Chapter 8: Briar

brIAR

At a blaring beeping sound, I startle awake. Groggily, I reach over and grab my phone. While I'm usually a morning person, today I feel like I could sleep in another few hours.

As I sit up, I notice I'm still fully dressed. After a moment of confusion, last night comes rushing back to me. Thanks to sleeping almost twelve hours, my vision is no longer blurry. I still have one hell of a headache, though. Today's class and my meeting with Malachi Grimm are going to suck.

When I reach up to touch the back of my head, I encounter a chunk of hair matted with blood.

Gross.

I guess I'm showering before class. My head is still a little tender, but I should be able to clean it without too much pain.

I stand up and strip off my clothes. I throw my bloody blazer on the floor and carefully set the rest of my uniform on the bed. Since I only have one uniform, I'll have to go without a blazer today. Hopefully I can get the bloodstains out before tomorrow.

Snagging my phone, I pad toward the attached bathroom. It has a white marble floor and shower tiles. A mahogany curved vanity sits in front of the large stand-up shower.

I avoid looking in the gold-framed mirror as I start the water. I don't need to see my torso covered in sickly green and yellow bruises. Most of them are from when I brought up going to orientation last week. That was Patrick's latest excuse to take his anger out on me.

I used to wonder what I did wrong to make him hit me. Now I know that he's just a shit person with the emotional maturity of a two-year-old. I'm a convenient punching bag to vent his frustrations.

When the water heats up enough, I put my "After" playlist on shuffle and step inside.

Why yes, yes, I do have a playlist for after Patrick roughs me up.

Weird?

Probably.

Helpful?

Absolutely.

These songs help me lock all my feelings in mental boxes. Without them locked up, I wouldn't be able to function. I know the grief and fear and pain and hopelessness can't be contained in my neat little boxes forever. I know the emotions I refuse to feel will break free from their mental prison one day. They'll rush toward me like rogue ocean waves during a storm. Sweeping over me, crushing me, and drowning me until there's nothing left.

But today's not that day. It can't be that day until Ava's safe, so I do what I always do. I shove them with all my mental strength into the already overfull boxes in my mind.

The first notes of "Wash Me Clean" pull me from my thoughts as I duck my head under the scalding spray. I let out a soft snort. No amount of hot water and soap can make me ever feel clean. As long as I'm covered in bruises from him, I'll always feel dirty.

I gently rub my vanilla coconut scented shampoo into the matted chunk of my hair. It takes a few rounds of shampoo before the water runs clear. After conditioning my wavy, midback-length hair, I quickly soap and rinse my body.

I step out of the shower and realize another problem. My head is too sore to French braid or fully style my hair. Sighing, I quickly rake through some leave-in conditioner and gel. I scrunch out as much water as I can. Hopefully my hair doesn't look like a rat died in it when it dries.

On autopilot, I brush my teeth, pull on my clothes, and pack my bag.

Before leaving, I carefully put on my mom's gold locket. It has an intricate wolfsbane flower engraved on the front. I don't know what's inside because I haven't been able to open it. Patrick would lose his shit if he knew I had it. I always wear it under my shirt to hide it from him.

After double-checking I have everything, I head out. I listen at my door to make sure I can't hear him. When I don't hear voices or footsteps, I quietly leave my room. I successfully slink out of Patrick's house without bumping into him.

I leave early to give myself time to make it to class at a jog, instead of the fast run I did yesterday.

By the time I reach campus, my head is killing me. Every step makes my brain rattle in my skull painfully. Maybe running while concussed wasn't the best idea. It's not like I have another way to campus, though.

Oh well, nothing I can do about it now.

Cutting through the stone courtyard, I head to Wyldhart Hall. I only have English 101 today. Thank God for my easy Tuesday and Thursday schedule. I can't take three classes like yesterday with how my head is.

As I pass under the gothic stone arch, I pull out my schedule to find the room number. I'm able to make the numbers stop swimming for long enough to note my class is in the same room as statistics. I head toward the classroom and slip in behind a steady stream of other students.

Spying my spot in the second row empty, I head toward it. I sink down in the chair gratefully and lean my head on my arms. Closing my eyes helps with the nausea that decided now would be a perfect time to reappear.

I stay that way until the professor starts talking.

Professor Whitfield is a small, pudgy man in his late fifties. His nasally voice feels like pins stabbing into my throbbing head. I wish he'd shut up. Unfortunately for me, he talks for a solid hour and fifteen minutes.

I need to be able to record the English lectures. This class doesn't have much participation, so I should be fine on that front. But I can't deal with his voice for another second longer. I decide to talk to him next class.

In my haste to get the hell out of dodge, I bump into a guy in my class. Flashing him a small apologetic smile, I hurry on my way.

