Blue Raspberry #24, Licorice #16
Author: winebabe
Title: Hopeless Case
Story: The Gemini Occurrence
Rating: PG-13 (adultery, vague mentions of abuse)
Flavor(s): Blue Raspberry #24: lost in translation; Licorice #16: put your whole self in
Word Count: 7,191
Summary: 2019. Jude offers her one small sliver of freedom, and God, how Genevieve takes it.
Notes: Genevieve Kessler-Downing, Jude Downing, Adelina Garland, Jay Greer, Gabriel Ayres. (I'm getting ready for NaNoWriMo and I got a little deep into Genevieve's problematic youth.)
It's not yet Christmas when Jude takes Genevieve aside, pulling her into the study with him before she can escape to their bedroom. "You haven't been the same since your mother died," he says, and Genevieve has to bite back tears, turning her head away so she doesn't have to look at him. "I think you should go away for a while, do something for yourself."
Genevieve can't argue; they've already left Adelina behind, and even though she keeps in contact as best as she can, it's hard. And it's not the same. She could do with some time away from him, away from a town filled with memories, but she doesn't even know what to say to her husband. It's the most tender conversation he's had with her in nearly a year, not counting the night of her mother's death, the day of her funeral.
"I applied to college for you," he announces, and something in Genevieve's chest swells. "You got into a university upstate. I think it would be good for you; you've always talked about studying art, or history, or whatever. We have the money. Consider it a vacation."
One of her hands is busy anxiously bunching up the material of her nightgown, clenching and unclenching her fist, and she has to consciously make herself stop. "Thank you, Jude," Genevieve whispers, and tries to make a sincere show of throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you. I love you."
"I love you, too," he replies, pulling her close--closer than is comfortable for her. He doesn't let go right away, making her stay draped over him while he sits in his large, leather computer chair, work papers spread across his desk. "I want you to come home the Genevieve I married," he tells her.
It sounds like a veiled threat, and Genevieve nods. "Of course. I want that, too."
Jude pays for a nice student apartment within walking distance of the campus, and even though Genevieve knows it's just another effort of his to keep her isolated, she's relieved to not have to share a room, or a bathroom, with anyone else. She likes her privacy, and decorates her room with pictures of herself and Adelina, printouts of the secret emails they sent each other, and photos of the beach--the one place she was almost happy.
It's strange, being on her own. She was always living with her parents, or with Jude, and never once had a place of her own. She has some freedom, finally, and her first week away, she finds a small salon and gets her long, dark hair cut short. Jude doesn't seem to like it, but he also doesn't comment on it; her justification that it made her feel closer to her mother--a woman who always wore her hair short--must have shut him up, she decides later. It does make her feel better, because she can look in the mirror and pretend that she's a completely different person. She's not the same girl who married some grown man at 18 years old, the same girl who lost her mother after Thanksgiving. She can be a different Genevieve, and she plans to be.
As soon as she's finished unpacking, she puts her wedding ring in the top drawer of her dresser and intends to leave it there until the semester's end.
Genevieve's course schedule is as full as she can make it, packed with general education classes she needs to graduate and all the electives she can shove into the empty spaces. There is a part of her that truly believes Jude will come to his senses in a few months and refuse to let her graduate, or maybe she just won't be able to complete college because she's not smart enough, strong enough, prepared enough. If she can't finish, she wants to do as much as she possibly can in the time allotted her, and she doesn't want a single moment to relax, to be able to think about her life, her mother, herself.
In the morning, on Mondays and Wednesdays, she has Psychology and Astronomy, and in the afternoons she has Statistics and Composition I; on Tuesdays and Thursdays, she has Intro to Literature in the morning, German II and Painting I in the afternoon. On alternating Tuesday and Thursday evenings, she has a three-hour Creative Writing course that meets once a week. It both terrifies and excites her, thinking about sharing something that personal with a group of people.
She doesn't write anymore, because she can't trust Jude. She used to keep a diary, but early on discovered that he was reading it, and so she ceremoniously burned it with Adelina one night he was on a business trip. After that, she didn't write anything, except bits and pieces of poetry on napkins and scraps of paper she'd immediately burn or throw out. The thought of picking up writing again, and for a grade, is petrifying.
Of course, that's why she chose the class. She feels like she needs something to shock her soul back into feeling again.
It's not until midway through her first week of college that Genevieve realizes how truly young she is. Everyone around her is in the same boat: out on their own for the first time, lost without their parents, confused. Of course, none of them seem to be lost without their spouses, either, so Genevieve keeps that part of her life under wraps. Out of all of her classes, she only spots one girl with what appears to be a wedding band on one finger; later, during introductions, she speaks up about her husband and toddler. Genevieve never says a word about Jude, about her parents, about her life. She introduces herself as Gen, talks about her love of reading, and briefly mentions her bilingual childhood, growing up with German grandparents, as her interesting fact about herself.
Nobody seems to care, either, which shocks Genevieve. Her life doesn't interest them, and really, she knows she shouldn't have expected it to. She went into things so frightened that there would be nosy people just waiting to pull the truth out of her when, in reality, nobody gives a damn.
The realization is a relief for her.
Genevieve accidentally manages to get the same professor for two her courses, and when she steps into her first Creative Writing course of the semester, Professor Ayres turns to the door and flashes her the brightest, biggest smile. "Hey, welcome! You're in my Literature course, right?"
Finally, some attention is turned her direction, and Genevieve's cheeks burn. "Oh, yes!" She freezes just inside the doorway, huddled inside her winter coat, and isn't sure whether to remain standing there or find somewhere to sit.
Professor Ayres squints, tapping one finger on his lips, and then points at her. "Genevieve...right?"
"Right," Genevieve laughs, shocked. She wants to ask him how he remembered, but she can't find her voice, and only grows more embarrassed when Professor Ayres hops off his stool and walks to her side.
"Here," he says, and places a gentle hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades. "Why don't you sit...right here?" He guides her to an empty seat in the front row, next to a girl with long, white-blonde hair and pink glasses. "I don't like to assign seats, but this is such a small group. I don't want anyone hiding in the back or the corners."
"Have you had Professor Ayres before?" the blonde girl asks, and Genevieve shakes her head. "He's tough, but he's my favorite. I don't even do creative writing, but I took this class because it's the only one of his I haven't taken."
"That's...devotion," Genevieve mutters, and the girl laughs.
"It doesn't hurt that he's fucking gorgeous," she replies, and Genevieve can feel the blood rushing to her own cheeks. "See? You think so, too, don't you? All the girls do. But he's totally oblivious."
Genevieve hides her face as best as she can, but manages to peek over her shoulder at Professor Ayres. He's involved in a heated discussion with another student, waving his hands around while he talks, and she figures he doesn't even see her.
"Oblivious," the girl repeats, "I'm telling you."
"Yeah," she agrees. "I guess so."
Genevieve meets Jay Greer on her second Wednesday of college, in her Astronomy class. He leans sideways across their lab table to ask if she wants to be his partner, and because she doesn't have anyone else in mind, she agrees. He actually shakes her hand when they introduce themselves, and Genevieve finds his entire personality endearing.
He's not like Jude, and he's not like any of the other boys she knew back in high school, and she immediately decides she wants the two of them to be friends.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Jay asks as they look over the star charts Professor Richter passed out.
Genevieve spins the guide around, mindlessly watching the constellations appear and disappear. "Hm?"
"You're not from around here," Jay repeats. "I know a lot of the people here--well, not a lot of them. But some of us were from the same town, or the same county, and I went to high school or community college with them."
She raises her eyes to look at him, just for a moment. "Community college?" she asks, and looks back down at the worksheet in front of her. What constellations are visible in the northern hemisphere on this date:
"Yeah, haven't you heard of community colleges?" Jay props his chin up in his hand and looks at Genevieve through his long lashes. "It's where you go to get your gen eds out of the way before going off to an expensive, crowded university."
"I know," Genevieve replies, even though she really hadn't known. "I just wasn't paying attention. So, wait--you already got your general courses done? What are you doing in this class, then? This is one of my, uh, gen eds."
He smiles and shrugs. "I'm taking this for fun. I like stars and planets and all that, but it's not my area of study."
"Then what is?"
"Criminal Justice," Jay replies and laughs.
