Author's Note

This story contains an original female character.

I had been thinking of writing something like this for a long time, but just didn't find the time. It is still not a good time, but, oh well, I had to get it out sometimes.

I would like to thank buttercookiesandtea (on AO3) for lending me Eve, and for beta reading this story. Ever since I read their story, I have fallen in love with Eve.

I guess it's time for all of you to meet Eve.

"The romanticism in Sylvia Plath's work is contradicted by inequality, in large proportions. The gender inequality itself becomes an obstacle to harmonious relationships, as the ideas of love, eroticism, and intimacy are driven away from a relationship, due to gender struggles. In her works, sex acts as a mechanism of injustice, highlighting a male's dominance and a female's submission in interpersonal relationships."

Maeve Wiley took full advantage of the brilliant minds that sat before her, trying to unravel a form of text that she hadn't studied ever before. It was not one of Plath's works, but the form and structure of the piece matched Plath's.

She was partly sure that the text was about sex and eroticism in poetry, but the aspect that she couldn't really figure out was the content and the ideas that the piece brought forward. It was indeed the most contemporary, and controversial piece she had read yet. She wanted a second, and more importantly, a more qualified opinion than her's in the field of intimacy, to properly decode that piece fully. And it was because of this, that she was teaching Plath instead of Miller, to her students.

So far, the students had proved helpless whenever she asked them to think critically.

As a feminist and dark literature Cambridge University professor, her students meant everything to her, and she would be ready to cross over to the other side for them, if need be, even though she put forth a bad bitch attitude. Her attitude was partly to veil her prominent insecurities, but over the years, she had also used it as a ruse to act tough, when she herself knew that the challenging years of sixth form had left her heart-broken.

Her decision to become a University professor at 19 was solely based on the fact that she wanted some regularity, and a stable source of finance. Or, more importantly, she just didn't want to fall into her family's footsteps. She didn't want to be fucked up like them. She actually wanted to make something out of her life. She wanted a house with many windows, she wanted money, and she wanted someone to love her.

The ceremonious ring of the bell brought her back to the present and by the time she looked around, half of the lecture was empty.

She gathered her materials and stuffed them into her handbag, and walked out of the lecture hall.

She saw the head of her department, Mr. Yehuda, heading in her direction, a spring of purpose in his step.

She hastily hid behind an oddly large bush as an attempt to stop him from making small talk. It was Mr. Yehuda's tradition to ask extremely personal questions, and what annoyed her the most was his hideous inclination towards her love life. The man was almost fifty, but that hadn't stopped him from perving on her during her lectures, or sometimes even in the library. The fact that annoyed and pained her the most was that the fate of her job rested solely in his hands. Due to this, she couldn't talk him off, or kick him in the balls whenever she caught him perving on her.

Her attempt to hide behind the bush had been unsuccessful - he had caught her bent over the bush, halfway through the process. The pathetic twinkle that took over his eyes when he saw her bent over, brought her one step closer to kicking him in the nuts.

"Morning, Mr. Yehuda!" she deftly exclaimed, and started moving away hurriedly.

"How are you today, Ms. Veelee?"

Not bothering to correct him, she increased her pace.

Turning her head to her left, she saw that he had caught up with her.

"Found what you were looking for in the bushes, Maeve?"

She stopped dead in her tracks. Glancing behind, she noticed the repulsive smile that had taken over his features. She didn't say a word.

"Anyways, I saw that you requested an expert eroticist to help you with your work," he began, looking at the half-opened diary that he, religiously, kept on his person every single day.

"I requested another professor specializing in the analysis of intimacy to help me with a text I am trying to analyze," said Maeve, trying to correct him. She somehow knew that he was still oblivious to that.

"Well, normally, I would have inserted myself with you, being the pleasure expert that I am, but after reading the text, I have decided that it is beneath me to be analyzing such petty works, by such petty authors, so I have dished out an expert for you. The name's Mobbur."

And with that, he hurried off in the direction he had approached, leaving Maeve with a revolting sense of disconsolation.

She felt the tremors of a terrible headache surface, and she started walking curtly towards her one room accomodation.

Putting up Ezra Furman onto the speakers, she made herself a warm cup of sugarless tea, that she was hoping would get her through another long night of an attempt at decoding the text.

