Monster in His Eyes(34)

"For you," he says, holding the rose out. "A pretty flower for a pretty girl."

She takes it, blushing, as she rushes into the building, nearly running  right into the door. Naz laughs to himself, like it's the most amusing  thing ever, a young girl flustered by his charm, but I feel only molten  lava brewing in my gut.

It burns.

"Why did you do that?"

"She looked like she could use a cheering up," he says, turning back to  me, raising his eyebrows at my expression. "You're not jealous, are  you?"

It's ridiculous, I guess... maybe I'm silly, or stupid, or naive, but  it's the first time I've stopped to consider I might not be the only  one. Sure, I see him a lot, but there are hours, sometimes days, when  we're not together and I don't know what he's doing during that time. He  works, of course... he says he works a lot... but he doesn't keep the  usual type of schedule.                       
       
           



       

There could be others when I'm not around.

I hate being insecure.

"You are, aren't you?" The humor is gone from his voice. "You're actually jealous."

"Are there others?" I ask quietly. "There aren't, right?"

"Other what?"

"Other girls."

He stares at me, no amusement in his expression as he leans closer.  "There are no girls. I don't mess around with girls. They have nothing  to offer me. I need a woman. And if you're asking me if I'm seeing  anybody else, if I'm fucking another woman, the answer is no. I'm not  interested in anybody else, Karissa."

His response relieves me, while also knocking me off kilter, startled by the passion in his voice.

"I told you I loved you," he says. "What am I going to have to do to make you believe it?"

"I, uh … " I stammer, hoping it's a rhetorical question, but his expression tells me he actually wants to know. "I don't know."

"Don't I show you enough?" he asks. "If you need something from me, if  you need something more, tell me and I'll give it to you. I'll give you  the world. I just need to know what you need."

"I don't need anything," I say.

He hesitates, his voice dropping even lower. "Have I given you reason not to trust me?"

"No."

"Then trust me," he says. "I'm asking for your trust now. If you want me  to walk in that room and take that flower back from that girl, if  that's what it'll take, I will. I'll rip it right out of her hands and  give it to you."

"No, I don't want you to do that," I say. "I just …  I didn't know."

"Well, now you do," he says, pressing his palm against my cheek. He  leans forward, pressing the lightest kiss to my lips. "I love you."

Those words make me melt. If it weren't for the fact that he's touching  me, kissing me, holding me, I'd swear I was nothing but a puddle at his  feet. He kisses my lips and then my forehead, wrapping his arms tightly  around me in a hug, before finally-hesitantly-pulling away. "You should  get to class. You're late now."

"Ugh, I am," I say, scowling as I turn to the building.

"I'll walk you in," he offers, pressing his hand to the small of my back  to get me to move. I head inside with him beside me, in no hurry as we  stroll toward the classroom door. I can hear Santino talking, already in  the middle of a lecture.

I begrudgingly walk inside and try to slip into the empty desk beside  Melody undetected, but it's pointless. The second Santino turns my way,  he catches my eyes, and stalls mid-sentence. Strained silence chokes the  room, everyone waiting for him to continue, but he seems to have  forgotten he was even talking.

"Ah, Miss Reed, how kind of you to grace us with your presence," he  says, causing over a hundred sets of eyes to turn to me. "Please, have a  seat, get comfortable. Make yourself at home. I'll wait."

He does. The bastard waits.

Everyone watches as I sit down, putting my bag beside me on the floor. "Sorry I'm late, sir."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," he says. "I do so hope coming to class hasn't been  any trouble. I'd hate to be an inconvenience or take up too much of your  precious time. I know you have much better things to do than  philosophy. Your grades certainly reflect that notion."

Ouch. Awkward murmurs flow through the room. They die down when Santino  launches right back into his lecture, still dwelling on the topic of  murder. Sighing, I glance around, noting a few sets of eyes still  lingering my way, while my gaze drifts back to the door. A blast of  humiliation rushes through me, making my cheeks flush. Naz is still  standing in the hallway, right in front of the doorway.

He heard every word.

He doesn't look at me, his gaze following Santino at the front of the  room. He lurks there for a moment before taking a step back, shaking his  head as he walks away.

I turn back around and pull out my notebook and pencil, determined to  pay attention and take notes, but I'm already two steps behind and  before I can seem to catch up, class is over. I'm up out of the seat,  stuffing everything into my bag, when Santino's voice carries through  the classroom. "Miss Reed, if you can spare a minute, I need a word with  you."

Melody shoots me a sympathetic look, mouthing 'good luck' as she heads  for the door without me. I don't blame her. I wouldn't stick around  either. I take my time, waiting for most of my classmates to clear out,  before moving to the front of the room. Santino's erasing the chalkboard  and doesn't acknowledge me for a moment, even after glancing behind him  and seeing me standing here.

"Sir?" I say. "Is there a problem?"

He sets the eraser down and turns around, staring at me through his  thick glasses. He doesn't look angry or hostile, like I expect. He looks  disappointed. Without speaking, he reaches into his briefcase and pulls  out a paper, holding it out to me. I see the red scribble all over it,  my name written along the top. My test on Confucius, complete with a  big, fat D in the top corner.                       
       
           



       

I take it from him. "I don't understand. I knew this stuff."

"It's not a matter of knowing it," he says, pulling out his chair and  sitting down at his desk. "It's a matter of applying it. You can tell me  what the man said, but you can't seem to connect it to the real world.  It brings me to your essays... same problem. You can define happiness,  but you can't apply it. You tell me what Aristotle and Socrates thought  about happiness, but never, in the entire paper, did you tell me what  made you happy."

I stare at the test in my hand, dumbfounded. "Not making D's."

"There you go," he says. "I would've given you at least a B for that had you applied it to yourself."

Frowning, I unzip my bag and shove the test inside, on the verge of  tears from frustration. There's no way I can turn it around at this  point, no way I can pull this grade up unless I completely ace the final  exam, and the rate I'm going? Impossible.

"You had an essay due today," he says. "Do you have it for me?"

I begrudgingly pull the paper from my bag, tempted to not turn it in at  all. He stares at it when I hold it out and takes it from me, the  disappointed look deepening. He sets it down on top of a stack of others  as he shakes his head. "See you on Thursday, Miss Reed. And don't be  late this time."

"I won't, sir."

Slinging my bag on my back, I head from the classroom, feeling like a  weight is pressing upon me. I stroll outside and glance up, pausing when  I see the Mercedes still parked there by the curb. A quick look around  tells me Naz isn't anywhere in sight, so I pull out my phone and call  him, getting his voicemail.

Shrugging it off, figuring he walked somewhere, or is working in the  neighborhood, I start toward the dorm, in no rush to get there.

It takes me the entire walk to shrug off my solemn mood, trying to force  a smile on my face, to act like it isn't bothering me before facing my  friend. When I get there and push open the door, I'm immediately greeted  by Paul's face.

Melody's boyfriend is stretched out on her small bed, remote in his  hand, watching ESPN, while Melody sits at her desk, digging through her  backpack. She glances up, giving me the look I expected. Pity. "What did  he say?"

"He said I'm not cut out for philosophy." I drop my bag on the floor and  plop down on my bed. "He said I say a lot of shit but I don't know what  any of it means."

"He said that?"

"In so many words, yeah," I mutter, closing my eyes. "And to top it all  off, after he says it I hand over an unfinished assignment, proving  exactly what he said-I'm not cut out for it."