Tortured Sinner by Tessa James

Claire - 7

It’s everything I can do to keep my focus on the professor at the front of the class. I feel his stare burning through me but refuse to look in his direction.

Johnny’sstare.

The guy who has been weird as hell to me lately has a name. And somehow, it’s strangely fitting. Almost like I knew it without knowing it, if that makes sense.

It doesn’t, not really.

Class can’t end soon enough, and when it does, he seems to be looking for ways to drag out his departure.

Which results in me taking my sweet time putting my stuff into my backpack. If he’s waiting to get me alone, he’s going to have to try a little harder. Professor Brown has office hours following our period, so he’s shit out of luck.

Once he finally takes his leave, I count to thirty in my head, secure the zipper, and sling the bag over my shoulder.

That should be plenty of time for him to have gone, right?

I make my way to the front of the class slowly, but Brown stands from her desk.

“Ms. Cooper,” she says to me. She shuffles a few papers around and then pulls one out.

I approach her desk, grateful for the continued delay in my departure. “Yes?”

She smiles kindly, showing her incredibly white teeth. Professor Brown is probably in her late thirties or early forties. She’s well put together with her black dress suit and perfectly pinned back dark hair. The giant rock on her ring finger tells me that her partner is either seriously in debt or she doesn’t have to be a working woman and chooses to be anyway.

"Your advisor, Sid Martin, reached out about the scholarship you've applied for. He mentioned you were trying to find an extracurricular to better your chance of acceptance."

I nod. “Yeah, I spoke to him yesterday, and he said he’d look for some options.”

She holds out the page to me. “If you’re willing, I think you’d be a great fit for our tutoring program. I went over your transcript, and you meet all of the requirements and then some. It offers flexible hours and will easily fit into your current course load.”

I take the signup form from her and briefly look it over.

Brown continues. “And if all goes well, I’d be willing to write a letter of recommendation to the scholarship committee.”

With that, my attention goes back to her. “Really? You’d do that?”

That could be the huge push I need to help me win this chance to return back to the east-coast. To my life.

“Absolutely.” Brown smiles again. “Your endorsements from your home school are beaming. You’d be doing me a favor, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve had a bright pupil like you to help with our tutoring program.”

I can’t help the blush that covers my cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Is that a yes?” She raises her brows with hesitant excitement.

What do I have to lose? This seems like a no-brainer—a perfect opportunity laid right in my hands for the taking. I'd be a fool to turn it down. Not only is English Literature my favorite subject, but it's also my best. Being a tutor should be a piece of cake, especially at the freshman level.

“Definitely.” I grin back at her.

“Awesome!” Brown tries to contain her enthusiasm. “Okay, just fill that out and bring it to class on Wednesday.”

"Will do." I go to leave, but a familiar scent catches my attention near the door. I stop abruptly and carefully poke my head out of the room to see Johnny leaning against the wall. I bite at my lip and ponder an escape route.

I guess I could just camp out in Brown’s room during her office hours—tell her I want to get ahead on my reading for the class. She’d totally buy that, given she already thinks I’m an overachiever.

But then I’d have to skip math. And what if Johnny stays there anyway and continues to wait? I’d run into him either way.

Clearly, I’m being a self-centered fool. He couldn’t possibly be out there to catch me when I leave, is he? Maybe he’s killing time for a friend, anyone other than me.

That’s when my gaze settles on my saving grace.

I point toward the door on the opposite wall. “Does that lead to the other side of the building?”

Brown looks up from her laptop. “Yep, you can use it if you want. Shaves a few minutes off walking around if that’s where you need to go.” She pauses and adds. “Which building are you going to next?”

“Clark Hall,” I blurt out.

A total and complete lie. But if I told her the truth, she’d suggest I take the normal path, out the door and right by the person I’m trying to avoid.

“Yep. Take that one. It’s not too far.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” I shuffle quickly to the door and leave without wasting any more time.

I let out a breath once I’m outside, the relief of avoiding another awkward situation settling through me.

* * *

“How was your day?” Rosie says through yet another of our FaceTime calls. She’s sitting at her desk in her room, a stack of books piled haphazardly next to her.

I think back to the hours that led us to this moment, and the nerves that riddled me until I was safely inside my home away from home. I was somehow successful at not running into Johnny again, but I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Uneventful,” I tell her. “I had English, Math, and Economics today.”

“Gross.” Rosie sighs dramatically. “I’m totally going to fail without you.”

I roll my eyes and lay on my stomach on my bed, propping myself up with my elbows. “You’ll be fine.” I revert the conversation to the thing she keeps avoiding. “What were you going to tell me the other day?”

She hesitates. “Are you mentally prepared for upsetting news?”

