Chapter 20

As the weeks rolled by and Rigel made no indication of finding any wayward histories, let alone mine, I found myself plotting. Professor Faun’s words from that night rolled around in my head, and the more I ran them back, the more I realized what he was implying. Not only did he know why I’d been down there but knew the exact information I’d been searching for. He’d seen everything. And if I was correct, that included at least a good portion of my life, which he seemed adamant I didn’t need to know.

But I had a feeling that, if I made him as miserable as he claimed, it was taking a considerable effort for him to avoid telling me.

Because as indifferent as he seemed in every class, I was no longer fooled. Did he think I couldn’t feel his eyes on me while I played games in the lounge every night? Did he think I wasn’t so painfully aware of him that I couldn’t tell every time he entered a room, visible or not?

The only thing that stopped me from doing anything too diabolical was a painful truth we both shared. I didn’t want to hurt him—that was until I got accosted by Rigel on my way to Interpersonal Exploitation.

Rigel and I had returned to amicably ignoring one another, which seemed to be the peak of our relationship potential. But when I’d walked into the cathedral, I’d found him standing rigid in the moving current of students, looking angry.

It didn’t even register that the anger was directed at me until he grabbed me by the arm and jerked me in the opposite direction of the classroom.

“Ow, what the hell?” I hissed as he opened a random door and shoved me inside. “We’re going to be late for class.”

He ignored me, pulling a letter out of his bag and shoving it against my chest. “Why did you tell him?”

“Tell what?” I asked, grabbing the paper and straightening it out.

Rigel,

Professor Faun has informed me that you’ve requested extra help in preparation for your Intro to Transparency final. We’ve scheduled you to be tutored Monday through Friday from 9 p.m. to 10 p.m., as per your request.

Good luck on your exam,

Ephraim

“There’s no way for me to go into the archive and back with enough time to make it to classes in the morning if I’m forced to do some tutoring bullshit until ten.”

I scanned the paper multiple times to ensure I wasn’t reading it wrong. “That fucker.”

“Why the hell does he know, Agnes?” Rigel spat. “More importantly, why does he care?”

“I didn’t tell him shit.”

With a lightning grab, he had me by the jaw, straining my neck up so I was forced to meet his eyes. “I’m only going to say this once. I don’t care if you’re screwing a professor, Agnes, but it will not interfere with my plans.”

I shoved hard against his chest, and he stepped back, releasing my sore face. “I’m not screwing anybody.”

“Does it look like I care?” He jabbed a finger in his face. “If you don’t fix this and fix it fast, I will tell Ephraim, whether it’s true or not.”

“Rigel!” I said, unsure why I felt shocked.

“You think I’m kidding?” he asked, eyes wild with rage. “Chain up your dog, or you’re both fucked.”

He stalked out of the room, and I waited a couple of minutes to catch my breath. The letter was still in my hand, and when I looked down at it, I realized I was shaking.

I wasn’t sure who I felt more betrayed by. Professor Faun, who was clearly scheming to keep me from ever discovering my history. Or Rigel, who, despite everything I’d done, was still ready to have me expelled for inconveniencing him.

I arrived at class painfully late and was still so shaken my voice trembled as I tried to present my study.

“The content isn’t bad, Agnes,” Professor Beck told me as I sat. “But you really should work on your confidence. The final is coming up fast.”

Trying my best to seem attentive while feeling Rigel’s eyes burning into my cheek, I nodded.

When class ended, I left as quickly as possible, needing a few minutes alone to plan. Luring Professor Faun wouldn’t be easy, but I had an inkling of how I could manage it.

Meanwhile, I needed to remain calm and not act suspicious. I was meant to go and practice banjo with Arlie after class. So, I went to my room to get the instrument but found a note on the windowsill instead.

Screw the banjo, come to the stadium asap!!

I’d never gone there, much less understood what it was for. It wasn’t like we could have any sports leagues. But on a normal day, I would jump at the opportunity, so I was willing to try and seem interested.

I shed my bag and hurried to the field, noticing multiple people seemed to have the same thing in mind. I went through a short tunnel and emerged on the side of a field surrounded by stadium seating on each side. The number of seats seemed dramatic for the size of the student body. But I also noticed no one seemed willing to sit in the first five rows for some reason.

I spotted Arlie quickly, mainly because she stood up and flailed her arms.

