LANA

 

 

"You don't look too good," my sister comments, throwing me a skeptical look over the rim of her glasses. "Are these final classes draining you?"

I shake my head, unenthusiastically playing with the food in front of me. Why do I keep ordering pasta in this place? It has proven to be a bad idea so many times before, especially when cheese was involved, but I keep falling for the simple but promising taste of fettuccine Alfredo, one of my favorite dishes when I was a child.

"No," I say, staring down at my plate, full of regret. "I just haven’t been sleeping well lately. Don't know what it is. Maybe it’s the moon."

"The moon?" Harriet exclaims, incredulous. "You know there's like a billion studies that have proven that the whole moon and sleeping disorder stuff is utter bullshit and that-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know," I say, looking up from my plate and meeting my sister's stern eyes. She's looking more and more like our mother every day. The same sharp and kind of big nose, the same hazel eyes framed by thick and surprisingly dark eyebrows, and the same mouse-like expression. Except for the brown hair, I have very little in common with the two of them, for which I'm grateful. They look exactly like the people they are - strict and one-sided scholars, who could also pass as librarians. I'm sure it's only a matter of time until my sister starts wearing her hair up in a tight bun like my mother does.

"I wasn't being serious when I said that," I try to explain. Jokes, just like sarcasm, are beyond my sister's comprehension.

"Oh, I see," she says, nodding with relief. "Well, if it doesn't get better, you should see someone about it. You'll need to start preparing for finals soon."

"I know."

If it wasn’t for Mr. Portland and the confusion he’s brought into my life, I'd most likely be preparing materials to study for my finals already, even though there's still plenty of time for that.

"Have you spoken to Professor Warwick yet?" Harriet asks, still looking at me over her glasses.

I look at her quizzically. "About what?"

She rolls her eyes. "About being your doctoral adviser? I thought he was your first choice?"

I freeze and stare at my sister, absorbing her words. Why is this making me so... unhappy? Harriet talking about me pursuing a Ph.D. as if it was already a done deal makes me feel like a steel clamp just slammed shut around my heart.

I was so set on following this path just a few month ago. I knew nothing else, and had she said the exact same words to me back then, I would have felt nothing but the urge to follow through on them.

But now I find myself in a place where I'd forgotten about all of it. About Professor Warwick, about my potential Ph.D., about having to make the necessary preparations so I could start the next level right after obtaining my master's degree. It was all gone, replaced by an alternative plan, the one posed by Mr. Portland.

Mr. Portland, who, just a week ago, buried his face between my legs, licking and fingering me until I was close to orgasm, spanking me so hard my ass was still red when I got home - and who then sent me away without release. Leaving me hungry and embarrassed.

My cheeks are burning. Fuck, I can't think of him now, not sitting here with my sister.

"No, I haven't," I say, finally replying to her question. "I'm... still thinking about it."

"About what?" she asks, scraping the remains of her food onto her fork. "You think you might want to go with someone else after all?"

"About the Ph.D.," I reveal, gathering all my courage. "I'm not sure if I want to do it at all."

Harriet freezes mid-chew and looks up at me, her eyes wide in shock.

"What?" she stammers. "What do you mean?"

She contorts her face into an expression of sheer disbelief, looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe I'm talking crazy, dazed by a forbiddingly handsome man who not only seduced me with his sexual appeal, but also with his maverick ideas.

"I don't know," I murmur. "I've just been thinking. Maybe a doctoral degree is not the right thing for me."

"But how are you supposed to become a professor if you stop now?" Harriet asks, bewildered.

I raise my left eyebrow and look at her with a similar look as the one I so often see on Mr. Portland's face.

"I wouldn’t be a professor, if I decided to not continue on to get my Ph.D.,” I say. "There are other things I could do, Harriet."

"Like what?" she asks, letting her fork fall onto her plate with a loud clank. "Did you tell Mom and Dad?"

"Many things!" I declare, painfully aware how immature I must sound. "And no, I didn't. There's nothing to tell them, because I haven't decided."

"You should talk to them before you do anything stupid," she warns. "Like seriously... dropping out of school?"

I huff at her.

"I'm not dropping out!" I protest, my voice emerging in a desperate, high pitch. "All I'm saying is that I'm not sure whether a doctoral degree is the right way for me to go. I never said anything about not getting my master's degree. Jeez, Harriet!"

She rolls her eyes again, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "This would be a huge mistake, Lana. Trust me."

"Why?" I seriously want to know, leaning forward and raising my chin defiantly. "Because Mom and Dad might get angry? Or because you can't think of anything else I could do that would make me as happy as you are - or maybe even happier?"

"Yes to both!" she exclaims. "What on earth will you do with a degree in social studies? Like seriously, it's not like the free market is waiting for someone who has never done anything but conduct research on society. You have never even worked, except for your job at the library."

"I have a minor in Economics," I remind her. "I didn't focus on cultural studies like you did."

