CHAPTER FOUR

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2018

          I could have died a million times and nothing would have been as earth-shattering as this.

          Chase quickly looked away from me as though my mere presence in the lecture hall pained him before anyone realized his eyes were glued to me. Other than that brief panic moment we'd shared, he made no moves to suggest we already knew one another—intimately, even. My stomach revolved as I tried to sit as immobile as possible, fearful any wrong moves would give it away.

          Next to me, Savannah's eyes might as well have turned into hearts as she kept staring at him. The whole lecture hall couldn't look away from him—his presence behind the desk was just that magnetic—and I understood. I knew where they were coming from; after all, it took every fiber of my being to not look at him. I focused on the lecture, merely on the words coming out of Chase's—Professor Steele—mouth, and rushed to write things down. My handwriting was barely legible, but I supposed I'd have time to rewrite my notes later.

          I momentarily considered dropping his class altogether. Though it was a mandatory first semester course, I could always try to transfer to the night class instead and save us both from the embarrassment and awkwardness. I didn't dare to look up the university's policy regarding professor and student relationships, not with Savannah sitting right next to me, and the mere thought sounded so pretentious it made my head burn.

          I took a deep breath, exhaling deeply through my mouth, and tried to zone everything out. Savannah blabbered on and on and on, but even her voice slowly faded into white noise in the background. Part of me wanted to blame her for all of this, even though, logically, that made no sense, but it was a way of removing myself from this messy narrative.

          I wouldn't have met Chase if I hadn't gotten stood up on a blind date she had set up. Everything that happened had been with my consent and I had made those decisions by myself, because I'd wanted to. I'd had all those drinks with him because I wanted to. I'd opened up to him because I wanted to. I'd slept with him because I wanted to.

          If things had gone differently, I would have bragged to her this morning. You won't even believe what happened yesterday. I met this really amazing guy, even though Paul never bothered showing up. He's older than us; you wouldn't know him.

          Now, sitting in front of him in a crowded lecture hall, I wanted to forget all about it. I was a child next to him, so horribly inexperienced, and would be nothing more than a notch in his record, his ruin, the reason behind the imploding and subsequent destruction of his entire career.

          So young, so fresh out of school, and already ruined by my dirty hands.

          "I have to use the bathroom," I whispered to Savannah, when I felt like I couldn't handle it one minute longer. She pulled herself out of the hypnosis just for long enough to glance at me. "Do you think it's a big deal if I just leave for a little bit?"

          "Penny, this is college," she pointed out. "Professors don't really care."

          I had a gut feeling this particular professor would, indeed, care about me leaving in the middle of his first lecture, but it would be worse if I stayed. I made sure to let Savannah see the tiny box of tampons I kept in my bag at all times, just in case someone would need them, and she gave me a considerate nod in return. When I walked past the door, I could finally breathe.

          There was no one I could talk to about this. I didn't even know how to accurately describe it to myself—how my throat was closing in, like I hadn't had anything to drink in days, how it felt like my heart was about to burst out of my chest—and it wasn't like I had friends to talk to. Any regular person would tell me to get over it, to stay away from him to protect the both of us, and last night had been nothing but a mistake.

          It felt more than a mistake to me.

          Chase had seen me, actually seen me, unlike anyone else I'd ever met. He was unlike everyone I'd met until now, and my own selfishness made my knees buckle as I stumbled inside one of the bathrooms in the building. My trembling fingers held on to the edge of a sink for support, slipping thanks to the residual water droplets, and my feet slid forward.

          When I stopped, I only did so thanks to the person standing in front of me.

          "You seem to be on a rush," they commented.

          "I slipped," I stupidly corrected.

          "I saw that."

          The girl, impossibly tall, impossibly thin, impossibly beautiful, threw her hair—blonde, so blonde it looked white—over her shoulder, then walked towards one of the windows. There, she lit up a cigarette, looking like the Cool Girl at high school parties I'd always wanted to befriend. Not be—I knew I'd never be cool enough to pass off as one. Even now, years after this would be considered alluring, being seen as just cringy and pretentious, I couldn't look away from her.

          I knew her. Everyone did, even if the school year had barely begun. Everyone had heard the name Ingrid Vogel, one way or another, and we'd all heard stories about her, regardless of their veracity. People said she was engaged to a man twice her age. People said she was a heiress who'd changed her name. People wanted to deadname her so bad.

          To me, she was just Ingrid Vogel, and I thought she was really fucking cool.

          "You good?" she asked. The faint light coming from outside enhanced the already sharp lines of her face. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to see right through me. "You don't look so hot."

          I pulled the box of tampons out of my bag. "Bad day."

          "Ah." She took a drag of her cigarette. I wasn't sure why I was still pushing that cover story; she didn't know me—at least as far as my knowledge went—and I could have easily said anything else that probably wasn't offensive. "You're Penelope Romero."

