Page 59 of His to Own

My eyes flick to Polina and she’s loving every second of this. Another thing she can use against me. Another way she can rub it in my face that she’s a better student than I am.

“No, I don’t have anything to add,” I whisper, my face on fire.

The look of disappointment Professor Romanov gives me makes me want to sink into my chair. My other professors don’t care if you participate in class. They see it as if you’re paying to be here, you can do whatever you want. It’s not on them to make you do well. But Professor Romanov has had it out to get to me since we first met. I have no idea why.

“But you were taking notes. Read what you wrote out loud. My students don’t get to be quiet in my class. So speak.”

Speak up. Always speak up. I’m getting tired of being told that all the time.

My hands grip my journal. I hadn’t been taking notes. Any notes. “Uh…”

“Read what you just wrote,” she says in a hard tone. “You were writing something. So read it.”

“I don’t want to.” My one statement sounds loud in the quiet class. A few students offer me sympathetic glances. They all know how hard Professor Romanov can be.

“You don’t want to? You don’t get to just not work in my class. You were writing something. So read it out loud. Now. Or get out of my class and don’t return.”

I need this credit. If I don’t pass this class, I’ll definitely lose out on Professor Burgov’s writing internship next semester.

Standing up, I grip my journal between my hands. How ironic that Maxim was trying to get me to read my poetry to a room full of people last night and now here I am, being forced into it again.

“Read,” she says.

I look down at the poem I just wrote. The one about Maxim pleasuring my body.

“I…” My tongue gets caught in my throat. “I can’t.”

“Then get out of my class.” She turns her back to me. Fight. I have to fight.

“Your fingers on my body,” I start to read. “Your fingers that gently push my hair out of my face.”

Professor Romanov gives me a hard look as I continue to read.

“Your fingers that touch me where no one has touched me before. Your fingers that create magic inside of me. Your fingers that I study. Your fingers that pull a trigger. Your fingers. Always your fingers.”

I stop and the entire room is quiet. I can feel the weight of it. The oppressing weight.

“You wrote that?” she asks. “Just now?”

“Yes.”

“That has nothing to do with Hamlet.”

“I know.”

“A poem.” She huffs. “You’re no Shakespeare, that much is obvious. You’re not a good writer, Miss Karetov. So why do you take time to do it when you should be studying what I teach? Maybe if you read Shakespeare’s poetry, you’d be a better writer.”

I flush. Polina is eating all of this right up.

“You can go,” Professor Romanov says, waving towards the door. “I don’t want you in my class.”

Something inside of me stays rooted in place. “It’s Mrs. Morozov.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Morozov. It’s not Miss Karetov anymore. I’m married now.” I’ve never taken Maxim’s last name before. Legally, his name is now my name. But I have never claimed it myself. Until now. It feels… good. Powerful in a way I’ve never been before.

Professor Romanov’s eye twitches. “Are you correcting me?”