"A minor in Economics," Harriet repeats, laughing, as she rolls her eyes for a third time. "Yeah, sure. That'll help."

"It might," I argue. "Besides, nothing is said and done yet. There's no reason for you to freak out like this."

"I'm not freaking out," she says, uncrossing her arms as she leans over to me. "I'm just worried you might do something stupid. Where's this coming from so suddenly? You never mentioned that you had any doubts about doing this before."

I shrug. "I don't know. I never really thought about it. But now that my graduation is coming closer, I thought it would be time for me to re-evaluate a few things and-"

"Is it a guy?" Harriet asks, furling her eyebrows. "Did you meet someone?"

"What?" I exclaim, my voice squeaking at the worst possible time. "Why would you say that? That's... I mean... How-"

"Oh God, it's a guy!" Harriet concludes, rolling her eyes so hard this time that it almost looks painful. "Please don't tell me you fell for one of those damn hippies in the humanities department."

She looks at me with an expression of disgust on her face.

"No!" I insist. "And please, Harriet. Stop blaming this on me falling for someone. I didn't. It's not that at all. I'm just thinking about where I want to go in life after I graduate with this degree - why is that so hard to believe? Just because you never second-guessed taking the same route as Mom and Dad, it doesn't mean that I can't."

"Fine," Harriet says. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

I frown at her. "I won't do anything stupid."

While I may still decide to follow up on that doctoral degree, saying that I won't do anything stupid might be a stretch.

I've avoided Mr. Portland for the past week and even skipped class - for the first time in my life – so as to not have to be confronted by him. I know he's waiting for me, but I don't know how to face him. The idea of having to see his face today in class, in front of all my unsuspecting classmates, was too much to bear. I chickened out, lying to every person I talked to today, including my roommate. Celia wouldn't judge someone for skipping class, but she would've bugged me with a thousand questions because she knows me well enough to sense there must be something seriously wrong with me to do something like that. Especially skipping the class of the teacher she still refers to as Mr. Awesome would have made her more suspicious than ever.

"I gotta go," I announce, glancing down at my phone on the table next to my plate. "My next class is starting soon."

My sister lets me go without another word of warning, but I can tell by the way she's looking at me that she's worried - and she'll most likely share her concerns with our parents.

At least I only have one class left for the day before I can get home and try to catch up on the sleep I've been missing.

A relaxing evening with a glass of wine and no further emotional turmoil. That sounds wonderful.

 

***

 

I shuffle toward Cleveland Hall with my head hanging low, alternating between staring at my phone and the pavement under my feet as I drag myself home. It was no lie when I told my sister that I hadn't slept well for the past week.

I was so agitated and confused because of what had happened in Mr. Portland's office, and I still am. But now that Monday is over and I have another six days before I have to worry about seeing him, I feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

That is, until I approach the entrance of my dorm building and see him sitting there. He's sitting on a bench next to the path leading up to the entryway, about ten feet away from me, holding a newspaper up to his face.

I know that he saw me - and I know that he's here because of me.

I freeze mid-motion, standing at the curve leading to my dorm, staring at him as if a monster spawned in front of me.

He's here for me, but how the hell did he know where to find me? How does he know I live here, in this particular dorm building?

I was going to have a nice, relaxing evening, hoping to think up a strategy for dealing with what happened between us. Now, he's robbed me of that much needed time and space by appearing out of nowhere, unannounced, and unexpected.

I'm suddenly so furious at him, gone is the shock and worry that I just felt moments before!

I march up to him with long, angry strides.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I bark at him, returning to my old self, the same Lana who approached him after that first day of class.

Mr. Portland chuckles and calmly folds his newspaper before looking up at me with the sweetest smile imaginable. He's dressed rather casually today in dark jeans and the exact same sweater he lent me a few weeks ago beneath an expensive-looking leather jacket with a thick fur collar.

"Is that any way to address one of your teachers?" he asks, without the slightest indication of anger.

I frown at him, quickly checking our surroundings. Students are walking across the campus in the distance, and while no one is currently within earshot, I know that people will be returning to the dorm because the last classes of the day are ending. Celia will be among them.

"Sit with me," Mr. Portland says, placing his hand on the free space on the bench next to him.

I shake my head. "I can't, I need more-"

"Sit with me," he repeats, putting terse emphasis on the first word. His eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at me. Threat is written all over his handsome face. "You sit down now, or your next punishment will be multiplied by the last one by the hundreds, Lana."

Fuck.

I blush and follow his order, plonking myself down on the bench like a sulking child, arms crossed in front of my chest.

"Good girl," he says, and my insides instantly catch fire.

Fuck. I don't want this. Not now. I can't handle this.

Yet, my cheeks are burning, my heart is racing, and my mind is trembling, and I'm sitting next to the man who is more than capable of turning my entire being, and everything I thought I knew, upside down.