Indisputable (16 page)

“God, Tatum.  The dirty side of me wants you to
pursue him harder so I can live vicariously through you.  Sleeping with a
teacher would be so hot.”

“Kels…”

“But, the logical, mature side of me says it’s
probably best to forget about that kiss.  He would be risking his
reputation and his career.  Which totally sucks because I can hear it in
your voice that you’re hooked.  In reality, it’s not fair to ask him to
risk all that.”

“I know.”  Even I can hear the defeat in my
voice, feel it in my heart.  “I have one more week of being his T.A., and
then it won’t be so hard to forget about him.  Just over three months and
I’ll graduate.  I won’t ever have to see him again.”

Kelsey and I chat for another half an hour before I
let her go so I can clean up a little.  After my lack of motivation last
week and being gone this weekend, I have week old dishes in the sink and a full
laundry basket. 

After throwing the top half of the basket into the washing
machine without sorting, I begin to tackle the dishes.  Mumford and Sons
streams from my kindle while I scrub old soup stuck to a bowl.  Music has
always been a type of release for me, ever since I was old enough to turn on
the radio without getting in trouble.  Which was right around the time mom
started leaving me home alone to run out with whoever she was seeing or buying
drugs from at the time.  I used to turn on whatever station I could find
and turn the music up loud enough to drown out my own thoughts.  I’d let
the music carry my heart away from the pain I was experiencing at the time,
whether it be physical or emotional.  As I’ve gotten older, I still find
myself reaching for my iPod or kindle whenever I’m experiencing strong emotions. 

A few songs pass before A Drop in the Ocean by Ron
Pope comes on, and I almost turn the kindle off.  Along with helping me
get through a particularly strong emotion, music also seems to exacerbate them
as well.  And a song pertaining to the impossibility of being with someone
you really want to be with is definitely exacerbating said strong
emotions.  But instead, I torture myself like some masochist and let the
song play, filtering the lyrics through my heart, retaining the relative parts
and letting go of the others. 

It’s not long before the tears begin to flow freely,
dishes forgotten in the sudsy water.  I rest my face in my hands. 
Before the song is finished, a beep from my cellphone pulls me from my pity
party.  I dry my hands and cross the small space to my bedroom where I
left my phone.

There are two texts waiting for me, both from
Jacoby. 

I want to talk to you today.  We
didn’t leave things the best last night and I don’t want it to be awkward
tomorrow.

Still doing okay?  You haven’t
responded to my last text and I’m worried. 

Jeez, it’s been just over an hour, and he’s already
worried.  I can’t suppress the little flip my stomach does when reading
his text.  Hoping to prevent him from just showing up here, I text back:
Yes
professor.  Still holed up at home, safe n sound. 

Can I come by to talk?  Please.

Awe, he said please. 
No.  We can talk
later.  I won’t leave tonite so u dont need to worry anymore.

I can’t seem to help it.  If you’re
going to continue being this stubborn, perhaps tomorrow then. 

Sure. Tomorrow.

Jacoby

I don’t remember getting home last night.  All I
know is I woke up in my bed this morning still in yesterday’s clothes.  It
took all of five seconds to remember that Tatum didn’t come home with me. 
Then the memories came pouring back in.  I haven’t had a weekend that
mentally trying since…well, since Harper died. 

Hoping to banish the ghosts from my past, I hit up
Trey to meet me at the gym.  He was already there waiting for me. 
The dude practically lives there.  We blow through our sets without much
conversation.  I’m pretty sure he’s pissed at me for being a cockblock
last night, but he doesn’t understand.  I resolved myself during my
workout to fill him in on the situation so he stops thinking I’m a
douche. 

Neither of us says much until after we’re
finished.  The silence has stretched on long enough, and I’m already
feeling drained from the week I’ve had so I broach the subject while we collect
our bags from the locker room. 

“Hey man, about last night—ˮ, I begin after
toeing off my sweaty gym shoes.

“You don’t have to say anything.  I was a dick.”

“Tatum isn’t like other girls.  I didn’t want to
talk about it last night, but I’ve been kind of helping her out,” I tell him,
wiping the sweat from my eyes before tossing on my red and black hoody. 

“What do you mean?  Shit, man, you aren’t seeing
her are ya?”

“If I was seeing her, I would have knocked your
fucking ass out last night.”

Trey takes a drink from his water and gives me a
knowing glance.  “But you want to see her.”

“It’s not that simple.”  I scrub a hand over my
face, still completely exhausted from the night before.

“Why not?  It’s obvious she’s into you.  I
know she only kissed me to get a reaction out of you, which was funny as hell.”

“Fuck you, man, that wasn’t funny,” I reply as we walk
out the double doors and into the parking lot.

“So, back to this ‘helping her out.’  What’s the
story?”  Trey leans a hip against the side of his black SUV.  The
September air has a slight chill, though I’m warm enough in a hoody, and it
feels good to be in the breeze after a tough session at the gym. 

