William

I drop Ethan off outside of campus. Not far, not in a bad place. I make him text me when he's back in his dorm. When my phone goes off I let out a sigh of relief. The walk back up to my apartment feels like floating. I've never felt a connection with anyone like that, ever.

I never really understood what it meant to be inside someone. I could only connect that phrase to the physical act. Inserting my penis into an orifice—sorry if that sounds technical, but that’s what it meant to me and that is the extent of what I assumed it could be. Tonight was…

Ethan unfolded, welcomed me inside of him. Our essences mingled. Our souls touch. Orgasm was almost incidental, and that's saying something, since I've never come that hard before in all my years in this world. Not even the first time when I thought I was just itchy and kept rubbing.

Drunk on sex, things like this pop into my head.

I can barely bring myself to shower; the water feels like it soils rather than cleanses by taking him from me.

I want to see him again. Right now. Not for more of that—I swear, I think I'll hurt him and I think he'll let me if I can go at it as many times as I want—but to see him. Talk to him. We haven't talked enough. There's something in his eyes that I just know, like an old friend I forgot I met.

I fall back on my bean bag and stare at my cat. Erebus meows at me. He probably wants food. He traipses over and butts into my shoulder, rubs his flank along my shirt, and kneads a divot into the bean bag before lying down like he owns the place. A scratch behind his ears elicits a purr.

A sudden cold fear ripples through me. If he knew more about me he might not be falling on his back and spreading his legs for me. Knew the things Victoria knew without being told, about my service. I run my fingers down my arm, over the tattoos. At some point I'll have to explain these. I saw him looking. Saw him questioning, trying to puzzle me out like a sculpture in a gallery.

When I close my eyes, I taste dust and feel heat, and Erebus lets out an annoyed little noise. He could always read my moods better than anyone. That's over. I left it behind, I became the person I wanted to be, and desired to be. I'm the professor now; the soldier, the survivor, is gone. In the past, where he belongs.

“That's the thing about the past,” I tell my cat, scratching his head. “We carry it with us wherever we go, no matter how hard we try to leave it behind.”

Erebus licks my hand and stares at me.

“Meow,” he says, meaning “Food.”

I hop up and he follows, growing eager as he always does at the sound of the can opener. I pile some wet food for him and trudge into the bedroom to clean up while he eats. A hot shower does me good, soaks into my sore muscles.

After stumbling out, I flop on the bed for a while and air-dry.

The rest of my night is going through the motions.

The next day I wake up aching, physically and mentally. The ache between my legs is pleasant, the tension intense. Thinking of Ethan, I take care of it, clean up again, and walk into my empty apartment living room.

Energy renewed, I manage to get the rest of the bookcases up and half the books put away.

I should ask him to see me. I could text, but…it's better to be discrete. Someone might see.

By Monday morning, I'm almost eager to get back in my office. It takes every ounce of concentration I have to maintain my stony demeanor, and it feels false, like an ill-fitting coat I've only just realized I've been wearing all this time, and hot.

Ethan is there, of course. He steals secret glances, licks his lips, flashes his teeth at me. Before we leave my office, I admonish him.

“Remember,” I say, “We hate each other.”

He leans close.

“If what you did to me Friday night was love, hate might kill me.”

That brings a grin to my face.

There's still a hint of a smile when I reach my freshman class. Ethan calls out the names and hands out the graded papers. When one of them catches me smiling, I can feel a ripple of dread spread through the class.

How absurd.

Yet amusing.

I'm light on my feet and have to slow a few times. My vigor makes the students struggle to keep pace with me. Even Ethan shoots me a look, suggesting that I slow down.

When we return to my office, before Ethan leaves for his class, Becky and her two friends show up with forms for me to sign and a poster to be approved. I take it, glance at it, and hand it to Ethan, then write out a sticky note and sign it. I resist the urge to slap it onto his chest and instead stick it on the poster, proper.

“That goes down to the dean's office,” I tell him. “With my signature they should rubber stamp it. Once it has the stamp on it, can you drop it by the copy office?”

I write him another note, asking for…

“How many copies?” I ask Becky.

“Uh, fifty?” she says.

“Make it a hundred,” I tell Ethan and send him off.

As they're all leaving I hear the girls asking each other, “What's with him?”

Even Ethan gives me a look.

In my office I can barely focus on my lecture notes. Why do I go over and over these? I've done it before. No, I tell myself, must focus. It's all I can do not to drum my fingers on the desk. After my second class, Ethan is back.