By the time her second Creative Writing class rolls around, Genevieve is a little less concerned about it. She has two friendly faces in her classes, Jay in Astronomy and Rosie, the blonde girl, in Creative Writing, so far. She's managed to keep her anxiety from getting the better of her. She's shown up to every class, done every assignment, and even successfully introduced herself during every stupid "get to know you" exercise. At the end of her first week of classes, Genevieve almost does feel like a completely new person.
"Good evening, Genevieve!" Professor Ayres announces as she slinks through the doorway, her fur-lined hood still up around her head. "It's cold out there, right?"
"How could you tell?" Genevieve shoots back, smiling.
"I like the Eskimo look. Very cute," he teases, and then motions to his own coat, hanging over the back of his computer chair. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, that is what you wear when you grow up in the south and have no idea what winter is like." It's more like a thin canvas jacket, made of dark gray material and looking decidedly not-warm compared to Genevieve's puffy winter coat.
"You wear that outside?" Rosie asks at the same time as another student asks where in the south he's from.
"Venezuela," Professor Ayres replies, pointing at the student who'd asked where he was from, and then points at Rosie, "and yes, I do."
"It's below freezing out there," Genevieve protests, and he laughs.
"I try not to spend a lot of time outside in the winter. And my car has heated seats. I'll survive. Besides," he adds, shooting a grin in Genevieve's direction, "as great as some of you can pull off those big, puffy coats, I'm trying to look good, you know?"
It's a joke, and Genevieve knows it's a joke, but her mouth moves before she can think better of it. "You could pull off the Eskimo look."
The look he sends back her way is somewhere in between pleasant surprise and amusement. "You think so, huh? I don't think I'm going to risk it."
The door opens and shuts one final time and, with everyone in class, Professor Ayres starts off his lecture. He's magnetic, energetic, pacing in front of them and waving his hands around while he tells stories, critiques novels, and throws out pieces of writing advice. It's exactly the same in Intro to Literature, too--always moving, pacing, as though he needs to put on a show to keep them awake.
"Favorite authors," he says suddenly, clapping his hands together, "go!" He points at Genevieve first, and she struggles to bring a name to mind.
"Haruki Murakami," she says, finally, sinking down into her seat. Her heart is beating rapidly and she can't understand why. Her hands are shaking.
"Ooh, good one. Favorite book?"
"I liked After Dark. It was...very surreal. Dreamlike. I got lost in it."
Professor Ayres smiles and his features go so soft; something in her stirs with the way his eyes crinkle, and she can't look away. "If you ever want book recommendations, come see me during my office hours. I think we have the same taste in novels."
It's the sweetest thing a teacher has ever said to her, Genevieve thinks.
Adelina's hours change at some point in early February, and without her to talk to during her hour-long break between classes, Genevieve finds herself wandering through the English hallway just to give herself something to do. She scrutinizes the artwork on the walls, stops to read every single piece of paper tacked onto the bulletin board, and tries to figure out the mechanics of the coffee vending machine outside the stairwell.
In total, she wastes about ten minutes. Frustrated and unwilling to make the trip through the cold and the snow back to her apartment, Genevieve sits down on a bench in the hall and pulls her cell phone out of her coat pocket. There's a text from Jude waiting for her, same as always, and she scowls to herself as she answers it. If she doesn't, he'll call, and if he calls, she has to answer. If she doesn't, he'll come up to see her, she just knows it, and the last thing she needs is her husband coming to drag her back home.
As she finishes typing up the text, Genevieve hears footsteps coming from around the corner. She turns just in time to see Professor Ayres walking with a cup of coffee in hand, looking down at his phone. He looks up and meets Genevieve's eyes, visibly starting as though the sight of her shocked him. "Genevieve! I hope you weren't waiting for me."
"Oh!" she exclaims, suddenly making the connection that his office is in that hallway. "No, no, I was just...wasting time." It's a pathetic excuse and she's embarrassed the moment it comes out of her mouth, but Professor Ayres is watching her with soft eyes.
"Are you alright? You don't look quite like yourself."
She's fine, she really is, but tears start to well up in Genevieve's eyes before she realizes what's happening, and before she can protest and insist she's fine, Professor Ayres is sitting beside her on the bench, so close their knees almost touch. He's watching her face with such blatant concern that it only tightens Genevieve's throat even more, and she just nods, hoping he'll leave her alone but not really wanting him to.
"Genevieve," he says, his voice soft and gentle, "why don't we go into my office?"
All she can do is nod again, and allow him to guide her into his office. From that point, it's effortless--she drops into a chair across from him, accepts the box of tissues he passes her, and lets him watch her with the same concerned, almost-parental look on his face. It gives her a warm feeling in her stomach, not unlike satisfaction, and when the tears dry up she's almost disappointed. He genuinely looks like he cares, and Genevieve doesn't realize how much she's needed that since she left home.
"You don't have to tell me anything," he assures her, "but please--at least allay my concerns a little. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to one of my students."
"I'm lonely," she chokes out, and he manages a relieved smile. "My mom died a few months ago, and then I went off to college, and I don't know anyone and I just-- I'm sorry. It's so stupid. I wasn't even that sad but then you asked me if I was okay, and I'm not used to that, and I just...fell apart, I guess."
"I'm so sorry about your mother," Professor Ayres says. "You don't have to apologize, though. It's okay. That's what we're here for."
"No, it's not," she argues, punctuating the sentence with a short, breathless laugh. "You're not a therapist. It's really not your problem."
"Agreed, but we're here for you, our students, and I know most of us would go the extra mile for any one of you. It's just one of the unwritten codes of teaching. I want to help my students in any way that I can."
"You're not real," Genevieve says, and he laughs. "You're not. That's a movie line. That's not real life."
"Sorry to disappoint, Miss Kessler, but you're not in a movie." Professor Ayres takes a sip of his coffee, and Genevieve feels almost guilty; she's convinced every single one of her professors that she only goes by Kessler, that Downing is an unnecessary addition to her surname that she doesn't even use. If she had applied to college herself, she would have left Jude's surname off the application entirely.
"That's probably for the best. I'm a horrible actress," she lies, and Professor Ayres just smiles. "I am sorry, though. That was...an embarrassing outburst. I'm okay, really, I just--I guess I've been bottling up my emotions for a while and they all just came tumbling out."
He waves her off and shakes his head. "It's fine, it really is. Trust me, I've had worse. I mean it when I say my door is always open. It gets boring in here, working on grading all the time. I almost have to beg you guys to drop by."
"Well," Genevieve says, "since I'm here, you said if I ever wanted book recommendations..." She has to change the subject, because she knows she needs to start looking at him like a professor again, and not like a friend. Not like a very handsome man who cares about her, who shows more concern for her than her own husband.
"I thought you'd never ask!" Professor Ayres exclaims. "Now, have you read Iain Banks?"
Genevieve can't help herself. She tries to stay away, but she does end up taking one of his books home with her--Time's Arrow by Martin Amis--and when she's finished with it, Professor Ayres insists she come to his office during one of her breaks so they can discuss it and he can pass along another book. It doesn't take a whole lot of convincing, either. All he has to do is ask, and she's already saying yes. She tells herself that she's just lonely, it doesn't mean anything. She just needs a friend, and he's so willing to make the time for her.
Jude can tell she's different, and every night on the phone he asks if she wants to come back. "Is this even good for you?" he asks. "I think you should come back home."
"Let me finish the semester," she always begs. "You've already spent all that money. I've already done so much work."
And Jude always relents. He agrees, and the next day, she's back in Professor Ayres's office pretending she has no husband.
It's really all too easy. It's nothing that she hasn't done before, anyway. He's sweet. Genevieve needs sweet.
The week before Spring Break, Genevieve hurries to Professor Ayres's office during her break on Monday afternoon, a rough draft of the paper he assigned in her hand. Jude is coming to pick her up that Friday, and with four lengthy assignments to do over the break, she's hoping she can at least knock one out before she heads back. For their Creative Writing class, Professor Ayres had assigned a creative non-fiction piece, and it's so personal that Genevieve can't imagine bringing it home. If Jude read it, he would kill her.
She's in such a hurry that she doesn't even bother waiting; she knocks on his door, calls out, "Professor Ayres? I was hoping you could look over my essay," and pushes the door open.
He's sitting on his couch, in the dark, holding his cell phone in his hand. "Oh, Genevieve," he says and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting--"
"Are you alright?" she interrupts, shutting the door behind herself and setting her things on the floor. He looks stunned as she makes her way over to him, pausing just in front of where he's seated.
Professor Ayres puts his cell phone away in his pocket and sighs. "Genevieve, this is hardly appropriate," he tells her, dragging his fingers back through his dark hair. "You can't just burst into my office and--wait, please."
