Professor, Professor || BWAM

the thirteenth.

9140 Norum Rd, Delta, BC V4C 3J1
3:01 AM
1st of April 2019

"You've got to stop getting yourself all worked up over nothing, Zaain. Try to loosen up, eh?" she sips from her Pall Mall and blows a billowy ball of smoke up towards the ceiling.

"You know you're not supposed to call me by my first name."

She looks at me pointedly, "Well, I can't exactly moan Dr. Kazem in bed, now can I?" she seems upset, but I have to keep the professionalism, even now. We both came to an agreement.

"I know that it feels weird considering our familiarity with each other. But, you know the rules."

She rolls her eyes as she closes her lips around the cigarette, "Yeah, you won't let me forget them."

My nostrils fill with her smoke and it makes me cough almost inconsolably.
"Can you please get rid of that cancer stick?" I demand.

"Oh my god! Are you gonna lecture me on the morality of smoking now? If you don't like it, get the fuck out then." She pulls the blanket farther up her chest.

That wasn't my intention but I found it a bit concerning that she would really consider a cigarette over my company.

"I didn't mean it like that. I just want to talk to you without a cloud of fog between us."

She dabbed the cigarette out spitefully on the night stand's ashtray, then turned over so that her naked back faced me.

"Thank you..."
She doesn't respond.

I touch her back, tracing the scar, "I've always wondered something about you. How are you so fearless in the face of consequence?"

"What is there to fear? Even if things go south, there's always an exit plan..." she says flatly.

"Now, don't start talking like that again. You know it scares me."

"The truth scares you? Isn't that like your whole philosophy?"

"No. I'm about justice, fairness."

"Hmm," she pulls the blanket over her body so that I can no longer touch her, "You should get going. It's late."

"Oh. Alright..." I move closer to her to give her a kiss but she recoils, "What? Can't I kiss you?"

"Abide by your own rules, Dr. Kazem," she says coldly. 

She's so upset at me... but this is what she wanted. I'm just trying to be good for her.

I move my body out from under the covers and pick through the pile of our clothes on the floor for my pants and button-down.

As I sift through our things, it reminds me of how she always seems so passionate in the heat of the moment. She looks at me and says so many sweet things. Her eyes filled with such hope, words laced with promise for something real.

But after she takes from me, her entire demeanor changes...

I have no problem giving her my love at the crack of dawn but I do have a problem with being treated like a living sex toy.

However, it would be unfair to dump all of the blame on her, wouldn't it? I too carry a large portion of the blame in this.

She can only hurt me as much as I allow her. I am the one that grants her access to my being. So, why do I continue to let her have me?

I feel ashamed, conflicted. Dirty, even.
Not because of her. But, because she chooses to hide from the world something that could easily be an open affair.

Perhaps she is disgusted with herself for desiring me.

She must be repulsed by me to some degree that she wants to hide any connection that we have from the outside. What is so wrong with me, then?

I try to talk to her about it, but she just shuts me down and shuts me out. Then, as punishment, she deprives me of her time until I can't take it anymore. Until I make an absolute fool of myself for her.

I hate myself when I think about it. I don't even recognize my own actions sometimes.

I hate it. I hate feeling so bitter and irrational. She makes me feel like a greedy child, hoarding their favourite toy.

"Where's my phone?" I ask her.
I know where it is but I just want to talk to her more.

She taps away at her phone's screen. She doesn't even dignify me with a sidelong glance, "I think you left it in the washroom."

"Okay, thanks. Um, I'll see myself out. Goodnight, Ms. Selassie."

"Mhmm," she groans sheepishly.

I don't want to leave yet. I want to talk to her. I want to tell her so many things.

Why am I not good enough?

Am I not worthy of your love?

What is it about me that makes you feel that I am not deserving of you?

Am I ugly?

Am I too serious?

Is your body left unsatisfied?

Is it the way I talk? The way I dress?

Tell me what it is and I can fix it!

I can change anything. I can rip my skin and flesh open and let you remove the parts that don't satisfy you, the parts that annoy you, the parts that disgust you.

Why don't I get the luxury of enjoying your non-sexual intimacies? It's not fair.

But I can't. My throat just fills with bricks.
Besides, she's so upset with me already, I don't want to fan her flames.

So, I don't say anything more. I wash it all down with a tall glass of self-loathing.

I gaze upon her shape concealed by the blanket one more time, then I climb out the window.