Page 8 of Tempted
He’s lying through his teeth. I know it. I feel it. And despite what I “remember”, there’s no doubt in my mind that I never came on his dick. I know for a fact that I hadn’t drunk a thing as well, so why make up that story? Or go along with the idea of my drinking since I technically planted that little seed.
“Ew,” I choke out, pretending to gag at the thought. Not that it isn’t gag worthy but playing up to my more dramatic side occasionally feels good.
Damn, I really am petty as hell.
His smile falls at my rudeness, but I don’t give a damn. I’m genuinely disgusted with myself. “Just no more being an asshole, and no reporting anything to my mother or I’ll be sure to tell her you manipulated me into a sexual encounter. I’m recording this conversation, by the way, in case you wanted to tell her otherwise. I’m sure she’ll love to know you plied me with alcohol at the age of eighteen.”
His face darkens with anger, but he simply just nods, thankfully aware that I currently have the upper hand. “Fine,” he grits out. “We’ll stay out of each other’s way then. I’m here to teach, and you’re here to learn.”
“Works for me.” I turn on my heels to leave, and just as I reach the doors he calls out.
“Don’t forget what I said about those ruins, Felix. Nothing good will come from you going there and despite the hold you think you have over me, I will see to it that you’re expelled if you break my rules.”
With that, I leave, trying to work out a plan on how to defy him without him knowing.
I have no idea what you’re hiding, asshole. But I intend to find out.
Chapter Four
Felix
I’vesettledintoanice, quiet routine over the first several weeks since my courses have started. Managing to keep my head down since my first day and burying myself in course studies to remain inconspicuous has proven to be more challenging than I’d have thought since all I can think of doing is sneaking off to the ruins on the island. For whatever reason, the feeling of being watched has been getting more and more intense as of late and it’s starting to grate on my nerves in the worst way. I’m not sure how Dr. Carmichael is managing it but I get the sense that he can see me no matter what I’m doing and it’s stressing me out, causing me to play the long game. Somehow he knows that sooner or later my curiosity is going to win out and I’m going to investigate the hidden depths of his deepest, darkest secrets—they seemingly begin and end with those ruins. I have no idea how I know that, but I can’t shake the thought now that it’s here.
I’ve never had reason to doubt my intuition as of yet, and I don’t intend to start now. My professor is being shady and despite my mother’s respect for the man, there’s something terribly wrong with him and I’m going to prove it. Why I feel so strongly about this? I really can’t be sure, but the desire to solve the puzzle is an itch I’m barely refraining from scratching. For now, I’m content to chalk it up to feeling slighted by him—manipulated and played for a fool; disgustedly used for his carnal pleasures and I still don’t even know how old he really is. It’s disturbing, honestly. I know next to nothing about the man and when I tried to look him up online, his entire existence was summed up within three measly articles that only highlighted his professional accomplishments, yet there’s no mention of when he’s actually achieved his accolades. It makes no sense whatsoever and it’s driving me insane. It seems impossible for him to have accrued such honors in so little time if I base his age off his looks. There’s nothing else to show for the man and I can’t lie, it’s tempted me on more than one occasion to even call my mother for the scoop on Dr. Honey Trap.
I haven’t.
Solely due to not wanting to garner any interest on why I’m so suspicious about her colleague. I just hate that I can’t for the life of me remember any actual details about him. Did she even tell me anything or have I only assumed from the get-go that he’s meant to be mother’s age? Gah, it’s wreaking havoc on my brain and I’m living in the land of migraines while trying to make sense of something so nonsensical. To be honest, I don’t even know why I care so much aside from the fact that he’s clearly a pervert trying to use me for some sort of personal gain. I flat out told him who I was and who my mother was from the get-go and he gave zero hint of recognition yet seemed determined to influence me into his pants. Why? What’s the purpose? Was it because I reminded him of his old friend? Does he need leverage over my parents? Does he just enjoy being a creep?
Not knowing is akin to having scabies, I’d imagine. Like, having those tiny little mites worming their way under the layers of a person’s flesh, making them itch all over. Gross and uncomfortable. My body involuntarily shivers at the thought, revolted from the inside out, but unable to think about it any other way.
