Kissed (28 page)

He chuckled. “Yes, we will. But either way, you
will
get through it.”

“Thank you.”

I crawled into bed at midnight. Jessa was already asleep. My phone vibrated, telling me I had a text message. I picked it up from the nightstand, glancing at the screen.

I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, and that’s okay. I’ll be happy if you just read my words.

I sighed, curling up on my side, watching the three little circles move and waiting for more.

I know you’re worried about tomorrow but try not to. New doors will open if this one closes. I promise.

And then two seconds later.

Cliché, right? ;-)

I smiled even as the backs of my eyes pricked with tears.

I can’t stop thinking about your lips. God, to make the world disappear with you… It’s such a thing, isn’t it? But I need you to understand something.

And a few more seconds passed.

It wasn’t a pretend thing. Nothing we did was pretend to me. You…could never be pretend to me.

“Barf.”

I looked over my shoulder to see Jessa propped up on her elbow looking at the screen of my phone.

“I told you he has a weird obsession with your mouth.”

“Go back to sleep,” I hissed.

“What? I’m not the one having weird text sex.”

“It’s called sexting, and I haven’t even responded.”

Jessa flopped back down, grumbling.

When my phone vibrated again, I looked.

I miss you, Gabe. I’ll be thinking about you tomorrow. Good night.

I set my phone down, running my finger under my eye and brushing away the tear. I rolled to my back, staring up at the dark ceiling above. I was guessing he was in D.C. by now. Nothing left to keep him here. I’d made sure of it. It was the right thing to do. I wasn’t sure how to trust him, and I wasn’t sure that was his fault at this point or that he even deserved it. The odd thing was, trust or no trust, I cared enough about him to want better for him than some broken-down old train wreck of a woman who was likely irreparable at this point.

Jessa had rolled away from me, and I could see her shoulder rising and falling slowly.

“I like him, Gabe,” Jessa whispered.

I didn’t say anything, but my lips pulled up. I had too. I might have actually loved him.

“And I literally hate everyone. Like I imagine punching most people in the face at least once a day, twice sometimes.”

“I know, sweetie,” I said as I reached back and patted her arm. “You’re just a little psycho like that.”

Jessa was silent after that, and when she started snoring quietly, I shook my head and smiled. I stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night.

* * * *

Jessa had to drop me off in Milwaukee the next morning. I offered to drop her off at school and take her car, but she insisted on driving me. She likely just wanted to get out of biology and composition, but I was infinitely glad she was sitting beside me on the hour-long drive to Milwaukee nonetheless.

When she pulled up in front of the administration building, she put her car into park and just sat there staring at me.

“I’m going to be fine,” I reassured her as I reached for the door handle. “Really.” I smiled and pulled her into a quick hug.

“I should be going with you.”

“Nope. You shouldn’t.” I stared at her, forcing myself to smile.

“You’re sure you’re going to be okay today? I mean, I can’t get back to Milwaukee until four-thirty this afternoon.”

“Yep.” I was actually dreading being stuck in this town for the day. “I think I’m going to go to the house and get my stuff packed up while most of the girls are in class.” I stared at her a moment longer. “I hate your nose ring.”

“I know you do,” she said sympathetically.

“But you’re still so stinking cute.”

“Yeah, I am.” She nodded. “I love you, Gabe.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

I held the smile a bit longer, but then I hopped out, and the moment my back was toward her, my smile fell. I’d never been more terrified in my entire life.

I was dressed in a button-up gray shirtdress that fell to my knees. Sadly, all of my dresses—in fact the vast majority of my wardrobe—was still at the sorority house, and I’d been damn lucky to find something appropriate in Jessa’s closet. I’d wrapped a wide black belt around my waist, and I was wearing simple black flats. I’d blown my hair out straight, running a flat iron through it before pinning the sides back. It was as demure as I could be. I was guessing that needed to be my aim.

Professor Carmichael met me moments later when he waltzed casually up to the front of the building.

He smiled at me. “Nervous?”