She's already turned to leave, humiliation burning through her entire body, but he grabs onto her wrist before she can make it very far.
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to scold you. I... It's been a rough weekend, is all. I'm sorry."
Genevieve turns back just enough to look at him over her shoulder. "This is hardly appropriate, Professor Ayres," she parrots, surprised by the icy tone her voice has taken on.
He lets go of her wrist immediately, dropping both of his hands into his lap. "I'm sorry."
The shift in the power dynamic is all Genevieve needs to regain her footing, and she turns back to fully face him. "I was joking," she lies, softening her voice for him, and lowers herself into the chair across from him. "You look awful, I hope you know. I have every right to be concerned."
"You do," he repeats, not quite a question, and laughs. "Oh, how the tables have turned."
Genevieve just blinks at him. It's different, being on the dominant side. Professor Ayres looks so vulnerable then, and she wants him. She wants him to melt into her arms the same way she'd wanted Adelina so many months ago. The only difference is that, instead of wanting him to take care of her, she wants to take care of him. She wants to have that power, this time.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and she can see the heart device on his inner wrist, completely devoid of light, just like hers. "My marriage is just a little rocky right now, that's all. I'm sorry; you caught me on a bad day."
"I'm sorry. Marriage is hard," she offers feebly. "My husband is..."
"You're married," Professor Ayres states, and Genevieve can read the shock all over his face. "You're so young."
"Nineteen." Genevieve looks down at the packet of papers in her lap. Her creative non-fiction piece is about her feelings about being married to a man who isn't her Soulmate. "Um, Professor Ayres, I have to leave on Friday, for Spring Break. I was hoping you could review my paper before I go, so I can make some changes and turn it in a little early. I don't want to take it home with me."
"Of course," he says, and lets Genevieve pass the paper to him. "Would you like me to look it over now?"
She wants to say yes, despite the paralyzing fear of having to sit there while he reads her innermost thoughts and feelings, but his eyes are so dark, so tired, and she knows she should really just leave him to sort out whatever he's going through. "No, that's not necessary. I have something I have to do before my next class, anyway, and it's a long read--just as long as I get it back before Thursday."
"That won't be a problem." He glances down at it for just a moment, not long enough to read anything, and flips a few pages. Genevieve can't imagine he's actually seeing it, just going through the motions, making it look like he's interested. She knows that the last thing he must want to do is work.
"I really am sorry for just barging in on you like that," Genevieve tells him as she gathers up her things. "I just got so used to our afternoon meetings that I just-- Maybe I shouldn't come by so often."
"No," he sighs, "I wouldn't say that. Really, I wouldn't have had a problem with it if--well, you know. It's not the best day."
"You're entitled to them," she replies. After pulling her bag back onto her shoulders, she offers Professor Ayres one final smile. "If you ever want to talk, you know, I'm here. I can repay the favor."
He just laughs and shakes his head. "Very sweet. Thank you."
Genevieve doesn't waste another minute standing around his office. Instead, she leaves him there on his sofa and heads off to find the one person she knows she can talk to--Jay.
On Mondays, after Astronomy, Jay always heads straight to the campus coffee shop to refuel before his afternoon of Criminal Justice courses, and Genevieve finds him sitting at a corner table, his earbuds in and his face hidden inside a textbook. It doesn't take much to get his attention; he's jumpy, even without the caffeine, and all Genevieve has to do is appear in his peripheral vision.
"Hey, Gen! What're you doing here?" Jay looks down at his coffee cup and then back up at her. "Do you want something? I can get you a coffee or--"
"I'm fine, Jay. I'll get something for myself," she interrupts, smiling. "I was wondering, though--could we talk about something?"
He looks down at the watch on his left wrist. "We absolutely can--for 26 minutes."
Genevieve gets herself an unflavored latte and Jay packs up his textbooks and coursework, and the two of them head out into the chilly March afternoon. Jay links their arms together to keep Genevieve close, and she whispers to him everything she's avoided disclosing since she arrived at the university.
"I'm a trophy wife," she tells him, "married to an awful man who used his family's relationship with mine to get my hand in marriage from my father--when I was 15."
"That's sick," Jay replies, shaking his head. "Christ, I had no idea. You're just a year younger than me and you're already married? I've barely even thought about serious relationships, let alone marriage."
Genevieve sighs and leans into his personal space. Jay is so much more innocent than she is, she thinks. Everyone she's with every day, all the other students, they're all so innocent. Their lives are uncomplicated. They only have to worry about their grades and their future careers. "My mom died," she admits, and has to pause to take a deep breath. It doesn't get easier, no matter how much she talks about it or how much time passes. "My mom died a few months ago, and Jude--my husband--suggested I get away for a while. He wants me to come back 'the Genevieve he married,' which won't happen."
"I'm so sorry," Jay whispers, and she just nods.
"It's okay. I just... I need to tell someone. I'm sick of pretending to be so disconnected from everyone. It's so lonely."
"Well, you can always talk to me. I may not understand, but I'll listen."
Genevieve smiles and affectionately rests her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Thank you, Jay."
They continue walking around the campus, linked together and sipping their coffees, watching their breath ghosting in the cold air. Time passes slowly, and Genevieve tries to work up the courage to talk to Jay about one last thing that's been plaguing her. After they pass a group of people on their way into the building, she finally manages to force out, "I've been seeing one of my professors, too. Not romantically," she adds when she catches sight of Jay's stunned face. "Just going to his office hours a few days a week, talking to him, whatever. It's innocent."
"Okay?"
"But I don't want it to be."
Jay laughs, even though he still looks surprised. "Gen, I feel like I'm meeting an entirely new person today. Is this completely unlike you, or do I just not know you at all?"
They linger in front of one of the less-trafficked entrances, hiding from the wind underneath the awning. "I don't even know who I am," Genevieve admits with a weak shrug. "Everything I've done lately is completely unlike me--but it's all me."
"Who is it?" Jay asks. "The professor."
Genevieve licks her lips and looks away from him, just in case. "Ayres. He works in the English department."
"God, Gen," Jay laughs. "I think everyone has a crush on him."
"Well, not everyone goes to his office hours every day and talks to him about novels. Not everyone knows his marriage is in trouble."
"Gen," he says and it sounds like a warning. "You should stop this. You're married; what if your husband finds out?"
"Nothing has happened, Jay!" she exclaims. "And besides! If Jude found out, I'd be happy. Maybe he'd finally divorce me and I could be free again."
"You can divorce him, too, Gen. You don't have to force his hand."
"No, I can't," she insists. Without her mother, there is no one for her to go back to. Her father won't allow her back home and she knows it; he essentially signed her away the day she married Jude. She can't go to Adelina, either, because she would never allow herself to become a burden on her one and only friend. "I'm stuck with him unless he gives me up. I'm not free until he says so."
"That's messed up, Gen," Jay tells her, and Genevieve nods.
"I know it."
At 8:45 on Tuesday evening, while everyone in the class is gathering up their things so they can head out into the night, Professor Ayres waves Genevieve over to where he's sitting on his usual stool at the front of the classroom. "I finished looking over your draft," he tells her, "and I was hoping you could stop by my office tonight so I can go over it with you."
"Tonight?" Nine o'clock isn't that late, objectively, but for a meeting with a professor it seems like it's toeing the line. "Sure, I can do that."
"Great," he says and smiles. "I know it's late, kind of last-minute, but you had said you'd wanted to get this done before break. I wanted to give you enough time to make a few revisions before you handed it in for good."
Genevieve had been expecting to have to make some changes, but still, the word "revisions" makes her heart sink a little. She'd never been one to turn something in and expect a perfect grade, but she'd actually been doing well in college. Much better than expected, and much better than she ever did in high school. She'd been hoping that, maybe, she'd get at least one perfect score on a major assignment before she left.
She waits until all the other students have cleared out of the room, and then she allows Professor Ayres to lock up. She leans against the wall while he checks to make sure all of the equipment is off, no one has forgotten anything... He looks better, too. Maybe not good, but that sleep-deprived look is something everyone in college seems to wear, students and faculty alike. After he pulls his key from the lock, he turns to her and smiles.
"Ready?"
She's not--not really. Not ready to be back with him in his office, just the two of them, alone. She already had a hard enough time in class both times that day, trying to just watch him like she would any other professor, feeling like she was lingering too long, her eyes always on his. He faltered once, in the middle of a lecture in Intro to Literature, when he met her gaze, and Genevieve was convinced it was a sign. He'd never faltered like that before, and she was convinced the rest of the classroom noticed it, too.
