Page 10 of Love, In Balance

I’m just glad he isn’t on my course, or else I guess I’d have to up and move far away. Ok now I’m just being irrational. I do my best to completely avoid him during the session. Eyes on theprofessor and the lesson. Staying sharp. I think my lack of luck has peeked, until halfway through the seminar the professor introduces the next tutor.

You guessed it. It’s QuinfuckingRussell.

Probably his actual middle name.

So now my lack of luck has peeked for sure. He’s not a student. He’s a tutor…I kissed a tutor.

I mean, kind of hot, but also kind ofew.

I thought he was the same age as me, but now that I think about it, he must be closer to Drew and the guys in age, which isn’tthatbad. It could be so, so much worse. Plus, I’m of legal age. It’s not like I’m a child who kissed a middle-aged professor.Ok that made me feel a little sick.My mind is spiralling.

I can see he is trying to remain professional. He’s doing a good job. Other than fidgeting with his hand, which currently has a support strap on it. I’m not entirely bitter. I can appreciate a good lecturer.

A fellow academic who has clearly worked his way up to this point. I know how hard the guys worked to get to there so I can’t deny the respect I have for him.

He does hold his gaze on me every so often whilst the other tutor speaks, and despite the guilt in his eyes when he finds mine, the rest of the time he’s direct, to the point and confident. I see how he could be mistaken for a dick. No messing around or tolerating shitty behaviour from people. Just pure, serious teaching. He embodies none of the traits I saw when we first met on New Year’s Eve. He’s strait-laced and strict. Happily calling people out on their disrespectful behaviour.

It earns him some huffs and sighs, but I’m in full support of his style of teaching. I’ve had to put up with this shit from students whilst doing my lived experience work, and the tutors I work with just allow it, so it’s refreshing to see his response to those in his class.

A student decided to have his phone out, whilst clearly not paying attention, and Quins response was to sit on his desk in silence until the guy looked up from his screen, realising no further teaching was taking place after a few moments.

“Everything ok there Jason?” he asks the student, who replies with a nod and quiet “yeah”.

Quin stands up and paces the front of the room.

“Now, this goes for everyone. If my lecture isn’t up your street, feel free to leave. I’m aware people have urgent messages, but I feel like some of your phones may have held your attention much longer than I have during this lesson. And it’s become a habit too over the last week. If you want to be here, pay attention. If not, be my guest and leave” he says, gesturing to the door. Not with a raised voice or harsh tones, just in a matter-of-fact way, before returning to the lesson as if nothing happened.

Whyam I turned on by that?

His deep, smooth voice is perfectly articulate. His clothes are a perfect mix of nerdy, professional and casual all at once, somehow. The way he sweeps back his hair every so often is enticing. And when he licks his lips, I can almost remember how they tasted. But then I remember that I’m me. It was clearly a mistake on his part to kiss me that night, hence why he stopped replying to me.

I was a mere pit stop, like I always seem to be. The drunken mistake, perhaps.

My self-consciousness creeps in and I wish I could just disappear. Surrounded by a room full of attractive, intelligent students, I stick out horribly, as always. A nerdy, petite, mud-haired, dull eyed, lame mess. How did I ever think there could have been something between us that night. Why would someone like him, be interested in someone like me? I ruminate unhealthily, and I feel myself spiralling into dangerous, unkindmental territory.

Thanks imposter syndrome. Big thumbs up for your support.

The seminar finishes and it’s time for the university to close, thankfully. I can go home and attempt to remove this negative train of thought brought on by my good friend Body dysmorphia and her roomie Imposter syndrome.

I can already visualise the hot bath full of gloriously scented bubbles, followed by some tasty food and cuddles with my snuggle buddy kitty, Edith. She listens to my problems and offers the occasional comforting ‘meow’.

She always knows what to say to make things better.

Drew or Flic usually help me stop these kinds of self-deprecating tangents, but right now I’m too embarrassed to admit that the guy who ghosted me is a lecturer in a class that I need to sit in often for my research proposal.

Plus, Drew took off early to spend the day helping Flic with some DIY furniture, so I’m not willing to disturbbothof them. Plus I can feel something on the horizon with those two, and I will not be the one to interrupt that.

So, as I do most of the time, I’m going to internalise my struggles and drown my sorrows in my evening of bliss.

It’s always been important for me to have a crisis plan, to find ways to help myself when my mind starts to struggle, or I lose control. I’ve come so far, so I don’t let things take my strength away too easily. This is certainly not going to.

I’ll let myself feel and then close the door behind the bad thoughts and feelings on their way out.

I’m always the last to leave my classes.

It comes down to being terrified of holding others up by losing balance, tripping or causing an obstacle, so I find it easier to leave last, when I know I can’t be a hindrance to anyone or accidently trip them up with my cane.

Except today it serves me the pain of remaining in here, withhim for longer than necessary.

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