walk by and ignore her, she doesn’t deserve that. None of this is her fault.
I know I’ve been a dick to her, and I didn’t mean to be, but I guess being that way with almost everyone for the past three years rubs off on you after a while. It was a way of pushing people away, not letting them in too close. The exact same reason I was doing it to her. Because I can feel it, this pull towards her that I can’t shake. I can’t risk anyone seeing how she affects me. If it were up to me, I’d stare at her all day long, and I almost did last week in class, but I managed to snap myself out of it before anyone seemed to notice.
Whenever I’m around her my control seems to slip, my mind thinking dangerous thoughts.
She doesn’t see me approach, she just stares off in the distance in her own little world, a place that she seems to be most of the time.
I wonder what she’s thinking about.
“Miss Taylor.” I come to a stop beside her, and she looks up, her eyes widening. They’re red and puffy. She’s been crying, a sight that has me wanting to take back every asshole comment I’ve ever made since I met her.
“Professor.” She sounds surprised to see me. She gives me a small smile before looking away awkwardly.
Fuck, that word takes me back to those dreams where it was said for an entirely different reason.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask. She offers me a shrug, and I take a seat on the bench beside her, only a few short inches separating us. “Who are you visiting?”
She doesn’t answer straight away, but I see her face fall slightly as she bites the inside of her lip. “My parents.”
