The professor, p.1
The Professor, page 1
Copyright © 2023 Elia Johnson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be replicated, reproduced, or redistributed in any form without the prior written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copy Editing by Carmen Riot Smith
Cover by Ever After Cover Design
ISBN: 978-1-7370857-4-4
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For everyone who’s had to learn to accept themselves a little later in life.
It’s a hard journey but one that brings so many blessings.
Elia Johnson
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 1 Confessions
“You know Professor Hutchinson and her wife are divorcing now?” Mya whispered to me right before class ended. My eyes immediately flew over to our professor, who seldom looked in my direction as she taught. I turned back to Mya.
“Really?” I asked and she nodded.
“Okay class, we’re done for the day,” Professor Hutchinson announced. “Remember that your essays will be due on Tuesday. Have a great weekend!”
Everyone began pouring out of the classroom, but I remained frozen on the edge of the damp cloth chair beneath me. My gaze was fixed on our professor. Mya also stayed in her seat, glued to her phone for the moment. My stupor was only broken when the professor glanced in my direction while speaking to another student. I quickly averted my eyes, then tapped on Mya’s shoulder.
“What happened with the professor? How do you know she’s getting a divorce?”
Mya’s straightened black hair swung over her shoulder as she looked up from her phone. Her eyes were almost as dark as her deep brown skin. The set of thin gold chains around her neck matched her nose ring and made her look like royalty. “I went by her office today before class to ask about an assignment I forgot was due over fall break.”
“The one about Freudian defense mechanisms?”
“Yeah, that one. Anyway, her door was cracked open, and I could hear her talking with someone. I’m pretty sure she was on the phone with her wife, but I’m not a hundred percent. She was yelling into the phone that she was done with ‘the marriage.’ She kept telling her wife—or whoever the hell it was on the phone—to leave her alone . . . and something about where to find her doesn’t matter.”
“Damn, Mya, you heard all that?”
“I couldn’t help myself! And she was the one who was loud.” Mya rolled her eyes. Nearly everyone had left the auditorium now and only a few students remained, talking with each other or with the professor. “Alright, you ready to go?” Mya asked, putting her phone and notebook away.
“No, I actually have to talk to Professor Hutchinson,” I muttered distractedly as we both stood up.
She gasped. “About the divorce?”
“No. Of course not, Mya. About that upcoming assignment and the seminar she mentioned that’s next week. I’m thinking of going.”
“Oh yeah. That sounds boring as hell.” She started walking down the stairs, and I followed.
“I think it could be a while though.” My focus shifted again toward the professor at the front of the room. “I might just end up going to her office too. You should probably head to the library now.”
“Are you coming when you’re done?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” We reached the ground level of the auditorium, and the ding from Mya’s phone shifted her attention.
“Okay, I’ll see you later then.” She spoke without looking up and walked out the door, along with the last student aside from me.
I scanned the room before nervously approaching the professor. She had begun packing away her books and laptop, her back turned to me.
“Miss Brentwood, how can I help you today?” she asked without looking up from her bag. I didn’t at all appreciate her unusually stiff tone.
“Is it true?” I questioned her in a low voice as I stepped directly in front of her. “Are you and Teresa really getting a divorce now?”
Her body went rigid as she straightened up and faced me. “Who told you that?” Her russet brown eyes looked darker in the lighting of the room.
“Mya did,” I blurted out uncomfortably. “But is it true, Alena?”
A pained expression washed over her face as she nodded.
My stomach dropped at the realization of what this meant, and a feeling of guilt engulfed me.
“How did she even know?” Alena questioned.
“She went to see you in your office this morning and heard you on the phone. She mentioned that you sounded really upset so she didn’t go in. But she heard you talking about ending your marriage.”
Alena bit her lip and looked away for a moment with creased brows. “I was upset this morning . . . and Teresa and I were arguing again.” Her hand came to one of her temples and she closed her eyes and sighed. “But I should’ve kept my composure better than that and been quieter.” She faced me again with a lingering sadness in her eyes.
“This is my fault isn’t it,” I suggested remorsefully. I searched her face for some form of animosity.
She only blinked at me. “Of course it’s not your fault, Amelia. This isn’t about you. This is about me and my wife. You know we haven’t been doing well for a while now. My feelings for you are really only the tip of the iceberg.”
I anxiously scanned the room, obviously concerned about being overheard, but it was empty.
