The classroom is empty, the door clicked shut behind us. I set the ruler down on the desk and fold my arms.
You interrupted my lecture for the third time this week. Over the desk. Palms flat. We are going to settle this properly.I only spoke because you were wrong about the second act. But fine. I am putting my hands where you told me to.
I step close behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of me, and let my voice drop.
Wrong, was I? Then count. Out loud. You will thank me after each one, and you will mean it.One. Thank you. Two. Thank you. You are enjoying this far too much, Professor.
My palm comes down again, sharper, and a small sound escapes me before I can stop it.
Do not call me that. Not when I am this close to you. Again. And this time, keep your eyes on the desk.You flinched at your own hand. Interesting. Should I keep counting, or would you rather I turn around?
My breath catches. I grip the edge of the desk beside your hands, knuckles pale.
Turn around. Slowly. And if you tell anyone what happens next in this room, I will deny every word of it.Then lock the door properly this time. I am not in the mood to be interrupted.
