Behind Locked Doors

Chapter 19

When Anna arrived at Tom's office on Friday, she was 99% positive that the door would be locked and his room would be pitch black inside.

In fact, she had mentally prepared herself for this. She knew that the moment she saw that office dark inside, she would pull up her already-drafted email telling Tom to go fuck himself at wherever he disappeared to. Anna would hold her head high with confidence at having the last word, and when Tom inevitably came running back to her (because he was too pussy-whipped and she knew it), she would have no problem flipping him off and finding another older man to screw.

Instead, Tom's office was dimly lit and currently occupied.

Anna stood in the doorway of the finally-opened door with her jaw dropped. Inside, Tom was sitting in his desk chair. His arms were folded on his desk and his head was laying in his arms. His jaw was covered in stubble, grown in to make the lower half of his face appear a deeper shade than the rest of it. An expensive pair of black-rimmed sunglasses was perched on top of his nose, covering his presumably closed eyes.

She paused, all confidence of breaking things off with Tom vanishing from her mind. Suddenly, she was overcome with a sense of concern and nervousness for the older man. He was typically so calm, composed, and in control of everything around him. Her professor sitting - no, laying - before her was the epitome of distraught and pitiful.

Anna slid quietly into Tom's office and went to gently shut the door behind her. The door made a metal clicking sound as Anna flicked the lock closed. Upon hearing the click of the door, Tom groaned and buried his face deeper into his arms.

"You don't need to be so loud," Tom said into his sleeve, clearly angered at the noise.

"Tom? Are you okay?" Anna asked in a whisper. He groaned again, rubbing his cheeks against his arms. He let out a sigh and turned his head towards Anna. She couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not due to the deep saturation of his sunglasses, but she knew he was aware it was her. After a few seconds of silence, Tom's lips crooked up into a faint grin.

"Anna," he whispered as if it was his saving grace. She walked closer to him and watched his head tilt to follow her. Yes, his eyes were open, she was sure of it now. She ran her fingers through his hair and noticed the hints of grease against his scalp. She recoiled her fingers, realizing it had been quite a while since the man showered.

Anna took a step back and took a deeper scan over Tom's body. His clothes were wrinkled and the buttons weren't matching their correct holes. His breathing was a bit labored. The most noticeable attribute was the weak smell of bourbon radiating from his pores.

"Are you hungover?" Anna asked with her eyebrows raised. Tom let out a sarcastic laugh. He sat up a bit straighter and ran his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes.

"What gave it away? Wearing sunglasses inside or the fact that the door closing sounds like thunder?" Tom was laughing now, a silly and ridiculous laugh. He finally sat fully upwards and fell against the back of his chair.

"I want to be pissed at you but I'm more concerned for your mental wellbeing at the moment," Anna said, gliding closer to Tom. He hummed and smirked. He held one hand out and gripped Anna's hip.

"You should be mad at me. Very, very mad, baby," Tom purred. Anna rolled her eyes and stepped away from Tom. She picked her bag up off of the ground and pulled out a bottle of water. She cracked open the cap and handed it to Tom.

"Drink this. You sound like you're still drunk," Anna commented harshly. Tom sipped the water slowly as if he knew that it would make him throw up if he drank at the rate of a normal human being.

"Trust me, darling, I wish I was," Tom said between sips. Anna waited for him to finish the bottle before speaking. When the plastic container was finally empty and crackling between Tom's shaky fingers, Anna swiped the bottle from him and tossed it back in her bag. She crossed her arms across her chest and watched the glorious man reduce himself to a fit of burps and groans.