*MATURE CONTENT WARNING*
"If my classroom is your playground, then your body is mine."
Dr. Zaain Kazem is a cold and routine Palestinian-Canadian professor with something to hide.
Adeola Adebayo is a sharp, international student running from a broo...
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141 Water Street #503 4:25 PM 13 weeks left of the semester, one day until online
I open the fridge to look at the same things again for the third time. I don't know why I keep opening it knowing that what I truly want won't be in there.
I sigh as I grab a bottle of white wine that's been sitting in the back of my fridge for a while.
I bring out my widest wine glass and spill more than a doctor's daily recommended amount into it.
My mind has been on Adeola all weekend. I feel like such an ass for saying those things to her. I hate that I do that when I'm upset. It's just been my default way of protecting myself and I know it's a problem but I can't manage to open myself up and talk to someone about it because everytime I decide to be vulnerable, it ends terribly. Leaving me with irreparable trauma and deeper set trust issues.
I see it like this: In my chest, I have a heart of glass. Glass that is continuously dropped by different people and after they leave, I'm the one who has to sweep up the debris and put myself back together, piece by piece without slicing myself open in the process.
Every time I'm dropped by a new set of careless hands, the shards of my glass heart become smaller and smaller, making it harder to fit the pieces of who I once was back together.
Do you think I want to be as rough and impolite as I am? No, I don't. I am simply broken into too many glass pieces and no one sees it, and even if they do, they don't care. You would be frustrated too.
Believe me, I considered emailing Adeola many times but she told me not to email her with rubbish again and I don't want her to become even more angry with me. Besides, all of my drafts were too formal to be heartfelt apologies. I would just have to wait until the next time that I see her in person to try to apologize, which may be never...
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden sound frightens me and I choke on my wine a little.
Ugh, who is it now?
I ignore the knocking, gulping down the wine in my cup and then pouring myself a fresh glass.
"Dr. Kazem?" A little voice calls.
Adeola?
I wasn't expecting to ever hear from you again.
I look down at my undershirt and sweatpants and my sock that has a hole in it.
No, you can't see me like this. I'm not here. I'm not here. I'm not here.
"I know you're home. I have your schedule synced to my phone..."
