What I found most puzzling was that his objections hadn’t seemed to be because we had a student-teacher relationship. There was something else. Something else had driven him to the point of insanity that night, the way he slapped my ass and yanked my hair; it wasn’t my so-called magical pussy that drove his demons to the surface. The thought made me smile, but no—I knew there was something more, under his suits and his very expensive glasses, something he didn’t want me to see.
I knew, thanks to my colorful history with men, that if he was merely immune to my persuasions he wouldn’t ignore me, as he’d been doing ever since Monday. If there was nothing there, he would meet me head on, eyes clear of interest. But since he did everything in his power to avoid my gaze in class, I knew he didn’t want me to see how he looked at me.
Finally, around midnight, I’d decided I was ready to respond to his email. But I wasn’t going to reply from my student account. Instead, I logged into the email account I used only for Craigslist ads, one that didn’t have my real name attached.
After pulling off my sweatshirt, I took a photo that didn’t include my face. And then I attached it to an email and sent it to Nathan.
Chapter Eight
“Nathaniel, are you ignoring me?”
Yes. The word almost slipped out of my mouth, but I lifted my eyes from the papers on my desk and gave my father as apologetic of a smile as I could muster.
“Of course not, sir. What can I do for you?” Always sir, never father, definitely not dad. All too informal and grating on the sensibilities of Richard Easton.
He sat in the chair across from my desk, propping his ankle on the opposite knee. The way he looked at me, with eyes the exact same shade of blue as mine, it was like he could barely even stand to lower himself enough to spend time in my office. My small, cramped office with no sweeping view of the quad, quite unlike his.
“You didn’t answer my email.”
“Which email?” I asked on a sigh, tossing the pen in my hand onto the desk, officially giving up on the short story I was grading. Not that my father respected written words of the fiction variety. Honestly, the fact that he and I shared biology never ceased to amaze me.
He brushed a nonexistent speck off the dark wool of his pant leg and then glanced up at me, like he hadn’t broached this subject. “Oh, it was details for the scholarship dinner in a few weeks. Obviously, it would be best if the entire family could be present when they acknowledge the recipient for this year.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Could you send it to me again?”
“I’ve already sent it to you once. Obviously you just didn’t see it. Maybe you could check again before I go through the hassle of finding it.”
I stared across at him, holding his steady gaze in the battle of wills that was as familiar to us as breathing. And as he did every time, he won. I pulled my cell out from the top drawer and tapped on the email icon.
“It’s not here, sir.”
“Check your junk folder then, your phone probably filters me out because it can sense how little you care to hear anything I have to say.”
Probably. I wanted to say it. But I didn’t. Scrolling through spam from the last couple days, I saw his name. I was about to click open the message when another email right below his snagged my attention.
From: Alice Carroll
Date: Saturday, September 19, 2015 12:19 AM
Subject:
To: Nathaniel Easton
My bruises are fading, but my memory is everlasting. I’d like to be bruised again.
The way you debased me, made me feel like what we were doing was forbidden. You punished me for a crime I wasn’t aware I’d committed. I want to be punished again, by your hand. By … your … cock.
Please, please, punish me. Hurt me. Take what you need from me, because I need it too.
Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.
• • •
In an embarrassingly unconscious reaction, my heart started pounding in my chest as I skimmed the email again, not caring in the slightest about my father sitting two feet away from me while I read Adele’s words.
“Well?”
“Yeah, yeah, I found it,” I all but stammered, ignoring the attachment and clicking back to my father’s email and only giving a cursory glance at the information. “Should be fine.”
“Should be?”
“Fucking hell, I said it should be fine, and that’s as much of an answer that you’ll get out of me right now,” I snapped.
He simply raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in annoyance, standing from the chair and walking out of my office without another word. The way his eyes had widened at my reaction should have brought me pleasure, because I never snapped at him, but it wasn’t there. No glow of pride at surprising him and robbing him of speech, of getting in the last word.