"Hi, Dahlia!"
Oh Jesus ... Dahlia's brows furrowed, face stiff as steel, as she continued her pace towards class, ignoring Natalie's phony greetings. Although ignoring issues as those, sometimes, didn't yield ideal results. Natalie called again: "Dahlia how are you! You look horrible! Did you have a bad night?"
Dahlia couldn't help but take half a glance in their direction, noticing the blond sitting with three familiar figures in front of the cafeteria. Smirking sarcastically for half a beat before looking away again, she kept walking until some distance was laid, then habitually found some solitude in one of the restroom stalls.
"Miss Odell?"
"Oh hey, Professor Crane." Natalie was clearly startled, pivoting on her bench to face him. The Professor, as was his usual, was dressed in a neatly tailored suit in a shade of slate grey. The man wasn't old enough to be completely disconnected from the hip and trendy world of youngsters, and was actually considered the youngest among the faculty staff, and yet he seemed completely unrelatable on all levels. There was a massive air of unapproachability to him, a common secret inkling of subtle ego and overt seriousness. Most probably couldn't describe him as physically threatening, and he seemed a few inches shy of six feet tall, but his presence was immediately intimidating.
"... How are you?" Natalie attempted a greeting.
And Professor Crane just ... stared back. With those damn icy eyes. He took a few moments of silence before responding dryly, "Superb." He didn't reciprocate the query, and took a pause before walking away.
Natalie mouthed an obscenity to one of her colleagues. "Jesus, what was that about?"
His full name was Jonathan Crane.
In the living room of his comfortable little house, he sat reclined into a contemporary acrylic chair with suede cushioning. Next to that sat a matching side table with a glass of chilled tea. In one hand, Crane cradled some archaic kind of psychology book with fatigued pages: His original intention was to catch up on some personal studies, but he found himself uncharacteristically distracted.
Even more uncharacteristic of him, Crane realized momentarily that the source of his distraction was a fledgling curiosity of Dahlia Rhodes.
Perhaps Natalie Odell thought they were alone the prior night in the parking lot, but perhaps she also presumed incorrectly. The events that transpired before him, as he watched from the high window of a seemingly empty classroom, almost inspired sympathy. It reflected something ugly, buried not-so deeply within him. Something troublingly familiar from a period of his life many years ago.
Crane shut his book, and placed it carefully back into its place on his bookshelf.
In Psychology 102, the students were quietly completing their exams. Even in the auditory void, Dahlia's silence spoke volumes. Withdrawal from external stressors, he presumed. Pretend you're a harmless flea and the wolves will pass by without noticing, right?
When the bell sounded, it was quickly muddied with the sound of shuffling papers, scooting chairs, and excited chatter. Professor Crane stood from his desk, lifting a hand to signal silence as he said with conviction, "Everyone!" Anyone who had been in his classroom for more than one day knew to allow him the floor, and so the students hushed themselves to hear his announcement. He continued, "Exams on my desk, stacked neatly. If you haven't completed the exam this class period, I encourage you to reevaluate your time management abilities more closely this weekend." Several students looked visibly taken aback by his cold dismissal. The rest simply complied, and as they exited the room, they stacked their paperwork neatly on the open corner of his desk.
Crane sat again at his desk as the last of the students left, and reached to adjust the papers to a more refined stack. Then, he noticed that Dahlia was still gathering her belongings to leave at a lethargic pace. She just seemed worn out.
He said nothing, and simply watched.
Dahlia sluggishly stacked her books, finally, before picking them up and trudging down the steps of the leveled seating area and towards the door. She felt Crane's eyes, but pretended not to notice. Only a few feet from the door, his voice softly echoed into the nearly empty room: "How did you get those bruises?"
She stopped in her tracks, eyes lifting from the floor to look out ahead, saying nothing. A few moments later, and she continued her walk of shame with a bit more haste, leaving the lecture hall with cheeks hot with embarrassment.