Page 118 of Scarred King
“I am sure you will succeed. But it is okay to be sad. It is okay to break down sometimes—”
“Mom, for the first time, I’m going to be a teaching assistant for the first-year students tomorrow,” I change the subject to mask the pain.
“Wow, that's wonderful!” she says enthusiastically.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “It’s really great.”
“Elena, the pain will pass.” She goes back to the subject I want to ignore. “You deserve the best, and I am sure that you'll get it.”
“I don’t think I will,” I reply honestly. “But I’ll learn to compromise.” My heart is tormenting me, and I have to end this conversation right now. “I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow. I have to hang up now.” I don’t wait for her answer and I end the call. I curl up in a ball and force myself to recite formulas and rules until my brain gives in and I fall asleep.
I wake up to a new day, draw the curtains and open the window. I take a deep breath of fresh air and pray that the feeling of emptiness will go away. I sit down on the couch in the living room and lay my head on a cushion. I’ve never been overcome by grief. I’ve always been able to escape into a parallel, better reality. I can’t do it this time though, and I feel so frustrated. I make myself a cup of coffee and turn on my computer, forcing myself to go over the study material once again in order to prepare for the exams, but I realize that it’s ridiculous as my brain is always several pages ahead of the material I'm reading. Instead, I surf the internet for a while and find some new articles. I scan them quickly, take notes and study them for a while.
I look at the clock and jump up from my seat. I have to teach the class at six p.m. and it’s already five! I run to the shower, dress quickly and go outside to wait for a cab. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I realize that I’m still looking out for the blue Volvo.
The cab drops me at the university, and I hurry to the class. I walk into the large auditorium, where dozens of students are waiting. I check my email again to make sure I’m in the right place.
“I apologize for being late,” I mumble as I step up to the podium. “I thought this would be a smaller class.” I put my bag on the table and peek at so many of faces in front of me. “This is my first time as a teaching assistant, I hope it goes well.” I hear whispering all around me and realize that I need to get my act together. I close my eyes for a moment and order my brain to retrieve the material I need from its file and then I open them. “Let’s get started,” I say, as the class falls silent. I hear myself talking through the small microphone attached to my head, I feel my fingers writing formulas on the whiteboard and my feet walking with confidence over the long class floor. The expressions in front of me are vague, I can’t seem to concentrate on any of them. The information flows from my mouth naturally, and I don’t stop talking. At some point, the students’ whispers and fidgeting intrude on my thoughts and I look back at them, confused until I glance at the clock.
“Oh no,” I say and giggle. “I didn’t realize it’s been an hour and a half already.” I return the marker to its place under the whiteboard and turn to face the students. “I can stay for a few minutes if you have any questions.” Nobody raises their hand. “Okay, then, I guess—”
“I have a question.”
I immediately recognize the amused voice and my heart starts pounding wildly. I look around, searching for him and see him sitting in the far corner in one of the top rows. My eyes lock on his cat eyes and I move the microphone quickly, worried that everyone can hear my heart, which is threatening to jump out of my chest and crash on the floor.
The realization that he’s brutally invaded my own private white world turns the emptiness inside me to fury. Unfortunately, my body responds with shivers of crazy desire.
“Then ask,” I force myself to say.
“I wanted to know…” he drags the words out on purpose, and I take a deep breath and look at the students surrounding him. The female students sitting on his left side are gazing at him longingly and the ones on his right are staring in horror. It breaks my heart. The impact of Scarface and Angelface is so clear now. I look at him again. He seems so handsome to me, even the scarred side of his face. “I wanted to know when we’ll learn about black holes?” He stifles a smile. “You know, all that stuff about the core that compresses hydrogen molecules so tightly that they turn into helium atoms. And when the hydrogen runs out and there’s too much helium, the star’s life ends, and it explodes,” he motions an explosion with his hands, “and maybe the star we’re looking at exploded years ago and it’s just a black hole now.”
My eyes widen in surprise, when I realize he’s quoting my own explanation from our intimate evening we spent by the pool.
“How… how do you remember?” I stutter.
“When something’s important enough, you remember it.” He smiles his captivating smile at me, and I blush. Get hold of yourself, my brain is ordering me, but my heart continues to leap around inside my chest.
I shake my head and force myself to regain control. “I don’t know when we’ll learn about that. Probably next semester.” I turn to the table and put my computer inside my bag. “If there are no more questions, you're dismissed,” I say with my back to the students, and hear their chairs squeaking as they stand up. When I turn around again, I am surrounded by several enthusiastic students who fire a series of questions at me. I look sideways, but I don’t see the scruffy hair anywhere. A sharp pain cuts through my chest. I look back at the students surrounding me, answer each question with faked patience and sigh in relief when the last student leaves. I lean against the table, take a deep breath and shake my head. He’s teasing me, trying to prove that I’m still a prisoner in his black hole while he’s moved on. Who does he think he is? Invading my private territory and laughing at me.
Hate him! My brain is ordering, it will do you good.
I hang my bag over my shoulder and go outside to the lawns. Every little sound or movement around me makes me jump nervously. My eyes can’t stop searching for him, and I don’t know if I’m hoping to find him or praying that I never see him again.
I walk across the parking lot to wait for a cab, when a black motorcycle screeches to a halt in front of me.
48
He has a small smile on his face. He cocks his head to the side and inspects me from head to toe. “Get on,” he demands quietly. I can't move, shaking my head slowly from side to side as I look at him, terrified. “Elena, get on the bike,” he demands again.
“No,” I answer and raise my chin defiantly. There’s no way he can’t hear the wild pounding of my heart.
“We both know you’ll get on it eventually, so why don’t you speed things up and just do it already?”
His amused tone throws me off balance “I’m not getting on,” I say firmly, and he smirks.
“Tell me,” he leans closer to me, “if I feel your panties with my fingers right now, how wet will they be?” he raises an eyebrow and bites his lower lip.
I immediately cross my legs. “Shut up, you bastard.” I raise my voice.