This is what we do when we need to tell the other something big that could potentially throw us for a loop. Sometimes we hold off and wait until things settle down, other times we can handle whatever it is.

I can’t imagine a better moment than now for the secret she’s been keeping. Life has been weird, but I’m sure I can handle it.

“Okay so…” Rosie hasn’t been this nervous in ages. She’s usually the first to blurt out random stuff without any filter. She’s brutally honest, and it’s one of the things I love most about her. “I wanted you to at least get through your first day before I sprung this on you.”

“I’m fine. My day was no big deal. Tell me already, please.” Other than the awkwardness with Johnny, things haven’t entirely sucked since my arrival. I managed to find a solid coffee source, and that alone is a huge plus.

“Griffin… He…well…”

Without her finishing, I can already sense where this conversation is heading, and honestly, I’m not surprised at all.

“Brice saw him at Sara’s on Friday…”

“With Shelby,” I add when she doesn’t continue. The girl from his work, from six months ago.

Her eyes perk up. “You knew?”

I exhale. “Not for sure, no. But I suspected it.”

“What a dick. I’m so sorry, Claire.”

I want to cuss, to tell my best friend how much of a douchebag Griffin is. To spend the next hour venting about how bad he treats me and all the terrible things I wish would happen to him. But I don’t. Griffin has already stolen too much of me, and in this moment, I refuse to give him any more.

Instead of doing all that, I simply say, “Yeah, me too.”

It’s strange to hear that your long-distance boyfriend is cheating on you and to be nothing but numb about it. Maybe it’s because I saw it coming. Or that deep down, I knew it was happening this whole time. Or maybe because I stopped having feelings for him a while ago. Everything combined leads to this empty pit in my stomach and a dull ache in my chest.

I use it as fuel to stoke the fire of my empowerment; to put him in my past once and for all.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rosie offers.

I snap out of my trance and flip onto my back, holding the phone out in front of me to focus on my friend. “Nope.” I force a smile. “Tell me about your first day.”

She ignores my change of conversation. “I’m going to kick his ass for you.”

As appealing as the offer sounds, Rosie would never do such a thing. She’s all bark with no bite. She might rip him a new one, but she wouldn’t lay a hand on him. And with Griffin’s temperamental nature, I wouldn’t want her to. That’s a risk I wouldn’t take.

“How was your Intro to Accounting class?” I continue to shift our talk. If we’re going to maintain our friendship with all these miles between us, I don’t want it to revolve around that douchebag.

* * *

Icrack open a bottle of Beth’s wine. My mother’s wine. I don’t know her well enough to know if she’ll mind, but I don’t really care either way. If she didn’t want me drinking her booze, she should have made that clear.

And right now, if I'm going to do what I have my mind set out to do, I need a little liquid courage.

I down the first glass in a hurry, not wanting to spend any more time than I have to with the bitter, dry red. I’ve never been a fan of wine, but it’s the only alcoholic thing in the house I could find.

I exhale, and it’s like the potent fumes have me breathing fire.

Tingling courses through me and my chest burns, but my mind remains fully intact. I give it a few minutes until the fog creeps in.

I sit on the edge of the stiff leather couch in the living room and glance at my phone. The message screen glares back at me. Griffin’s name at the top.

This shouldn’t be this difficult.

I drink another glass and decide now is the time. I have to do this.

With shaking hands, I grip the device and thumb a text to him.

Me: We need to talk.

I pause, not quite ready to hit send. There are two thousand miles between us, what is the worst thing that could happen?

I hover over the button.

“You can do this, Claire,” I reassure myself.

Without giving it another second, I push the little blue arrow to hurl the words into the universe.

Dots appear immediately and I hold my breath in anticipation of his response. This is the part that worries me most of all. How will Griffin react? He's like a ticking time bomb, a minefield I'm constantly trying to navigate to avoid a massive explosion.

He types, and then it disappears. Then it shows up again, only to go away.

My heart pounds harder each time.

What could he be saying that is taking him so long?

Finally, a text pops through.

Griffin: Call you later.

Three words took him over ten minutes to send? And with them, he offers me almost no insight into his mindset. Is he pissed? Is he fine? Why later? Why not right now? When exactly? In an hour? Four? Tomorrow?

I can’t stay slightly buzzed all night waiting for him to call.

I shove a cork into the bottle of wine and put it in the fridge. There’s no point in drinking anymore if he’s not going to talk to me anytime soon.

It’s already dark here and with the time zone difference, it’s almost midnight there. Apparently, he has better things to do than talk to his girlfriend.

I snatch my keys and cash off the counter. If he’s not ready to have a chat, then I’m going to sober up. A cup of Bram’s coffee will do just the trick.