I take a long sip. It’s strong and it burns, but it feels good going down.
After a long pause, I exhale loudly. My shoulders loosen a tad.
“I just can’t believe it,” I say for the hundredth time.
She brushes her hair back from her face. “Neither can I. It literally took me the whole class to figure out how to tell you. I saw him walk in, and I was like…bloody hell. It can’t be. And then I had to look up the class again. Professor McGregor. That’s all I saw, and I knew I saw his name before, but we’re in Britain. There’s a million McGregors here.” She takes a sip of her drink. “And you know, he recognized me too. He remembered me. Kept staring at me the whole class, like he was seeing a ghost.”
A ghost. That’s what his expression said when he saw me in the hall. Like I wasn’t really there, that his mind was playing tricks on him.
“And now,” she says, “I’m a TA in one of his classes. I’ll be working with him closely all year. That’s going to be weird.”
Something squeezes in my chest. The line “working with him closely” makes my heart burn and I wish it wouldn’t.
“That is going to be weird,” I repeat quietly. I feel myself sink down into the spiral, the one that robs me of ambition, motivation, and makes me spend days in my room, in the dark, lost in despair.
“Hey,” she says, placing her hand on mine and giving it a squeeze. “We’re going to get you through this, okay? You suffered for your mistakes enough, and now you’re going to move on. You are not your past. He’s a teacher at your school—he’s not going to pursue you or harass you. You don’t ever have to see him again, and if you do, you have no obligation to talk to him. If he doesn’t leave you alone, I’ll report him.”
I give her a dark look. “Don’t report him. He’s lost enough already.”
“I’ll report him if he lays a finger on you, if he talks to you or comes after you in any way. I’m serious. I will. You have nothing to worry about. He’ll stay away, you’ll stay away, and pretty soon things will go back to normal.”
But what’s normal?
“And in the meantime, I’m going to start dragging you out with me more often and get you liquored up or something, because the past few months you’ve been here, you haven’t hooked up with a single guy. You haven’t even flirted with one. You need to get some arse something fierce.”
I sigh, not really interested, especially now. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s as easy as you want to make it,” she says. “So he’s at the school, so what? Does that change anything?”
She stares at me expectantly. I wasn’t aware she needed an answer.
“It means I have to see him.”
“But you don’t have to, and if you see him in the halls, pretend he isn’t there. You’re his ghost, he should be yours. Keep a wide berth and I’m telling you everything will work out.”
Mel isn’t usually this optimistic, so while I have a hard time believing her, I’m also grateful for it.
I muster up a smile for her. It’s weak, but it’s the best I can do.
“Cheers,” she says, lifting up her glass. “To going on with your bad-ass self.”
I take a deep breath, nod my head, and clink my glass against hers. “To going on.”
***
“We will be together, Tasha. I promise.”
I promise.
I promise.
Brigs’ whispered words float through my dreams, bumping into the fragments of his face.
I reach out to touch them, and they fade.
I slowly open my eyes and stare at my alarm.
I wonder what day it is, what life it is.
Tuesday. I’ve woken up ten minutes before my alarm.
I exhale and roll onto my back, trying to grab the memories of my dream before they float away.
Brigs, the last time I saw him. In my old flat in London. I lived alone. It was so much nicer. And even though I knew falling for him was wrong, I was happy. Happy in my ignorance, in the naiveté that everything would work out. He was leaving Miranda, finding the courage to leave his unhappy marriage, the strength to choose what he wanted for once.
God, how messed up he was over Hamish. I honestly thought he would stay with her forever because of him, because of how afraid he was of losing his son.
Somewhere along the line though he realized he couldn’t live a lie. It wasn’t fair to Miranda, to Hamish, to him or to me.
That was the last time I really felt I had hope.
How easily love takes your hand and leads you into the dark.
My alarm goes off on my phone, and I quickly reach over and turn it off.
It’s slow going. My mind is foggy from all the vodka I drank with Melissa last night, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dragging my feet.
The truth is, the idea of going to school is frightening. I know I should just do as Mel suggested, and if I see him, pretend he’s not there. But I’m scared. Scared he’ll seek me out. And I’m even more scared that I’ll seek him out.
I guess I have reason to be scared, because when I do eventually get ready, I find myself taking more care with my appearance than normal. I’m actually running a brush through my hair, putting on makeup, putting on my cleanest clothes (jeans without tomato sauce, suede booties, and a black v-neck shirt), and standing a little taller.
By the time I get out of the tube and start walking to school, I want to shrink into myself. My eyes are wild, everywhere, searching for him as I approach the stately façade of the main building, my pulse dancing off rhythm.