When the last of the students filters out, I reach forward and pull Damian’s paper from the stack. I skim the first page, then drop it back onto the pile.
It’s not good.
For fuck’s sake.
This is the part I hate the most. The responsibility. Trying to build someone up when you’re not even sure they’re supposed to be here in the first place. Damian shows up to office hours and tries his best, but it’s clear this stuff doesn’t click for him. Not the way it needs to if he’s going to survive third-year quantum mechanics. And now I have to meet with him again and pretend like I know how to help, and try to strike the impossible balance between being honest and not completely crushing him.
Fuck. I just want to do my own work and not spend my time hand-holding kids who probably should’ve taken another path.
I grab my bag and pause before shoving the exams in. My hand dips to the bottom as my fingers search, and my heart picks up its pace just a little, as hope stirs where it shouldn’t.
But it’s empty.
Of course it is.
I drank the last of my to-go rum yesterday.
With a sharp exhale, I shove the papers in and sling the bag over my shoulder, forcefully rubbing a hand down my face. As I head out of the classroom, I’m already planning a stop at that shitty pub on the way home. The one with the flickering neon sign and a bartender who doesn’t ask questions, where I can grade in the corner with a drink or four and feel like I’m doing something with my night. Like coping.
But as I push through the doors of the building, I hear it. That voice in the back of my head that tells me I should just go home. Make a coffee, eat dinner, and be a functioning, responsible person.
And, for a moment, I consider it.
Until I step outside.
It’s a beautiful day. The sun is warm for the first time in months; the snow is now gone, and the green grass is clawingits way towards the surface. Laughter echoes across the campus, with students sprawling across benches like it’s summer, and two guys in shorts are tossing a frisbee like we skipped straight to July.
It should feel like something.
I take a deep breath of the cool spring air and let it fill my lungs.
And still… I feel nothing.
The world is waking up, and I’m just… here.
So I head for my car.
And I head for the pub.
If I’m going to feel numb anyway, I might as well do it with a drink in my hand.
TWO
“We needat least three more vehicles for the auction next week.”
A groan escapes me as I tilt my head back, dragging a hand over my face before glaring at Cory across the table.
“What?” he snaps, matching my look. “We do.”
“Yeah, I fucking know,” I bite back. “But wejustlifted a Porsche 911, so can you just chill the fuck out and have a drink?”
Cory narrows his eyes at me, and Mac huffs a laugh from my right.
“I’m with Alder on this one,” Mac says, lifting his beer to his lips. “It won’t take long for people to notice this car is missing. We need to lay low for a bit.”
I nod towards Cory’s untouched beer, and wait.
He hesitates, looking all twitchy and annoying, but finally picks up the bottle and takes a drink.