          I grimaced. "I prefer Penn."

          "Penn," she echoed, then reached out her pack of cigarettes towards me. "Want one?"

          "Smoking is bad for you."

          One of the corners of her mouth rose into a smirk and, for a split second, I felt like jamming my head against one of the immaculate mirrors. I'd ruin it, like everything else in my life, and it wouldn't be nearly as mortifying as opening my mouth was. It was still a mystery to me how Chase had voluntarily stuck around to listen to my drunken ramblings.

          "You didn't answer my question," she continued. "Want one or not?" I hesitated, then stepped towards her, letting her help me light up a cigarette. I'd smoked before, but only socially, so I knew I was bound to choke and cough and make a fool out of myself in front of her again. "It always helps me decompress. Sorry to be blunt, but I don't think it's your period at all. You'd be in a rush to get changed."

          I threw her a nervous smile. "I really don't want to talk about it."

          "That's okay. I didn't mean to pry." We stood there in silence for a while, with me trying my hardest to not choke on the smoke and bringing myself to tears over it, but a feeling of ease washed over me. I wasn't sure whether it was the cigarette or Ingrid herself that was having that effect on me, but I slowly felt more and more prepared to return to the lecture. "I don't know what happened, but, if I were you, I'd remind myself I'm Penn-freaking-Romero. The world should be scared of you."

          "I'm not too sure about that."

          "You should be." She put out her cigarette, fixed her lipstick, then threw me a truly enchanting smile. "I'll see you around."

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          Unbeknownst to me, contradicting every law of the Universe, I survived that first lecture. It dragged on for what felt like forever, the ticking of the clock agonizingly slow, but, soon enough, Chase dismissed us after collecting our student email addresses so he could start forwarding the required readings for the semester.

          My entrails were scorching hot. I almost bolted out of the hall once people started standing up from their seats, but forced myself to wait for Savannah, who purposefully dragged on the process of gathering her things, just to have an excuse to look at Chase one minute longer. My chest clenched with jealousy, even though all I'd gotten was one night, one night that would never happen again, but I didn't want yet something else to be pried out of my hands.

          I knew he was staring. Both sides of my brain were conflicted by this information—I wanted him to stare and I felt proud that I had gotten his attention, instead of anyone else in our class, but I also didn't want to get in trouble. I didn't want any of us to get in trouble over my indiscretions.

          Outside, I realized I'd survived, just like Ingrid had prophesied I would. Savannah was scrolling through her phone, possibly trying to stalk Chase on social media, which reminded me of my own device and how I hadn't used it in hours.

          I patted the pockets of my jacket, rummaged around inside my bag, then let out a pained sigh. "I left my phone back in the lecture hall. I'll catch up to you later, okay?"

          "Yeah, no worries," Savannah replied, then walked away with the rest of her friends. I wasn't part of her group, but I wasn't too bothered by it; I much preferred hanging out by myself. Being around less people meant less lies I had to come up with.

          My hand pushed open the door, but I could barely feel the wood against the tips of my fingers. My movements were stiff, but oddly ghost-like, like they belonged to someone else and I was merely watching a film on a screen.

          He was still there, because of course he was, and didn't raise his head as I walked back into the hall, busy typing something on his laptop. I wanted to be as silent as possible, as quiet as a phantom; all I had to do was slip in and out. Surely, not even someone like me could mess that one up. My phone was safely tucked against the arm of my chair, without running the risk of falling to the ground and shattering the screen, and I made a move towards it.

          "Penelope." I froze at the sound of my name. Everything inside me ordered me to run, to escape from the fire blazing behind me, insisting I had already been burned enough by the small taste of Chase's world I'd gotten. "We should talk."

          I barely gathered enough strength to speak. When I finally opened my mouth, my voice came out weak. "I don't think that's wise—"

          "Close the door, please."

          I couldn't do anything but obey. After checking the hallway and finding no human soul wandering outside the hall, I closed the door behind me, allowing the room to dive back into awkward silence. Part of me wanted to run to his arms, filled with the thrill of doing something forbidden, of having a secret with someone, but he was being so cold, so distant I knew the best course of action was to wait for him to make a move.

          Whatever it might be.

          I stood in front of his desk, the only moment when I'd ever tower over him, and waited until he deemed me worthy enough of his attention. It took a while for it to happen and, in the meantime, I watched him with child-like wonder and curiosity—the way his eyebrows were furrowed, how his glasses hung on the bridge of his nose. He'd been wearing contacts last night, I realized. He was lost in thought, focused, yet all I saw was him.

          In a different world, I almost believed we could be in love. We could be happy. In this one, there would always be a clear separation, a power imbalance; by the time I finished college, he'd be far from my reach and we'd both move on.

