Chapter Four - At What Cost

Elliott did not look at Noah once during the lecture. There was no form of lingering gaze or pointed questions or subtle acknowledgment of any kind.

He lectured freely, professionally on economic determinism as if nothing had happened between them.

“As long as survival is tied to resources,” Elliott paced slowly on the podium. “Freedom remains theoretical.”

The class had an extreme quietness about it except for the scribbling sounds of the student’s pen as they jot down notes.

Noah wasn’t writing. He was seated on the very edge of his seat, his legs kept vibrating and he forced a neutral expression on his face. Elliot’s words had stabbed through him like a knife, twisting until the air in the room felt too heavy to breathe.

He stole a glance at Elliott and his mind flashed to the offer.

Elliott’s words echoed in his head: “I find you difficult to ignore.” “I’m offering a private arrangement. You become unavailable to others.” “My offer.”

Noah shook his head, then put a hand on his leg and the vibration stopped. He straightened up on his seat and leaned back into it.

Elliott moved through the lecture hall with grace.

“If a person enters an arrangement for financial stability,” he continued, “is the loss of autonomy real, or negotiated?”

A girl in the front row answered eagerly. “Negotiated. They’re choosing it.”

“And if the alternative is instability?” Elliott asked.

Silence.

His gaze skimmed the room but skipped Noah. It was an intentional act, one he did to have control of the narrative.

Noah felt the omission more sharply than attention.

---

After class, the hallway buzzed with conversation. Noah packed his bag slowly, lingering. He wasn’t sure why.

Elliott gathered his notes at the podium.

Noah waited for a glance… or a signal... or anything. But nothing came.

Elliott exited through the faculty door without acknowledging him.

The control in that restraint unsettled Noah more than the offer had. He wondered if Elliott was only trying to play him or punish him.

---

His phone vibrated as he stepped outside. It was an Email from the University’s Account Department and the heading read: Student Accounts – Payment Reminder (Final Notice).

His stomach tightened. He opened it immediately. The full message read:

Outstanding balance due in ten days.

Failure to remit may result in suspension of enrollment privileges.

He read it over and over like he was missing something.

“Ten days,” he mumbled.

He swallowed hard then checked his banking app. The account balance glared back at him, as if mocking him.

His phone vibrated again but this time it was a text.

Bena:

You alive? You disappeared after class.

He exhaled sharply.

Bena had been his reading partner since year one. Despite being loud, opinionated or too perceptive, Noah admired her loyalty and care to him.

She was the only one who could relate with him. Maybe because of their shared African heritage but it was nice to have someone in his corner.

Fine, he typed back.

Liar, she responded immediately.

Lunch?

He almost declined. Then he thought about the silence in the lecture hall.

Five minutes, he replied.

---

The University’s café was loud enough to mask tension.

Bena slid into the seat across from him, studying his face.

“You look like someone died.”

“Dramatic.”

“You didn’t talk once in class.”

He shrugged. “I don’t talk every day in class.”

Silence.

“What do you think about the visiting professor?” She asked.

Noah is taken aback for a moment.

He stuttered. “I… Erm… don’t know... I think he’s good.”

He quickly took a bite of his sandwich.

Bena’s eyes dug into him. “You think?”

Noah choked a bit, “What?”

“He’s good.” She affirmed. “There is just something intense about him.”

Noah didn’t respond.

She leaned forward slightly. “Anyway, how have you been?”

The question was simple yet dangerous to Noah. He heaved a heavy sigh.

He nodded. “Just money.”

Her expression softened. “Your tuition?”

“Yes. The scholarship covers most...”

“But not all,” she finished quietly.

Just then, the doors to the café flung open. Sebastian and his boys strutted in. They love to announce their presence. Sebastian’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on Bena and Noah. A smile formed on one side of his lips. He walked over to them.

“Hey baby girl...” He interrupted them.

Bena gave him a disapproving look. “I am not your baby girl.”

His smile disappeared.

“Hey Sebastian.” Noah chimed in.

Sebastian ignored him and walked away.

Bena rolled her eyes. “So full of himself.”

“But he likes you.”

“Oh please! Pffft!” She blew a raspberry, dismissing his words.

“My cousin’s hiring at her firm. Admin work. Evenings.” Bena added.

Noah thought of Black Halo. He couldn’t leave. He gets more there than any other place.

“I already work,” he said.

Bena frowned. “Where?”

He didn’t answer.

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push.

“Just… don’t let pride ruin you,” she said finally. “Ask for help if you need it.”

He almost laughed.

Help? If only she knew what kind of help he had just been offered.

---

The locker was less crowded.

Noah sat at his makeup table applying a mascara. His eyes moved and landed on the card. He stopped. He gently reached for it and grazed his fingers over it, getting lost in his thoughts.

Damien interrupted his thoughts. “You are up.”

Noah jerked back to reality.

“Okay.” He stood up.

Damien blocked him. “You’re slipping,”

“I’m fine.”

“Your clients are noticing and are now asking privately for someone more in tune.”

The words stung more than they should.

Damien crossed his arms. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Damien’s eyes dug through him for a bit, then he backed down.

“If you say so. But try not to lose your clients. If you do, you lose money.”

With that, he walked away.

Those words echoed in Noah’s head. He remembered the tuition f*e due in 10 days. The landlord breathing down his neck for overdue rent.

His gaze shifted to the card and this time he contemplated making the call.

---

Black Halo felt heavier that night. The lights seemed harsher. The bass, less rhythmic.

Noah looked through the curtain directly at Elliott’s seat. It was empty. His face fell. There was that sting of sadness he could not explain why it was there. He gathered himself and climbed onto the stage.

As he climbed, he knew Elliott had been right when he said; Constraint does not eliminate choice. It complicates it. And right now, he had a complicated choice to make.