Swiftly removing my jacket and shoes, I tap my knuckles lightly on the door.

"Miss Neversea?" I speak up.

When I try the door handle, I'm surprised to see it click open. Still, I hesitate, unsure of whether I should enter.

"Can I come in?"

She doesn't reply.

I take a tentative step in.

Instantly, my breath hitches and something painful hits me in the chest.

Knees pulled to her chest, she resides in the corner. Her head rests on her knees, a curtain of dark blonde hair creating a barrier between us. The floor is soaked and so is she, raw skin dripping with water as she shivers. Red scratch marks pull at her skin, not drawing blood but the colour just as shocking. Her clothes are littered messily over the counter, leaving her bare in her undergarments.

I glide my eyes down her body, concern rising in my throat.

"Quorra?" I speak softly, a billion questions racing through my mind.

Grabbing a dry towel from the cabinet outside, I cautiously make my way towards her. The humidity of the room tells me that the shower was put on full blast, explaining the rawness to her skin.

Sinking to my knees in front of her, I ignore the dampness seeping through the fabric of my trousers and offer her the warm towel. She doesn't take it.

She sniffs and coils tighter into a ball, her matted hair draped around her uncomfortably. The only disturbance in the room is the quiet drip drop drip drop of the tap.

"Quorra, I'm going to bring you outside, okay?" I say, but drop the idea as she shakes her lowered head and mumbles a faint, "No."

Deciding not to ask what happened, I inspect the scratch marks on her skin from a distance. They look painful. Angry. Self-inflicted.

"Stop judging," she says in an unstable voice, breathing shaky as she finally lifts her head to rest it against the wall behind her.

Still, her eyes don't meet mine. I scan her face for physical injuries but redirect my gaze as soon as she looks up at me with watery eyes.

I know I'm the last person she wants to see her like this.

"Do you want me to leave?" I ask carefully as she shakes her head, a tear escaping her eye as she wipes it away with the back of her hand.

She swallows down her emotion, as if keeping herself strong, "No."

I bring my legs out in front of me, handing her the towel. She doesn't just look broken, she looks like she's been reduced to nothing. She accepts the towel, pulling it over her shoulders to cover her drained skin.

Anxious at her state, I run a hand through my tousled hair, "When I was younger, I used to collect shells. Not the expected ones either - the half broken, muddied, old ones. I used to argue that they deserved more recognition because they had been through many tough times and were still somewhat intact," I share, finding that the story applies more to this current situation than I thought.

Her wobbly gaze fixates on mine, "Too bad you can't fix me up a little and turn me into jewellery. I'm not good enough for that."

Her words hit me hard.

"Of course you are."

She clearly disagrees.

I loosen and remove my tie, unbuttoning the first few buttons of my shirt as the heat of the room gets to me. Quorra notices and looks down at her lap, fidgeting with the ends of her towel like she usually does with her sleeves, "You can go if you want, you know."

As if that is an option, I think to myself.

"And you could just let me stay, you know," I mirror her words.

We descend into another silence.

"I know I am your professor, Quorra, but I am someone you can talk to," I finally say, hoping I sound more comforting than creepy.

She breathes out a short breath, unconvinced, "When did you start calling me Quorra?"

I don't realise until she points it out. It only feels natural to address someone by their first name when they are in such a fragile state. A formal title like 'Miss Neversea' just doesn't sit right.

"Would you prefer that I don't?" I question, as she dries her face roughly with the towel, defeated.

Nonplussed, she offers a shrug, "Do what you want."

Though I am not the best at reading situations, it seems that the air is growing more tense by the minute. I search for words to revive the moment.

"Let's go outside," I say, gaze flickering to the door and back, "It'll be more comfortable and you can put on some new clothes."

With a resigned sigh, she agrees, picking herself off the floor.

A few minutes later, she's pulling her duvet over herself, damp hair splayed out around her head like a halo as her finger draws mindless shapes on the pillowcase.

I can tell that she watches me from the corner of her eyes. Deciding to put my mind at ease, I sit down on my bed, leaning back against the wall to face her.

Hazel eyes zero in on mine. Holding her gaze, I ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Her answer is immediate.

"I never want you to mention this again."

I nod in understanding, shutting down my curiosity, "Fair enough."

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

A busy day of lectures is soon to follow. I spend the whole of the next morning moving to and fro classrooms, talking till my throat is dry, and dismissing each group of bored students half-heartedly.

I skip lunch, already too exhausted to think about exerting any energy on myself.

I still have not found out what happened yesterday. I want to respect her demand for privacy but something prods me to ask and investigate further.