          "I didn't know you taught here," I began.

          "That's quite all right. I didn't tell you, and you didn't ask." I was pleasantly surprised that he didn't sound aggressive, hostile. He sounded almost . . . remorseful. Ashamed. "I suppose it's also my fault that I didn't place two and two together. Where else could you go to school, being a film student? Being a Romero? You wouldn't settle for some mediocre university anywhere else."

          I carefully placed my hand on the hard surface of the desk, fearing it might be too daring. His own hand twitched over the keyboard. "I could transfer to the night class. You wouldn't have to see me at all." Chase's eyes met mine for the briefest of moments. "It might make things a lot less awkward for the both of us."

          "Do you think last night was a mistake?"

          I blinked, suddenly taken aback from the question. "No."

          He took a deep breath, then set his glasses aside. There was nothing between us, nothing physical, at least, but the invisible wall he'd been slowly building all morning was almost solid by that point. "Neither do I, which makes things so much harder." He paused, then cleared his throat. "You need to stay away from me, Penelope. We need to stay away from each other."

          My throat closed. Letting him go would be the smart, logical thing to do, but where did that leave me? How would that make me feel? Why would I give up on the one thing that had mattered?

          Certainly one couldn't be that attached to someone they had just met, but it was so different with him. He was different; why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't he see me as more than what I was? Why was he so adamant on being untouchable? Was he already aware of the ruin I brought to everything I touched?

          "Chase," I croaked out.

          "I could lose my job. You could get kicked out of school." He rose. "I don't want any of us to jeopardize our futures over something that should stay in the past." He rotated his laptop so I could see the screen and I was face to face with the university's website, showcasing their policy regarding student-professor relationships. Romantic and/or sexual relationships between students and professors are inappropriate and should not be pursued; this includes, but doesn't limit itself to, situations in which the faculty member is directly responsible for teaching, supervising, and/or advising a student. "The policies exist to protect you and punish me. It's not something we can ignore."

          I wanted to fling myself into the goddamn sun, knowing it wouldn't hurt nearly as bad. The words conflict of interest, power imbalance, coercion, and harassment jumped out to me; while I understood the first two, everything else felt so out of place to me. I wouldn't be coerced or forced into doing anything I didn't want to do, and I was a legal adult capable of making her own decisions.

          The destruction of his career and his reputation were not an option. I couldn't do that to him.

          "I'm nineteen," I stupidly argued. "It's not illegal."

          "Inside these walls, it is," he retorted, walking around the table and closing his laptop shut. He stepped closer to me, close enough so I could inhale the fresh scent of his cologne, and it took everything in me to not fall into his arms. I wanted so bad to wrap myself around him and hold him close and never let go. "If anyone finds out, I'm going to get in serious trouble. I really, really should stay away from you." He tentatively raised a hand to brush my hair away from my face and, in the nanoseconds that his knuckles grazed gently against my cheek, my heart flatlined. "There's something so . . . different about you, Penn. Everything about our situation is so wrong, yet you keep pulling me back to you; I want to stay away—I should stay away—and let you live your life without some old, boring guy anchoring you down." I opened my mouth to protest and argue that he wasn't boring; he was, quite actually, the most fascinating person I'd ever met. "You're phenomenal. I'm going to ruin you."

          "That's my line," I joked, hooking my index finger on one of his belt hoops, and he tensed up. "If you want me to stay away, I will. I don't want you to get hurt."

          "No one can know. No one," he repeated, as though it wasn't clear enough. "We're going to have to be extremely careful. No public meetings, no public displays of affection, no special treatment in class. In this building, in the campus, in the area surrounding it, on social media—you're my student. That's all there is."

          "No dinner dates with Stephen Delaroux and my favorite professor?"

          His lips twisted into a small grin. "I'm sure that can be arranged." He moved closer and I could smell the coffee in his breath. "Anywhere else, I'm yours."

          Then, he pressed his lips against mine. A tiny voice in the back of my brain couldn't help but wonder what I was getting myself into.

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something i want to remind you guys of: this is not a love story. it's not meant to be one. i, the writer, and you, the readers, have to know this. HOWEVER, this book is written in first person. penn is not a reliable narrator. 

penn will, inevitably, interpret and handle situations in ways we (hopefully) will not. what she sees as good probably will not match our definition of that. that's what we have to remember—though it might seem like a love story to HER, which will make her romanticize situations that are toxic, unhealthy, and just wrong. her rose-colored view of chase and their relationship does not excuse the messed up things that happened between them or what they, as individuals, do for the sake of their relationship.

you'll see more of this as the book goes on, but please, please remember that this is not a healthy relationship. this isn't even a good relationship, to be fair, regardless of how penn sees it.