I’m not sure what drew me to her in the first place. I was already pissed about the fact that I was assigned to work with a new professor that I didn’t much like and who insisted that as his TA, I attend every one of his lectures. Maybe because I wasn’t supposed to be a TA when I was only a junior. But they made an exception because of my grades. Still, it was fucking annoying, sitting in at lectures. Like I had nothing better to do with my time. And on top of that, the asshole professor was late.
For those few seconds, however, my irritation took a back seat because of her.
I watched her pick out her seat. It took her a long time. She went through a fuckton of options before she decided on one that was far enough away from people but was still close enough to the front.
And then, she spent the next ten to fifteen minutes, until the professor arrived, fidgeting. Playing with her hair, flicking the pages of her notebook, looking either down at her desk or at the wall, carefully avoiding any eye contact.
Over the next few weeks, I realized that that was how she operated.
Aloof and alone and away from people.
Sort of like me in that sense.
Penelope Clarke.
I found out her name a few days later, along with a few other things about her. She’s the daughter of our Dean of Medicine. She’s pre-med. She sucked at biochemistry but her organic chemistry was strong. She was good in physics too, and also biology. Her grades were excellent, and they’d be outstanding if not for biochem.
She always paid attention in class, always had her homework turned in on time, always took notes. She wanted to learn, her expression always earnest and her eyes always on the professor, or me if I was filling in for him. Unlike so many other assholes that I’ve had to deal with in the past.
I also knew that she spent most of her free time at the library — early mornings, late evenings, even weekends. She always grabs the table by the windows overlooking the courtyard. She carries orange juice with her wherever she goes, and she usually has no fucking clue as to what goes on around her because her nose is always buried in a book.
Because if she did, she’d know that someone watches her.
Someone knows her little habits, her little tells.
Someone like me.
A stupid fucking asshole.
A stupid fucking dumb asshole. Who kissed her.
No, actually what I did was attack her fucking mouth. Because like a stupid fucking dumb asshole, I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t gather enough strength, enough decency to walk away from her like I should have.
Dinner was one thing — although what the fuck was I thinking when I proposed it yesterday? — but kissing her is a whole ’nother level of fucked up.
She’s a student I’m supposed to tutor tomorrow. She’s a student whose papers I’ve read and whose quizzes I’ve graded.
And who didn’t even remember my name until I reminded her — again — yesterday.
I’m not going to lie. It fucking pissed me off.
That she wouldn’t say my name yesterday. It pissed me off even more than it did before.
That day.
When she passed out and scared the fuck out of me and woke up asking who I was. After being in that fucking class every week for months.
But it’s fine.
What wasn’t fine was that I had no idea that she’d been struggling so badly. I’d known that biochem wasn’t her best subject, but I never expected her to fail. I never expected her to break down when she did.
For all my watching, I wasn’t very vigilant, was I?
And I pride myself on being detail-oriented. That’s how I’ve managed to stay on top of my classes; that’s how I managed to ace my MCATs.
But for some reason when it comes to her, I act like a reckless fucking toddler.
So you can count on one thing: I’m helping her now.
I’m tutoring the shit out of her so she never has to be afraid of biochem again. So she never has to go through what she went through again.
So she never has to go back to that place. At least, not because of something as trivial as biochem.
I knew about her stay at Heartstone.
Of course I knew.
It was all anyone could talk about, and I wanted to punch each and every one of them when they talked about her like she was some crazy girl who needed to be locked up.
She is not fucking crazy.
She is smart and brave and strong.
And for the record, I would’ve helped her even if she hadn’t showed up at the fucking restaurant; I wasn’t even expecting her to after how she reacted yesterday. I would’ve helped her even if she hadn’t offered to give me something in exchange to begin with.