"Sure," she says, because she has no other choice. She has to go with him.
The office looks a little cleaner than it did on Monday, and with all the lights on against the pitch-black outside the windows, it looks cheery and warm. Genevieve shrugs her coat off onto the couch and sits down, while Professor Ayres takes a seat in his computer chair and pulls her paper straight from the top of his desk.
"Your personal essay is very well-written," he tells her, flipping through pages as though he's looking it over again, in front of her. "Your use of the English language is...beautiful. The descriptions in this--you really paint a picture," he finishes.
Genevieve squirms in her seat, anxiously smoothing her skirt down. "Thank you."
"But, Genevieve," Professor Ayres says, suddenly very serious, and taps the top page with his fingertip, "this is not normal."
She blinks at him, waiting to hear more before she responds. It can't be much different from what Jay had said the day before, and it isn't like she's completely oblivious; she knows. She knows her life is far from normal, that it's anything but, but he'd wanted a genuine and vulnerable look at themselves, their lives, and that's what she gave him. There was nothing she held back. Everything she could fit onto those six pages was there.
"Is this truly what your marriage is like?"
Genevieve blinks again. "Yes."
“Genevieve,” he says, and sounds pained. “That is not healthy.” He leans forward in his chair, holding the papers in both hands. “This is abuse. What you wrote about is abuse, Genevieve.”
She knows. She knows, because Adelina has told her so. She’s taken quizzes on the topic, How to tell if your marriage is unhealthy. She saw a therapist, once, with Adelina at her side and the middle-aged woman had looked appalled when she had to tell her that if she doesn’t leave him, things will only get worse. And worse.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Professor Ayres continues, “and I know I’m not supposed to. But I’m incredibly worried about you and your well-being. Does he get physical with you?”
Genevieve blinks and tips her head down, looking up at him through her lashes. “No,” she says, and it’s the truth--mostly. He’s only rough with her during sex because that’s how he likes it. It doesn’t mean anything, she tells herself. It doesn’t mean anything the same way she kinda likes it with his hand wrapped around her throat. Sex is love and he won’t hurt her then.
“Are you being honest, Genevieve?”
“What do you care?” she shouts, curling her fingers into fists around the hem of her skirt. “You’re my professor, you don’t care about me! You won’t even see me after the end of this semester and you’re acting like--”
Professor Ayres places a gentle hand on her knee, and suddenly she can’t speak. Her voice fails her and he doesn’t say anything, either. Not for a while.
The beat of silence doesn’t last more than 30 seconds at the most, but for the both of them, it feels like a lifetime.
“I do care,” he says simply, when he does speak.
Genevieve looks away; it’s the most she can do without rolling her eyes. “You don’t,” she says. “This is something you have to do. You have to look out for your students.”
“You’re right, I do. But not like this.” His thumb rubs back and forth across the material of her skirt gently, tenderly, like he’s trying to comfort her with that one action alone. “You are such a bright, intelligent young woman.”
I’m not, Genevieve thinks, but remains silent.
“To write something like this,” he tells her, tapping on the papers, “your mind must be a beautiful place. It pains me to think your world doesn’t get to share that same beauty.”
“My world is just fine,” she insists. “It’s fine, I’ll be fine, and--”
“Then why did you write this, Genevieve?” Professor Ayres holds up the papers and the stark black on white seems confrontational when Genevieve looks at her work.
“I was just doing the assignment--”
“This wasn’t the assignment,” he interrupts, leaning back and laughing. His face tells her he’s almost in shock, possibly frustrated with her, but she can’t help herself.
The desire to just grab him by the lapels of his sport coat and pull him into her is overwhelming. She needs this, Genevieve thinks; she needs a man who will lecture her out of care and concern, not out of some cruel desire to manipulate her opinion of herself, to make her think she’s inadequate and incompetent. Professor Ayres looks so tired suddenly, so worn out, and Genevieve reaches across the space between them to take one of his hands.
“Gabriel,” she whispers, “you understand, though, don’t you? I’m just trying to be okay.”
The shock of her using his first name is apparent on his face, and Professor Ayres remains silent but nods in response to her question. Of course he knows; he was the one talking to her about his own marital problems just one day earlier. That’s her in, she thinks. That’s how she gets to him.
They both need someone.
“I don’t want to go back to him, but I have to. You understand, don’t you?”
She can imagine him in the same position; a wife who doesn’t love him, or a wife he doesn’t love, waiting for him at home every night and he returns, just because it’s all he knows. A house that has all his stuff, and he can’t run because then he’d have nothing. Just like her. She can imagine him just like her.
“Genevieve, you have a choice. You always have a choice.”
“So do you,” she whispers and tugs on his hand.
It’s almost too easy after that. He lets her pull him into her, and she tries her damnedest to be perfect, to make Gabriel Ayres forget about his wife so that she can forget about her husband. Men are all the same, Genevieve thinks as he gets up to lock his office door, to pull the shade down over the window. He needed one little push and suddenly he’s gone back on everything he said.
Genevieve bets he’s never cheated on his wife before, with the hungry look in his eyes and the way he looks faint when she touches him. Maybe he’s never even thought about it before, not even with all his young, pretty students and all his free time. He leaves his ring on as he unbuttons her shirt, undoes his belt.
It’s nothing like it was with Adelina. She’s rough with him, almost punishing him for cheating on his wife, for letting her cheat with him. He comes out of it starry-eyed and glistening with sweat, still wearing his button-down dress shirt. She still has her skirt on, flipped up so the pleats lie on her stomach, and none of it is romantic.
Genevieve hates him, suddenly. She buttons her shirt back up, fixes her skirt, and uses the darkened window to check her reflection. Professor Ayres doesn’t say a word as she snatches the paper from the chair he’d been sitting on and unlocks the office door.
As soon as she gets outside, into the cold, night air, the shock of it brings her back to her senses and she rips her cell phone from her coat pocket to call Adelina.
After two rings, Adelina answers, and Genevieve doesn’t even let her finish her hello before half-shrieking, half-whispering, “Adelina, we need to talk!”
“We are talking, honey,” Adelina replies patiently. “Tell me what’s going on.”
It’s been so long since the two of them have seen each other, and Genevieve starts crying almost immediately. Her mom is gone, Adelina is gone, and now she can’t even keep her life together. She wants to be gone, too--away with Adelina or, more desperately, wherever her mother has gone. “I slept with my teacher,” she sobs, power-walking as fast as she can away from the campus.
It’s late and everyone has already gone home; she’s alone, crying past the school’s parking lot, storming her way through the paved pathways and pristinely manicured chunks of lawn. It’s just her, alone, crying, and she feels so crazy.
She must look so crazy.
“You what? Geni, honey, I can’t understand you when you’re crying like that.”
“I slept with my teacher!” Genevieve cries, louder the second time. There’s more she wants to say, an explanation she wishes she could give, but nothing will come out except for more painful, violent sobbing.
“Sweetheart...” Adelina says in that concerned-mother-voice that made Genevieve so comfortable with her the first time around. So attached, like she was the second mother she so desperately needed. “He didn’t rape you, did he?”
“No, no,” Genevieve answers, disgusting herself when the thought comes that she wishes he had. “No, I initiated it. I wanted him.”
“Oh, Genevieve,” she sighs. “Genevieve, this isn’t good for you. You shouldn’t be back with Jude, but you shouldn’t be there, either. You don’t know how to handle yourself. You don’t have any sense of self-control.”
Coming from anyone else, those words may have hurt, but Genevieve just nods along with her, knowing Adelina is right. She’s always right.
“If you go home, I’ll move out there,” Adelina promises. “We can be together, and I’ll take care of you.”
“Will you?” Genevieve sobs. “Will you really?”
“Yes,” Adelina assures her. “I’m so sorry, Geni. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
Genevieve doesn’t call Jude to come get her early, but she doesn’t go to any of her classes on Wednesday, or on Thursday, either. Jay comes to check on her and they sit in the dark of her apartment’s living room while she confesses to him what she’s done, and what she plans to do. She hands him an envelope with Professor Ayres scrawled across the front and begs him to leave it at his office for her, and he promises he will.
On Friday, Jude comes to take her home, and she already has all of her stuff packed up.
“You were right,” Genevieve tells him as he helps her load everything into the back of his SVU. “College wasn’t good for me.”
