Thread: It was just one... (Bevatoria and skittish_butterfly)

The sight of him as she poked him with her finger and her words, demanding an apology -- a good one, a real one! -- just wound Elizabeth up even more for some reason. She was breathing hard and looking at him in his fancy shirt and cool glasses, looking so hip and pretending to be so innocent. The door to the classroom closed slowly behind them as she wrapped up her tirade, and she didn't even care if a few heads near the door were staring at her until the door fully closed. He gave his mumbly little excuses. Too much to drink. Just one of those things. Right! Well, we're going to do this now because, because, because I can't function like this. I didn't sleep last night Grant, do you realize that? Because of you, what you did, or said or whatever. I'm, like, traumatized, do you understand? So I'm not going to just 'take it easy' -- I'm not the one who's crazy here, Grant, you're the one who had to talk like that, totally inappr.... And then it was Grant interrupting her, leaving her fuming and breathing even harder as emotions of disdain and annoyance and others she couldn't even bear to label crashed like the high tide against her heart. Elizabeth shrank back a little as his tone turned impatient with her, like her dad at his worst. Office hours? That was... she couldn't even do the stupid arithmetic to figure out how many hours away that was, but she knew it was too long as she glared back at him. She needed a real apology, something to get these thoughts out of her head. They were getting louder and how was she supposed to just sit in class and ... But he was already brushing past her, like it was over because he said it was. His hand was on the knob, pulling it open. Elizabeth pulled on the hem of her 5 year old university t-shirt, straightening it and herself as well, trying to compose herself. She pulled the jeans back up over her hips and turned to face him directly, flipping her pony tail back over her shoulder where it belonged, out of his sight. How am I supposed to... until... well you'd better... uh, spend your time between now and then coming up with a damned good apology, Grant, because having a drink or two does not give you the right to talk about my orgasms... as if you have anything to do with them at all! He ignored her though, and walked in to the room as half the class was staring at her as if she was the crazy person standing in the door, a few of the guys smirking at her in a way that made her very uncomfortable. Fine. He dresses nicer and acts all calm. But that didn't make him the sane one. She sat back down in her seat as the door closed behind her, and then she gave a dirty look at a guy in the row in front of her who was actually checking her out. Guys were pathetic, a little talk of a girl's orgasm was like blood in the water for those sharks. She didn't have time for that, and she actually gave him the finger, which made him laugh at her just the way she should have feared, but it made her feel better for at least a few minutes. Until she tried to pay attention to Grant's droning lecture. She knew it all, even if she couldn't quite remember everything as clearly right now as she would have hoped. Her thoughts drifted. The guy was checking her out. Did that mean he wanted her? Why should she even care? And what about Grant, was that bit last night, the bit about her cumming, was he still interested in her? Elizabeth fidgeted in her seat and put her pencil between her lips as she watched Grant write on the board without listening to his words. Her legs were swaying back and forth with a rhythm of their own and she realized she was slumped in her chair. With a start, she sat up straight and pushed her glasses up and tried to pay attention. Tried to sit still. She played with the pencil between her lips like a knife in a marauding pirate's mouth, and tried to listen. Bio something. Protmeres? No proteins and telomeres, or what did he say? Her legs were moving again as she thought about the last night. Was he drunk? A few drinks, was that right? She thought about his eyes, did she see that in them? Thought about their color, about his words, what they sounded like -- exactly what they sounded like, each one, even the word cum -- was he slurring. She was trying to figure out if he was really drunk or just lying to explain his rudeness, but all she could think about was the rudeness itself. She was so jittery, she couldn't sit still and couldn't focus. Elizabeth was reminded of her father when he tried to quit smoking that time, how he was after 5 days, right before he gave in and started smoking again, like he just needed something so bad he couldn't live without it. But Elizabeth didn't need anything except an apology. That was why she couldn't stop thinking about cumming, couldn't keep her hips still in her seat. The class was quiet and she realized Grant was looking at her. The whole class was looking at her. She blinked. I'm sorry, could you... what had he even asked? Could you repeat the... Elizabeth was embarrassed like never before in her life. When had a teacher ever asked a question she couldn't answer. When had she ever lost track of a topic in class. Never, not even in kindergarten. The rest of the class would think she was no better than them, a bunch of distracted partiers to busy trying to grope each other to bother trying to learn something and fix the broken world. Elizabeth glared at him and just got up and walked out. Then she opened the door and came back in and picked up her bag and her phone. This is your fault. She couldn't help it. He had to know, had to make that apology good. Then she stormed out again, making sure to give the door a good slam on her way out. She paced outside in the hallway, her heart pounding a mile a minute from having the class look at her that way, not with admiration or jealousy, but with amusement or in the case of a couple of the guys even grosser thoughts. Guys looking at her. She looked at herself in the 2nd floor bathroom's mirror as she splashed some water on her bleary eyes. They shouldn't look at her like that, like they were just deciding how they wanted to have sex with her. They had no right to think of her that way. Regardless if they thought she was pretty -- she looked in the mirror and tried to see it, was she pretty? -- she never dressed or acted in a way that would seem to welcome that attention. But she could still see their eyes. And what Grant said. Outside in the quad she had to make a decision. Blowing off the first class of her life, she didn't know what to do. She felt a pull to go back to her room. To try to sleep, or think about the guys looking at her until her fingers could get the right rhythm and make all the thoughts go away. So instead she did what she always did, went to the lab. Work. Research. That would have to fix her until Grant's office hours and his apology. But nothing was going right in the lab. Grant wasn't there. She kept looking at the door, thinking maybe he'd feel bad for doing this to her and come to apologize sincerely, to look deep in her eyes and really apologize. She thought about him looking in her eyes. Would that be enough? She needed more than just an apology, more than just his eyes looking at her sincerely through those hipster glasses. And then she realized she'd missed another deadline and had to toss out another titration. Hours went by and she accomplished nothing. It was near dark outside and she'd skipped lunch and even dinner time was near and she was starving again. She thought about his cookies and tried to shove that thought out, not to think anything at all about Grant. She left the lab, tired of the frustration of not accomplishing anything, and ambled back to her room to kill the last hour before Grant would apologize. Elizabeth