The dorm was a frenzy of people settling back in after a week at home with family. Everyone greeting and sharing stories of family traditions and foods. Heather had taken her partner home with her to introduce them to her parents. It had gone well and her relief and happiness were palpable. You tried your very best to listen and smile. Thankfully, in her bliss she could not see your own misery.

You had received an email ending your employment with promises of good references and a direct deposit for the rest of the year of severance pay. You had the nest egg you had wanted, but it felt tainted. Money that should have been earned through work now felt like payment for silence, painting what were the happiest days of your life with broad strokes of darkness, muddying the once bright and vivid memories. The thoughts that had made your heart flutter now made your stomach churn. How could everything had gone so bad?

There was no telling how the next week of classes was going to go. How could you face him? The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of him or your classmates. You couldn't skip this week. You needed the final lectures and reviews to help you with your exams next week. You didn't even want to think about having to do this all over again next semester in the other history course you needed to fulfill your requirements.

As you sat in your desk the following Monday, waiting for the moment you saw him again, you fought back the bile that rose in your throat and the tears that threatened to form. You could do this. You would not show him how devastated you truly were. He wanted to be nothing more than your professor. Distant and unfamiliar. You would treat him with glacial civility.

The door opened, your stomach flipping at the creaking of the hinge. An elderly man walked through the door, carrying a briefcase in one hand and holding a cane in the other. "I'm Professor Cartwright. I will be with you this week and proctoring the exam for Professor Rogers."

"Where is Professor Rogers?" someone in the back asked.

"No idea. It must be serious though. This is the first time in his tenure that he has missed a class. When he asked if I could cover his classes, I was happy to assist him as he has done so for me and other colleagues in the past." He sat at the desk, looking old and frail as he pulled some papers from his leather case. He looked up to see a few more hands raised in the air. "Now, that's all I know, and all I care to say on the matter. I have here the topics he wanted us to review and next class we'll go over some possible essay questions for the exam."

"I wonder if he's sick," Zach whispered to someone behind you.

"He can't get sick," you muttered under your breath.

All the despair and hurt you had felt over the weekend twisted in that moment to simmering anger. Your blood pumped furiously, adrenaline fueling the frenzy of feelings threatening to erupt. No, you knew the reason he wasn't here. After all the battles he had run head first into, he couldn't face you.

Steve sat at his desk, laptop in front of him. He tried to ignore the aching feeling in his gut every time he caught sight of the empty corner of his office, his eyes instinctively trying to steal glances of someone no longer there. He hadn't realized what a reflex it had become until he tried stopping. He could almost understand his students' obsessive need to glance at their phones every ten seconds now. The habit of looking at something that brings you a small rush of joy was addicting.

His fingers scrubbed the beard now growing on his face. He didn't see any point in shaving. He wasn't teaching for the rest of the semester. He thought it might be easier for her to concentrate without his presence. But how was he supposed to concentrate without hers?

His fingers poked at the keyboard, the words forming slowly as he searched for each letter. He'd tried to place his hands on the keyboard and type the way everyone else did with ease, but his fingers never seemed to hit the key he wanted. So, pointers it was. He'd almost thrown his computer against the wall yesterday, but settled for his coffee mug instead.

It wasn't just the office where her absence was noticed. It was everywhere. The kitchen where she would make coffee before they worked. Whenever she made herself a cup, she would always use the same red mug. The mug that now sat front and center in the cabinet, untouched, unused, preserved. The living room where she nestled herself into the corner of the couch, snuggled against the arm. His bed that still held traces of her scent when he inhaled deeply into the pillow. The shower that still had her soaps sitting on the shelf, used only when he stroked himself thinking of her, washing his indiscretions down the drain.

But this was for the best, wasn't it? He'd experienced loss before but this felt different, more acute which he had difficulty believing. He had always managed to soldier on. He would again for at the bottom of everything that was all he really was…a soldier. Sacrifice and duty always won.

Classes were done. Dorms were silent as everyone studied for finals. You walked with Heather towards the library, fallen leaves crunching under your shoes. Zach had asked you if you had wanted to join his study group. You had agreed as long as you could bring your roommate to ease the guilt you had felt in accepting his invitation. Spite quickly overrode that reaction as you remembered Professor Roger's accusations at the beginning of the semester. He wasn't there anymore. You had nothing to prove to anyone.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. You sighed when you saw the text. "Zach says he's in study room C," you read. Texting him back, you let him know you'd be there in 5 minutes.