Title: Hopeless Case
Story: The Gemini Occurrence
Rating: PG-13 (adultery, vague mentions of abuse)
Flavor(s): Blue Raspberry #24: lost in translation; Licorice #16: put your whole self in
Word Count: 7,191
Summary: 2019. Jude offers her one small sliver of freedom, and God, how Genevieve takes it.
Notes: Genevieve Kessler-Downing, Jude Downing, Adelina Garland, Jay Greer, Gabriel Ayres. (I'm getting ready for NaNoWriMo and I got a little deep into Genevieve's problematic youth.)
It's not yet Christmas when Jude takes Genevieve aside, pulling her into the study with him before she can escape to their bedroom. "You haven't been the same since your mother died," he says, and Genevieve has to bite back tears, turning her head away so she doesn't have to look at him. "I think you should go away for a while, do something for yourself."
Genevieve can't argue; they've already left Adelina behind, and even though she keeps in contact as best as she can, it's hard. And it's not the same. She could do with some time away from him, away from a town filled with memories, but she doesn't even know what to say to her husband. It's the most tender conversation he's had with her in nearly a year, not counting the night of her mother's death, the day of her funeral.
"I applied to college for you," he announces, and something in Genevieve's chest swells. "You got into a university upstate. I think it would be good for you; you've always talked about studying art, or history, or whatever. We have the money. Consider it a vacation."
One of her hands is busy anxiously bunching up the material of her nightgown, clenching and unclenching her fist, and she has to consciously make herself stop. "Thank you, Jude," Genevieve whispers, and tries to make a sincere show of throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you. I love you."
"I love you, too," he replies, pulling her close--closer than is comfortable for her. He doesn't let go right away, making her stay draped over him while he sits in his large, leather computer chair, work papers spread across his desk. "I want you to come home the Genevieve I married," he tells her.
It sounds like a veiled threat, and Genevieve nods. "Of course. I want that, too."
Jude pays for a nice student apartment within walking distance of the campus, and even though Genevieve knows it's just another effort of his to keep her isolated, she's relieved to not have to share a room, or a bathroom, with anyone else. She likes her privacy, and decorates her room with pictures of herself and Adelina, printouts of the secret emails they sent each other, and photos of the beach--the one place she was almost happy.
It's strange, being on her own. She was always living with her parents, or with Jude, and never once had a place of her own. She has some freedom, finally, and her first week away, she finds a small salon and gets her long, dark hair cut short. Jude doesn't seem to like it, but he also doesn't comment on it; her justification that it made her feel closer to her mother--a woman who always wore her hair short--must have shut him up, she decides later. It does make her feel better, because she can look in the mirror and pretend that she's a completely different person. She's not the same girl who married some grown man at 18 years old, the same girl who lost her mother after Thanksgiving. She can be a different Genevieve, and she plans to be.
As soon as she's finished unpacking, she puts her wedding ring in the top drawer of her dresser and intends to leave it there until the semester's end.
Genevieve's course schedule is as full as she can make it, packed with general education classes she needs to graduate and all the electives she can shove into the empty spaces. There is a part of her that truly believes Jude will come to his senses in a few months and refuse to let her graduate, or maybe she just won't be able to complete college because she's not smart enough, strong enough, prepared enough. If she can't finish, she wants to do as much as she possibly can in the time allotted her, and she doesn't want a single moment to relax, to be able to think about her life, her mother, herself.
In the morning, on Mondays and Wednesdays, she has Psychology and Astronomy, and in the afternoons she has Statistics and Composition I; on Tuesdays and Thursdays, she has Intro to Literature in the morning, German II and Painting I in the afternoon. On alternating Tuesday and Thursday evenings, she has a three-hour Creative Writing course that meets once a week. It both terrifies and excites her, thinking about sharing something that personal with a group of people.
She doesn't write anymore, because she can't trust Jude. She used to keep a diary, but early on discovered that he was reading it, and so she ceremoniously burned it with Adelina one night he was on a business trip. After that, she didn't write anything, except bits and pieces of poetry on napkins and scraps of paper she'd immediately burn or throw out. The thought of picking up writing again, and for a grade, is petrifying.
Of course, that's why she chose the class. She feels like she needs something to shock her soul back into feeling again.
It's not until midway through her first week of college that Genevieve realizes how truly young she is. Everyone around her is in the same boat: out on their own for the first time, lost without their parents, confused. Of course, none of them seem to be lost without their spouses, either, so Genevieve keeps that part of her life under wraps. Out of all of her classes, she only spots one girl with what appears to be a wedding band on one finger; later, during introductions, she speaks up about her husband and toddler. Genevieve never says a word about Jude, about her parents, about her life. She introduces herself as Gen, talks about her love of reading, and briefly mentions her bilingual childhood, growing up with German grandparents, as her interesting fact about herself.
Nobody seems to care, either, which shocks Genevieve. Her life doesn't interest them, and really, she knows she shouldn't have expected it to. She went into things so frightened that there would be nosy people just waiting to pull the truth out of her when, in reality, nobody gives a damn.
The realization is a relief for her.
Genevieve accidentally manages to get the same professor for two her courses, and when she steps into her first Creative Writing course of the semester, Professor Ayres turns to the door and flashes her the brightest, biggest smile. "Hey, welcome! You're in my Literature course, right?"
Finally, some attention is turned her direction, and Genevieve's cheeks burn. "Oh, yes!" She freezes just inside the doorway, huddled inside her winter coat, and isn't sure whether to remain standing there or find somewhere to sit.
Professor Ayres squints, tapping one finger on his lips, and then points at her. "Genevieve...right?"
"Right," Genevieve laughs, shocked. She wants to ask him how he remembered, but she can't find her voice, and only grows more embarrassed when Professor Ayres hops off his stool and walks to her side.
"Here," he says, and places a gentle hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades. "Why don't you sit...right here?" He guides her to an empty seat in the front row, next to a girl with long, white-blonde hair and pink glasses. "I don't like to assign seats, but this is such a small group. I don't want anyone hiding in the back or the corners."
"Have you had Professor Ayres before?" the blonde girl asks, and Genevieve shakes her head. "He's tough, but he's my favorite. I don't even do creative writing, but I took this class because it's the only one of his I haven't taken."
"That's...devotion," Genevieve mutters, and the girl laughs.
"It doesn't hurt that he's fucking gorgeous," she replies, and Genevieve can feel the blood rushing to her own cheeks. "See? You think so, too, don't you? All the girls do. But he's totally oblivious."
Genevieve hides her face as best as she can, but manages to peek over her shoulder at Professor Ayres. He's involved in a heated discussion with another student, waving his hands around while he talks, and she figures he doesn't even see her.
"Oblivious," the girl repeats, "I'm telling you."
"Yeah," she agrees. "I guess so."
Genevieve meets Jay Greer on her second Wednesday of college, in her Astronomy class. He leans sideways across their lab table to ask if she wants to be his partner, and because she doesn't have anyone else in mind, she agrees. He actually shakes her hand when they introduce themselves, and Genevieve finds his entire personality endearing.
He's not like Jude, and he's not like any of the other boys she knew back in high school, and she immediately decides she wants the two of them to be friends.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Jay asks as they look over the star charts Professor Richter passed out.
Genevieve spins the guide around, mindlessly watching the constellations appear and disappear. "Hm?"
"You're not from around here," Jay repeats. "I know a lot of the people here--well, not a lot of them. But some of us were from the same town, or the same county, and I went to high school or community college with them."
She raises her eyes to look at him, just for a moment. "Community college?" she asks, and looks back down at the worksheet in front of her. What constellations are visible in the northern hemisphere on this date:
"Yeah, haven't you heard of community colleges?" Jay props his chin up in his hand and looks at Genevieve through his long lashes. "It's where you go to get your gen eds out of the way before going off to an expensive, crowded university."
"I know," Genevieve replies, even though she really hadn't known. "I just wasn't paying attention. So, wait--you already got your general courses done? What are you doing in this class, then? This is one of my, uh, gen eds."
He smiles and shrugs. "I'm taking this for fun. I like stars and planets and all that, but it's not my area of study."
"Then what is?"
"Criminal Justice," Jay replies and laughs.
By the time her second Creative Writing class rolls around, Genevieve is a little less concerned about it. She has two friendly faces in her classes, Jay in Astronomy and Rosie, the blonde girl, in Creative Writing, so far. She's managed to keep her anxiety from getting the better of her. She's shown up to every class, done every assignment, and even successfully introduced herself during every stupid "get to know you" exercise. At the end of her first week of classes, Genevieve almost does feel like a completely new person.