Alena followed my eyes then looked back at me understandingly. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “Look, I never told you this, but I haven’t been living with Teresa for the past month or so. I completely moved out when she gave me an ultimatum, but I have a friend who’s teaching a graduate degree program in Georgia right now, and her apartment was vacant here. When she heard about the situation, she offered to let me stay there for a little while.” Alena lowered her voice ever so slightly. “We should discuss what’s been going on between us somewhere more private. If you’re comfortable, you could come over to the apartment tonight.”
I was stunned by the proposition, but I quickly recognized that she was right about discussing the matter elsewhere. I could only imagine who might hear us sorting through our emotions for one another in her office, especially if Mya had so easily overheard the news of her divorce. I was, however, fairly apprehensive about meeting up with Alena outside of campus. I had already gotten her number a couple of weeks ago, but we hardly even texted, and we definitely never saw each other anywhere outside of her office or the auditorium. It hadn’t ever gotten to that point, although I secretly dreamed about the possibilities for some time now. I considered her suggestion for a moment before nodding in agreement.
She put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile.
To think that it all started with going to her office hours. Professor Hutchinson was so gentle and kind-hearted. I didn’t understand how a college professor was able to command as much respect as she did without being either a pushover or a jerk. My professors usually fell somewhere between begging for their students’ affections and being so strict and pushy that going to their class mirrored going to hell. But her class was nothing like the ones I had endured before.
I still don’t exactly understand how Alena and I began falling into a romance of sorts, but it happened so naturally. I knew I had to visit her after my first day of classes because I was instantly enthralled by everything about her. By the second week, I’d started going to her office hours every single chance I had, and she never seemed to mind me doing so. During my first three years of university, I had of course talked with other professors and formed amicable bonds, but things were different with her.
It always just felt like more.
Alena was a poised woman with a serene and sophisticated sense of style. Her warm beige skin was flawless, her nose was broad, her lips were full, and her hair held long dark-brown curls with highlights. She always had a shining necklace adorning her chest, several rings lining her fingers, and a pair of dangling or studded earrings.
During our visits we often spoke about our interests in artistic measures. Mine were more visually representative while hers were more elusive. While I enjoyed art shows and museum exhibits, Alena preferred books and music—things you couldn’t see but things that made you feel.
The first instance when I had expressly recognized my attraction to her occurred when I stopped in to see her around lunchtime one Wednesday. At this point, it was atypical of me to come to her office when it was not within the specified hours she offered. Truthfully, I had been wandering around the campus since both of my best friends were too busy for lunch that day. I only had one more class left before I could leave for go od, but it was almost two hours away. I wasn’t even sure if she would be in her office, but I knew that I wouldn’t be as bored if she were and if I could speak with her.
I walked by her office and spotted her through the blinds of the small, square window on her door. She was removing a pan from a large plastic bag. She noticed me standing there, and her face lit up as she waved me in. When I opened the door, I was introduced to the spicy aroma of her food. She started to say she was on her lunch break, but once I explained that I had only come for a social visit, she invited me to join her and share her meal.
The Mexican food she’d bought was plentiful and I hadn’t eaten yet, so I gladly agreed. A variety of carne asada tacos filled one foil container, another one held equal parts of rice and beans, and a large brown bag full of warm tortilla chips sat nearby. The queso and salsa containers were still in the plastic bag along with some brown napkins.
As we ate, Alena and I went from discussing road-tripping and crazy conspiracy theories to our views on the political climate. When she made a joke about how quickly the Obamas bolted from the White House once his term was over, neither of us could contain our laughter. That was when we both reached in at the same time to grab more chips. It wasn’t a big deal in itself, but when her hand brushed mine, it amazed me to feel such exhilaration from the single, brief touch. It was like a light bulb switched on in my brain, and I suddenly realized just how attracted I was to her.
She looked up at me almost indifferently as she continued laughing, but I saw a flush of red in the cheeks of her light skin. I wondered if perhaps I’d had the same effect on her that she had just had on me, but I put the thought away almost as soon as it arrived.
But she did look at me as if she could see right through me, and it was mildly disconcerting.
My hand was awkwardly placed on the desk, and I gave her a nervous smile as our laughter dissipated. My demeanor shifted as I zoned out, gauging my now racing thoughts. Several moments passed before she moved her hand across the desk and placed it over mine. My breath hitched in my throat, and my heart began beating faster against my chest. I jumped back into reality.
“Are you okay, Amelia?” she asked kindly, a smile on her face.
“I’m fine,” barely escaped my lips.
She removed her hand and graciously moved on to another subject as she finished the last taco.
“Why’d you choose this?” I asked abruptly toward the end of our conversation. She tilted her head and scrunched her brows together as she wiped at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Psychology,” I clarified.