Finishing an essay for my English Lit class, I leave my little at home office and head to the kitchen to make myself some tea so I can relax with a book for a while before taking an evening walk down to the coastline to keep up pretenses of exploring the nearby scenery as well as letting nature ease the pressure that’s weighing on my chest. My course load is heavy but I wasn’t messing around when I said that I was ahead. Most of my Profs have pre-listed ninety-eight percent of the coursework in their syllabi and I’ve gotten far enough ahead that I’m mostly stress free, outside of pop quizzes and midterms or finals, which won’t come for a while yet. Well, that and my compulsive obsession with those ruins and the weirdness surrounding them… and Dr. Carmichael, of course.
Look at me, using my time wisely and getting ahead enough to plan out my escape to the ruins. I’ve got my smarty pants on these days and I’m practically giddy that things are coming together. If that creep really is watching me like it feels like he is, then he’ll bore quickly of my tedious, almost elderly-esque routine.
Slowly, I’ll be introducing longer trips into the mix and some more extensive hikes, maybe a trip or two around the length of the island on my bike to see if the lingering being watched feeling follows. If it doesn’t then I’ll have my answers on whether or not I can actually get away with the mini excursion or not without risk of expulsion. Hopefully, I can do it sooner rather than later though because the strange pull I’ve been feeling to those ruins is only getting stronger by the day and every part of me is growing desperate to see what’s calling me there.
Peace.
It’s the only word that comes to mind as the wind whips my long dark hair from my ponytail around my face as I stand on the edge of a towering cliff above the sea. The salty air fills my lungs as I take heaving breaths and my muscles relax, no longer being pushed to their limits from the lengthy hike I’ve taken to get to this long lost spot amongst the island. The sun is rising and I can see the early morning surfers out on the waves in the far off distance chasing their own peace or highs in the depths of the ocean. I’ve never been a great surfer but I can understand the lure. The water calls to me as much as the earth and the air around me.
“What’s your end goal here, Felix?” Professor Douche Nugget asks, walking up from behind me to stand at my side.
His voice doesn’t startle me like I’m sure he’s hoping it will. I’ve felt his ominous presence for months now and I can always tell when he’s directly following me, which is often. I’d hoped he’d give up after a while but he seems more determined than ever to watch my every move. The problem is that he’s usually very good about not being seen and he doesn’t outwardly state his obsession with me whenever I have the opportunity to record it as evidence to involve the police or anything. Going to my parents will prove pointless without any tangible proof that he’s stalking me as well. I’m pretty much on my own and as far as stalkers go, he’s harmless so far. Aside from the major ick feeling that resonates within me any time I sense him, he’s not doing anything I’d consider dangerous. At least not yet. Not while I’ve stayed in my lane and left his secrets be.
He hardly even acknowledges me in class nor has he been vindictive with my grades as I’d originally assumed of him. In fact, he’s not only passing me, but I’m acing his class. Though he may have ulterior motives with that. It’s a guessing game as to what he’s up to now. I hadn’t really thought we’d take this long to get here if I’m honest. Truly, I was hoping he’d show his cards long before now, but such is life apparently.
If nothing else, he’s proving to be a worthy opponent.
His being here and out in the open is the first time he’s initiated anything beyond disturbing non avoidance so maybe my patience is finally paying off?
“I’m not sure what you mean, Dr. Carmichael. I’m just enjoying the island we live on. It seems a waste to not appreciate the beauty it has to offer,” I say quietly.
“Call me Tanda outside of class. Dr. Carmichael is so… formal,” he insists.
“I thought your name was Winston?” I question, my eyebrow lifting as my inquisitive nature blurts out my query before my mind can catch up. Hopefully, I pull it together quickly enough that I think he misses my expressive face before it gives me away as I barely manage not to look his way. I don’t actually want him to think I’m interested, despite my inner need for answers.
“It is,” he confirms, clearing his throat a little as though he’s uncomfortable or something. “I’ve always hated that name though. Considering the carnal nature in which we know one another, I think you calling me by my nickname might be appropriate.”