“What’s going on?” I asked once we were both sitting down.

“Apparently, there’s this practice that the Custos upperclassmen do, but they usually don’t let people spectate. But since it’s nearly the end of the year and we just got freed from lockdown, we get to watch.”

“You don’t know anything else?” I asked.

“Nope.” Her eyes slid past my shoulder, catching on something behind me. “Don’t freak out.”

Looking behind me, I found Blair coming to stand above us, looking hesitant but not angry. I wasn’t sure I could stomach any more confrontation and was considering making a run for it.

“Is this seat taken?”

I gaped at him.

He’d spent months pretending I didn’t exist, and suddenly, he was being smiley and sheepish.

I turned back to Arlie. “Was this some kind of setup?”

“No! It’s just that—well, it’s hard to hang out with both of you without overlapping, and the reason Blair is being weird to you is dumb.”

“Ouch,” he said over my shoulder.

“Those are your words, not mine.”

“Yeah, but they require preamble.”

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, he wants to apologize.”

“Really?”

Blair sat on the bench next to me, still keeping a healthy distance between us. “Yes, well, I know you didn’t do anything to cause what happened. I guess I was just hurting and wanted someone to blame. It was shitty.”

“And?” I asked, not buying it.

“And I shouldn’t have defended what he did in the graveyard. I’d just wanted it to feel justifiable so I didn’t have to feel bad about the whole thing. Like I said, shitty.”

“Thank you.”

“So, you guys aren’t going to be weird around each other anymore?” Arlie asked, hopeful.

I shrugged, ready to believe for her sake at the very least. “Fine, we’re cool.”

It seemed funny it could all be settled so easily. But then again, I’d hardly even thought about Blair in weeks. It hadn’t even occurred to me he still cared about any of that, but apparently, it had been on his mind. I found myself mostly relieved to feel like I had someone on my team when it felt like everyone else hated me.

The seats around us filled up, and before long, I noticed Professor Beck stroll out onto the field. She had a whistle in her mouth and blew it to quiet everyone down.

She began speaking, but we were too far away to understand it. It felt pointless until I realized the audience wasn’t who she was addressing. There was a row of Custos upperclassmen lined up in front of her on the field, listening diligently.

Then, with another blow of the whistle, an odd metallic screech echoed from the other end of the stadium.

We leaned over in time to see a heavily crunched car wobbling across the grass toward them. The windshield was busted, revealing a dummy sitting in the driver’s seat, donned in a glossy blue wig and wonky false eyelashes.

Behind the car was Professor Algenette, who seemed to control the vehicle’s movements, despite not touching anything.

She stopped the car a few hundred yards from the group, clearly awaiting some instruction. Professor Beck picked a student from the lineup and directed them to stand in the field.

Then, after a long break of silent anticipation, she blew the whistle, and Professor Algenette sent the car moving ahead. For a split second, it crawled forward like a regular car. Then she jerked her head, and it suddenly tipped up on two wheels and began to roll as if it had collided with something.

One student on the field leaped into action, running right for the car and grabbing onto the passenger side door, clearly trying to clamber inside. But the car carried its momentum, aiming its next roll for the exact spot where the student was fighting to keep a grip on the open passenger window. Luckily, they seemed aware of this, and the car sank through them harmlessly as they continued on with their task.

“Look how panicked she is, Jenny,” called Professor Beck, referring to the dummy knocking around wildly in the driver’s seat. “I bet she needs comfort right now!”

The student tried again, this time entering the car before it tumbled out of control, though with a rather haggard look on her face once the heap of metal came to a stop.

Everyone clapped as she climbed back out, and the car was invisibly pulled back across the field.

The next person was given a car spinning in wild circles, and when they tried to get into the cab, the momentum sent them flying upward with a surprised scream.

“You’re supposed to be embodying peace and safety, Margie! That scream didn’t sound very peaceful! Do you want her to panic even more?”

People seemed to take to the task with relative ease, sliding into the cars quickly and doing dramatic soothing pantomimes once the car came to a secure stop. The crowd would cheer as they’d clamber through the smashed windshield, clutching the dummy like a damsel on a clench cover.

After a few rounds, it became clear who was more of a natural than the others, though most could do the job.

When the training wrapped up, we went to the dining hall to hang out for a bit, but I had my eye on the clock the whole time.