Before I know where I'm going, I find myself in front of Malachi Grimm's office. Our meeting isn't for another two hours. Maybe he'll see me early.

Knocking on the open door, I step inside his office.

Malachi Grimm is no less stunning than he was yesterday. He's wearing a black button-down today. It's rolled up to his elbows, showing off his muscled forearms. I'm surprised to see winding black tattoos on one of his arms. Unlike yesterday, he has a day's worth of stubble. It sharpens his jawline and makes him look more dangerous.

Glancing up, Malachi does a double take when he sees me in the doorway. "Briar? I thought our meeting wasn't until noon." He stands up as he finishes talking and crosses to where I'm standing just in front of the door.

"It's not. I was just wondering if you had time to do it early. I'm… not feeling the best." I can't exactly tell him I'm nursing a concussion courtesy of my stepfather. No one can know what Patrick does. He'll hurt Ava if anyone finds out what's happening. I've kept this secret for seven years. I can damn well keep it hidden for another four.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I have a 9:40 class I have to teach before. What's wrong?" His voice softens with concern as he looks me over.

"Nothing really. I'm fine. Sorry for bothering you." I turn to leave when Malachi steps in my way, blocking the exit. I crane my neck to look up at him. My breath stalls in my chest as I see the barely leashed anger burning in his sapphire eyes.

"I told you yesterday, Briar, don't lie to me. I have half a mind to show you the consequences of lying, but you look dead on your feet. Just tell me what's wrong." His soft voice is at odds with his harsh words.

I'm sure I'd chafe at him telling me what to do if I weren't spending all my energy trying not to pass out. I don't have the will to fight with him. "I just have a bad headache."

"Why don't you lie down on the couch while I'm in class? If you still have a headache when I get back, we can reschedule our meeting."

He doesn't wait for my response before placing his hand on my shoulder and steering me toward his couch. When I reach it, he gently pushes on my shoulder to make me sit down. Leaving me for a moment, he returns with a pillow and colorful patchwork blanket. He places the pillow on one end of the couch and drapes the quilt over the back. "Lie down."

My lips quirk briefly at his bossiness. Too tired to fight, I lie down on my side. The sofa is surprisingly soft and comfortable.

As soon as I'm settled, Malachi drapes the blanket over me. The blue and green quilt smells like him. It's weirdly comforting.

After covering me up, he draws heavy blue velvet drapes over the three windows. When he turns off the lamp at his desk, the room plunges into darkness. I let out a small groan of relief at how much the dark helps my head. His quiet chuckle lets me know he heard me.

"I have to head to class. If you need to go home before I get back, leave a note to let me know, okay?"

I dip my chin in answer before remembering he can't see me in the near total dark. "Okay," I croak out. My voice reverberates painfully in my skull, making me regret saying anything.

He quietly closes the door as he leaves.

I doubt I'll be able to get any sleep. I have enough trouble sleeping in my own space, let alone an unfamiliar place. I'll just rest my eyes for a second.

I startle when a hand softly brushes my face. I flinch away from the sudden touch. My momentum sends me rolling off the edge of the couch, and I land on my hands and knees with a thud.

Blinking open my tired eyes, I take in the navy and cream Persian rug. I then notice black dress shoes and charcoal suit pants. As I drag my gaze upward, I land on Malachi Grimm's groin. He's crouched down, putting me eye level with his black leather belt.

It takes me a moment to realize I'm staring at my professor's dick. An impressive one, if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by. My cheeks flame as I continue to stare at his crotch. I'm too frozen in embarrassment to move.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Does this type of shit happen to anyone else?

Do other people accidentally get trapped in a staring contest with their professor's dick?

Malachi Grimm clears his throat, breaking my trance. I snap my gaze up to his. By the smug smirk he's wearing, he noticed me staring at his bulge. I'm just going to throw my whole self in the garbage now. At least there I can't do anything embarrassing.

"How are you feeling?" His question breaks me from my internal pity party.

Taking stock of myself, I'm surprised that I'm feeling a lot better. I only have a mild headache, and my nausea is completely gone. I must have done more than rest my eyes if I'm feeling this much better. "I'm actually feeling a lot better. Is it already noon?"

"It's one in the afternoon."

"What?" I squeak.

"When I came back after class, you were sound asleep. You clearly needed the rest, so I let you sleep an extra hour. You need help up?"

Oh, that's right. I'm still on all fours with my head level with his dick.

Great.

"Sure," I mumble, face heating at the awkward position I'm in. I'm sure even the tips of my ears are bright red with how embarrassed I am.

Malachi Grimm stands up smoothly and reaches out his hand. I put my hand in his, noticing how warm it is. His hand also isn't soft. It's callused like he does manual labor all day. He pulls me up effortlessly, like I weigh nothing. His hand rests on my waist to steady me as I get to my feet.

