4: He's My New Step-uncle

I barely managed to remain still in class. My stomach wouldn't stop rumbling. I needed to throw up. I needed to use the toilet. I needed to splash water on my face. I needed to breathe.

I couldn't hear anything at all. I couldn't even hear anything. My heart was pounding, and my blood was thumping so fast. How was this possible? How could this be possible?

The only time I decide to be reckless and throw manners away, it came to bite me in the ass in the most horrible way possible. How was this even possible? How was… I tried to still my heart pounding, tried to focus.

It couldn't be as bad as I was making it out to be. We were in a class of 50, and it shouldn't have been that difficult to make myself unnoticeable. I'd refrain from asking or answering questions, and the semester would be over before I knew it.

Yes, that sounded nice. My heart slowed down at the conclusion, and the only solution, and my body relaxed.

“So that marks the end of our first lecture,” my heart danced at his announcement, and I started to pack my books, “but we still have a couple of minutes left, so why don't we introduce ourselves? I'd like to know you all by name.”

All my hopes were dashed at that. There was no way out, no way to hide, no way not to introduce myself. The class started introducing themselves, and the closer they got to me, the clammier my palms grew and the faster my heart raced.

And then it was my turn.

I rose to my feet, banking on the fact that he wouldn't recognize me. All my life, I've always wanted to be remarkable, to stand out, but right now, I want the opposite of that.

I desperately wanted him to have forgotten all about me. And even if he hasn't, I wish he didn't remember me as the girl from last night.

“I'm Imani Cole, a 19-year-old and an archeology major.”

I heard that loud and deriding chuckle that could only belong to Valeria, but I ignored her. I couldn't pay attention to her because Prof. Stephan was now concentrating solely on me.

Just as he did when I rode him, both in the bar and inside his car.

Just as he did when he had his hand wrapped around my throat while thrusting into me and eliciting wanton moans from me.

“Imani,” he mused, my name, and it sounded like a groan. I fleetingly imagined him groaning my name as he fucked me, and I had to close my eyes to drive those thoughts away.

“That's a very name, " he added while I spiraled. The class faded away, so it was just the two of us. And he wouldn't stop looking at me—not until I sat down and the next student introduced herself.

I got through the class, wondering and overthinking whether he knew I was the girl from last night. He didn't give any indication that he did, and I was glad.

And then, bothered. Was I really that forgettable?

But again, wasn't it better if he had forgotten me?

I went through the day without running into Valeria and her clique of meanies, and by the time I walked through the gates of our house, I was grateful to be home.

I was never grateful to be home. I was always happy to leave, but now, home was far better than the school where I had coursemates with a girl who had sworn to make my life a living hell, and where the stranger I had a one-night stand with was my professor.

Mom’s psychotic abuse and obsessive control were far better than dealing with that.

I entered the house and was immediately welcomed by boisterous laughter and loud conversations. We had a guest, a man, whose back was to me, and Mom and Declan were sitting across from him.

Mom waved me over excitedly, but I could tell it was fake. Anytime Mom was nice to me, it was always a fake display.

“My daughter,” she got up to introduce me to the stranger as I walked up to them, “Imani. She's a student in your school.”

I put on my best smile as I turned to the visitor, but my smile froze immediately when I saw who the visitor was.

I was hallucinating. I have to be.

But I wasn't.

“Imani Cole,” he rose to his feet, too. I believe we already have the pleasure of meeting. She's one of my students. I lectured in her class earlier today.”

“Ohh, what a small world.” Mom beamed, “I bet you didn't know she's your step-niece. Imani,” she turned to me, even though I was hollowed out and blanked out, “he's Stephan King, Declan’s brother.”

“Nice to meet you again, Imani.”

The stranger, my professor, my step uncle stretched out his hand for a handshake, and I could only stare at the hand. This was the same hand that had held my waist to guide my movements as I rode him, that same hand that had hastily guided his length back into me when he slipped out.

I was supposed to shake his hand, now that I knew he was my professor and step-uncle.