"I went back to my room and saw Hannah. She asked me what happened and," I breathe out an uncharacteristic scoff, "I told her nothing. Nothing. I didn't tell her that everything was falling to pieces right in front of me and I knew I wouldn't be able to do a thing."

The first tear falls as I near the climax of the tale, but I brush it away before Slater can. He slides closer to me and softly pushes me towards him as support. Flashbacks hits me full force and I shuffle away again, terror seizing my voice.

No, Quorra. It's not him. It's Slater, I angrily remind myself.

But nothing matters anymore. The damage is done.

"Come on, Quorra, you're almost finished," Slater comforts, combing back a wavy lock of my hair.

"I went to his room," I continue, feeling physically weakened as I take myself back to walking down that never-ending corridor, searching for his cursed door, "And then right as I was about to knock, I decided I didn't want to anymore. So I turned around and went to leave, but he heard me and opened the door. I had to go in, I didn't have a choice. I thought I was being selfless; I thought I was doing the right thing, I swear, Slater."

He doesn't respond as try and fail to restrain the stray droplets that trail down my cheeks. A tear falls onto the bench, splattering outwards and staining the wood a darker brown. The grip around my hand tightens. I squeeze his hand back.

"Then he told me to sit on his bed. We talked for a while. And then he just... did it. The entire night, I was just in pain. He just kept going, even though it hurt me so bad that I was crying. He kept telling me I was perfect and I was doing great, but he just kept going. He pretended he didn't see the blood or the tears. He kept going like my happiness didn't matter. He just kept going. It broke me apart. After a while, I just let him. Nothing mattered anymore, I told myself, he could do what he wanted to me. I didn't matter anymore. There was no way I could have got out of it. So I just stayed. I didn't even-"

"You can stop now," Slater intercepts softly, not pushing me further as I try to even out my ragged breathing, "That's enough."

I can't help the tears streaming down my face. I despise crying. I cried my heart out for hours yesterday, isn't that enough? Why do I have to keep on going through these episodes where it feels like my heart is being pricked by thousands of needles all at once and then plunged into boiling hot oil? It throbs in my chest like a bomb, ready to explode. 

I hate it. I despise it. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm confused. I'm an emotional wreck and I don't even care anymore. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing.

We sit there, out in the cold, for a few more minutes, dwelling in the information that now hangs over us. I slide away from Slater's overwhelming warmth but keep our hands intertwined, looking down at them and feeling utterly broken.

"I've got all I need to get him expelled and sent to jail," Slater states, "And I sincerely hate to ask for more, Quorra-"

I already know what's coming before he says it.

"-but what was his ultimatum?"

We both notice my breath catch in my throat.

Do I tell him?

I can't tell him. He'll destroy himself.

But doesn't he deserve to know?

"I can't tell you," I mumble incoherently.

He meets my eyes and captures me in his heated gaze, "Quorra, please. It's important."

I try and look away but he holds me prisoner. No. Stop.

"Is it to do with why you were apologising?"

The colour drains from my face. Being the observant person he is, Slater picks up on it, knowing the unspoken answer. I can't do this anymore. Everything hurts.

"Come on, Quorra. I'm sorry, I have to know," he says softly, and the sheer authenticity in his voice is enough to make me want to lapse into another bawling fit.

I look up at him, leaning closer and hugging our hands to my chest, "Promise you won't freak out."

Taken aback, he stumbles over an answer, "I don-"

"Promise you won't blame yourself or hate me or hate yourself or even silently beat yourself up about it and not tell me. Please. Please, promise, Slater," I plead, the guilt already eating away at me as it dawns on me that I have to tell him.

He hesitates before he agrees.

I hold out my pinky and he cracks the smallest of sad smiles at the seriousness on my face before linking his pinky with mine and sealing the promise.

His hand returns to holding mine right after.

"Okay," I mutter, mustering up the scraps of courage I have within me, "He said that if I didn't... if I..."