This position isn't any better. I'm pressed against his front. I hastily step back before I can do anything to further humiliate myself, like press my hips against his to feel if he's as big as he looks.

No. Nope. Hell no. I need to stop thinking about that.

He's my professor.

I'm pretty sure coming on to a professor is against WHU's code of conduct, and I can't afford to get kicked out.

I back up a step further, like I can outrun my thoughts.

At my retreat, Malachi turns to open one of the curtains. When I don't wince at the light, he opens the other two.

Moving to his desk, he gestures for me to sit opposite him like yesterday, and I do. At the thought of the last time I was in his office, my anger comes rushing back. I stiffen in my seat, wondering how I forgot.

Seeing me go rigid, Malachi sighs. "You weren't who I was angry at yesterday."

I let out a disbelieving snort. "Oh yeah? Who were you judging, then?"

"Whoever's paying your tuition," Malachi grits out. At my raised brows and confused expression, he continues. "As your advisor, I have access to your records. You don't have a scholarship or loans. Someone pays your hefty tuition outright. Yet, whoever it is can't be bothered to get you a uniform that fits?"

My stomach sinks the longer he talks. I'd almost prefer he judge me, instead of digging deeper into my home life.

Opening my mouth to offer a half-baked denial, Malachi cuts me off. "Don't. Don't even think about lying to me again. You're not ready to tell me what's going on. I get it. I won't push… for now." He reaches under his desk to pull out an overflowing shopping bag. He scoots it over his desk toward me. "Here are five sets of uniforms. I got both blazers and sweaters, so you have options."

Stunned speechless, I just stare at the bag of uniforms.

Each uniform is around $200, so that's over $1,000 of clothes sitting on his desk. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I debate refusing the uniforms. I thought Malachi just ordered one skirt, but having more than one uniform set does sound nice, especially with my one blazer being a bloody mess currently.

With how expensive WHU tuition is, I doubt Patrick will notice an extra $1,000 when he pays next. Hoping the uniforms won't come back to bite me, I decide to accept them. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Briar. I talked with my brothers about accommodations. We worked out a schedule based on how much participation you need to make up. You'll meet with Xander on Mondays at 3:10. I'll meet with you on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 3:40. And Bastian will meet with you on Wednesdays and Fridays at 3:10. Does that work for you?"

"I can't ask you to waste so much time on me! I'm sure you have better things to do than work with one student so much." I'm floored that they would be willing to put in so much work with me.

"Good thing you're not asking us, then. We're offering. Besides, making up your participation points in mine and Bastian's class is the only way you'll pass."

My shoulders slump at that. I need to graduate from college to access my trust fund to take care of Ava. I guess I know what I'm doing with my afternoons all semester. "Okay, do we start this week?"

"No. We'll start next week."

"Sounds good. Am I free to leave?" Unlike yesterday, I'm not eager to get out of here. I actually like talking with Malachi when he isn't being a judgmental ass.

"Do you have plans for lunch?" Malachi pulls out a lunch box and puts it on his desk as he talks.

My stomach grumbles at the reminder that I didn't have dinner or breakfast. I forgot to pack a lunch this morning, too. I don't really want to go back to Patrick's house sooner than I need to, though. "Um, no. I forgot to pack my lunch."

"I brought extra. Here's half." Malachi pushes half a sandwich, a lidded bowl of pasta, and a cupcake to my side of the desk. The caprese sandwich and pesto pasta smells heavenly. I try not to drool at the chocolate cupcake. I'm a sucker for anything chocolate.

But I don't want to steal his lunch. "I'm okay. Thanks, though."

"Eat," Malachi orders. I hold back an eye roll at his demand. He really is one of the bossiest people I've ever met.

Still not feeling all the way healed from the concussion, I swallow my pride and dig into the lunch. It's really freaking good. At the first bite of juicy tomatoes, tangy balsamic glaze, and smooth mozzarella, I moan.

I hear what sounds like a groan from Malachi. When I look up, his face is impassive. I must've misheard it.

"Oh my God! This is amazing," I say between bites.

At my praise, he breaks out into a small, genuine smile. "Glad you like it. I can't take credit for the food. Our chef made it."

He has a chef? I didn't realize being a professor paid that well. WHU is fancy, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised at how much professors make here.

We eat the rest of our lunch while chatting about mundane things. As we finish, Malachi frowns at the clock. "I have a class at two. I need to head out. You're welcome to hang out here while I'm in class."

I've taken up enough of his time. Shaking my head, I lie, "Thank you. I would, but I need to get home. Thanks again for lunch."

"Anytime, Briar. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you then, Professor." No matter how much I've enjoyed his company, I need to remember that he's my professor. That's all Malachi Grimm can ever be to me.