“I think I can manage enough of a fund for the trip from Carol that you don't have to pay,” I tell him. “We'll be taking the school vans. I'm not expecting a vast horde of students.”

“It's a free trip to New York,” he says.

“That requires attendance at an academic conference. Do you have a suit?”

“A what?”

“A suit. Necktie, jacket, pants that actually need ironing. I'm asking if you have clothing in any style but ironic millennial hipster.”

He glares at me. “What's wrong with the way I dress?”

I lean close to him. “There's too much of it.”

He leans in, even closer. “Are you sure? I'm not wearing underwear.”

I jerk back and blink. The door was open! What was I thinking?

Ethan has the same look. He gives me a babbled excuse and slips out of the office. I step outside, into the hall, as if stretching my legs and savoring the fresh air…in the hallway. In reality I'm listening for anyone who might have heard. No one, I'm alone.

For a time, anyway. The young woman from my first class—I can't remember her name so I've mentally dubbed her Crush Girl—pops in about an hour into my open office time while I'm leafing through a book I had Ethan fetch me from the library, a new edition of one of the sources I use for my 300 level lecture, making notes on a sticky pad.

She stares momentarily at the notes I've gridded out on the desktop as if they're a Ouija board.

“Generally,” I say, breaking the silence, “When one steps into someone else's office, one says something rather than staring at their desk. You might be taken for an industrial spy.”

She sweeps to one of the guest chairs, swishing her long skirts, and brushes her thick dark tresses behind her ears, smiling with a rosebud mouth before adjusting her oversized glasses.

“Sir, I was wondering if I could go on the conference trip.”

“What year are you?”

“I'm a freshman, professor McDonough.”

“What does the poster say to that end?” I ask.

She swallows. “It says sophomores and up only. I was just—”

“Did you progress to your second year without my noticing?” I ask. “I hadn't thought this school year would pass so fast. My tenure application will be late.”

She frowns, looking a little hurt.

I look up and offer her a smile. “Forgive me. That was unnecessarily harsh. I have to say no,” I say. “Rules are rules, and if we make exceptions, we pile on more exceptions until the barbarians are at the gate, and all the rules are off.”

She blinks a few times.

“I could handle it, though. I won't wander off.”

“Have you ever been to Manhattan?”

“No,” she says.

“May I ask where you're from?”

“Bethlehem.”

I look up.

“Pennsylvania,” she adds. “My parents were plain folk—”

I blink a few times. “You're Amish?”

“My parents were,” she says quickly. “They separated from the community when um, well, when there was me.”

I turn and put down my book.

“Fascinating,” I say. “I'm curious about your experiences.”

She lights up like a Christmas tree, beaming.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You still can't go on the trip.”

She deflates a little.

“Trust me on this, will you? It's experience talking. Have you ever traveled before?”

“Well…no,” she says. “This is the furthest I've ever been from home.” She leans forward, her whisper taking on a confessional tone. “I've been good, though.”

“I'm sure you have. Listen to me, alright? Manhattan is one of the largest, busiest cities in the world. It's pure chaos. You're standing in the fulcrum of creation. I'm not telling you that you're not ready. I'm just saying…season yourself a little first. If we get the honor society chapter started, there will be a trip next year. A better one, I think. If you're interested in travel, perhaps speak to Dr. Patterson; she's our globetrotter. There will be many trips during your studies here, I think.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“You may go now,” I say, turning back to my book.

After she drifts out of the room, I stop and stare at the wall, past it.

I…handled that well. Last year my response would have been three words: No. Get out.

Hopefully if she is crushing she'll get over it soon. Not that it matters. I'm not a robot; it happens. Nothing ever comes about it.

Except for the student who crushed on me that I'm now fucking like mad and treating like a beloved pet. He comes when I call him, does what I want…

Am I using Ethan?

A shudder ripples through me and I do something I wasn't expecting to do, even when I signed the divorce petition without complaint. I take off my wedding ring and stick it in the back of the top drawer of my desk. The white line on my finger is still there, the pale opposite of a scarlet letter. It feels better but also worse, natural but also a crime.

It's hard to shed your old self when you spent so much time on it.

Ethan returns that evening, just as I'm about to leave.

“Becky is putting up the posters,” he says. “We'll get people signing up soon.”

“Good, good,” I say. “I'm excited about this.”

Ethan looks at me like I just sprouted a second head.

“You…are?”

“I am. See you tomorrow then?”

He nods, trying not to goggle at me as I jog down the stairs and outside. The air is fresh, the sun is bright, and things are on the up and up.

Feels about the right time for something to go wrong, but that's the old me talking, the one I'm trying to shed.