“I’m beat. See you guys tomorrow,” I said as I extracted myself from the booth.

I went back to my room first, straightening everything up self-consciously before going to the lounge. It was empty, as usual, and I went straight for the jukebox, flipping straight to one of the sad, gushy songs he loved so much, hoping I might get him in a sentimental mood.

Then I wandered to a game and began, though I was admittedly doing a poor job. I might as well have been feeding Ms. Pacman to the ghosts for how poorly I was evading them.

When I felt his presence enter the room, I ran straight into blinky, and the screen announced Game Over. I kept my eyes on the graphics but didn’t immediately restart, giving him the opportunity to explain himself unprompted. But his presence only lingered on in silence.

Trying to act normal for as long as possible to avoid spooking him, I restarted a new game. His music continued to play on the jukebox as I lost life after life in embarrassingly quick succession.

I sighed and turned to the seemingly empty room, hoping to get a response. But when he stayed silent, I grabbed my cane from where I’d leaned it against the machine and left. I walked slowly, giving him ample time to follow me. And when I got to my room, I opened the door wide, letting it sluggishly fall closed naturally in hopes he would view it as an open door, literally and metaphorically.

Sitting at the edge of my bed, I kept my eyes on the space, hoping to see some indication that he’d accepted the silent invitation. But although I was sure I could feel him nearby, he remained invisible.

“Hello?” I whispered, hopeful, scanning the room.

Maybe he needed me to prove that I’d intended for him to follow. But even then, I got no response.

I wasn’t completely surprised. As long as he didn’t confirm his presence, he wouldn’t have to admit to himself that he gave in. There was no tangible proof he was ever here. But he also didn’t have to feel like he was invading my privacy if I’d technically invited him. But if he was going to hide, then I’d draw him out.

Trying to seem disappointed but accepting, I sighed dramatically and took off my shoes. I usually left my foot in my loafer for convenience, but I pulled it out so I’d be able to stand at a moment’s notice if necessary. Then I moved on to lifting my sweater and shirt off over my head, still feeling the tingle of his gaze from somewhere in the room.

Once I was naked, I paused, allowing him time to respond, but the room remained silent. I tried to look natural as I considered my surroundings.

I realized he’d seen me naked before, and it probably wasn’t enough to startle him.

So, wildly amused with myself, I stretched out on the bed and ran my hand down my body, coming to stop at the apex of my thighs. I tried to seem really into it, and oddly enough, I didn’t have to try hard. The idea that he might be watching me sent a tickle of excitement to my core. I began rubbing with more genuine enthusiasm, feeling a moan leak between my lips unbidden of my brain. But even that didn’t prompt a reaction. I was beginning to worry that he wasn’t actually there and that I was simply performing for myself.

But I had one last tool in my belt.

“Oh,” I moaned, trying to sound natural, “Professor Faun.”

Suddenly, a clatter rang out, and my wardrobe’s open door shook on its hinges like something had collided with it.

“Hah!” I said, pointing to the spot next to it. “I knew it.”

He finally popped into view, wide-eyed, red-faced, and ready to bolt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, no you don’t, perv,” I said, leaping out of bed and throwing myself between him and the door.

His eyes spun in their sockets, trying to look anywhere but at me. “I’ve made a horrible mistake. I’m so sorry.”

I snapped my fingers in front of his face, trying to get his eyes to meet mine. “Please relax. I knew you were in here.”

“But you, um . . .”

I’d never seen him so frazzled. It was honestly charming.

I mimicked his tone. “You know, Professor, you’re not quite as sneaky as you think you are.”

He ran his hands over his face and groaned into his palms. “This was a terrible idea.”

I grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away so he had no choice but to look at me. “Don’t sound too upset. You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“I am a weak man,” he mumbled to himself before finally meeting my eyes. “I meant what I said.”

“Me too,” I said, grinning. “I really do want to fuck you.”

He stepped away from me. “Please let me leave.”

“No,” I said. “You deserve to suffer.”

He scoffed. “Really?”

“Yes.” I crossed my arms over my bare chest. “You’ve been fucking up my shit.”

“And, obviously, everything’s been a breeze on my end.”

“You’re not allowed to treat me like I don’t exist, then stalk me and mess with me and then act like you’re the only one suffering.”