Heather glanced at you. "Are you okay? You've just seemed down this week. I know you aren't supposed to talk about your job, but if you need someone to talk to. I'm here."

You knew you had been irritable and short with everyone, barely talking. And it had been easy to play it off as finals stress, but Heather knew you better than that. You wanted to rant and rave to her, but you couldn't. Even if you weren't his employee any more, that NDA you signed was still in effect. "I'm fine," you answered as you had done several times in the last few days.

"It's just," she continued, "You've gone silent, and he's gone missing. Did something happen?"

You adjusted your bag and pulled your jacket tighter against the chill in the air. "Nothing happened," you lied. "He just didn't need anyone to type for him anymore. That's all."

"Are you—"

"Heather, drop it, please. I have too much going on right now to worry about Professor Rogers on top of everything else. I'm just stressed for finals. I've never been a great test-taker, and so much is riding on these scores. Then after that I have to live with my mom until next semester. It's just a lot, you know?" You quickened your pace, hoping the extra exertion would lessen the likelihood of more conversations. The faster you got to the library the better.

The truth was you weren't fine. You were furious and miserable. You had lost your anchor and were adrift in a world where the weight once more rested solely on your shoulders. You missed the routine you had with him. Missed him picking out your meals and outfits. Those little decisions now seemed daunting and yet so tedious. The stress of exams and the loss of the security he had provided had taken its toll. Your nails were bitten to the quick, feet tapped as though they were trying to learn Morse code whenever you sat, and all your pens looked as though an animal had mauled them from the teeth marks that covered them. To make matters worse, it still didn't make sense to you. Why had he turned so quickly and cut ties with no second thought? Had you really meant so little to him?

"Well if there's anything I can do to help, you let me know, okay?" Heather said.

What you needed was a release. You had almost texted Professor Rogers, asking him in some versions and begging in others to let you come over to relieve you of your anxieties like he had so many times before bent over his desk. But you deleted each one. He probably thought you were pathetic to need such physical means to relax, and you didn't need another rejection. Steps halting, you turned to her smiling. "Yeah, there is. When this week is over you can get me really drunk."

Heather threw her arm around your shoulder. "That I can do." The two of you hurried to your destination.

The punching bag swung, the chains securing it to the ceiling straining against the force of the blows that pounded against it in rapid succession, the windows of his home gym foggy from his exertions. But it wasn't enough.

He needed a fight. Needed the distraction of righteous justice, inflicting pain on those that deserved it, taking down fascists and criminals, saving the world from those who would subjugate to distract him from the fact that he was really no different from those who sought obedience in the people around them.

Sweat stung his eyes as it dripped from his hair. He checked his phone again, his thumb opening the spy app he'd yet to delete. She had started texting with that prick Zach. Making arrangements to "study" with him. The worst part was knowing he may have pushed her into his arms.

No, that wasn't the worst part, Steve thought, recalling the messages he had seen her type and quickly delete to him, seeking out his help to lessen her physical reactions to the stressors around her, one of which was him. He had wanted her to crave his touch. Crave the release she would feel under the weight of his palm. He had pushed her into the type of relationship he had wanted without any regard for what she actually needed.

She deserved more. She deserved to be in a traditional relationship with a man whose nature wasn't as controlling and deviant as his. She was too young and would surely regret being manipulated into this lifestyle eventually.

When Steve first saw her, he knew she had the potential to fit a role he desperately desired. He wanted to find someone compatible with his need for control that he could take care of. He assumed it would just be a beneficial relationship for both parties until one grew tired of it. He had never anticipated his feelings to grow into anything deeper. Because he did want to take care of her, discipline her, play with her, and also love her.

He had never factored in such strong emotions in his life. He had done without them so far and didn't see a reason to change. It would just complicate an already complicated situation. He thought he wanted her submission and obedience but that seemed to pale in comparison to what he wanted now. Her love.

How could she ever feel the same?

Music blasted from the small speaker connected to Heather's phone. You stepped over a half-packed box to look in the mirror. The low-cut top and tight jeans looked good. You'd freeze in the parking lots tonight, but a jacket wasn't exactly club-appropriate. Making good on her word, Heather had already mixed a pitcher of blue Kool-Aid and whatever cheap clear alcohol she could procure. Having a buzz before you went out would save you money on water-downed drinks later. But what was more intoxicating was knowing all of your exams were finished, and you were free for a few precious weeks.

Hours later, alcohol and music flowed through your body. Dancing in a group of acquaintances, colored lights flashing, you smiled freely for the first time in weeks. It felt good to have the weight of school off your chest. Everyone seemed to be out on the town, and their celebratory energy was contagious as they swayed and sang to the music blaring around them.