She brought out a copy of the mysterious text, and also fished out a rather tattered copy of 'Sylvia Plath: A Critical Guide' that she had borrowed from the university library.

The only copy she could find of the guide was tattered. Just her luck.

Ezra Furman's melancholy poetry ferried her thoughts back to her high school years.

She thought about all the people that had let her down. She thought about her mom. She thought about her brother, Sean. She thought about Otis. Oh, Otis.

Fucking Otis.

Fucking, lovely Otis.

They hadn't ended very well, back in her high school days. But Maeve didn't blame herself for that. It was all Otis' fault. All his fucking fault. What was the need to invite her to his ridiculous party just to humiliate her in front of so many people? Her reputation, as the 'Cock biter', wasn't really at the top of the charts before that fucking party. But that's not the thing that bothered her.

Otis had let her down, like everyone else. The one person she thought she could count, the one person she thought would definitely be there to break her fall, the one person she could truly open her heart to, the one person she could truly love.

Guess she had been wrong. All over again.

But the thing with Otis had taught her a lot about trust. It was a mistake to open up to him. She still remembered the sleepless nights she had spent, crying into her pillow. The thing with Otis really messed her up.

Even though Otis had hurt her, she still had feelings for him, locked safely inside a dark vault of her heart, the key to which she had lost, over the years. Even though she didn't accept it, deep down inside of her she wanted to see Otis again. Some part of her couldn't believe that they were destined to end this way. It just didn't feel right.

Then the song ended. And with the song, her concentration stream also ended, and her thought process shut down.

Chugging the lukewarm cup of tea, she laid out her bed, thrust all her course material into her bag, and practically jumped onto the bed. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep.

Maeve hoisted herself up from her bed hurriedly, checking the clock.

9 A.M

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

She had missed her alarm. She was 20 minutes late for her first lecture, which would be dreadful for her, considering that she had already missed several of her lectures.

For a while, she considered taking a leave. Thinking hard, she thought that she would attend, but only because she didn't want to burden Daniel, the awesome bloke who covered for her whenever she was on leave.

She made her bed, and put on her sleeveless jacket hastily over her top. She grabbed her handbag and an apple for the journey, and with that, she started sprinting towards the lecture hall.

Before opening the door to the lecture hall, she took a minute to brush her hair, and smoothen out her handbag. Creases had started appearing on her jacket, and she combed them off speedily, before opening the door of the lecture hall.

Following her regular routine, she threw her half-eaten apple in the direction of the bin, and, like everyday, it completely missed the bin. Due to the direction of the man's silhouette, her view of the apple was obscured. She did not know where the apple went.

"Ok, you know the drill," she said to her students, "Start to shut up."

With that, she drew nearer to the man, who now stood, back facing her, organizing his material on her table.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked the man.

"Hey, I am supposed to be helping Ms. Veelee with a text?" he said, quizzically, his back still to her.

"Mr. Mobbur?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair across from her forehead.

"Mr. Milburn," he corrected, and then turned.

It was as if all life had been drained out of her body. Stood across her was a man, clearly in his twenties, with a 'Casual Hamm' sort of outfit, that made him look like a cute puppy. There were small freckles on his face, but it was still not an excessive amount. His trousers were perfectly ironed, and his back was bent, which was a clear indication that he was nervous.

Otis Milburn. Otis fucking Milburn.

"Ma-Maeve?" he said, looking as startled as she was.

"What the fuck," said Maeve. "Otis?"

She didn't know what to feel. She wanted to run to him, and give him the longest embrace that she could muster, but then she was reminded of the party. She did not want to fall for it one more time. But it was Otis, after almost 2 years. But the last time she had trusted him, he had hurt her bad. But he looked so cute in his 'casual Hamm' outfit. Coming to a decision was hard, so she decided to wait for Otis to break the silence.

A minute passed, and Otis said nothing. His gaze alternated between her and the floor of the lecture hall. His hands fold and unfold, his gaze temporarily lowered.

Every passing second was like another spoon of soup in a cauldron that was already filled to the brim. It was going to tip over any minute.

Hello, Maeve! She thought to herself. This is Otis. You need to start the conversation.

All of a sudden, right when she was trying to speak, the image of the party filled her mind and her distaste returned.

