Page 102 of Obedience

Dylan glared at him as all her pent-up frustration and fear seemed to settle in one bouncing restless leg. ‘I’m sorry, Phil, can you stop clicking your pen, please.’

Phil looked at his hand holding the pen, clicked it to retract the nib and put it down on the desk. The final click made Dylan want to ram the entire thing up his right nostril, but she managed to refrain.

Phil drew in a breath, exhaling loudly. ‘Look, Dylan, I understand that you wish to protect Doctor Vincent, but we have a duty of care to protect you.’

‘Protect me? From Greta Vincent?’ Dylan barked a laugh.

Phil gave a sharp nod. ‘Potentially.’

‘How old are you?’ Dylan asked as she stole a furtive glance at his wedding ring.

‘How is that relevant—’

‘Come on. How old are you?’

Phil shifted in his seat. ‘I’m thirty-two.’

‘And would you allow anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t be with your partner?’

Phil ignored the question, clenched his jaw as he steepled his fingers, resting them on his lips. ‘Dylan.’ He huffed out some air. ‘This University strictly prohibits sexual or romantic relationships between students and faculty because of the potential for harm—’

‘But I told you—’

‘Even,’ he said, rudely snatching back the talking stick. ‘Even if both parties believe it’s mutual or think they have feelings for one another.’

‘Think?’ Dylan echoed incredulously. ‘I see, so because we are two women we’re just being a bit silly?’

‘This isn’t about your sexuality, Dylan. It’s about Doctor Vincent’s position here and your potential vulnerability. You’re a carer as well as a Master’s student. We have been over this…we believe—’

‘Jesus, this is arduous,’ Dylan snapped, she pushed her fingers into her brow. ‘It doesn’t matter what you believe, Phil, I am sitting here telling you precisely how it is.’

In the short time she had been in the room she had become someone she didn’t recognise. Being rude or disrespectful wasn’t like Dylan, she thought about her mum seeing her like this and was immediately ashamed of her manner. Though she knew her uncharacteristic reaction was all to protect what she and Greta had. The idea that what they had was something to be ashamed of, and anything but wonderful made her physically nauseous. The notion of losing the one thing she wanted to hold onto with both hands was as ridiculous as it was inconceivable.

As the uncomfortable silence stretched, Dylan dragged a hand over her mouth. ‘Listen,’ she said finally, slapping her hand to her bouncing thigh to hold it still, though it still jerked rhythmically beneath her palm. ‘We could sit here all day, and our perspectives still never align, Phil. Your report needs to contain nothing other than the words consensual, non-coercive, and very much real... I understand you’ve got boxes to tick and that your policies are there to protect, and if that means derailing love to find one baddy, then fair enough. But Greta is not that baddy, and I am not an easily swayed, impressionable eighteen-year-old being coerced into shagging her forty-nine-year-old tutor for a Distinction. I am in love with her.’

Phil leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. His, until now, unrelenting gaze dropped to the desk. Dylan’s leg stilled as the words she had just said aloud for the first time bounced off every surface in the room and reverberated in her own head.

‘I understand your point, I really do, but—’

‘Please don’t remind me of the policy again, Phil. I can’t bear it. It’s all getting a bit Groundhog Day. I get it… I get it more than you could know. Please, just write your report fully aware of the fact that I love her. Not because she coerced me, not because she holds an honorary contract, or because of the fact that she’s an oncologist.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘All the things that have triggered your policy are irrelevant. I am twenty-eight years old, and I have fallen for someone of my own volition and free will. That’s all your report needs to say.’

***

‘Bloody hell,’ Greta breathed while pouring a glass of white wine in Dylan’s kitchen. The dated room, filled with lots of honey coloured pine, was a stark contrast to the sparse contemporary surroundings of her own apartment, but she loved how homely it was and how warm it felt.

‘I know,’ Dylan replied. ‘He was a prick.’ She shook her head as her fingers fidgeted with the spout of her sports bottle. ‘Honestly G, he was such a sanctimonious—’

‘Dyl, don’t get angry,’ Greta interrupted softly. ‘They have to go through the process. It has to happen this way.’

Dylan dropped her head. ‘I know,’ she heaved a sigh. ‘I know. I just want it to be over, G. I feel like the more they pick at this scab they think they’ve found, the more it’s going to push you away.’

Greta tutted softly. ‘Dylan…’ She reached for Dylan’s arm, which was still warm and damp from her gym session. ‘It’s not going to push me away.’

Dylan pushed herself back in her seat, shorts tight over her thighs, vest clinging to her sweat-drenched skin, her curls dark and wet.

‘I can’t lose you now, G.’

Greta silently moved over to Dylan, straddling her lap—a manoeuvre she quickly realised was easier thought of than done in tight jeans. They shared a soft laugh as she hooked her arms around Dylan’s neck to pull her into a slow, deep kiss. As Greta’s weight settled and relaxed, Dylan’s hands spread against her thighs.