I scoffed. “No. Not at all. I mean, my heart hasn’t worked right all morning, and I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with my deodorant because it doesn’t seem to be working, but…no. I’m good.” I nodded awkwardly, willing myself to shut up. I had a tendency to ramble when I got nervous, and in a pathetic attempt to stifle it, I started to rock on the outside of my shoes.

Carmichael chuckled. “It’s going to be fine. This will probably go pretty quickly today.”

I followed him into the building, and after we checked in with the receptionist, we sat in a small waiting room. A woman came out a few minutes later, introducing herself as Barbara. She shook my hand, smiling at me as though she wasn’t part and parcel of the people who wanted to ruin my life.

“Hi… I’m Gabe…err…ielle.” It came out awkwardly. “Gabrielle. That’s…me.”

Barbara smiled at me cheerily. “Well, come on back.”

I imagined telling her no. I imagined just turning around and walking back out. They couldn’t stop me, could they? Of course they couldn’t. I was a grown-ass adult, even if I didn’t always make very adult-like decisions.

Professor Carmichael nudged me forward when I failed to immediately follow Barbara, and I scampered to catch up with the woman as she headed down a long hallway. My palms were sweating, and my legs felt as if they were going to give out at any moment, and when Barbara turned into an open door, I suddenly froze, turning back toward Carmichael, who was walking closely behind me.

“You can do this, Gabe,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. “I can’t,” I whispered. “These people…are going to hate me. The things I’ve done… I just… I don’t deserve a second chance.” My heart was racing. I was near panic, and I looked beyond Carmichael’s shoulder, suddenly certain I needed to flee, suddenly certain my very presence here was an insult to the college, an insult to education in general.

Carmichael clutched my shoulders in his hands, leaning forward. “You do,” he said forcefully as he gave me a gentle shake. “We all do.” His eyes moved back and forth across mine, searching for my understanding. “You
have
to believe that.”

I nodded, staring at Carmichael’s chest rather than his eyes.

“Ms. Kitrick? Are you ready?”

I glanced over my shoulder at Barbara. “Yes,” I whispered.

I followed Barbara into the room. It was nothing more than a small conference room with a long table in it. Four people already sat along the far side of the table, and Barbara indicated the two chairs on the nearest side to us before taking her own seat next to the other four. There were two men and three women in total, and they all smiled at me kindly.

Carmichael pulled my chair out for me and then took the one beside me. I rested my hands on the polished wooden tabletop in front of me for a moment, but when I looked down and saw the very visible tremble, I pulled them back, leaving sweaty spots where my palms had been.

The five individuals all introduced themselves, and I tried to pay attention, I tried to remember names, I even tried to smile at them as they each reached across the table and shook my hand. There was a balding man of fifty or so who was a faculty member in the sciences. There was another man, handsome and far younger than Baldy, and he was from the mathematics department. There was a redhead with bright blue eyeglasses, and I’m pretty sure she said she was in a design program of some sort, and then there was a tall blonde woman who was in social sciences. It was as if they’d chosen faculty members from nearly every major department, and perhaps that’s exactly what they’d done. Barbara was a student services administrator and the only member of the panel not on the faculty.

“Ms. Kitrick, thank you for coming in today.” Baldy was the type of man you looked at and instantly knew he must be a grandfather. He made me want to like him. But then his eyes inadvertently looked down along my torso. It didn’t appear to be lascivious; it wasn’t sexual in any way really. It appeared more an inadvertent reaction to being face to face with a prostitute who likely didn’t look at all like what he expected me to look like. And then I didn’t like him anymore.

I looked down at my lap, staring at my fingers that were twisted together for a moment. “You’re welcome.” It came out too quiet, and I cleared my throat when I looked back up.

“You’ve been advised of the disciplinary hearing process, correct?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we’ll jump right in.” Baldy smiled at me quickly before looking back down at his notes. “Would you care to comment on the recent news story alleging that you’re involved with an escort service in the Chicago area? The news story named you, specifically, as being employed by this escort service and having ties to Chairman Edgerton.”

