SIX: There's A Potential For Pain And Punishment

I swallow thickly, fighting the urge to run, never look back, and bury myself in a hole deep in the woods beyond campus.

Here I am, chasing after my professor at night when he likely has no desire to see me again. That much, he has made clear.

I saw him Wednesday and earlier today for class. The way he acts – or doesn't act, rather – is like the whole thing never happened. The way he so poignantly ignores my presence indicates that he must have seriously regretted what happened between us.

"Yeah, sorry," I breathe. "Not to be difficult, but you said you'd have our formalism essays back today, and I'm having trouble studying without feedback."

"Perhaps you should take more thorough notes then, Ms. Shaw." His eyes don't lift from his paper.

My jaw sets. "Perhaps you should turn in our graded assignments when you say you're going to," I shoot back.

That causes him to look up at me.

For a second, I regret talking back to him. But there they are... those eyes of his, burning into mine. The eyes I've been dreaming about all week.

I swallow and continue. "It's just, it's sort of hard to study the topic without knowing if I've completely bombed the subject matter. I need your comments to prepare for the test."

Harlan leans back in his chair, removing his glasses and setting them neatly on his desk. For a moment, he considers me, watching me with narrowed eyes.

"You didn't bomb the paper," he says finally, rifling through a folder on his desk. "It wasn't bad. Review the comments and you'll be fine." He holds my essay out to me and I take it from his hands.

It is hard to miss the bright red "B-" at the top.

I can't help but frown.

"I've said this to you before, Shaw. You have so much more talent than you show me in your work. I know you're holding yourself back. And I don't know if that's because you're out partying on the weekends–"

"It's a Friday night and I'm literally standing here in your office begging for my paper back," I correct him swiftly.

"Or because you lack the focus," he continues, ignoring me, raising his voice over mine. "I hand you this paper back, and you've done a decent job, better than over half the class, and yet you're disappointed. Why is that?" he murmurs, voice dark and challenging.

I clench my jaw. He’s right. I'm disappointed because I know I can do better.

My gaze moves to the side, avoiding him.

"So which is it? Weekends, or focus?"

I take a deep breath. "Focus." A beat. "I don't know why you seem to be convinced that I'm some party monster," I snap.

"Perhaps because you show up to my class hungover on a weekday."

"I know I can do better," I tell him, frustration plain in my voice. "I don't know what it is. I settle for doing a passable job and then regret not putting in more time once I've got the damned thing back," I say, waving the "B-" paper in my hand.

He leans forward, propping himself on his elbows. "You're better than passable. Your writing is sloppy, your conclusions always a fraction as strong as your introductions. You're burnt out by the end of the paper, or you're bored, and it shows. Yet your arguments are strong. Maybe the strongest in your class. You have a grasp on the material but you let yourself fizzle out before you're done, so you don't articulate them as well as you should."

He looks at me with a strictness, but with an understanding, too. Almost like he'd been a student once, too, though I can't even fathom what he was like in those days.

"You need to learn focus," he tells me. "And discipline."

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his lap. Watching me.

"Well," I say defeated, lifting my paper in sheepish thanks and starting towards the door. "I'll try. Thanks." I turn the handle, and then–

"I could teach you."

His words stop me dead in my tracks.

I turn to face him, shifting my weight nervously. Focus. And discipline.

"You mean like... a tutoring thing?"

He lets out a low chuckle. "Something like that."

Silence hangs in the air as I try to gather his meaning. When he stands, it snaps me out of my thoughts. He walks to the front of his desk, leaning against it casually, just as he'd done on Monday before he...

He crosses his arms, head tilted to the side. "I could help you. Privately. We could meet at a time that works for you. I think you'd benefit from an extra assignment or two. I really do," he says sincerely. "And, of course, you still owe me an eight-page-paper, so perhaps that could be thrown into the mix. You can work on your writing, I will help you through a few drafts, tell you what's not working and why. And keep you on track."

I close my eyes, shaking my head, confused. "So, you want to tutor me, but instead of helping me with my existing assignments, you want to give me even more assignments to try and balance before the end of the term on top of exams?"

"I'm trying to push you, Ms. Shaw, because I believe that you could be truly good if you applied yourself. But you're not applying yourself, and so you're not shining. I believe that with a little guidance," He looks at me seriously, arms crossed, eyes sincere. All notions of what has happened on his desk the other day aren't there. He is speaking to me as a teacher, now, a mentor. "You can shine."

I take a deep breath, considering the option.

I do want to be exceptional. When I was in high school, I'd dreamed of being a great writer, or maybe an editor for some large and important firm somewhere in a big city. To take the world by storm, to grow famous and rich and renowned by scholars like Harlan. Then college happened, and I got knocked on my ass. Maybe this is my chance to get back up. To be truly great.

"And um..." I clear my throat anxiously. "In return?"

My eyes dart back up to his.

He licks his lips, eyes finally darkening. Now, I recognize him as the man from Monday afternoon. He lifts his chin. "Are you asking if I'm exchanging my knowledge for sexual favours?"

"It's a cliché," I say, giving him a pointed look.

"This isn't a situation where you fuck me and I raise your grades. You don't need it. Your grades are fine," he says simply.

"Then... then about Monday..."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. "I'm tempted, Shaw. Asking that in exchange for what I'm offering you.... it would certainly help the arrangement. You need to be taught discipline," he replies, this time looking at me with wicked eyes.

A double entendre, I suppose.

"I don't believe that you'd offer so much of your time for nothing." I chew the inside of my cheek as his gaze returns to mine.

"I won't force you to submit to my will, and I won't require anything in return. However, should any events transpire between us... events like what happened after class on Monday... I won't argue against it."

I shift eagerly, hips swinging slightly. I can't help but look at him with thirsty eyes.

He tilts his jaw upwards, eyeing me, before placing his hands on the desk beside him and looking down.

"There's something you need to understand about the arrangement if you do go that route, Shaw. I'm not a man easily satisfied. I held back the other day..." His voice trails off.

I remember how he clenched my jaw with tense fingers that somehow barely touched me. He had been holding back. Trying not slap me, is what I thought.

He raises his gaze, decidedly looking into my eyes with plain candour and forthrightness. "If I have you again, I won't be able to hold back. You need to understand what you'd be agreeing to."

I press my back against the door.

"Then tell me." I whisper.

He inhales, his gaze never leaving mine. "I would need you to consent to trying... other aspects of our rendezvous earlier in the week. There's a potential for pain and punishment. A need for obedience. Your obedience. And you need to understand that there are things that I will do to you. Things I might say, actions I might take, that should never, and will never be repeated when we're not... being intimate. Things that I will never say or do to you when I'm not fucking you.”

He pauses and looks me dead in the eye.

He continues, “If you don't think you can handle going down that path, then I would suggest you don't. I need you completely or not at all, do you understand?"