“Oh. Because I love learning about people. Studying human behavior is fascinating.” She balled up the napkin and tossed it in the empty to-go bag. “Plus, I love teaching, so it’s perfect. I can’t get enough of interacting with so many people and students.” She sighed. “What about you? You’re getting your degree in sociology, right?”
I nodded, surprised that she remembered. I couldn’t even recall when I had told her that—and she had many other students—so I was impressed.
“Why are you doing that by the way? And why are you taking Psych 200 your senior year? You don’t need it, do you?”
“No, it’s just a filler class that Mya and I could take together. I thought it would be interesting.”
“So it’s not interesting to you?”
“It is interesting!” I corrected myself with a nervous laugh. “What I meant was that we wanted to try it because of our interest. But back to my major . . . I think I like sociology for the same reasons you like psychology. Except the studies are on a much broader scale than just the individual, of course.”
She nodded. “I see.”
“I don’t really care to do much with it honestly though.” I moved my focus to her short pale green nails on the desk and slowly inhaled. “I want to study the arts, but not in college—in real life. I always wanted to be an art collector or curator or something. I think it’d be amazing to have a career like that.” When I finally looked up, I met her eyes and saw that she was really engaged in what I was saying. It made me extremely nervous, and I felt the same electricity from when our hands had touched. “M-my best friend Gabe says it’s something I could do. College may just not be the way.”
“I thought Mya was your best friend?” she asked.
Damn. Does she remember everything? I nodded. “Yeah, she is too. They both are.”
“So you have an eye and a passion for art, but you’re almost four years deep in a major focused on people. How will that turn out?” She leaned back, and her chair squeaked. Her outfit wasn’t one designed for cleavage, but I still couldn’t help staring at her chest.
I shrugged, trying to focus on anything else but that. “Whatever works, I guess. I’m almost done, so I’ll have my degree. I could get my masters and become a counselor or therapist at some point. It’s at least something I can fall back on if my artistic dreams don’t start up quickly enough.”
Alena smiled. “I understand that. It’s admirable. If it accounts for anything, I believe in you.”
I paused for a moment. “Becoming a professor, funny enough, is one of my fallbacks too,” I said. She laughed then, a shrill beautiful tone. “I’m serious! If I go get my masters, I could always have a teaching job with that.”
“Now I see why you take such an interest in me,” she murmured.
I swallowed hard, my heartbeat intensifying.
“Your grades in my class are fantastic, Miss Brentwood,” she continued before I had another chance to speak. “You don’t have to come to my office hours, but you do. And now it makes that much more sense.”
I felt stuck in place. I was definitely taking an interest in her now, but not in the way she meant.
“I appreciate at least one student coming here,” she exhaled.
“Oh, I’m sure plenty of them come.” I wanted to squirm in my chair under her gaze and concentration. I wanted to flee the room right then. Did she always look this beautiful before?
“More like twenty,” she chuckled. “And I have at least one hundred and fifty students across all of my courses. It’s fine I suppose. Most do well . . . or average I should say. I get it though. I was once a college student too.” She sounded disappointed, and wanting to cheer her up, I dramatically gasped and covered my mouth. “I know, I know. It’s hard to believe.” She grinned.
“Yeah, because it’s surprising that you aren’t still one. You could really be in class with me.” I spoke without thinking but I was glad because she blushed at that, and it was a beautiful sight. I lowered my head to hide my pleased expression and swiftly strategized my escape. “Anyways, Professor, I have to go now.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin then grabbed a plastic bag and began cleaning up my mess.
She held up her hand. “I can manage the clean-up, Miss Brentwood. Thank you.”
“Thanks for lunch.” I grinned shyly.
“You’re most welcome.” She stood and started gathering the trash I’d left alone at her request. “Feel free to see me again,” she said. “Any time.”
I felt dazed as I walked away, replaying the visit in my head. I had a new fear of being in there with her again. She was doing something strange to me. But I also felt a pull toward her for the same reason.
The following day, I had an undeniable urge to go see her again even though it was getting late. I’d missed my usual visiting time that day, but I was still on campus after attending several club meetings. I walked over to her office from my last meeting at six o’clock, hoping to catch her there despite the fact that her office hours would’ve just ended. As I stepped off the elevator, I noticed that most of the rooms were empty. This was typical at the end of the week, especially this late in the evening.
I rounded the corner and hurried to her office just in time to find her in the small room packing her work materials away with the door half open. “Hey, Professor Hutchinson,” I announced with a smile.
She flinched as she looked up, clearly unsettled before she recognized me. “Oh, you scared me. Hello, Amelia,” she greeted me warmly while motioning me in.