"Good evening, Genevieve!" Professor Ayres announces as she slinks through the doorway, her fur-lined hood still up around her head. "It's cold out there, right?"
"How could you tell?" Genevieve shoots back, smiling.
"I like the Eskimo look. Very cute," he teases, and then motions to his own coat, hanging over the back of his computer chair. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, that is what you wear when you grow up in the south and have no idea what winter is like." It's more like a thin canvas jacket, made of dark gray material and looking decidedly not-warm compared to Genevieve's puffy winter coat.
"You wear that outside?" Rosie asks at the same time as another student asks where in the south he's from.
"Venezuela," Professor Ayres replies, pointing at the student who'd asked where he was from, and then points at Rosie, "and yes, I do."
"It's below freezing out there," Genevieve protests, and he laughs.
"I try not to spend a lot of time outside in the winter. And my car has heated seats. I'll survive. Besides," he adds, shooting a grin in Genevieve's direction, "as great as some of you can pull off those big, puffy coats, I'm trying to look good, you know?"
It's a joke, and Genevieve knows it's a joke, but her mouth moves before she can think better of it. "You could pull off the Eskimo look."
The look he sends back her way is somewhere in between pleasant surprise and amusement. "You think so, huh? I don't think I'm going to risk it."
The door opens and shuts one final time and, with everyone in class, Professor Ayres starts off his lecture. He's magnetic, energetic, pacing in front of them and waving his hands around while he tells stories, critiques novels, and throws out pieces of writing advice. It's exactly the same in Intro to Literature, too--always moving, pacing, as though he needs to put on a show to keep them awake.
"Favorite authors," he says suddenly, clapping his hands together, "go!" He points at Genevieve first, and she struggles to bring a name to mind.
"Haruki Murakami," she says, finally, sinking down into her seat. Her heart is beating rapidly and she can't understand why. Her hands are shaking.
"Ooh, good one. Favorite book?"
"I liked After Dark. It was...very surreal. Dreamlike. I got lost in it."
Professor Ayres smiles and his features go so soft; something in her stirs with the way his eyes crinkle, and she can't look away. "If you ever want book recommendations, come see me during my office hours. I think we have the same taste in novels."
It's the sweetest thing a teacher has ever said to her, Genevieve thinks.
Adelina's hours change at some point in early February, and without her to talk to during her hour-long break between classes, Genevieve finds herself wandering through the English hallway just to give herself something to do. She scrutinizes the artwork on the walls, stops to read every single piece of paper tacked onto the bulletin board, and tries to figure out the mechanics of the coffee vending machine outside the stairwell.
In total, she wastes about ten minutes. Frustrated and unwilling to make the trip through the cold and the snow back to her apartment, Genevieve sits down on a bench in the hall and pulls her cell phone out of her coat pocket. There's a text from Jude waiting for her, same as always, and she scowls to herself as she answers it. If she doesn't, he'll call, and if he calls, she has to answer. If she doesn't, he'll come up to see her, she just knows it, and the last thing she needs is her husband coming to drag her back home.
As she finishes typing up the text, Genevieve hears footsteps coming from around the corner. She turns just in time to see Professor Ayres walking with a cup of coffee in hand, looking down at his phone. He looks up and meets Genevieve's eyes, visibly starting as though the sight of her shocked him. "Genevieve! I hope you weren't waiting for me."
"Oh!" she exclaims, suddenly making the connection that his office is in that hallway. "No, no, I was just...wasting time." It's a pathetic excuse and she's embarrassed the moment it comes out of her mouth, but Professor Ayres is watching her with soft eyes.
"Are you alright? You don't look quite like yourself."
She's fine, she really is, but tears start to well up in Genevieve's eyes before she realizes what's happening, and before she can protest and insist she's fine, Professor Ayres is sitting beside her on the bench, so close their knees almost touch. He's watching her face with such blatant concern that it only tightens Genevieve's throat even more, and she just nods, hoping he'll leave her alone but not really wanting him to.
"Genevieve," he says, his voice soft and gentle, "why don't we go into my office?"
All she can do is nod again, and allow him to guide her into his office. From that point, it's effortless--she drops into a chair across from him, accepts the box of tissues he passes her, and lets him watch her with the same concerned, almost-parental look on his face. It gives her a warm feeling in her stomach, not unlike satisfaction, and when the tears dry up she's almost disappointed. He genuinely looks like he cares, and Genevieve doesn't realize how much she's needed that since she left home.
"You don't have to tell me anything," he assures her, "but please--at least allay my concerns a little. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to one of my students."
"I'm lonely," she chokes out, and he manages a relieved smile. "My mom died a few months ago, and then I went off to college, and I don't know anyone and I just-- I'm sorry. It's so stupid. I wasn't even that sad but then you asked me if I was okay, and I'm not used to that, and I just...fell apart, I guess."
"I'm so sorry about your mother," Professor Ayres says. "You don't have to apologize, though. It's okay. That's what we're here for."
"No, it's not," she argues, punctuating the sentence with a short, breathless laugh. "You're not a therapist. It's really not your problem."
"Agreed, but we're here for you, our students, and I know most of us would go the extra mile for any one of you. It's just one of the unwritten codes of teaching. I want to help my students in any way that I can."
"You're not real," Genevieve says, and he laughs. "You're not. That's a movie line. That's not real life."
"Sorry to disappoint, Miss Kessler, but you're not in a movie." Professor Ayres takes a sip of his coffee, and Genevieve feels almost guilty; she's convinced every single one of her professors that she only goes by Kessler, that Downing is an unnecessary addition to her surname that she doesn't even use. If she had applied to college herself, she would have left Jude's surname off the application entirely.
"That's probably for the best. I'm a horrible actress," she lies, and Professor Ayres just smiles. "I am sorry, though. That was...an embarrassing outburst. I'm okay, really, I just--I guess I've been bottling up my emotions for a while and they all just came tumbling out."
He waves her off and shakes his head. "It's fine, it really is. Trust me, I've had worse. I mean it when I say my door is always open. It gets boring in here, working on grading all the time. I almost have to beg you guys to drop by."
"Well," Genevieve says, "since I'm here, you said if I ever wanted book recommendations..." She has to change the subject, because she knows she needs to start looking at him like a professor again, and not like a friend. Not like a very handsome man who cares about her, who shows more concern for her than her own husband.
"I thought you'd never ask!" Professor Ayres exclaims. "Now, have you read Iain Banks?"
Genevieve can't help herself. She tries to stay away, but she does end up taking one of his books home with her--Time's Arrow by Martin Amis--and when she's finished with it, Professor Ayres insists she come to his office during one of her breaks so they can discuss it and he can pass along another book. It doesn't take a whole lot of convincing, either. All he has to do is ask, and she's already saying yes. She tells herself that she's just lonely, it doesn't mean anything. She just needs a friend, and he's so willing to make the time for her.
Jude can tell she's different, and every night on the phone he asks if she wants to come back. "Is this even good for you?" he asks. "I think you should come back home."
"Let me finish the semester," she always begs. "You've already spent all that money. I've already done so much work."
And Jude always relents. He agrees, and the next day, she's back in Professor Ayres's office pretending she has no husband.
It's really all too easy. It's nothing that she hasn't done before, anyway. He's sweet. Genevieve needs sweet.
The week before Spring Break, Genevieve hurries to Professor Ayres's office during her break on Monday afternoon, a rough draft of the paper he assigned in her hand. Jude is coming to pick her up that Friday, and with four lengthy assignments to do over the break, she's hoping she can at least knock one out before she heads back. For their Creative Writing class, Professor Ayres had assigned a creative non-fiction piece, and it's so personal that Genevieve can't imagine bringing it home. If Jude read it, he would kill her.
She's in such a hurry that she doesn't even bother waiting; she knocks on his door, calls out, "Professor Ayres? I was hoping you could look over my essay," and pushes the door open.
He's sitting on his couch, in the dark, holding his cell phone in his hand. "Oh, Genevieve," he says and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting--"
"Are you alright?" she interrupts, shutting the door behind herself and setting her things on the floor. He looks stunned as she makes her way over to him, pausing just in front of where he's seated.
Professor Ayres puts his cell phone away in his pocket and sighs. "Genevieve, this is hardly appropriate," he tells her, dragging his fingers back through his dark hair. "You can't just burst into my office and--wait, please."