I look at Slater one last time, doubtful. He nods, urging me on.

Just do it.

"He said that if I didn't go to his room then he'd get his dad to fire you."

Time freezes.

It's as if someone grabbed the TV remote of life and pressed the mute button. Everyone in the United Kingdom stops what they're doing and falls pin-drop silent. The wind stops howling. The trees stop swaying. Every single ant crawling on the sidewalk in front of us pauses. Even the aching in my stomach dampens for a second.

Slater tenses beside me.

I watch his wobbly gaze dart from place to place, as if trying to process my words.

"You went through all of that... for me?" he reaffirms, eyes clouded over with disbelief like the murky skies above us.

When I don't respond, he unlinks our hands and grips at his hair. So much for our promise. I look down, feeling even more distressed than before.

"For me? Quorra-" he cuts himself off, exhaling a short breath and running a rough hand through his air exasperatedly.

My eyes widen at his reaction as I move back and retract my now-cold hand, allowing the hurt to reverberate inside me.

He stands up, about to speak, but once again, stops himself. Instead, he releases a laboured breath and glances at me.

"Let's go back inside, you're shivering," he says in a low voice, gesturing for me to get up.

Without a word of protest, I obey him and get up, keeping my eyes downcast as we trudge back to the university building with our half-eaten sandwiches and heavy hearts.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

"Yes, Grant Lincoln," Slater confirms over the phone.

He's been sat at the desk for a while now, both elbows on the wooden surface. While he leans on one hand, the other presses a phone to his ear. Undecipherable words are spoken on the other line but he just continues to nod, perfectly-shaped eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he sifts through the student records splayed out over the desk.

Ever since we came back from our not-so-pleasant stroll, he's been making call after call to get Grant expelled permanently from the university and put in jail.

From what I know, he could be stuck in a jail cell for years and years for what he's done.

I don't know how I feel about this situation. It's as if every single emotion known to man is battling for dominance in my head. Too many things have happened all at once and they're finally catching up to me.

Eventually, Slater puts the phone down and leans back in his chair. A relieved breath escapes him as he tousles his hair.

"He's done for, Quorra."

The four words infiltrate the room.

"The authorities are coming as soon as possible to get him out of here today. You'll never have to see or speak to him again," he says, determination burning in his eyes, "I promise."

The fierce look in his eyes should comfort me, but instead my mind is wandering elsewhere. I nod, happiness fleeting, and look down at my lap.

"What's wrong?" Slater asks, concern hitting me right in the chest.

I shake my head, "Nothing. It's nothing."

A frown etches into his chiselled features. He beckons me over and, begrudgingly, I oblige. Once we're face to face, I see what I've been suspecting clear as day in his eyes, worsening the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Despite the trivial look on my face, he pulls me in closer until I'm standing between his parted legs.

I have to keep reminding myself that the man in front of me is Slater, and how I feel around him is so different to what I experienced last night.

Something else in me can't help but remind me that the man in front of me is also my teacher.

"It's not nothing. He's gone now, Quorra. He'll never lay a finger on you ever again, I'll make sure of it," he repeats, as if that will knock some sense into me.

I am happy. I'm more than happy. I don't have to walk out of this room and fear that he'll be around the corner, awaiting an ambush where he can blackmail me into his own pleasure again.

But I'm also confused. And upset. And numb. I feel everything all at once and simultaneously, nothing at all.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I mumble, feeling my guard slip, "I can't deal with this right now. It hurts."

His eyebrows turn upwards in understanding as he lifts a hand to brush my stomach lightly.

"Here?" he asks, sounding just as crestfallen as me.

I shake my head, "Everywhere. And not just physically. I don't know what to do."

He looks as if he wants to hug me but the hand on my waist falls quickly before he can act on impulse. I can't help the disappointed tinge to my voice as I speak up once again, my recent despondency completely eliminating my usual ignorance to the topic of our relationship.