Heather's partner met up with her. They danced as though they belonged in the Catskills, teaching dance lessons at Kellerman's, their bodies wrapped around one another, undulating against each other. You felt a presence behind you, moving in time with your body. Turning to look over your shoulder, you saw Zach smiling at you. Had he known you would be here? You glanced at Heather who winked at you.

Zach's hand tentatively touched your hips, pulling you closer to him. There was nothing stopping you from enjoying the attention. Nothing but the nagging feeling that you were doing something wrong. That you were somehow betraying him. Anger pushed through the haze of your buzz wrapping its tentacles around your guilt, pulling it into the depth of your mind. He was the one that pushed you away. He couldn't tell you what to do anymore.

Willing your body to relax against Zach, you let him close what little distance between you there was. You swore even with the layers of denim between you, you could feel his erection pressing, grinding against you. Spinning around, you yelled, "I'm going to get another drink!"

Zach nodded and lead the way to the bar, ordering beverages for you both. Once they arrived, he handed one to you and raised his glass before taking a sip. You downed a large gulp. It did nothing to soothe your nerves and dull your frustration as the professor flashed in your mind once more. As much as you didn't want to admit it, as angry as you were, you still wished he was there instead of the boy in front of you.

Heather threw her arms around you. "Hey! We're gonna go ahead and go. Get some quality time before we don't see each other for weeks. Do you want us to give you a ride home?" she shouted.

"No, I'll be okay," you reassured her.

She kissed your cheek, her voice in your ear when she spoke again. "You know, this means our room is going to be empty…all night." She glanced at Zach who was watching the dance floor as he leaned back, his elbows propped on the bar. "Have some fun. Take some risks for once. What do you have to lose?"

"God, you sound like my mom. You go on and don't worry about me." You smiled as she waved hand in hand with the person she loved. You were happy for her, but that tiny part of you that was jealous latched on to your heart. Why couldn't it be that easy for you?

Maybe it could. You grabbed Zach's arm. "C'mon let's dance." Pulling him behind you, you pushed your way between bodies onto the dance floor. Zach circled around you, dancing in front of you, his leg making its way between yours as he ground against you. His hands roamed your sides before resting on your hips, one sliding to your ass. Bile immediately rose to your throat.

Breaking free from his grip, you shouted, "Bathroom." Stumbling through the crowd, you saw the queue for the bathroom. Ten girls deep and moving at a snail's pace. But just behind it, you saw your salvation. An emergency exit.

The blast of cold air was welcome as you pushed through the door. You rested against the brick wall in the alley. What was wrong with you? Zach was good looking. He was nice. Why couldn't you just enjoy his attention?

Because it felt wrong. It was wrong. The only hands you wanted on you had pushed you away. The person you really wanted didn't want you back. But that didn't stop you from wanting him. The thing was it had seemed like he did want you. Those days with him were the happiest you had ever been. Why had he ruined everything?

Pulling out your phone, you opened an app to call for a driver, and walked towards the front of the club, a hand steadying you against the wall with each tedious step. It was time to find out.

Steve slumped on the couch as the flames in the fireplace dance across the logs and looked at the stack of papers he needed to grade, knowing hers was in there. He flipped through each exam, searching for the booklet with her name on it. Finding it, he read her essay, admiring his girl's penmanship knowing each stroke was made by her hand. But what truly impressed him was her thoughts. She had blossomed under his tutelage and done beautifully relaying facts as well as explaining their importance and the effects they had all on her own. He wrote an A on the first page. She really didn't need him anymore.

She was going to move on. She was moving on according to her location at a local club. She was out dancing, having fun. He tried to calm the jealousy that bubbled in his gut when he thought of another man touching her. This is what she needed. To meet someone her age, who would, no doubt, give her the kind of life she had always truly wanted.

The car drove away down the long drive. You stared at the door. All the angry bravado that heated you, spurring you on, burning through you, had quelled. All you felt now was the cold wind cutting at your skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks.

You could call the car back. It wasn't far yet. But what good would that do? You would always be left wondering. Wondering why. Wondering what if.

Before you could second or third or fourth guess yourself, you pressed the doorbell. Arms wrapped in a self-hug, your hands rubbed the back of your arms, trying to generate heat with friction and failing miserably. Just as you began to wonder if maybe he wasn't home, the light in the foyer flicked on.