She's already turned to leave, humiliation burning through her entire body, but he grabs onto her wrist before she can make it very far.
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to scold you. I... It's been a rough weekend, is all. I'm sorry."
Genevieve turns back just enough to look at him over her shoulder. "This is hardly appropriate, Professor Ayres," she parrots, surprised by the icy tone her voice has taken on.
He lets go of her wrist immediately, dropping both of his hands into his lap. "I'm sorry."
The shift in the power dynamic is all Genevieve needs to regain her footing, and she turns back to fully face him. "I was joking," she lies, softening her voice for him, and lowers herself into the chair across from him. "You look awful, I hope you know. I have every right to be concerned."
"You do," he repeats, not quite a question, and laughs. "Oh, how the tables have turned."
Genevieve just blinks at him. It's different, being on the dominant side. Professor Ayres looks so vulnerable then, and she wants him. She wants him to melt into her arms the same way she'd wanted Adelina so many months ago. The only difference is that, instead of wanting him to take care of her, she wants to take care of him. She wants to have that power, this time.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and she can see the heart device on his inner wrist, completely devoid of light, just like hers. "My marriage is just a little rocky right now, that's all. I'm sorry; you caught me on a bad day."
"I'm sorry. Marriage is hard," she offers feebly. "My husband is..."
"You're married," Professor Ayres states, and Genevieve can read the shock all over his face. "You're so young."
"Nineteen." Genevieve looks down at the packet of papers in her lap. Her creative non-fiction piece is about her feelings about being married to a man who isn't her Soulmate. "Um, Professor Ayres, I have to leave on Friday, for Spring Break. I was hoping you could review my paper before I go, so I can make some changes and turn it in a little early. I don't want to take it home with me."
"Of course," he says, and lets Genevieve pass the paper to him. "Would you like me to look it over now?"
She wants to say yes, despite the paralyzing fear of having to sit there while he reads her innermost thoughts and feelings, but his eyes are so dark, so tired, and she knows she should really just leave him to sort out whatever he's going through. "No, that's not necessary. I have something I have to do before my next class, anyway, and it's a long read--just as long as I get it back before Thursday."
"That won't be a problem." He glances down at it for just a moment, not long enough to read anything, and flips a few pages. Genevieve can't imagine he's actually seeing it, just going through the motions, making it look like he's interested. She knows that the last thing he must want to do is work.
"I really am sorry for just barging in on you like that," Genevieve tells him as she gathers up her things. "I just got so used to our afternoon meetings that I just-- Maybe I shouldn't come by so often."
"No," he sighs, "I wouldn't say that. Really, I wouldn't have had a problem with it if--well, you know. It's not the best day."
"You're entitled to them," she replies. After pulling her bag back onto her shoulders, she offers Professor Ayres one final smile. "If you ever want to talk, you know, I'm here. I can repay the favor."
He just laughs and shakes his head. "Very sweet. Thank you."
Genevieve doesn't waste another minute standing around his office. Instead, she leaves him there on his sofa and heads off to find the one person she knows she can talk to--Jay.
On Mondays, after Astronomy, Jay always heads straight to the campus coffee shop to refuel before his afternoon of Criminal Justice courses, and Genevieve finds him sitting at a corner table, his earbuds in and his face hidden inside a textbook. It doesn't take much to get his attention; he's jumpy, even without the caffeine, and all Genevieve has to do is appear in his peripheral vision.
"Hey, Gen! What're you doing here?" Jay looks down at his coffee cup and then back up at her. "Do you want something? I can get you a coffee or--"
"I'm fine, Jay. I'll get something for myself," she interrupts, smiling. "I was wondering, though--could we talk about something?"
He looks down at the watch on his left wrist. "We absolutely can--for 26 minutes."
Genevieve gets herself an unflavored latte and Jay packs up his textbooks and coursework, and the two of them head out into the chilly March afternoon. Jay links their arms together to keep Genevieve close, and she whispers to him everything she's avoided disclosing since she arrived at the university.
"I'm a trophy wife," she tells him, "married to an awful man who used his family's relationship with mine to get my hand in marriage from my father--when I was 15."
"That's sick," Jay replies, shaking his head. "Christ, I had no idea. You're just a year younger than me and you're already married? I've barely even thought about serious relationships, let alone marriage."
Genevieve sighs and leans into his personal space. Jay is so much more innocent than she is, she thinks. Everyone she's with every day, all the other students, they're all so innocent. Their lives are uncomplicated. They only have to worry about their grades and their future careers. "My mom died," she admits, and has to pause to take a deep breath. It doesn't get easier, no matter how much she talks about it or how much time passes. "My mom died a few months ago, and Jude--my husband--suggested I get away for a while. He wants me to come back 'the Genevieve he married,' which won't happen."
"I'm so sorry," Jay whispers, and she just nods.
"It's okay. I just... I need to tell someone. I'm sick of pretending to be so disconnected from everyone. It's so lonely."
"Well, you can always talk to me. I may not understand, but I'll listen."
Genevieve smiles and affectionately rests her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Thank you, Jay."
They continue walking around the campus, linked together and sipping their coffees, watching their breath ghosting in the cold air. Time passes slowly, and Genevieve tries to work up the courage to talk to Jay about one last thing that's been plaguing her. After they pass a group of people on their way into the building, she finally manages to force out, "I've been seeing one of my professors, too. Not romantically," she adds when she catches sight of Jay's stunned face. "Just going to his office hours a few days a week, talking to him, whatever. It's innocent."
"Okay?"
"But I don't want it to be."
Jay laughs, even though he still looks surprised. "Gen, I feel like I'm meeting an entirely new person today. Is this completely unlike you, or do I just not know you at all?"
They linger in front of one of the less-trafficked entrances, hiding from the wind underneath the awning. "I don't even know who I am," Genevieve admits with a weak shrug. "Everything I've done lately is completely unlike me--but it's all me."
"Who is it?" Jay asks. "The professor."
Genevieve licks her lips and looks away from him, just in case. "Ayres. He works in the English department."
"God, Gen," Jay laughs. "I think everyone has a crush on him."
"Well, not everyone goes to his office hours every day and talks to him about novels. Not everyone knows his marriage is in trouble."
"Gen," he says and it sounds like a warning. "You should stop this. You're married; what if your husband finds out?"
"Nothing has happened, Jay!" she exclaims. "And besides! If Jude found out, I'd be happy. Maybe he'd finally divorce me and I could be free again."
"You can divorce him, too, Gen. You don't have to force his hand."
"No, I can't," she insists. Without her mother, there is no one for her to go back to. Her father won't allow her back home and she knows it; he essentially signed her away the day she married Jude. She can't go to Adelina, either, because she would never allow herself to become a burden on her one and only friend. "I'm stuck with him unless he gives me up. I'm not free until he says so."
"That's messed up, Gen," Jay tells her, and Genevieve nods.
"I know it."
At 8:45 on Tuesday evening, while everyone in the class is gathering up their things so they can head out into the night, Professor Ayres waves Genevieve over to where he's sitting on his usual stool at the front of the classroom. "I finished looking over your draft," he tells her, "and I was hoping you could stop by my office tonight so I can go over it with you."
"Tonight?" Nine o'clock isn't that late, objectively, but for a meeting with a professor it seems like it's toeing the line. "Sure, I can do that."
"Great," he says and smiles. "I know it's late, kind of last-minute, but you had said you'd wanted to get this done before break. I wanted to give you enough time to make a few revisions before you handed it in for good."
Genevieve had been expecting to have to make some changes, but still, the word "revisions" makes her heart sink a little. She'd never been one to turn something in and expect a perfect grade, but she'd actually been doing well in college. Much better than expected, and much better than she ever did in high school. She'd been hoping that, maybe, she'd get at least one perfect score on a major assignment before she left.
She waits until all the other students have cleared out of the room, and then she allows Professor Ayres to lock up. She leans against the wall while he checks to make sure all of the equipment is off, no one has forgotten anything... He looks better, too. Maybe not good, but that sleep-deprived look is something everyone in college seems to wear, students and faculty alike. After he pulls his key from the lock, he turns to her and smiles.
"Ready?"
She's not--not really. Not ready to be back with him in his office, just the two of them, alone. She already had a hard enough time in class both times that day, trying to just watch him like she would any other professor, feeling like she was lingering too long, her eyes always on his. He faltered once, in the middle of a lecture in Intro to Literature, when he met her gaze, and Genevieve was convinced it was a sign. He'd never faltered like that before, and she was convinced the rest of the classroom noticed it, too.
