Page 40 of When Hearts Collide

I smile, the sight causing her to recoil. That’s right, Millie. Stay away from me. I am a bastard. One that’ll ruin you, and one that is fucking hard for you right now.

Clearing her throat, she straightens up even more. She tilts her chin up in defiance, and responds, “How do you measure the price of one patient’s life versus the other? Who made you God? When human beings give themselves the right to value one sick patient’s life over another, that’s when society is corrupted beyond repair.”

Her backhand is forceful, a powerful liver punch, and I stagger back, my hands shaking, my lungs stealing the air from around me, the heat in my veins now a full boil, scorching me from within, charring my insides beyond recognition.

And yet, I savor the pain, the burn, the sharpness of her eyes on me, slicing me to pieces.

It makes me feel alive and free.

“If we can’t empathize with the individual, our sorrows for society’s plight are just bullshit and plain lip service.” Her heated gaze softens, the rest of the words unspoken.

“Without considering individual happiness, how can we achieve happiness in the group?” Her wise words from her first essay in class.

Suddenly, the air feels thin in the room, her attention too raw. I feel exposed. Naked. The horrid dream of showing up to work without a stitch of clothing on.

She sees me, just like I see her.

Kindred spirits.

“What if the individual wants something inappropriate for the greater good? And shatters the society’s rules for right and wrong?” I murmur, staring at her plump lips.

So soft. So inviting.

I crave a taste.

Millie’s eyes widen, her pulse feathering her slender neck. She exhales. “Maybe it’s time to redefine the rules then.” Her reply is as light as air but is taut with meaning.

I swallow, my gaze capturing hers again, watching those blue eyes darken, the pupils slowly encroaching on her irises, her breaths quickening, each movement causing her chest to swell and tremble.

Someone coughs in the background, the sharp sound shaking me out of my trance. I clear my throat and step back, the cool air of the room finally knocking some sense into me. “An enticing argument, Ms. Callahan. Well done.”

Looking up, I find the other students sitting with rapt attention, the spark of insight appearing in their eyes. A few teams gather around and whisper passionately amongst themselves, clearly wanting to amend their argument with whatever new ideas the debate just now generated. My chest hums in satisfaction. This is why I want to teach.

I feel the heat of her gaze on me as I walk back toward my desk, needing distance from her, this woman who threatens to unravel everything I stand for.

My temptation.

The rest of the class passes by quickly, with each group ardently defending their opinions. Ultimately, we realize there is no black or white in this situation, no win-win solution.

Millie is quiet for the rest of the period. The variations of her—the flirtatious vixen from the beginning of the lecture, the nervous student finding her voice, the quiet seductress passionately defending her opinions—have receded into the background. In their place is someone contemplative, and I can sense the myriad of thoughts coursing through her mind.

Every quirk of brow, every rippling of her throat, every scrunch of her nose. Her thoughts are written clearly on her face in a language only I can read.

Confusion. Lust. Admiration. Excitement. And so much hunger.

My hands fist behind my back. I want to satiate that hunger, so she’ll never be wanting for anything again.

A timer buzzes and class ends.

“Excellent discussion today, class. Remember, the revised papers are due by Friday.”

The students hurry out of the classroom, excitement seeping through their voices as conversation topics range from weekend plans to college sports. I see the Asian girl, Jocelyn, I believe, dragging Millie out of the classroom. Keeping my eyes away from my temptation, I pack my materials in my briefcase before restoring my sleeves and cuff links. Then I slide on my suit jacket, grab my umbrella, and head toward the stairwell.

The mood of the sky has taken a dreary turn during the last hour, the storm drenching the pavement and courtyard when I finally make it to the entrance.

The trees rustle as an icy breeze kicks up in the air. The alluring scent of jasmine with a hint of vanilla reaches my nose from the open doors.

Her scent.

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