Page 10 of Damaged Professor

The moment we step inside my studio apartment I take off my shoes and sink onto the bed. Nichole drops next to me.

“I can’t believe that you spent the night.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t make a big deal about it, we both know that you did the same thing.”

Nichole shakes her head. “It’s totally different when I do it because I do it all the time. You never do this. It’s a big deal! Tell me everything. I want details.”

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just a thing that happened. You know the drill.”

“He must have been some kind of guy for you to stay that long,” she continues, unfazed.

“You stayed too! Stop making this all about me!” It already feels like too much. When I was still with Dylan, I could think of nothing else but him. Getting back to reality is hard.

“I have to make it all about you, because you literally never do anything like that. It’s not your thing. And the fact that you never did anything after James—" She cuts herself short, as if the mention of his name would ruin the moment.

She’s right. I don’t normally do this. In fact, I never do this. When James was killed in that car accident, I just shut off everything. Every single guy that approached me would be turned down almost immediately. It’s not that I didn’t want to move on—ok maybe I didn’t at that time—but even when I made the decision to return home and start over, those shut off feelings didn't just go away. Anytime a guy would try to talk to me I had to struggle to keep a conversation going. I was consumed by the comparison and the feeling that I was betraying James' memory.

I didn’t feel that way with Dylan. It was effortless, as if we’d known each other for years. I felt no shame, only hunger for more.

I bite my lower lip, lost in my thoughts.

Nichole gives me a nudge. “Hey, I need you to tell me the details.” She is lying on her side, one hand supporting her head and the other waving at me. Her glossy brown hair is cascading onto the bed, her mouth is open and her eyes glistening with excitement. I chuckle at her expression while I ponder how she can look so pretty after she also just had a crazy night.

I take a deep breath and sit up. Nichole follows suit. “We went to his house and had sex.”

“I figured that out myself.” She tilts her head forward, urging me to continue.

“Well, I obviously fell asleep afterwards. That’s why I stayed.”

“Come on, Abby. You don't just go from not wanting to hookup, to spending the night at a stranger’s house unless there's something a little extra there. How was he? Are you seeing him again? How did you part?”

“It’s a one-night stand, Nichole. You know better than anyone how this works.”

Nichole isn’t a slut, per say, but she likes people. She likes listening to people, and looking at people, and sleeping with people. If you ask her, it’s all about her studies. But I think that she’s just the kind of woman who is so enamored with life, she can’t imagine narrowing her field down to a singular person.

“I do. I’m not sure you do, though.”

“Don’t worry, I’m ok. I had a great night and a great morning, and now it’s over.”

“A great morning? Interesting…” her voice drags. I feel my cheeks burn. It’s not because of shame, more like excitement.

“Okay, yes.” I admit. “But it’s over now. We said goodbye. It’s done. We didn’t even exchange numbers.” I hate the hint of disappointment in my voice.

Nichole stays still, waiting for something.

And then I break. “Okay, I wanted more than that. Satisfied?”

“Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing? Did he kick you out?” Her lips pull back into a thin line.

“No, no, the opposite. He asked me to stay.”

“And you didn’t stay because…?”

That’s a good question. “It’d complicate things. And he didn’t seem sure about it either.” I rub my feet, avoiding her penetrative gaze.

He did seem a bit uncertain, but I know too well that he didn’t want me to leave. I just chickened out.

“And he’s much older than me,” I say. I look at her beaming, satisfied to have found a solid reason.

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