Sitting in Professor Prescott’s class which I’m surely failing because I don’t do homework, I watch him pace back and forth as he lectures the class about Hamlet. I’m sitting in the front row this time, wanting to be near him. His white dress shirt fits his hard chest perfectly today, and black slacks wrap around his ass. He’s perfection.

He stops walking, his eyes falling on mine and that handsome white smile flashes my way. I come to life when he looks at me like that. The look of want and desire floating in his eyes making me feel alive.

Butterflies swarm my lower half and I slowly slump down in my seat and widen my legs. He loses his train of thought and stops talking mid-sentence as he eyes fall between my legs. The class waiting for his next words, I look around to make sure nobody is looking at me; they’re not. I walk my fingers up my warm thigh and slip them under my pretty panties. My mouth parts as they slide into my wetness and the marker in his hands breaks, spraying ink all over his shirt.

“Fuck!” He drops the marker to the ground. Giggling like a school girl, I pull my hand out from my panties and push my dress back down. He looks at me with heated eyes and a massive bulge in his slacks. I hold up my index finger and lick my juices like a lollipop. I notice beads of sweat on his forehead, the way his tongue sweeps across his bottom lip like he wants a taste not unnoticed.

“I want everyone to write three paragraphs on… um,” he scrambles as he quickly steps behind his desk to mask his hard-on. “Write about your thoughts on author Harper Lee,” he mumbles nervously. Everyone opens their laptop, lost in their task, but I continue to watch the professor.

When will we get alone time again?

He looks at me as he jerks open the bottom drawer to his desk and pulls out a bottle of lotion. He shakes his head at me with a playful smile and my mouth drops. I want to be the one sliding my lotioned hands up and down his shaft, not him. I caused that excitement, I want to play with it. Turning his back to me, he enters his private bathroom to the right of his desk.

I lose it, I double over and laugh so hard it echoes in the auditorium.

Professor Prescott leaves his bathroom fifteen minutes later, the lotion bottle left behind. He looks down at himself, his hands smoothing out his slacks as he shuts the door behind him. He glances up at the clock and notices the session is over.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He clears his throat, his eyes peeking at me before he heads to his desk. Putting my stuff in my bag, I head to him. He bundles up folders and books as if he’s leaving and I frown.

“I have a meeting, but I’ll catch you later?” He hands me a note, and I take it.

“Okay,” I mutter disappointed.

Just as he steps past me he stops, his lips near my ear and his breath hot.

“See what you do to me?”

I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling. When he leaves I open the folded note. I feel like a schoolgirl opening a note from a crush, it’s exhilarating.

Meet me in the library at five.

* * *

Standing in the library, my fingers run along the books placed perfectly on the shelves. The smell of old paper and ink is relaxing. It’s five o’clock on the dot, and I’m a mess of nerves. I picked a secluded spot for me and the professor and wore my cutest dress and best perfume. This evening, things are going to happen. I can feel it in my chest that we are going to bond, get closer than ever.

Something catches my eye from outside the window next to me and I turn toward it. Thunder echoes in the old building as I watch Professor Prescott heading toward the library. My cheeks warm and my heart pounds a little faster at the sight of him. He’s coming to see me.

He stops and looks behind him and that’s when I see June in the parking lot. She says something to him, and he points to the library.

“Tell her you have plans,” I will him. My breath fogging the window. My fingernails biting into my palms with anticipation. She shakes her head and waves him over. He hesitantly turns and heads toward her, and my stomach falls. What is he doing?

He pulls June in close to his chest, the passion evident between their body language. She has a bundle of books held above their heads trying to ward off the rain and he tries to kiss her, and she laughs, pulling away from him with a sultry look on her face. It’s the notorious rain scene in every romance novel.

My hand clasps around my throat as I feel I might be sick at any moment.

I watch from the window as they both climb into their Range Rover and leave together. Professor Michael Prescott leaves me behind.

My breathing begins to pick up, my heart feeling like a puppet that’s had its strings torn from its limbs and thrown to the side in a sick game.

Pulling my gaze from the window I take a step in the direction of the library doors only to run smack into someone.

“MOVE IT!” I glower, not paying attention to who is in my way.

Once my feet hit the outside pavement, rain pours off the roof, soaking me. Water sticks to my lashes as I watch the professor and his wife drive away from the school.

He said he didn’t want to be with her. So why did he choose her over me?

“He lied,” I grit. “He fucking lied!” A young man wearing a yellow rain jacket looks at me crazily as he darts inside the library.

