The morning sun was too bright. It sliced through the heavy curtains of my guest room, stabbing at my eyes and reminding me of every drop of alcohol I had consumed the night before. My head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, but the weight in my chest was far heavier than any hangover.
I remembered everything. The neon lights, the spinning room, and the terrifyingly calm way Professor Alex had carried me to the car.
I dragged myself out of bed, my body feeling fragile. I needed to wash away the scent of the party—the smoke, the cheap perfume of the crowd, and the lingering phantom touch of Alex's hand on my waist.
The bathroom was a masterpiece of cold marble and silver fixtures. I let the water run as hot as I could stand, the steam filling the room until I couldn't see my own reflection in the mirror. As the water cascaded over me, I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall.
He's going to kill me, I thought. Or worse, he's going to take away the scholarship.
I spent an hour dressing in my most conservative clothes—a high-necked sweater and dark slacks—as if trying to prove to the empty house that I was a "good student" again. I brushed my hair until it shone, trying to hide the trembling in my hands.
Finally, I ventured out of the room. I expected to find him sitting at the head of the long dining table, his coffee steaming, his eyes ready to pierce through my excuses. I had my apology ready. I had practiced it ten times in the shower.
But the house was silent.
The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds in the garden. I walked into the kitchen, my footsteps echoing on the tile. The table was set for one. A plate of fresh fruit, a warm croissant, and a glass of orange juice sat waiting for me.
Next to the plate was a small, cream-colored piece of stationery. I recognized the handwriting immediately—it was the same sharp, elegant script he used to mark my essays.
Luna,
I have an early meeting at the University. I have already booked a cab for you; it will arrive at 8:45 AM. Do not be late.
I will be returning late tonight. You are to come straight home after your last lecture. Do not wander. Do not go anywhere without informing me first. >
Eat your breakfast. We will discuss your 'behavior' when I return.
— Alex
The note felt like a physical weight in my hand. He wasn't just angry; he was disappointed. And in the world of Professor Alex, disappointment was far more dangerous than rage. He was treating me like a child, a prisoner who had broken the rules of her cage.
I sat down and tried to eat, but the food felt like ash in my mouth. I looked at the empty chair at the other end of the table. He had left before I even woke up. He didn't want to see me. He didn't want to hear my apology.
He was letting me sit in my guilt all day, letting the fear grow until I was practically begging for his forgiveness.
"Why do I care so much?" I whispered to the empty room. "Why does it matter if he's angry?"
But I knew the answer. The silence of the house was a reminder that without him, I was alone in this city. And with him... I was his.
I finished my juice, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. The cab was already idling at the curb, exactly as he said it would be. As I climbed in, I looked back at the house.
The North Hall window was dark. He was gone, but his rules were everywhere.