Page 25 of Hard Lessons
“Are you going to tell me?”
She took a deep breath. “I-I’m crying because…” She licked her lips. “Because I never had anyone touch me like that before.”
“What?”
Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. “I never had anyone touch me like that before. I was… you know… saving that part of life to share with the man I fell in love with.”
It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. She’d said she was a virgin. I assumed it was because she was too scared to close the deal, not that she genuinely was saving herself for some prick.
“Get your shit and get the fuck out.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“But—”
“I said go!” I yelled.
She jumped into action, grabbing her paper from my desk and her backpack from the floor. She raced across the room, slamming the door behind her.
What the fuck was I feeling?
It didn’t take me long to figure it out.
Guilt. And it was eating me alive.
EVELYN
Iran from his office, scared and confused as to why he was yelling at me. I didn’t fight him. I didn’t even try and stop him. I did everything he told me to, so why was he yelling at me?
I was a big ball of emotion that I didn’t know how to sift through. On one hand, I was angry and embarrassed. But on the other, I was excited, and that left me feeling confused. It was the first time I’d ever let another person touch me like that. It was the first time someone had made me feel those feelings.
But having it end the way it did was hard to wrap my mind around. Was he mad at me? Was he mad at himself? I didn’t understand what he wanted from me. If I didn’t listen, I was in trouble. If I did, I was in trouble. There was no winning with him. And it made the ground shake beneath my feet.
I didn’t know if I was back to worrying about him turning me in.Would I have the dean show up at my door and tell me never to step foot on campus again?
It felt like my life was spinning out of control, and I had no idea how to steer.
By the time I made it home, I was even considering quitting school and putting an end to all my troubles. No more badgrades. No more Professor West. No more sleepless nights. No more stress nightmares. Nothing. I could move back home. I knew Gabe would let me crash in our childhood home that was left to both of us after our parents passed. Of course, I’d have to find a way to support myself eventually. I considered taking a few classes at our local community college to pursue my realtor’s license or something similar.
But then my dad’s face formed in my mind’s eye, and I thought about how I’d be letting him down. I was the only one in my family who attended college. If I quit, it would’ve all been for nothing. All the studying. All the test taking. All the extra credit and volunteer hours. Half of my life would’ve just been a waste.
I was emotional. I was angry. I was confused. I was stressed out, and I still had a paper to write. It felt like everything in my life was piling up on top of me, weighing me down.
My eyes had started to water, and by the time I made it to my room, I was full-on crying. I sat on the edge of my bed and unzipped my boot. Once the zipper was down, I threw it across the room. I had a jar on my dresser that held pens and highlighters. The boot struck the jar, causing it to fall to the ground. Pens and markers were scattered all over the floor, and the jar broke into several large pieces, but I couldn’t be bothered to clean up the mess I’d made. I pulled off the other boot, and I threw it in the same direction just as carelessly. The damage had been done, so why be careful at that point?
As I sat there, crying and staring at the busted jar on my floor, I couldn’t help but compare my life to it. The jar had been sitting there, doing its job since I moved here. Then I came along, in a fit of rage, and broke it. I had been doing my job until he came around and hurt me. I didn’t understand exactly why I was upset. I had done my job—that’s all I could do—so why did it bother me that he was upset? I couldn’t explain it. Deep down, it all came back to wanting to be the good girl, wanting to bethe one to please everyone, just like when I was a kid trying to outshine my brother’s athletic abilities.
Everything I’d done in my life wasn’t for me. It was to please others, and I found my worth in that. If I made my dad proud, then I was happy, and it didn’t matter how much grief I had to go through to achieve that. If I made my teachers brag about my good grades, then I was happy. If I made Elliot eat a dozen cookies in one sitting, I was over the moon. Making others happy or proud is what has shaped me into who I am. And then out of nowhere, my self-worth was ripped away because no matter what I did, I couldn’t make Professor West proud or happy.
I looked down at myself, suddenly hating the sweater dress I had on. I stood and ripped off my jacket, then my dress. I heard the elastic in the material pop and snap from being so rough with it, but I didn’t care. I threw it on the floor and stomped on it until I didn’t have any energy left. Finally, I fell onto my bed in a fit of tears. I curled up in a ball and prayed for someone to tell me what to do.
At some point, I think I fell asleep because when I opened my eyes, the room had become dark. I pushed myself up enough to reach over and turn on the bedside lamp. The room was filled with light, showing me the destruction I’d caused with my fit. The scattered pens and highlighters, the broken jar, the stretched out dress, my boots lying haphazardly on the floor, my jacket half hanging from the laundry basket.
Professor West’s voice echoed through my head.
“I like it when you wear tiny little skirts and dresses. I want you in a dress or a skirt every time you come to my office, understand?”