"So what are you doing here after all these years?" said Maeve. Her tone was accusatory.

"I dropped out, just like you did," said Otis. "Cambridge accepted me as lecturer because of my…. prowess, in the field of eroticism and intimacy."

She raised an eyebrow at him, signifying that she was not fully satisfied yet, and that she possibly didn't want to talk to him. She crinkled up her forehead, and her eyes bore into Otis', mocking.

She knew that the students were enjoying this. This was their first time seeing their badass lecturer this vulnerable.

She had made up her mind, she was going to push him away. Her heart warmed upon seeing him, but she was not ready to accept the dickhead. At least, not yet.

"MR. YEHUDA," she screamed, facing the door of the hall.

"Okay, Maeve, calm down," Otis began. "I won't talk if you don't want me to."

She didn't say a word. That wasn't enough. She needed to learn how to feel comfortable in Otis' presence… again. She couldn't take all this. Certainly not right now.

She stormed out of the hall, hearing collective gasps from the students. Slamming the door behind her, she looked for Daniel. She found him sitting over a bench not too far away from the class.

Behind her, she could hear Otis scurrying after her. The door opened, and there he was, following her like a cute puppy.

As if her body was reacting of its own accord, she noticed a smile creasing the sides of her lips.

"Cover for me," she said to Daniel, when she reached the bench.

From thereon, she walked with purpose, confident that Otis was right behind her the whole time.

She made Otis follow her almost 2 miles. By the time they reached her accomodation, they were both worn out.

Maeve entered first, switching on the lights and the air conditioner, and held the door open for Otis to enter. She was still silent, and had no plans of opening up so soon.

Otis reluctantly sat down on the couch, and she sat down across him, crossing her legs, a hand on her chin. She still hadn't said a word.

"I would like to propose something," said Otis, hesitantly, eyeing Maeve up and down.

Maeve looked right back at him, beckoning him to go on.

"I understand that you do not want to talk to me yet," he began. "How about we just analyze Plath's works silently, comparing notes. And we can write down little messages on a rough piece of paper whenever we need our questions answered, or theories tested. How does that sound?"

Maeve looked down and thought for a moment, and then looked at him again, intently holding his gaze, and nodded her head.

Otis understood the signal and he pulled out his copy of the 'Sylvia Plath: A Critical Guide'.

Interestingly, his copy of the book was in perfect condition. Pages were smoothed out, and not a crease could be seen on the spine. She would have to talk to the librarian.

The note-exchanging and the analyzing went on for another hour, between which, Otis would pass out funny anecdotes, and she would reply with a soft smile. She still didn't say anything. She still needed time to steel herself fully.

Her heart always fluttered whenever he peered at her with his piercing blue eyes. It was like watching the waves of a sea wash out the sand and gravel deposited on a delta.

She took another hour to completely overcome the, now mild, distaste in her heart. It wasn't completely gone, but it was good enough that she would be able to talk without lashing out.

"I'm ready to talk, Otis," she said.

Otis looked up, all of a sudden. He seemed to be so absorbed in his paperwork that Maeve's unexpected comment startled him. Upon hearing those words, he smiled the brightest she had seen him smile since she had met him this morning. He turned, now fully facing her.

"You changed your hair back and also added the pink streaks," said Otis.

"Perceptive," she said, and they both laughed.

She was silent for a second, but then decided to break the ice.

"What happened to us, Otis?" she said, with a grim expression on her face. "How did we end up like this?"

Otis went silent. And it wasn't a friendly silence. This silence had ice tendrils that pierced her heart every time Otis looked at her.

"I thought you were kind of ignoring me last summer, after I gave you that message, after your Quiz Heads finals." said Otis.

Maeve was puzzled. She didn't know anything about any message.

Seeing the quizzical look on her face, Otis asked, "I told Isaac to tell you, because you had gone to the store?"

Maeve was still oblivious. She remembers going to the store for milk for cooking omelettes for Isaac. But-

Realization dawned, and she heated up very quickly. Of course, she left her phone at his caravan. He must have deleted the message…

Otis gazed at her face for a bit longer, and then said, "Never mind, it wasn't very important anyways."

No. Maeve had to know what was in the message. She wanted to call Issac right away and confront him for deleting that fucking message.