I stare at my black and gray gym shoes in my
hand.  “She’s my student.”  I glance up just in time to see Trey’s
eyes go wide before he quickly recovers. 

“And?  There’s gotta be more to the story than
that.”

“There is.”  Exhaling a deep breath, I continue
to tell Trey the story, starting from the beginning.  I need to get this
off my chest, and Trey is the only true friend I have right now.  I trust him
more than anyone in my life, so I don’t leave out a single detail.  When
I’m finished, he hasn’t moved, but his face is colored with fury.  He’s
holding nothing back.

“Damn.  I want to kill that pussy-shit mother
fucker.”  He cracks his knuckles for emphasis.  “She’s such a sweet
little thing, no wonder she looked so timid last night.”

“She’s been doing a good job of pretending she’s okay,
but man, you should have seen her break down.  I didn’t know what the fuck
to do.  Still don’t.  We got into it last night, too.”

“Because of my dick move?  ‘Cause now I’m really
sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.  But if you ever touch her
again, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”  Trey grins and just shakes his
head.  “We got into it because I’m sending mixed signals, and it pissed
her off.  Pissed me off too.  I know the right thing to do, but it’s
not what I want to do.”

“You want her, don’t you?”  His bright blue eyes
hold a touch of sadness.  He knows what I’m going to say before I say it,
and we both know it can never happen.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened.  We spent a
few days at each other’s throats.  Somehow she buried herself deep beneath
my skin, and I haven’t been able to get her out.  The more time I spend
with her, I realize I don’t want her out.  She’s intelligent, witty,
beautiful, incredibly strong, and brave.  Not to mention she has a great
fucking body.  But then I come back to reality, and remember I could lose
my job.”

“Is she worth it to you?”

“We’ve spent hardly 48 hours together, but from the
glimpse I’ve had, I know she’s going to be hard as hell to forget.”

Trey hits the key fob, unlocking his SUV before he
opens the door.  Turning to me, he says, “If my opinion is of any worth to
you, I think you’ve lost and let go of enough in your life already.  You’ve
spent two years ghosting your way through each day, barely seeing what’s right
in front of your face.  I think she’s life’s way of saying wake the fuck
up.  It’s time to move on and let yourself feel again.  Harper’s
never coming back, and I know you still blame yourself for what happened. 
Take a fucking chance.”

I sadly shake my head.  “I don’t know.  If
we were to be caught, my career would be over.” 

“What’s more important?  Your happiness or your
job?  There are other options out there.  You could come work for
me,” he says, punching me in the shoulder.  “I’ve gotta go, man.  Let
me know what you figure out, and if you see that little fucker around town
again call me.  Breaking someone’s face sounds pretty good right about
now.”

Laughing, I say goodbye, deciding to catalogue his
advice to think about later.  He has a point, but I’ve already had to
start my life over once in 25 years.  If I were to lose my job, I’m not
sure I’d be able to move on and do it again.  And lose Tatum like I lost
Harper.  A sharp constriction grips my chest.  I’m in deeper than I
thought.

After showering at home, I’m surprisingly pleased when
I get a text from Tatum.  I figured she’d sleep in after the night we had,
so I wasn’t too worried I hadn’t heard from her yet, I also wasn’t confident
she’d reach out to me at all.  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect me
when I read her text.  My stomach clenched in a way it hasn’t for
years. 

I’ve been thinking nonstop about my conversation with
Trey today, and I’ve realized he’s right.  I need to move on.  I need
to stop categorizing my life in Before Harper and After Harper.  Her death
was the most traumatic thing I’ve ever experienced, but I’m not dead yet. 
I’m here, and I still have my entire life ahead of me.  Life is fucking
unfair.  Harper was taken too soon, and it was my fault.  But if I’m
ever going to live my life again, I need to let go of the things I have no
control over.  No matter how much the guilt festers, it isn’t going to
bring her back. 

Tatum hasn’t had a smooth sailing introduction to
life, and she isn’t letting that hold her back.  Even if I don’t deserve
this chance, maybe Tatum does.  She deserves for someone to make her feel
like the most precious thing in this world.  Her history certainly doesn’t
reflect that thanks to douchebags like Wyatt.  And what if he wasn’t the
first one to treat her like that?  The thought makes me sick.  I may
not be deserving of her, but I sure wouldn’t mind spending my time trying to
make her feel the way she deserves.

After last night, though, I’ll be lucky if she even
wants to look at me.  I wasn’t nice while telling her how wrong it would
be for us to be together.  And I know she heard me loud and clear.

***

Monday morning I pop into the local coffee shop to see
if Tatum is there again with her friend.  I tried my best to leave her
alone last night.  She made it clear she wouldn’t see me to talk about
what happened, but I couldn’t get her off my mind.  I’m like a love sick
teenager all over again. 

