Sleeping With the Professor (NOT CONTINUING)

Thirteen

Tony's POV

I walked into class furious with myself. The way Lilly and I left off didn't sit well with me. Not to mention I can't get that damn bitch to leave my house. She was butt naked, on my couch, eating my food this morning.

I tried to threaten her by saying I would call the police on her...she didn't budge.

Guilt was eating away at me. I kept seeing Lilly's face in the window, disgusted and distraught. The memory replayed in my head hundreds of times that day and is still very fresh.

I walked into class and threw my shit on the desk. The room felt weird, like something wasn't right. I continued on anyway, wanting to go home. My eyes scanned the first couple of rows, no Lilly. Damnit!

I didn't even feel like teaching today. The memory of my wife lingered, telling me not to do this. Not to ruin this young girls life. I had cried this morning after having that confrontation with the biggest bitch ever. Lilly reminded me of my wife so much. Their laughs were similar, the twinkle in their eyes the same luminosity. Every time I looked at Lilly, my heart swelled from initially seeing my wife in her. But then the realization hits in and my wife is dead. I'll grow distant and become frustrated.

Which leads to Lilly becoming upset with me, which in turn makes me want to fix whatever it is. This is a vicious cycle, that I'm addicted to. The way her lips from words has me memorized and how passionate and confident she becomes when we discuss literature. Her essays are brilliant, I just can't get enough.

At this point I zoned back into what I was teaching. I hadn't realized that I'd been making that obnoxious chalkboard noise until I heard shuffling. I could hear seats turning and hushed whispers, along with dull thuds of shoes coming in contact with the staircase.

I stopped writing and glanced over my shoulder to see someone walk out of my class. I just caught a slight image of their hair, similar in color to Lilly's.

I went back to writing instructions on the board. Once everything they needed to know was up there, I sat at my oak desk and pulled out a stack of essays that had yet to be graded. The glimpse of the book Lilly had given me the other day as I pulled the stack of papers out wasn't letting me focus. The night she gave it to me, I had confessed that my wife died. I cringed at how vulnerable I was. I let her in, I let her in! I angrily slammed my balled fist against the desk. A few gasps escaped my students lips.

I cleared my throat and pulled the book out. I read the cover;

Lillian O'Bryan
Based on a true story
Leather-Bound

...respectively, this is how the cover read. The cover had a dark, muted colored background. A  manly hand was the focal point of the image. The hand was covered in dirt and what I believed was blood. It was gripping something, something I couldn't decipher. It's not like I could ask her now.

I flipped to the first page and read every single word, imagining Lilly's lips forming every syllable. From the first few lines I could tell that the fictional character, Sierra, was supposed to represent Lilly. She described Sierra as having chestnut brown, long hair that cascaded down her back. She had a dog named Sarge and was from a small town in Texas.

The way Lilly used language in just those first couple of lines made shivers run down my spine. This was literary art. I quickly began to read on, eager to see how the story would develop.

I got to chapter five by the time the bell rang. The students filed down the stairs, chattering obnoxiously. One by one they turned in their assignments, except for one person. I organized the papers before placing everything in my case. I could sense this student, eagerly wanted to tell me their excuse for not doing their work.