Fucking Issac. Another boy had let her down. It was as if she was stuck in a vicious cycle of betrayal. She would trust a boy, pour her heart out to him, and then he would betray her, leaving her deeply scarred, and unable to love.

Over the years, she had learned to close her feelings out, to bury her emotions deep within her. She had locked all of her thoughts in a vault in her heart, where they stood in morbid unity, as if mocking her of being so sensitive.

"What was in the message, Otis?" Maeve asked Otis, beads of sweat enveloping her forehead.

Otis didn't meet her eyes.

"It is not important, Maeve," said Otis.

"No, you are gonna tell me," said Maeve. "And you are going to tell me now, dickhead."

They both laughed at the same time. Hearing Maeve's old nickname for Otis really helped to lighten the mood.

She gave him time to collect his thoughts, but she knew he was going to answer her, because he had none of the nervous energy that he had exhibited just minutes ago.

He took a deep breath before speaking.

"I left you a voicemail on the day of your Quiz Heads final, basically telling you how proud of you I am, and asking for your forgiveness," said Otis. "And -"

He hesitated for a bit, and then stopped completely. Maeve wasn't done yet. She needed the full truth.

"And what, Otis?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

"And to tell you how much I loved you then," said Otis, looking exasperated. "It was my first time saying I love you to you."

Otis turned pink. He stared at the ground, a mortifying expression evident on his face.

The colour drained off from Maeve's face. She flinched at the past tense.

"And you didn't say anything, or try to make conversation, so I thought you didn't care," he continued. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, so I kept my distance."

Tears threatened to fall off. A dam was breaking inside her, and she knew she was going to explode with emotions. She had a shit ton of questions she wanted answered, but she didn't trust herself to speak…. just yet.

Why did he tell Jackson how to get me? Why humiliate me in front of everyone at the party?

There were too many to be answered, but she wanted all of them acknowledged. Otis owed her that much.

"Why everything?" she managed to get out, the edges of her lips quivering with emotion.

Otis opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked down, rubbing a comforting hand over his forehead.

"My dad came back a day before I sent you that message. He said he had come back to hang with me. He took Eric and I camping," said Otis. "Where he lost the way and fought a tent like it was a human. Turns out, he had cheated on his wife, and she had thrown him out of his house."

Otis took a deep breath before continuing.

"That scared me for some time, and I did not want to become like my dad. I didn't want to be an asshole, Maeve."

"But, you are nothing like your dad, Otis."

"No, Maeve, but I am. His intentions were never to hurt my mom or me, but he still did it. Same way, I didn't want to hurt you, but ended up doing it unconsciously."

"And that is where the similarity ends. You are nothing like your father, Otis," said Maeve, snaking a reassuring hand towards his knee. "I was just mad at you because you hurt me, Otis. You hurt me in an indescribable way."

"A long time has passed since then, and I have had time to get my shit together," said Maeve. "I forgive you, dickhead."

He smiled and Maeve felt the dam beginning to fill back up.

Maeve stood up from where she was sitting, walked to Otis, and sat down next to him.

Otis' cheeks turned a heavy shade of pink, but he didn't object.

"Now, I want you to tell me everything interesting that happened in Moordale from after the time I dropped out," she said, laying back on the couch, and peering into Otis' perfect blue eyes.

"Well, nothing very interesting happened. Just Adam proposed to Eric in the middle of the school play, and they have been living together happily since," he began. "Ruby eventually came around, and we had a brief thing."

Maeve's expression changed from that of content, to that of contempt. Her brows furrowed, nostrils flared, and eyes darted.

Thankfully for her, Otis had been looking at the floor, so he didn't catch her vulnerable. She hated being this way, generally, but in Otis' company, all those feelings dissipate and are replaced with delightful ones. Ones she cherishes.

"So, Ruby, huh?" asked Maeve, trying to sustain a casual expression.

"Yeah, she really came around, after you left," said Otis, his eyes alternating between mapping out her face, and caressing the floor. "She actually confronted Anwar for me. That was very sweet of her, and as far as I remember, that's what drove us together."

"How were you even attracted to her, dickhead?" asked Maeve.

Ruby? Out of everyone, Ruby? What the hell did Otis do to deserve someone like her?