What could cause her to strip down, scratch through her own skin, and flood the bathroom like that? She was clearly bothered by something huge. A secret hid behind her eyes and tormented her like a relentless shadow.

I found out exactly what happened later that day.

●qυorra neverѕea●

"It's not a big deal," I repeat, avoiding Lara's expression which exuded a tone of 'are you serious?', even through the blurred screen, "I don't want to talk about it."

Lara moves closer to the screen, warm brown eyes softening at me, "Quo, you can tell me anything. I'm not going to judge or overreact, I promise. You need to tell someone, I can tell how much this is burdening you."

I look down at my lap, pushing my laptop back against the headboard of the bed nervously.

With a sigh, she shakes her head, "I'll tell you something if you tell me what's wrong."

Looking up at her, I reluctantly agree, "Alright. You go first."

She takes a deep breath.

"I've been having second thoughts about marrying Bennett."

Silence.

"Someone tried to feel me up."

Her lips part in shock. We stare at each other through the screen, searching for dishonesty in the other's eyes. I don't find any in hers.

"Are you serious?" I ask, "I know you love Bennett. You guys have adored each other right from the beginning. What's making you have second thoughts?"

She completely ignores me and frantically shakes her head, "No, fuck that - what on earth did you say?"

Memories wash over me. I raise a hand to my heated forehead, "I'm not saying it again."

"By who? Who? Quorra, I swear to god I'm going to pummel their sorry ass into the ground!" she forces out through gritted teeth, jaw tight with anger.

My vulnerability returns.

"No-one. I said I don't want to talk about it. I overreacted about it anyway," I mumble unclearly, suddenly upset with myself.

Lara immediately questions me, "What did you do?"

I give up on hiding information from my nosy elder sister.

"I ran off to my room and tried scratching his touch off me. It didn't work. Whatever, it was dumb. He barely did anything anyway," I exhale a heavy breath, getting dizzy with the bad memories that buzz around in my head like a swarm of bees.

"QUORRA! When did this happen? I told you to call me right away, no matter the hour, when these things happen!" at this point, she's practically tugging her hair out, "I should've been there to help you."

I can't do anything but shake my head, "I wanted to be left alone, Lara! Do you think that you would want to seek help from your sibling after being kissed on the neck and felt up by someone who, once upon a time, you thought you could trust? Leave me alone!"

With that, I slam the laptop shut, chest rising and falling unevenly as I bow my head into my hands, fingers gripping my scalp painfully. I shut my eyes tight, as if pulling at my hair hard enough would erase the memory from my mind and his fleeting touch from my body. He barely touched me for a second, yet the moment replays like a movie stuck in a loop.

I don't know what I'm mumbling under my breath but my heart throbs in my chest, piercing shards of pain wracking through me at every pump of hot blood around my body.

I jump when a gentle hand pulls my own away from my head.

I keep my eyes closed, tormented by my thoughts.

"It'll be okay," a smooth voice reassures falsely.

"No, it won't," I manage to say through disoriented thoughts, "It never will be."

Professor Hartley's intoxicating cologne wraps me in a comforting warmth. I focus on everything but his proximity and the pessimism of my thoughts, but trying to forget the unforgettable is an impossible task.

I finally ask the question that eats away at me, "Why do you care? I'm just another student. I don't matter."

He seems irked by my words and shakes his head, "We all matter, Quorra. You aren't just another student either. There is something about you that I have yet to pinpoint."

I scoff through my pain and dig the bottom of my palms into my eyes to scare away the tears that threatened to fall.

"You know what? I'm just overreacting. Forget this happened, I'll get over it," I conclude, already dreading the future inconveniences that this is sure to cause.

I shake off the heavy chains that bind my heart and slap on another face. This is enough moping around for one day. He didn't even do anything.

"Quorra, it may not have been monumental, but an act like certainly requires a certain degree of punishment. Violating someone like that is completely unacceptable, especially with the rules of this university. If you give me permission, I will get him temporarily or permanently expelled," Professor Hartley says seriously.

Without a second's pause, I answer, "No, don't do anything. It'll only get worse if you expell him."

He seems unconvinced, though I know he wouldn't dare expell Grant without my consent, "And why is that? He would be much too far away to lay a finger on you ever again."

I rest my forehead on my hand with a sigh, unable to believe what I'm about to reveal, "Because he already thinks I have a thing for you, so he'll assume I told you because I want your attention... or... something. Oh, I don't know! I just don't want any action to be taken. He'll back off after a while."

While dissatisfied with my decision, he respects my words with a curt nod, "Understood, Quorra."