Turning in the rain, I bite my bottom lip, the sharp teeth piercing the flesh painfully.

He led me on, toyed with my emotions like a puppet on a string. He loves her, you could see it on his face when he was holding her. He cares for her.

I want to get angry, but if I do, Harley will come forward and I won’t get any answers.

Instead, I begin to tear up, my heart crashing in my chest. I feel dirty. Unwanted, and ashamed. I blow out a sad breath, my fingers flexing in and out in an attempt to control my temper.

The butterflies in my stomach that were from the professor go up in flames and a heartfelt scream erupts from my mouth as I let the pain out.

* * *

Standing outside a two-story house with perfect rose bushes placed along the front lawn, a stone walkway lights up from the most expensive lights I’ve ever seen. I watch as Professor Prescott parks his black shiny car inside the left side of the garage.

Thunder cracks from above and rain pelts into my thin summer dress. It’s cold, the droplets feeling like ice daggers. My nostrils flare watching him, my heart pounding as it cracks and bleeds at my feet.

My chest feels tight like I can’t breathe. This heartbroken feeling is not worth the trouble I went through with this man. I wasted my freedom on him when I could have been with someone else that actually cared about me. Look at this house. It’s family material with its perfect lawn, and perfect street, and perfect neighborhood.

I was played. The common teacher-student romance just became my reality.

Forcing myself to move, I head toward the big house.

Smoothing my wet, wrinkly dress out, I knock on the door and muster a smile.

“You know I hate it when you park there, I have to squeeze behind your car to get to the door!” a female voice screams in dismay.

“It’s always about you June, isn’t it!” Professor Prescott hollers back. “Why don’t you just call your fucking daddy and tell him to have his men build us a bigger garage, or better yet—”

I knock again, but louder this time. The hollering hushes, and clicking against the floor becomes louder just before the door is jerked opened.

“Farrah?” June remembers me.

“Hi June, I’m here for my tutoring session,” I lie, but I need to see the professor. Her brows furrow before she looks over her shoulder at her husband. She smells… expensive. Seeing her in her own house I see how much money she is made of. How materialistic she really is.

He clears his throat, his eyes ablaze when they land on me.

“Uh, yeah. I just forgot,” he shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. He’s not good at lying. Which I like, he’s different than the club. The whole reason I thought he was different.

June forces a smile, her eyes raking me up and down like I intimidate her. My hair hangs heavily, drenched and clumping together, and my dress feels like it’s ten times heavier, so the notion is ridiculous right now.

“Come in, let me get you a towel,” she says with a bored tone before walking away.

She left the door opened before stepping away, so I take it upon myself to enter. It smells like a brand-new house. No dirt on the floor, no clothes flung around. In fact, it doesn’t even look like a couple lives here. For a house so clean, the closet sure is filled with skeletons.

“You have a really nice house,” I admire, looking around. It’s expensive, I wonder if the governor bought it.

A hand grabs around my shoulder yanking me backward.

It’s him. Michael, I’d know the touch from anywhere. It’s soft and simple. The smell of pencil shavings and chalk takes over my senses. I used to find it sexy, now it reminds me of a kindergartner.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he whispers harshly in my ear.

I smile.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” I wink, grabbing at his pant buttons recklessly. Showing up unannounced was a risk, but one I wanted and needed to take. If June finds out about us, then it’s for the best. He’s about to find out I’m one girl he can’t walk on.

“Are you insane?” he quips. That stings, but I push it back. He didn’t mean it.

“Shh, you can fuck me while the wife watches if you want,” I suggest, and I notice his Adam’s apple bob from my suggestion. I’m way out of line, and I find it exciting.

“There’s something wrong with you,” he struggles with his words, almost like a cry for help.

“You forgot me.” I narrow my eyes at him, my reckless behavior fading into how I’m really feeling.

“You… You can’t be here. Do you realize what you’re doing being here? Her father is going to kill me!” He slaps at my hands, and I’d think he was joking about her father killing him if fear wasn’t so evident in his face.

I rub my palm along his face.

“Poor, poor, teacher,” I coo, and his head whips up, insulted.

“Michael has never tutored any of his students before.” June’s voice sounds just around the corner and Professor Prescott pulls away from me, causing me to sway on my feet.

June stops when she enters the foyer, her eyes driving into me like a pair of pear knifes.

“I guess I’m just special.” I give her a pointed look, and she crosses her arms. She’s not jealous, she looks embarrassed more than anything. What? A little schoolgirl appearing at your door for help with her homework hurt her image of governor’s daughter?