"Right after you left Moordale, she started talking to me," he began. "And in just a flash, we had moved past flashy looks and winks, and we were hanging out all the time."

Maeve tried to tell her heart to stop beating so fast, and she prevented herself from going red. That bitch used my absence as a window, was all she could think about.

"So, did you guys go all the way?" Maeve asked.

"Oh, as in, had sex?" asked Otis.

Had sex? For God's sake. What did she do to him.

He was not the nervous, all jittery kind of guy who would get flustered by a compliment, anymore. He was a more confident version of himself, and she had to hand it to Ruby. What Maeve hadn't been able to accomplish in almost two years, Ruby had accomplished in under 6 months.

When Maeve and Otis were on good terms, and back when she used to like… no, love him, she had imagined what Otis would be like if he had been a little more confident. It was kind of her dream to see him that way.

Now, when he was confident, she hated it. Or she just hated the fact that Ruby had transitioned him that way. She always thought she would be the one to do what Ruby had done, and just the fact that it was someone other than her who had managed that feat, disgusted her thoroughly. She fucking hated Ruby.

"Yes," said Maeve, answering his earlier question.

"Several times actually," said Otis. "At first, I was worried that I was doing it all wrong. But then Ruby egged me on, and I felt confident for the first time in a long time.

Maeve nodded furiously, trying to hide her repugnance. She wanted nothing to do with Ruby. She looked at the floor, because her tears were very close to betraying her.

Glancing above, she heard a raspy knock on her door. She was thankful for the distraction.

Otis stood up, but she gestured for him to sit down.

Walking briskly towards the door, she looked back and saw Otis looking at her intently.

She gripped the door handle and wrenched the door towards herself.

The door opened to reveal a young brown-eyed woman, with long brown hair, that fell in wisps around her shoulders. Her Amazonian figure rested well on her slender frame. She was clad in an oversized, red jumper, underneath which, she wore a black cropped bustier. Impala All Stars completed her look, painting her in a solid apathetic image.

Maeve raised her eyebrows, and half-smiled at her.

"Hi, I am Eve McKinley," she said, introducing herself. "Is Otis here, by any chance?"

"Yes, he is inside," said Maeve. "Analyzing Plath."

"Can you please call him out. He is in trouble," said Eve, smirking.

Maeve almost smiled.

"I'll get him," said Maeve. "Why don't you come in?"

"Thank you, but I am in a bit of a hurry," replied Eve.

Maeve nodded, and went inside to fetch Otis.

Otis was looking through some of her notes on Plath. When she approached, he closed the notebook and looked up.

"An Eve McKinley is here to take you," said Maeve. "Says you are in trouble."

She hated the way his face lit up when she said Eve's name.

"Oh," said Otis, frowning. "Eve is here? That's weird."

He got up, packed his stuff, flung his backpack over his shoulders and looked at Maeve.

"Thank you, Maeve. This was helpful."

"The pleasure was mine, dickhead."

"Do you have a lecture tomorrow?"

"No, but you can find me in the public library, trying to decode that 'mystery' text."

"See you, then," he said, not moving.

She ran over to him, and hugged him. Tears threatened to fall off.

"Nice having you back, muppet," said Maeve.

He smiled, and walked out the door, closing it behind him after giving Maeve a last wave.

It was truly great to have Otis back, but now, instead of one, she had to compete against two.

"Where is your phone?" asked Eve, eyeing him up and down.

Otis realized that he hadn't looked at it for the past two hours.

"Take it out and tell me what time it is," said Eve, clearly in a position of authority.

Otis took his phone out and checked the time. He flinched, seeing the homescreen.

"So, we missed our lunch booking, and Eric is pissed," she said, walking briskly ahead of him.

"I'm sorry, Eve," he said, hastily. "I couldn't keep track of time."

He could tell that she was not convinced. He waited a moment and then said, "I know a great Italian restaurant upstate. It is a half hour walk from here."

He didn't need to catch up to her to know that she was smiling.

They walked and walked and walked, and talked and talked and talked, until their voices were drowned by the subtle canopies of the evergreen trees.

End Note

This was my first attempt to write a hurt/comfort and angst story. Hope you liked it.
Every review, however long or short, is much appreciated.

If you want longer or shorter chapters please tell me...

See you when the next chapter drops.

Peace.