Jessie's POV
The class falls silent the moment I walk in. Students quickly put their phones away and replace them with books. I glance around, half expecting the lecturer to be right behind me. Then it hits meâthey think I'm the lecturer. Of course, I'm the oldest in the class.
I sigh and head straight to an empty chair at the front. I take out my books and arrange them in front of me, followed by my pens.
"Hey," I whisper to the girl beside me.
"Hi," she replies, her focus shifting to the door as a group of boys and girls walks in.
My neighbor rolls her eyes when one of the boys in the group looks at her briefly before turning back to his friends.
"A boyfriend?" I ask, prying despite my lack of interest. I'm too old for teen drama.
"The Pentagon," she says.
"The what?" I ask, just as a familiar face walks in.
"Ugh!," I mutter, just as her eyes find mine, and a smile creeps up her face. It is short-lived as she places her books on the table and her laptop.
"Good morning. I will be your Criminal Violence Tutor for the semester. You can call me Miss Morgan. I expect total cooperation from you, full class attendance, and any misbehavior will see you out of my class." She finishes writing her name on the board and finally turns to us.
Her gaze lands on me, lingering long enough to draw attention.
Lena Morgan. She's a bitch. We were in the same class, and because of her, I was expelled. I can't believe she's a teacher now.
I feel sorry for these kids.
She shakes her head, opens her file, takes a few steps forward, and starts passing around papers.
"This will be your task: investigate how the burden of proof laid on a victim does, in some instances, deny them justice," she states.
I put the piece of paper between my books.
"That will be all, as it will prepare you for this course. I expect the next class you to be prepared. Jessica Meyer, please stay behind," she says.
The girl next to me raises her eyebrow at me as she puts her books away.
Slowly, one by one, the students walk out until I am the only one left behind.
"Jessie, Jessie, Jessie," Lena Morgan says. "How did they allow you back after the damage you caused? Daddy's money?" she asks.
"Why did you ask me to stay? To insult me?" I ask.
"I won't do that. You are in class with teenagersâthat is insult enough to you."
"Can I leave now?"
"I don't want you in this class."
I stand and gather my bag. "See you in the next class, Lena," I mock her.
"It is Miss Morgan and soon Dr. Morgan."
"Whatever," I mutter and start to leave.
"If you're wise, you know what is best for you, Jessie. Or elseâ"
"Or else what, Lena? You frame me again?"
She narrows her eyes at me and swallows deeply. "Don't say I didn't warn you," she warns.
I shake my head, amused, keep my silence, and walk away.
I push the chair a little back and position myself comfortably.
"Am I hurting you?" I ask Oliver.
He smiles at me, shaking his head. "I can't even feel any weight."
"Lying isn't your strong suit," he says.
"The same way you lied that school was okay. You left cheerful but came back dull," he comments.
"A former classmate happens to be my lecturer," I say.
He smiles. "That is awkward."
"It is," I agree.
"Are you okay with the circumstances?"
I nod.
I can't tell him about Lena. He will probably want to interfere. I am yet to know how to deal with her. Last time, Grey coerced me to let it goânot this time.
"I like the positive attitude. Don't let being older get in your way."
"Older? Are you calling me old?" I tease him.
"Does it matter? You are way too young compared to me."
"How old are you?" I ask him.
He smiles.
I've come to like his rare smiles. They start with an intense, searching stare, then his lips purse slightly before the smile slowly spreads. It's infectious, and I find myself smiling with him.
"Old enough to call you baby girl," he answers.
"I like it. Nobody has ever called me that," I say.
I smile and bend to kiss him. Making out with Oliver has become my favorite thing.
"I just can't wait to consummate our union," I state.
He only smiles and kisses me back again. Even if he doesn't say it out loud, I can tell he doesn't have hope that he can be healed.
Our makeout sessions are usually light. If I go hard, he will be in pain.
"Let's go before I change my mind," Oliver says.
Today is his first day of treatment, and I want to be there with him.
I sit firmly with my classwork book, noting down everything the doctor is sayingâthe treatment options. So far, I have been the only one asking questions.
Oliver sits rigid beside me, silent and distant. I can't tell if he's fully present.
I subtly reach for his intertwined fingers, slipping my hand into his.
He doesn't look at me.
The doctor continues to talk, and my attention shifts back to him. He eventually finishes, asking us to go and consider the options he has given us.
Oliver is quick on his feet, and the door slams shut after him.
"We will get back to you," I say to the doctor.
"You do, just don't wait too long," he warns.
I nod and rush out to find Oliver.
Oliver's POV
Fucking cancer.
Out of all the things that would end me.
Jessie's parents are a nuisance. I would give anything not to be on the same table as them. Her father has ignored her the entire night, making snide comments indirectly aimed at her.
Her mother, overly righteous, calls out everything she does. How she should run a homeâlike at her age, she wasn't on the screens topless.
Damn it, I've seen my mother-in-law topless. I try to scrub the image from my mind. What was once a teenage fantasy is now a nightmare.
"We'll be back in two weeks," her mother announces. "Your father and I have matters to attend to."
Relief flashes across Jessie's face.
"Oh, I'll miss you," Jessie says sarcastically.
"Has Iris tried to contact you?" her mother asks suddenly.
Jessie's eyes widen. "Why would she? No..." she stammers.
"Someone said they saw her last week," her mother presses.
Jessie shoves food into her mouth, clearly uncomfortable.
"If she does reach out, tell her to come home. You know your sister can't manage on her own," her mother adds.
Jessie nods and continues to eat. She probably wants this dinner to end as much as I do.
I find my mind drifting. I have been enjoying the kisses we share. I can't wait to be in our room, alone. Who knew that kisses, soft caresses, and cuddles could be this intimateâmore than sex?
But for how long will she wait before she gets tired? I have read that even after treatment and recovery, some men never rise to the occasion. What if I am one of those men? Will she stay in a sexless marriage?