I’d lain awake all night, staring at the ceiling and rehearsing my answers to every conceivable question I could come up with. But in this moment, my mind went blank. I could feel warmth flushing and flooding my body as I started to panic, and my ears started to buzz, the sound getting louder and louder as I sat there. They were staring at me, calmly waiting for me to speak, but I couldn’t seem to remember how.

“Ms. Kitrick,” Baldy said again.

Professor Carmichael reached for a pitcher of water sitting in the center of the table, and he poured me a glass. I cleared my throat again, accepting the glass Professor Carmichael was handing me.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked out. “I’m just a little nervous.”

Barbara beamed at me. Her ridiculous good mood was disconcerting, but I could feel my lips pulling up awkwardly as I looked at her, even as my forehead scrunched up.

“Umm…I’m sure…a lot of people have questions…related to that particular story, but…” I shook my head, trying hard to focus. “I can’t speak to the political agenda behind the piece.” My words were coming out in a stilted progression, and I had no idea if I was making sense. “I’m just a…a”—
prostitute
—“a college student who’s very anxious to focus on my education.” I’d rehearsed this response to include something about the obvious political motivation of the news story that was meant to discredit a public and political figure and related to me only loosely. But I ended up inhaling deeply as though I’d been holding my breath and saying nothing more.

“You mention you’re anxious to get back to your studies…” The redheaded woman with her eccentric blue-framed glasses wasn’t smiling at me the way Barbara had. In fact, she was looking down at a manila folder with a small stack of papers in it. “And yet your grades have been significantly slipping over the past year. You came to St. Mary’s with an academic scholarship after graduating from high school in the top three percent of your class.” She continued to look down at the pages in the folder, only looking up to me briefly and periodically as she spoke. “You were a stand-out student for your first two years at St. Mary’s, multiple semesters you were included on the Dean’s List, and there was every chance you would have graduated with honors had you maintained your performance.” She looked up at me, watching me expressionlessly for a moment. “Since that time”—she looked down, shifting her pages around—“you’ve lost your scholarship and been placed on academic probation. I think I can speak for all of us here when I ask you, how anxious to return to your studies are you?”

And then they were staring at me again, waiting for me to dislodge the giant ball of cotton that seemed to be stuck in my throat. “My mother passed away,” I said shamelessly. In truth, I’d very consciously avoided saying “mother” in every last rehearsed answer I’d gone through in my mind because it made me feel guilty to blame her death for my poor choices. I looked down at my lap, feeling that guilt now and praying the pricks of tears at the back of my eyes would go away before turning into something more.

“We’re aware of your mother’s passing, and we’re very sorry for your loss.” I looked up to see the blonde speaking to me now. Her expression was all sympathy, genuine by all accounts. “But you have to understand that student counseling has made numerous attempts to reach out to you during the course of your decline. Their attempts have gone ignored.”

“We understand that accepting help during a time of need and crisis can be difficult.” The handsome man’s eyes were just as sympathetic as Blondie’s, but his expression seemed false, and it made me uncomfortable. It was likely that broken part of my brain that found it hard to see him as something other than a cock. I hated this part of myself. “But as an institution, we can only do so much to help someone who’s not willing to accept our help. We’ve made the effort many times, but you’ve failed to meet us halfway.”

I nodded tersely, struggling to get my neck to work.

“You’re asking us to set aside the concerns of students and parents alike by allowing you to remain in active student status.” It was Redhead again. “We’re asking you to give us a good reason why we should because your academic record isn’t making that statement to us.”

I froze, at least externally. Internally, my brain was spinning, searching through the answers I’d rehearsed. I knew it was somewhere in my head. But grasping ahold of it when I was panicking was like searching through a file cabinet in the dark. “I…I reached out to my professors just last week, before this news story was released. I asked them for guidance in getting caught up and back on top of my studies.” I stared back and forth between each of them, forcing myself to hold the eye contact. “I didn’t do that…pre-emptively. I did it because I knew I needed help but also because I knew I didn’t want to give up.”