I step up to her and grab the fluffy yellow towel. My fingers never felt something so soft before, I can’t help but bring it to my face and inhale its fresh laundry scent. I wonder if she washes them herself, or if she has a maid?

“Thanks!” I whisper, never taking my eyes off hers.

The room fills with tension, June staring at Michael, Michael staring at me.

I turn and look around. A picture of June, Michael, and an older man, grabbing my attention sitting on the counter. It’s the only thing on the counter actually. As if they want to prove their relationship to everyone who enters their empty home.

I grab it for a closer look.

“This is lovely.” I rub my pruned finger along the glass.

“That is my father. Timothy the governor,” June explains behind me.

The older man has a tight grip on Michael, but the way he looks at him, I can tell he depends on Michael more than his own daughter. I bite my inner cheek in thought. Michael appears to be scared of Timothy, and from what I understand Timothy is a dangerous man if he’s in with the club. I look over my shoulder at Michael, curious if he’s just as dangerous as the governor or if he’s just another prick in the palm of the governor’s hand.

“Are you and your father close, June?” I can’t help but ask as I set the picture down.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?” June asks, ignoring my question.

A chill runs up my arm and I rub the towel along my cooled skin.

The sentence echoes in my head and my chest tightens. A little girl in a trailer is soaking wet, a hurt expression on her face. My chest burns as I realize it’s Harley. An image that burns in the back of my mind every time someone asks me for a fucking glass of anything.

My stomach clenches and anger drums in the temples of my head. This is too much. All of it. Him choosing her, seeing them in their home. I shouldn’t be here.

“I have to go,” I reply quickly, dropping the towel.

“What about your session?” June asks, reaching out to me.

“I just remembered I have something to do.” I toss over my shoulder, not having time to come up with a better lie.

“Let me drive you, it’s pouring,” Professor Prescott insists, coming after me.

He grabs my shoulder stopping me. God his touch is divine. I hate to love it.

“This way.” He forces my body in the direction of the garage.

“I can walk, really,” I shrug, needing to be far away from him. It’s not safe. I need out of here and now. I’m upset with him and need space.

“KILL HIM! Show your club what you’re made of!” Rings in my head so hard it sounds like a siren. A whirl of emotions slamming against each other, fighting over the spotlight.

I hunch over, my fingers tangling in my hair. I don’t want to be pushed to the side. I need to be here. I have so much left to do.

“Farrah? Are you okay?” His hand slides up my back in a suggestive manner, his wife just inside. His touch makes me want to vomit. My chest rattles with anger and sadness. I feel so stupid thinking he’d choose me.

“Are you sick?” he mutters. That one sentence makes me cringe every time I hear it. I could answer it with an act of murder, a smile on my face and blood on my hands. I’m the fucking poster child for mental illness, put upon my head a bloody tiara and I would wear it proudly, or should I say… Harley would wear it with devil grin.

“You just – you just left me behind without a second glance,” I manage to choke out. His touch stills on my back and the room goes quiet. I stand upright and look him in the eye. “Am I so lucky to be the only girl you play with on the side or are there others?” I tilt my head to the side, tears streaming down my face.

“What did you expect, Farrah?” He laughs, placing his hands on his hips. I close my eyes, the feeling of my chest being pulled apart so painful I can’t be here a second longer.

He’s a douchebag, and I’m stupid for believing we were each other’s happiness.

Hands curled into my chest, I run out of the garage and shoot off into the rain. My legs having their own mind I sprint toward campus and don’t look back. It’s better this way because if I stay my hurt will turn to anger, and Harley will come to the light.

I don’t know what her mission is with the professor but with her, I’m sure it’s something grim and I’m not done talking to the professor about how to treat girls and their hearts.

By the time I reach my dorm my skin is clear of any makeup, tattoos on my arms showing fully as the concealer I placed on them has washed away. I’m slowly becoming Harley.

I can feel anger, rage, and darkness filling my head. Harley. Everything that keeps her company in the shadows is snuffing out the light inside of me.

Staggering up the stairs, I make my way to the second floor. My head aches and my legs shake. I fall against the wall, tearing down missing posters, and sign-up sheets for Drama Club.

“You okay?” A cheerleader looking chick asks.

“Fuck off or I’ll slit your throat!” I swipe at her, and she screams and runs. I cover my mouth, the words surprising me. I’d never say that to anyone.

Heaving, stumbling, I make it to my room and shut the door. My knees crumble, and I face plant to the floor.