Page 117 of Scarred King
“Don’t be silly.” She grows serious and puts her arm through mine. “You're going to be a star in the world of physics. I have no doubt that I will read and study your research papers one day.”
“I kind of lost my passion,” I say in embarrassment. “I need to find it again.”
She walks towards the exit with me. “You should be happy that you have a man who loves you so much that he would do anything to support you.”
I look at her in disgust. “I left him. Don’t you remember?”
“I thought you were smarter than that,” she says, amazed. “Who gives up on such love?”
“I am smarter than that.” My voice grows hard. “That’s why I ran away from his black world.”
“It wasn’t black for you,” she insists, and I don’t understand why. “You're strong, unlike me. You didn't let that world suck you down to its dark depths, and you had a man that took care of you like a real duchess.” She winks at me playfully and I stare at her in confusion. What’s going on with her? I was sure she was rehabilitated….
“Johanna, what are you talking about? He knew I wanted to look after you, but he still let you go upstairs with that monster to the room without—”
“Elena,” she whispers, cuts me off and looks around. Her parents are motioning her to the cab. “That Italian really is a monster, but with girls he is a mouse at the most,” she giggles, “It took me ten minutes to get him hard and after I did, he was mainly concentrating on keeping it. My jaw drops and she giggles again. “All the girls who work at the bar know that. Liam knows it too. And Tommy. It's just a show. In their world the only thing that counts is the image you make for yourself. You should know that, Duchess.” She winks at me again.
“Johanna!” her father shouts angrily.
“Promise you won’t forget me when you reach the stars.” She bursts into tears and hugs me tightly.
“Sometimes they’re just black holes.” I laugh painfully and cry with her.
47
I listen to the teaching assistant’s lecture and my eyes burn from all the crying I did in the last few hours. I could recite the material he’s teaching in my sleep, and in my present emotional state the lack of an intellectual challenge can only bring me down. I gather up my things and stand up. The teaching assistant looks at me in confusion as I whisper an apology and leave the room. As I’m arranging my backpack straps over my shoulders, I bump into someone. I turn my head and see Professor Sawyer’s substitute teacher.
“Hello, Elena,” she greets me enthusiastically.
“Professor Gilmore.” I smile at her and prepare to walk around her.
“Actually, I’m here to ask you for a favor,” she says, “I know your exams start in a couple of days, but if you’re not too busy, could you be my teaching assistant for the first-year Classical Physics class?”
“I don’t know,” I stutter. Her request caught me off guard.
“I consulted with Professor Sawyer,” she won’t let up, “and he recommended you very warmly. It would be very helpful, the teaching assistant who was supposed to prepare them for the exam informed me today that he’s sick.”
“I don’t have any experience as a teaching assistant,” I try to get out of it.
“Nonsense,” she waves her hand dismissively, “I’ll email you all the topics and you can just go over them in class.” She moves aside so I can walk past her. “The class is tomorrow afternoon,” she adds as I remain standing in the same spot, “and thanks so much.” She squeezes my arm and walks into the classroom.
I turn my head towards the closed door and for a minute I want to run after her and tell her that I haven’t agreed to do it. That I’m too sad to deal with a group of mediocre students. That my brain needs a real challenge in order to get through the following days, and no, first-year study material won’t solve my problem. But I just shrug desperately and leave the building.
The cab stops at the entrance of my apartment building. I climb the stairs slowly and enter the dark, quiet apartment. The emptiness is hard to bear. The door to Johanna’s room is open and I peek inside. There’s nothing left of her stuff, her clothes, the small knickknacks by her bed. She’s really gone and now I’m alone. So alone.
I lie down on my bed and turn on my laptop. The list of topics from the professor is already in my email and I go over it quickly. I don’t even need to look at it again. All the material is arranged neatly in my brain’s filing system and all I’ll have to do tomorrow is pull it out and recite it in front of the first-year students. I turn off the computer and call my mom.
“Elena,” she gasps in relief. “Did you arrive all right? Are you all set up?”
“Yes,” I answer and yawn.
“How are you managing? How was the university?” she asks, and I wonder why our conversation didn’t start with her usual chitchat about her daily experiences.
“Everything’s fine. Johanna left,” I try to say casually, but fail.
“Oh, my darling. You must be so sad.”
“Yes, but I’ll get over it,” I answer dryly, trying to ignore my trembling lips. “I need to focus on my exams now and do well.”