Forbidden Fruit

Nervous-Nelly Blue-Balls

On Monday morning I was still hungover. Not the nauseous and skull crushing kind, but the kind that weighs down your conscience when you, unfortunately, realize that you've done something horribly embarrassing. The kind, that when you so much as think about it, you visibly cringe – a groaning, toe-curling and eyes-tightly-shut kind of cringe.

Not only had I fucked up every irrational and imaginary chance I'd thought I had with Ville, but I'd done it with an audience too. The look on his face, and his quick exit suddenly made complete sense. Thank God that, that was the only glimmer that came to me, because I had no interest, what so ever, in reliving the disaster that transpired after that. It was enough just imagining it, and I was actually relieved that I might not bump into him, hopefully ever, again. Mortified wouldn't even begin to cover it if I did.

When I left my apartment that morning I don't think I've ever run that fast down the hall and down the stairs to the basement to get my bike. I was nowhere near ready to face the sour expression on Mrs. Hansen, or her reprimanding lecture.

It took one look at my bike, and it became clear how we got home Saturday night too. My rear tire was bent out of shape and my handlebar was crooked, even the saddle was dinged-up on one side. I clunked the heel of my palm against my forehead. I don't even want to know which one of us thought that it would be a good idea to shotgun the handlebar, probably me. The amount of epiphanies I get when under the influence are astounding. At least it explained the sprinkles of leaves in my doorway, the branches suck in the front wheel and the scratches down my arm. We must have assaulted several bushes on our way home.

I was already running late, typical, so I had no other choice than to risk my life on my poor excuse of a bike. Taking the bus would just make me even more late, and if I could get away with it, I never took the bus under any circumstances. There are just too many people crammed together in one place, and the stuffy smell of kindergarten is disgustingly overwhelming. So that was out of the question.

Out of breath, I ran to the lecture hall. It started five minutes ago, so I made sure to slip in through the door in the back so I wouldn't have to do the sorry-I'm-late walk of shame in front of everyone. Not to mention, being late on the first lecture would probably earn me a tick in the new lectures black book of sloppy students.

Ducking my head, I found an empty seat in the back and snailed my way into it.

"-We have many international students with us in this time around, so therefore, I'll be conducting all lectures in English." I looked up at the blackboard as I retrieved my notebook and pencil case. 'Rasmus Jensen' was scribbled across it in chalk along with his email. I'd heard about him before. Mostly all the funny unnecessary details, like how his wardrobe only consisted of long-sleeved black turtlenecks, black jeans and that he always wore the same colorful belt with what looked like toy cars on it. All was true, because that was what he was wearing now.

While tousling his short gray hair, he cleared his throat and took a few steps towards someone sitting in the front row. "Before I dive further into the lecture I'd like to introduce you all to your TA. He will be supervising you guys in the lab part of this course and correcting your report-papers. So please be considerate, and respectful of the deadlines, the poor guy has other things to do too." A few snickers could be heard around the room.

He nodded towards, who I'm assuming was the TA, and flicked his hand in an upward motion. "Stand up son."

A tall man with a slender frame and broad shoulders stood up next to Mr. Jensen. He had long auburn hair tied back in a low bun by his neck, with a loose wavy stray stand tucked behind his ear. I chocked on some spit and loudly gasped when I recognized a pair of large silver hoops through the earlobes. It couldn't be could it? I was seeing things, I must be seeing things. A couple of heads in the row in front of me turned and I was met with several questioning looks. I gave them a tight smile, but my eyes stayed wide while my complexion was turning white as a sheet like I'd seen a ghost. I felt like I was about to see one.