“Mess with you?” I grabbed Rigel’s letter off the floor and waved it in front of his face. “Oh.” He shifted. “I understand why you’re upset.”

“Oh, do you?” I rolled my eyes. “How perceptive.”

“It’s for your own good.”

I shook my head. “Were you lying?”

“About what?”

I pointed to the wall above my desk where I’d stuck the fake toe tag he made me. Realization twisting his features, he looked at it.

“I know you know,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “And I want to know why you keep going so out of your way to keep me from finding out.”

He shook his head. “No, Agnes, please. Don’t think that.”

“What am I supposed to think, then?”

“You’re supposed to trust me.”

I shook my head. “Unfortunately, it’s not all about me anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rigel’s going to tell Ephraim you’re fucking me if you don’t leave him alone.”

His face dropped. “What?”

“Yeah. So, I’d recommend you stop pretending to tutor him.”

Shaking his head, he looked at me like I was stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?” I asked. “Are you accusing me of gossiping about my exploits like a teenage girl? Lying, even? Is that what you think of me?”

“How else—”

I raised a hand. “Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “Has it ever crossed your mind that you give yourself too much credit, Professor? Blame me all you want, but you’re the one who spent so long not caring about anyone that you seem to have forgotten how evident it is to anyone who’s looking. You practically reek of it now.”

I didn’t even realize I was jabbing my finger at him until I found myself with my index finger bent against his sternum. Despite my big speech, we both looked down to see my accusatory hand trembling.

Slowly, as if afraid to startle me, he cupped my hand between his. He lifted it to his face and planted a small kiss against my palm. “You’re right.”

Before I could react, he pulled me against him, leaning down until our noses brushed.

“But it doesn’t make it a good idea,” he whispered.

He was right. But despite logic, every moment I had with him felt like a success. Even if we couldn’t have forever, we could still fight for these moments as they came.

So, I kissed him. He seemed surprised, freezing as he did the first time I curled up on my toes to meet him. But this time, he melted almost immediately. The action was soft, exploratory, not riddled with desperation like the last time. His hands came back to my face, fingers skimming down the side of my neck and down to my shoulders. I pressed my body against his, removing any remaining air left between us.

Suddenly, he spun me back against the wall and pressed his body against mine as I gasped in surprise. His actions became rougher, more desperate. One of his hands came down to knead a handful of my breast. His excitement was prevalent against my thigh, and I brought my leg up to rub against it.

“Careful,” he breathed against my lips, only barely breaking our kiss.

I brought one of my hands down between us, rubbing the hard bulge in his pants. His breathing became stilted and ragged as he thrust against my hand, kissing me so hard my lips hurt.

In response, his hand left my breast, traveling downward to the apex of my thighs, only hesitating a moment before stroking the sensitive skin.

I moaned quietly against him as he explored me with his fingers and made small circles before diving inward. His free hand came up to cover my mouth, muffling the noises I couldn’t control.

In what could only be called an act of desperation, I felt for his belt buckle, tugging at it until I felt it release. He continued touching me, barely seeming to register what I was doing, until his zipper came down. He froze, fingers curled inside me, as his fly parted. While he was pressing my head back against the wall, I looked at his hair as he tipped his head down, watching me pull him free from his pants.

He let out a long, shaky breath and whispered, “Oh no.”

Looking back up, he met my eyes, and I was relieved to find him totally present. It was clear I was the only one he was seeing.

With painful slowness, he extracted his fingers from me, his damp hand coming to rest on my hip. Then he was suddenly using both hands to lift me off my feet and pin me against the wall, bringing me down until I could feel the hardness of him pressing against me. But he stayed there, breathing hard. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Please stop me,” he whispered, pinching his eyes shut as if he were in pain.

Not in the mood to be merciful, I tightened my legs around him, pushing him harder against me.

He gasped, and like I’d popped a bubble, he moved. His fingers dug into my hips, holding me steady as he pushed into me.

While I had no conscious memories of ever having sex, I knew almost immediately that I liked it. The urge to move against him was overwhelming, but his grip on me was strong, as if he needed to feel like he could end this at any moment. But the deeper he went, the more pointless that control became. I held him by the neck and pulled his face back to mine, kissing him softly as he rocked up into me, and I felt him groan against my lips. He seemed to soften then, finally accepting his fate.

But at that final, crucial moment, we were interrupted by a volley of knocking.