Page 13 of Isabela

I enjoy this part of the teaching gig, because it allows me to get a glimpse into their minds. There are a few people whom the Society is interested in, and I vetoed one of them already due to their work ethic. The Society wasn’t pleased, but agreed with my decision.

I’m responsible for these new recruits, I don’t want to deal with lazy or undisciplined people.

My eyes scan the room as they work, continually checking for a hint of cheating. Unfortunately, I keep being drawn back to Isabela who is hunched inside of her sweatshirt.

I’m glad she’s dressed for the weather, but somehow doubt it’s the sole reason she’s wearing it. Lips twisting in derision, I find myself wanting to know what happened.

Outside of my society duties, or being a teacher, I do care about my students, even if I’m only here as a cover for my job.

Isabela finishes her exam with time to spare, handing it in to my assistant instead of me. My brows draw down as I watch her hustle past me to get to the door.

Unacceptable.

“Miss Cohen,” I growl under my breath. I can’t be much louder, but I know she can hear me.

She takes a quick breath before meeting my gaze, and all I see is pain in her beautiful brown eyes.

“How much pain are you in right now?” I ask her, changing the course of what I was going to say. I don’t remember the words before it because of how much of an impact she’s making on me right now.

“A lot,” Isabela admits. “I hate pain relievers, they make me feel fuzzy. I can’t even take acetaminophen. I wanted to be clear for the exam, but I…”

She weaves on her feet for a moment and I rise quickly in concern.

“I’m fine,” she grits out. “I need to sleep, so I’m just going to go home.”

“You’re coming to my office,” I insist, glancing over at my assistant and snapping my fingers.

It’s easier than yelling for her, and she jumps to her feet and rushes over.

“Cassidy, I’m being pulled away for the remainder of the class period. Can you take over and bring the exams to my office at the end of the hour, please?”

“Yes, Professor,” she says softly, nodding her head. She’s effective and professional, which is what I need in a teaching assistant. I’ve been very pleased with her.

“Thank you,” I say with a terse nod. Cupping Isabela’s elbow lightly, I start walking, giving her little else to do but follow me.

“Dr. Murphy,” Isabela sighs as we walk out of the room.

“No, shut the fuck up and walk,” I grunt. I’m getting more and more angry as she walks next to me.

She is three times paler than she was when she began the class. “Did you really think I would make you come today if you emailed me and said you needed to reschedule the exam?”

“Yes. You’re an asshole,” Isabela says. Her voice is pinched in pain, and I ignore the insult.

“I am, but you’re unwell. I don’t really believe you were in a car accident, either. Have you been to the hospital at all? You’re weaving on your feet right now.”

“If you don’t believe me, why should I give you any more information? You’ve made your decision… fuck. I don’t think I can make it up those stairs,” she mutters.

I don’t think Isabela meant for me to hear that, and I glance up at the stairs in question.

“Thankfully, our campus is compliant with current disability accessibility laws, so there’s an elevator,” I tell her.

I could force the issue, but I won’t. I’m going to use this to my advantage, because there’s an opening for a new group of students to enter the Society next semester.

It starts just after spring break, and I’ve been trying to force myself to find a way to broach it with Isabela Cohen.

Now is as good a time as any, I guess. The elevator is down the hallway, and most students don’t even notice it’s there. Hitting the button to call it down, I sneak a glance at my student.

“I believe in accepting people’s words at face value when they aren’t lying their asses off to me with their body language,” I inform her. “Everything about you pisses me off.”

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