The door opened a crack, then swung open. You heard your name but couldn't stop staring at Steve dressed in pajamas, a bathrobe tied at his waist, and brown leather slippers on his feet. Who in real life had real pajamas with a matching bathrobe? Only leading men from black and white movies did that…of course, he would. He was talking to you. You tried to concentrate on his mouth but his face, now covered with a beard was too distracting.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again.

"Professor Steve," you managed to slur, "I need to talk to you." You placed your hands on your hips, swaying slightly.

"Are you drunk? Where the hell is your coat? Didn't I tell you to start carrying a coat?"

"Can't really dance in a coat, you know?" You chuckled and pointed your finger at him. "Oh, that's right, you wouldn't know." You shook your head. "It's a shame you can't dance."

He grabbed your arm, pulling you inside. "Get in here before you freeze." He took his bathrobe off, throwing it around your shoulders.

You shivered as his warmth surrounded you. Burying your nose in the color, you inhaled his scent. God, you had missed him.

He took you by your shoulders, marching you to the living room, standing you in front of the roaring flames in the fireplace. "Can't believe you. Going out half-dressed, drinking, and god knows –"

Swirling around, you interrupted what you knew would be a scolding rant. "No! You don't get to be mad at me. I'm mad at you!"

He stepped back, eyebrows raised. He crossed his arms waiting for you to continue.

"You have no right. No right to tell me what I can and can't do after what you did."

His stern presence softened momentarily before he stared at the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lost control. It won't happen again I should never have—never have taken things so far. Pushing you to things you didn't want."

"How do you know what I want? How does anyone know what I want? No one ever asks me. They assume or they tell me." You paced around the living room. Heart pounding, heat rising through your body. "My father never asked me what college I wanted to go to. He just chose one with a good pre-law program because that's what he thinks I should go into. My mother never asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. She just assumed I should want to be a trophy wife like her. Going from one man to another."

He watched you warily. His body tense, breath shallow as if he was holding it, waiting for something. "You should get to decide your future. To choose. That's why I had to end whatever it was we had. You deserve to be with someone who won't dominate your life. Who won't want to control every detail of your day. Someone better. You're too young to—"

You stopped behind the couch, turning to confront him. "No. For once, I get to decide what I want. I want to be with you. I want all of it. Knowing you care enough to overprotective and overbearing…" Tears welled in your eyes and your voice cracked. "I've never had that before. All I wanted, all I have ever wanted was to be safe and wanted. I have never felt as important and happy as I have when I'm with you. Who's to say what we have is wrong?" Tears streamed down your face. Why wasn't he saying anything?

Steve crossed the room. His fingers brushed against your cheeks, wiping away any dampness. Closing your eyes, you swayed against his touch. His arms scooped you up, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. "Steve?" you questioned.

"Shhh." He pressed his lips to your temple. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

He walked down the hall with you in his arms. You thought he would take you to the guest room, but he carried you over the threshold of his bedroom straight through to the bathroom.

"I want you showered and ready for bed in twenty minutes."

He had made it to the door before you spoke again. "But Steve—"

"No buts. I said we would talk in the morning. I'm not having this conversation when you might change your mind or forget what you said. Get cleaned up. You smell like a bar and you'll feel better washing all that off."

He left you alone. Briefly wondering what would happen if you didn't shower, you decided against tempting fate. He was right. It did feel good to wash the evening away. When you got out one of your shirts and a pair of your shorts were waiting for you by the sink. Tomorrow, you could start again clean. Fresh. New.

Steve couldn't believe she was here again. Couldn't believe what she had said. Had she meant any of it? Would she remember? He didn't want to get his hopes up, but greed had already taken hold. He wanted her. Maybe more than anything he had ever wanted. And nothing was stopping him from having her. Not if what she said was true. He didn't know if he was strong enough to let her go again.

The door to the bathroom cracked open, the light switching off as she walked through. Her eyes widened as she saw him sitting bed, waiting, a lamp on the nightstand casting a soft warm glow over the room. That adorable lost look he saw on the first day of class gracing her features. He hoped she'd always have a touch of that innocence.

"Come to bed," he commanded gently, pulling back the covers.

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt before she slowly made her way to the edge of the bed and crawled under the sheets tucking them up to her chin.

Pulling her towards him, Steve draped his arm over her holding her covetously against his chest. He felt her tense in his arms. "Relax. We're just sleeping. If you want to move to the guest room, you can. But I have dreamt of holding you like this for so long now. I don't want to wait another night."

Her body went lax as she snuggled in his embrace. "Me too."