"And you," I mumble, "You confuse me even more. You are clearly feeling guilty that Grant did what he did, even though I made you promise you wouldn't react that way. And on top of that, you said you liked me a few days ago and you obviously know I feel the same way, but we aren't doing anything. It's frustrating and makes no sense."

A burden alleviates from my shoulders as soon as the final word leaves me. Apparently the key to getting things off my chest is to become so low-spirited that my regard for my humiliation flies out the window.

Slater takes my limp hands into his. I cut him off before he even begins, "Wait, if you're just going to give me the same old 'university regulations' speech, I don't want to hear it."

I watch his words die on his tongue and sigh, trying to pull my hands out of his. He stops me, tightening his grip, "What do you want me to say, Quorra? Do you want us to keep whatever this is a secret? And how do you expect me to react to you revealing the reason why you went through last night?"

All the questions catch me off guard.

"I don't know," I breathe out helpessly, "I don't know what I want."

Slater looks at me warily, as if what he is about to say is a sensitive topic. I mentally prepare myself for his unconscious bluntness.

"Are you sure that you aren't suddenly asking about this because you want to forget about Grant?"

His words hit me harder than I expect. I struggle over an answer, hating that with every second that passes, his assumptions seem to be proven correct.

"No? Yes? I don't know, Slater. All I know is how I feel about you, and nothing, not even last night, can change that," I sigh, dejection spreading throughout my chest.

"You are making it really difficult for me to remain neutral on this topic right now, Quorra," he runs a hand down his face tiredly as I awkwardly let my hands fall back to their sides.

I can tell that he's thinking hard over an answer. I patiently wait for another carefully-constructed, perfectly formal, and grammatically correct sentence of his.

His tongue darts out to swipe over his lip, distracting me for a moment, before he replies, "I know what I said to you in that diner, and I stand by it. I just can't even begin to imagine why you would like me, or anyone would like me to be frank. It is pretty blatant that I'm not your typical man, in fact, I'm the furthest thing from him."

I immediately laugh, even though I don't want to and even though it arouses another bout of pain in my abdomen. For a moment, I just forget everything's that happened and let a little bit of happiness leak into my heart. For a moment, I just forget that the handsome guy in front of me is my teacher, and instead see him as the only guy who's ever been compassionate to me.

"I could say the same about you. Why on earth would you like me, huh? Unlike some people, I haven't got killer good looks, I'm never nice to you, and I don't own glasses."

His left eyebrow quirks in confusion. Okay, maybe I shouldn't have said that last one.

"What is your fascination with my glasses?" he asks, grabbing them from the desk beside us and slipping them on, as if they could answer the question for him, "And I have to disagree with some of your points."

I bite the inside of my mouth, smiling at how flawlessly the glasses frame his face, "Well I'd say those are very inappropriate things to say to your student," I joke, but neither of us can help but smile.

He pulls me closer to him (did I just see him roll his eyes?) and levels his gaze with mine.

"You just told me I have a killer body, can't I return the favour?" he states, shedding light on a playful side to him that I've never seen before.

"Actually, I said killer good looks. Don't get ahead of yourself," I shake my head, unimpressed as he cracks another irresistible smile.

We both know he's only going along with my teasing to distract me from my despair, but it's freaking working and that's all I care about. I forget the pain hidden inside my body, I forget what I've endured, I forget about everything and everybody else, and in that moment, I just smile.

●（=｀～'=） ●

I don't want to draw out Quorra's pain and suffering too much, but at the same time, I don't want to brush it off and have her move on. Any kind of abuse will hugely impact your life (no, I do not personally know that) and I want to make sure I present it as accurately as I can.

I'm sorry if I'm not doing a very good job of outlining how a victim of this may feel, but I have no experience with it. If you have any feedback, feel free to share it here.

This is the last prewritten chapter, but I have a fair amount of the next chapter written and I hope I can find time to keep up with it. I hate postponing updates as much as you guys :(

Over and out,
Agent Spud 🥔