So effeminate

I took the pills, hoping they'd heal my headache.

"You alright?" he asked, noticing me squeezing my eyes and bringing my hands to my temples.

"This hangover is killing me. I’ve never felt like this before... I only drank what I was used to..." My mind trailed off, taking me back to the hot dance floor and a sweaty girl. "Unless..."

I was petrified at the realization. I drank from that girl's cup. Did she drug me? Did that pig spike her drink and then give it to me on purpose? What if Maddox and Professor Reynolds hadn't been there?

"Blair, what is it? Tell me." He coaxed. His voice was laced with concern, his eyes were soft and shimmering and I wanted to sink into them if I could.

"I think I did something very stupid." My stomach sank.

Tears welled in my eyes as the realization of the danger I was in hit me. Panic started surging in my body like a tsunami. Color faded from my face, and a shiver ran down my spine. "I drank from another girl's drink, and after that I don't remember anything. I think there was something in it, something that made me black out."

Without a moment's hesitation, Professor Reynolds looped his arms around my shoulders, placing my head under his chin, on his chest, his right hand gripping the back of my neck comfortingly. I gasped at the sudden contact. This proximity felt wrong, yet his warmth and solid frame were all I needed in that moment.

"Blair, as your Professor, I must remind you that drinking from a stranger's cup is extremely reckless. Why did you do that?"

I don’t know why! All I remembered was Dr. Reynolds watching me as I danced with the girl.

"If you weren't there, if you hadn't showed up... God, I feel sick..."

"I don't want my parents to know I became such a nuisance last night," I blurted out, my voice trembling.

He pressed me harder against his chest. "I saw you with that son of a bitch. I should have intervened, I should have known... I was right there... I just didn't want to bother you."

"Professor..." I hesitated, swallowing hard. "Did she... did that girl fuck me in the club?"

I could feel hot tears soaking into his polo. My voice sounded weak and panicky. "It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. You did nothing wrong."

He shook his head, resting his chin on my hair. He breathed deeply, as if mustering up the courage to say something. "You were drinking because of me. Don’t try to hide it. It was my fault. I took it too far with you at the exhibition."

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. If he could read me so well, if he knew how much he affected me, why did he keep pushing me? Why did he insist on provoking me?

"That fucking bastard probably gave you GBL. You'll be fine though, I promise. You'll just feel like crap for a few hours."

Hearing the drug's name made it all too real. It gave a name to the thing that could have potentially rendered me completely unconscious, at the mercy of whoever wanted to take advantage of me.

I felt absolutely drained. I had no idea how much I had slept, but it sure wasn't enough.

"I'm so tired," I said into his chest. "I feel sick."

"Classic symptoms... Here, let's take you to the couch."

He unlocked his arms from around me and walked me to the couch.

The living room area was extremely inviting. He had big green plants by the windows, a three-person dark grey couch, a fireplace. There was more abstract art hanging on the walls. Maybe that was his favorite style.

He handed me a blanket as I settled into the couch.

"Professor, may I make an observation?" I asked, tilting my head towards him. I continued, not waiting for his response. "Your apartment is completely devoid of any masculinity."

He chuckled. "I disagree. I think that couch is quite soft, don't you?"

The couch was heavenly soft, yes. But that was besides the point.

"Softness isn’t inherently masculine, sir. Didn’t you learn that in Aesthetics 101?"

He sighed once again, exasperated with my sassiness, no doubt. "Mr. De Montmorency, I'd suggest you rest because I'll be taking you home in a few hours. Don’t waste it commenting on my knowledge of basic concepts."

Again with the Mr. De Montmorency. Did he realize how offensive that was, mocking my surname?

"Don’t call me that!" I said, shooting my head up. "If you call me that again I'll start calling you Felix. You choose."

He stopped in his tracks. "Absolutely not," he said sternly.

"Oh, so that's where you draw the line, huh? You're okay with bringing a student to your apartment but not okay with being called by your own name. Interesting."

I was absolutely loving his reactions. I was feeling better already.

"Alright, that's quite enough. I'll be working upstairs in my office. I'll take you home after I'm done, so rest while you can."

Upstairs?

I watched him walk down the corridor. At the very end, a metal spiral staircase led to a level above. Wow, I was feeling so awful that I hadn’t even noticed the stairs when I left his room.

The living room was quiet and relaxing. His TV was off, not that I cared for a movie. I looked out his big windows, the treetops close to my eye level. Slowly but surely, my eyes drifted to sleep with the hypnotizing image of the leaves flowing in the wind.