Page 73 of Into The Darkness

I was getting nervous about this tutoring starting up again because of how uncomfortable Dr. Connolly made me last time we were together. Something inside me told me to check in with Ash.

As I was walking to class, I decided to text him, partially to avoid any embarrassing comment he would make in class, but mostly because I missed him and was really fucking glad I would see him again.

Me:

This is stupid. At least let’s be friends. Headed to class now–see you later.

The implications of sending this text meant that we would eventually have to talk about what happened, but with the week breezing by, I knew where I stood on the initiation we needed to complete. I tucked my phone into my backpack before I walked into the familiar English building.

Dr. Connolly’s tutoring sessions were getting weirder by the session, but this was the first time he had asked me to come so early. Normally, we met only thirty minutes before class started. I just really wanted that recommendation from him. This might be the path that would lead me out of this lifestyle I’d uncovered, away from Isles.

My dream one day would be to live in the countryside, writing and spending the days slowly and lazily with the person I loved.

Ash.

I shook my head, trying to push the daydream out of my mind. We weren’t even on good terms, so having this wild dream about my future—our future—seemed absurd.

When I walked into class, the overhead lights were turned off and only a small lamp next to his desk was on.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” I called out, thinking maybe I had read the time on the email wrong.

“Down here, Ember,” he called out, and I cringed at the sound of my first name on his lips. It felt so informal.

I hesitantly walked down the stairs, through the darkness, to where his desk was.

“Please sit,” he encouraged before sitting on the desk next to me. He was so fucking close I could smell his breath.

“So, where should we start? Should we start by discussing the differences between self- and traditional publishing?” I asked, reaching into my backpack and pulling out the article he emailed me that I had annotated.

He chortled. “No, Ember. We will not be discussing the different realms of publishing today. I would like to just take this time together to get to know you.”

Then he leaned over and pulled a piece of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“God, has anyone told you how absolutely breathtaking you are?”

I choked. “I-I’m sorry, what?” I asked, cocking my head to the side to make sure I understood what he was saying.

“Don’t be shy. You must know how absolutely stunning you are.”

“Professor”—maybe he was having some sort of psychotic break, because there was absolutely no way he was actually saying this to me —“I think we should really focus on the article you emailed me.”

“I know what I emailed you. I just need you to know that when I pick a student to tutor each semester, they dowhateverit takes to get ahead.” His eyes narrowed on mine as he leaned over from where he was sitting.

“Okay . . .?” I asked, not understanding what he was trying to point out.

“Are you willing to do anything?”

I nodded.

“Good. Stand up.” I looked around, checking for the clock. There was still a half hour before class would start. In theory, some of the early birds would be coming in ten minutes early, which meant I had twenty minutes to get through this. I just needed to stall.

“Stand up,” he yelled, this time much louder, and it echoed off the walls.

I obliged, getting to my feet so I was standing in front of him.

“I read this article the other day about the rise of indie authors in the traditional—”

“Shut up, Ember.” I closed my mouth. No fucking way this was happening. His hands slid up and down my body, yet I stood stiff as a board.

---