"Sure," she says, because she has no other choice. She has to go with him.
The office looks a little cleaner than it did on Monday, and with all the lights on against the pitch-black outside the windows, it looks cheery and warm. Genevieve shrugs her coat off onto the couch and sits down, while Professor Ayres takes a seat in his computer chair and pulls her paper straight from the top of his desk.
"Your personal essay is very well-written," he tells her, flipping through pages as though he's looking it over again, in front of her. "Your use of the English language is...beautiful. The descriptions in this--you really paint a picture," he finishes.
Genevieve squirms in her seat, anxiously smoothing her skirt down. "Thank you."
"But, Genevieve," Professor Ayres says, suddenly very serious, and taps the top page with his fingertip, "this is not normal."
She blinks at him, waiting to hear more before she responds. It can't be much different from what Jay had said the day before, and it isn't like she's completely oblivious; she knows. She knows her life is far from normal, that it's anything but, but he'd wanted a genuine and vulnerable look at themselves, their lives, and that's what she gave him. There was nothing she held back. Everything she could fit onto those six pages was there.
"Is this truly what your marriage is like?"
Genevieve blinks again. "Yes."
“Genevieve,” he says, and sounds pained. “That is not healthy.” He leans forward in his chair, holding the papers in both hands. “This is abuse. What you wrote about is abuse, Genevieve.”
She knows. She knows, because Adelina has told her so. She’s taken quizzes on the topic, How to tell if your marriage is unhealthy. She saw a therapist, once, with Adelina at her side and the middle-aged woman had looked appalled when she had to tell her that if she doesn’t leave him, things will only get worse. And worse.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Professor Ayres continues, “and I know I’m not supposed to. But I’m incredibly worried about you and your well-being. Does he get physical with you?”
Genevieve blinks and tips her head down, looking up at him through her lashes. “No,” she says, and it’s the truth--mostly. He’s only rough with her during sex because that’s how he likes it. It doesn’t mean anything, she tells herself. It doesn’t mean anything the same way she kinda likes it with his hand wrapped around her throat. Sex is love and he won’t hurt her then.
“Are you being honest, Genevieve?”
“What do you care?” she shouts, curling her fingers into fists around the hem of her skirt. “You’re my professor, you don’t care about me! You won’t even see me after the end of this semester and you’re acting like--”
Professor Ayres places a gentle hand on her knee, and suddenly she can’t speak. Her voice fails her and he doesn’t say anything, either. Not for a while.
The beat of silence doesn’t last more than 30 seconds at the most, but for the both of them, it feels like a lifetime.
“I do care,” he says simply, when he does speak.
Genevieve looks away; it’s the most she can do without rolling her eyes. “You don’t,” she says. “This is something you have to do. You have to look out for your students.”
“You’re right, I do. But not like this.” His thumb rubs back and forth across the material of her skirt gently, tenderly, like he’s trying to comfort her with that one action alone. “You are such a bright, intelligent young woman.”
I’m not, Genevieve thinks, but remains silent.
“To write something like this,” he tells her, tapping on the papers, “your mind must be a beautiful place. It pains me to think your world doesn’t get to share that same beauty.”
“My world is just fine,” she insists. “It’s fine, I’ll be fine, and--”
“Then why did you write this, Genevieve?” Professor Ayres holds up the papers and the stark black on white seems confrontational when Genevieve looks at her work.
“I was just doing the assignment--”
“This wasn’t the assignment,” he interrupts, leaning back and laughing. His face tells her he’s almost in shock, possibly frustrated with her, but she can’t help herself.
The desire to just grab him by the lapels of his sport coat and pull him into her is overwhelming. She needs this, Genevieve thinks; she needs a man who will lecture her out of care and concern, not out of some cruel desire to manipulate her opinion of herself, to make her think she’s inadequate and incompetent. Professor Ayres looks so tired suddenly, so worn out, and Genevieve reaches across the space between them to take one of his hands.
“Gabriel,” she whispers, “you understand, though, don’t you? I’m just trying to be okay.”
The shock of her using his first name is apparent on his face, and Professor Ayres remains silent but nods in response to her question. Of course he knows; he was the one talking to her about his own marital problems just one day earlier. That’s her in, she thinks. That’s how she gets to him.
They both need someone.
“I don’t want to go back to him, but I have to. You understand, don’t you?”
She can imagine him in the same position; a wife who doesn’t love him, or a wife he doesn’t love, waiting for him at home every night and he returns, just because it’s all he knows. A house that has all his stuff, and he can’t run because then he’d have nothing. Just like her. She can imagine him just like her.
“Genevieve, you have a choice. You always have a choice.”
“So do you,” she whispers and tugs on his hand.
It’s almost too easy after that. He lets her pull him into her, and she tries her damnedest to be perfect, to make Gabriel Ayres forget about his wife so that she can forget about her husband. Men are all the same, Genevieve thinks as he gets up to lock his office door, to pull the shade down over the window. He needed one little push and suddenly he’s gone back on everything he said.
Genevieve bets he’s never cheated on his wife before, with the hungry look in his eyes and the way he looks faint when she touches him. Maybe he’s never even thought about it before, not even with all his young, pretty students and all his free time. He leaves his ring on as he unbuttons her shirt, undoes his belt.
It’s nothing like it was with Adelina. She’s rough with him, almost punishing him for cheating on his wife, for letting her cheat with him. He comes out of it starry-eyed and glistening with sweat, still wearing his button-down dress shirt. She still has her skirt on, flipped up so the pleats lie on her stomach, and none of it is romantic.
Genevieve hates him, suddenly. She buttons her shirt back up, fixes her skirt, and uses the darkened window to check her reflection. Professor Ayres doesn’t say a word as she snatches the paper from the chair he’d been sitting on and unlocks the office door.
As soon as she gets outside, into the cold, night air, the shock of it brings her back to her senses and she rips her cell phone from her coat pocket to call Adelina.
After two rings, Adelina answers, and Genevieve doesn’t even let her finish her hello before half-shrieking, half-whispering, “Adelina, we need to talk!”
“We are talking, honey,” Adelina replies patiently. “Tell me what’s going on.”
It’s been so long since the two of them have seen each other, and Genevieve starts crying almost immediately. Her mom is gone, Adelina is gone, and now she can’t even keep her life together. She wants to be gone, too--away with Adelina or, more desperately, wherever her mother has gone. “I slept with my teacher,” she sobs, power-walking as fast as she can away from the campus.
It’s late and everyone has already gone home; she’s alone, crying past the school’s parking lot, storming her way through the paved pathways and pristinely manicured chunks of lawn. It’s just her, alone, crying, and she feels so crazy.
She must look so crazy.
“You what? Geni, honey, I can’t understand you when you’re crying like that.”
“I slept with my teacher!” Genevieve cries, louder the second time. There’s more she wants to say, an explanation she wishes she could give, but nothing will come out except for more painful, violent sobbing.
“Sweetheart...” Adelina says in that concerned-mother-voice that made Genevieve so comfortable with her the first time around. So attached, like she was the second mother she so desperately needed. “He didn’t rape you, did he?”
“No, no,” Genevieve answers, disgusting herself when the thought comes that she wishes he had. “No, I initiated it. I wanted him.”
“Oh, Genevieve,” she sighs. “Genevieve, this isn’t good for you. You shouldn’t be back with Jude, but you shouldn’t be there, either. You don’t know how to handle yourself. You don’t have any sense of self-control.”
Coming from anyone else, those words may have hurt, but Genevieve just nods along with her, knowing Adelina is right. She’s always right.
“If you go home, I’ll move out there,” Adelina promises. “We can be together, and I’ll take care of you.”
“Will you?” Genevieve sobs. “Will you really?”
“Yes,” Adelina assures her. “I’m so sorry, Geni. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
Genevieve doesn’t call Jude to come get her early, but she doesn’t go to any of her classes on Wednesday, or on Thursday, either. Jay comes to check on her and they sit in the dark of her apartment’s living room while she confesses to him what she’s done, and what she plans to do. She hands him an envelope with Professor Ayres scrawled across the front and begs him to leave it at his office for her, and he promises he will.
On Friday, Jude comes to take her home, and she already has all of her stuff packed up.
“You were right,” Genevieve tells him as he helps her load everything into the back of his SVU. “College wasn’t good for me.”