My anticipation calms when I spot her sitting in a
back booth with that curly blonde friend of hers.  Trying to seem
inconspicuous, I order a small coffee and sit at the booth in front of
theirs.  Miraculously, she didn’t see me sit down.  I watch the swirling
rings of steam rise from my cup while straining my ears to catch a bit of their
conversation. 

Any excitement I had at seeing her here is quickly
extinguished when I hear not my name come up, but Wyatt’s.  My mood
quickly plunges into dangerously angry territory as Tatum tells her friend
about the attack on Friday.  But it doesn’t stop there.  Shit, this
was a stupid idea.

“…he won’t stop calling me now,” Tatum says,
exasperated.  “I don’t know what else to do.  I’ve ignored him all
weekend but he won’t stop.”

“Are you going to go to the police?”  The little
blonde questions, and I pray she can talk some sense into Tatum.  That
would be the smartest move if he’s not backing down.  I might have to take
Trey up on his offer to break this kid’s fucking face.

“You know I can’t.  After what they put me
through when dealing with my mom’s mess, they’re the last people I want to talk
to.  I’m hoping he’ll take a hint and go away.”

“But what if he doesn’t?  What if he comes after
you again?”

“I don’t think he will.”  Tatum’s voice drops to
a whisper, and I lean my head back against the booth to try to hear what she
says.  It doesn’t matter, because I can’t hear her no matter how hard I
try.  Whatever she thinks will stop Wyatt, I won’t know unless she tells
me herself.  Her friends shrill voice screeches out, “TATUM!”, causing me
to jump and almost spill steaming hot coffee all over my lap. 

“Shh!” Tatum scolds.  “Keep it down will you?”

“Aren’t you worried about getting in trouble?”

“No, because I’m trusting you, Em.  And if you
can keep quiet, it will be fine.  I’m not worried.” 

Tatum is putting herself unnecessarily in danger and
that has me fired up all over again.  She can come to me.  We can go
to the police together.  I need to convince her of that.  Right now
though, I need to get out of here before I do something stupid like confront
her publicly and expose our somewhat clandestine tryst to her peers.  I
grab my coffee and quietly slip out of the booth and out the door.  She’ll
never know I was here. 

“Morning, Tatum,” I call when she walks into my
classroom five minutes before the bell.  “Early for once, I see.”

“Good morning,” she grumbles, without looking at
me.  “Mr. Stephenson insisted I try a bit harder, or he’s going to give me
another week of this crap.  So here I am.  What can I help you
with?”  She stops a few steps from my desk, and I’m struggling to keep my
face impassive.  I want to grill her about this morning.  She’s up to
something, and I need to know what it is so I can stop her. 

“If you can manage to sit quietly for the class period
that will be enough help for me.  Thanks.”  I’m slapped with guilt as
her face drops briefly before she schools it into the snotty mask she wears
whenever I see her on school grounds. 

“I’d like nothing better,” she grits out through
clenched teeth before taking a seat on the stool in the corner.  I don’t
have time to respond as the warning bell rings and students start filing
in.  I start class promptly, trying to keep my mind and eyes from
wandering over to Tatum.  After I’ve reviewed today’s lesson, I assign the
homework and take a seat at my desk, finally allowing myself check out what
she’s up to.  She has her phone under her nose, furiously texting. 

“Tatum!” I bark, grabbing her attention and the
attention of the entire room.  She hops off her stool and stands in front
of my desk.  “Phone.  Now.” I hold out my palm and flinch when she
slaps it into my hand with a resounding smack.  “I’ve told you to keep it
away.  You can have it back at the end of the day.”  I’m thankful
when she doesn’t put up a fight, but also guilty.  I lock the device in my
top drawer and watch as she climbs back onto the stool, crosses her arms, and
stares blankly at the wall.  She holds her head and shoulders high, but I
notice the way her chin trembles no matter how tight she clenches her
jaw.  Maybe she needs a little tough love to get her to open up. 

Every time her phone buzzes in my drawer, she looks
like she’s being electrocuted.  I’ve counted 8 times by the end of second
period, and I have a hunch it’s not about to stop.  As she approaches my
desk when the students have left, I know what she’s about to say before she
says it, so I cut her off.

“You can go now.  I’ll see you during
Calculus.  You can have your phone back at the end of class.”

“Please Jac—Mr. Ryan.  I shouldn’t have been
texting but something really important came up.”

“I’ve warned you twice before, and you’re setting a
bad example.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” she pleads.  “But I
really, really need it back.”

“Tatum,” I sigh.  “It’s either me or Mr. Stephenson,
but you’re not getting it back today.  I’m sorry.  Be pissed at me,
but this is how it is.”

“Oh don’t worry, I am.”  She spins on her heel
and storms out the door without so much as a backwards glance or a few choice
curse words. 

I beat back the urge to chase after her as my third
period students begin trickling in.  This is going to be a long fucking
day.