Here is the next chapter. Enjoy.

I own nothing but the plot line and a few Ocs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.

"Two days," Collins said to his class. "Two days until the deadline and I have received one essay." He looked around at his students. They were all either looking around the room or at the clock on the wall above Collins' head. "Don't do this to me, people. I'm not afraid to fail ninety-nine percent of the class."

"Who turned their paper already?" a female student asked. Collins looked to Connor, who was diligently writing in a notebook. He was wearing sunglasses, which was an odd fashion choice for him, and refused to look anywhere else besides at the words he was writing.

"That's not important," Collins answered. "What is important is this: consider me reminding you that you have two days to turn in your essays my final warning. I won't be begging for them anymore. If you turn them in, you do. If you don't, you don't. Class dismissed."

The students moved a bit faster than normal while packing up and leaving, including Connor. He had always liked to prolong his time in Collins' classroom by moving as slowly as possible, but still leaving the room with enough time to get to his next class. Collins noticed Connor trying to blend in with the mass of people hurriedly shuffling toward the door. Someone bumped into him, causing the boy's sunglasses to fall off and land at Collins' feet. He picked them up before Connor even had time to think about it. The eighteen-year-old kept his head down as Collins held his glasses out to him.

"Th-Thank you," he said, glancing up at his professor. Collins noticed Connor's eye seemed discolored and pulled the sunglasses away just as he was reaching for them.

"What happened to your eye?" he asked.

"Nothing, Professor." The boy kept his head down.

"Don't lie to me." Collins' voice was stern yet concerned. Connor was silent. Collins tried and failed to lift his head. "Connor, look at me."

"I don't want to," Connor said timidly.

"Look at me." The eighteen-year-old hesitated before bringing his attention to Collins. The professor saw that Connor had a black eye and slight bruising on the side of his face.

"Can I have my glasses back now?" Connor asked. Collins slowly held the sunglasses out to him. He took them and turned to leave, but Collins grabbed his arm. "Professor, let go of me."

"Not until I know what happened to you," Collins replied.

"Professor Keaton will be angry if I show up late to his class."

"I'll talk to him. Tell me what happened." Connor fell silent. "Talk to me. Whatever you say to me will stay between us, you know that. Just tell me what happened and I'll try to help you." Connor looked down at his shoes and Collins waited patiently for him to say something.

"He was going to hit her," he said softly, looking up at Collins again. "I had to stop him."

"Who was going to be hit?"

"My mother."

"And your father was the person that was going to hit her?" Connor simply nodded.

"She was going to say it. She was finally going to say it . . . and he was going to punish her for it. I only wanted to hear it one time . . . just once."

"What was she going to say?" Connor suddenly went into the trance-like state he was in at the Life Café.

"Don't feel bad," he whispered. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have tried to make you say it." Collins couldn't help noticing that Connor seemed to be looking right through him.

"What was your mother going to say Connor?" the professor pressed.

"I'll just say it to you. Do you care if I say it? I know he does, but do you?" Connor's eyes shifted as if he was making sure someone wasn't around. "I'll have to say it quietly, but I will say it if you want me to."

"Connor, you're not making any sense. Snap out of it!" Connor flinched and blinked a few times. He stared at Collins for a moment.

"'I love you,'" he said. Collins' eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

"That's what my mother was going to say. It would've been the very first time."

"You're kidding, right?" Connor shook his head. "She's never said she loves you? Even when you were a baby?"

"My biological mother said it once, but that was when I was two and she was leaving me at an orphanage. I was adopted a year later." Collins gave an understanding nod. "I tried everything I could think of to make at least one of my adoptive parents say that they love me, but nothing worked. Now my only option is begging."

"Your mother wanted to tell you that she loves you, but your father wouldn't let her? Why not?"

"He says sappy displays of affection like that are what . . . turned me into a fag." The volume of Connor's voice dropped on the last word and he looked like he was about to cry as it escaped his lips. "He calls me that at least five times a day. He's the reason I've been hiding my sexuality from the other people."

"I know the pain that word can cause, but don't let it stop you from being who you are," Collins told the boy. "If you're true to yourself, people will warm up to you."

"If they don't like me now, what makes you think they'll like me after I tell them I'm gay? They'll probably just beat me up. And beating me up won't be hard at all. It's not like I have someone to protect or . . . love me. No one will care."

"I will. I'll care and I'll protect you."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"No, I'm not. It's the truth. I will protect you. You have my number, so all you have to do is call."

"I thought you said you only gave us your number for when we have questions about assignments or lectures, not personal calls. You made it a rule."

"Consider yourself an exception."

"Don't pity me, Professor."

"It's not pity, it's empathy. I was a little like you at your age." Connor looked at his shoes.

"But it's your rule," he said.

"You can protest all you want about the rules and how they should be followed, but I know one day things are going to get harder and you're going to need someone to help you through it," Collins replied. He then put his hand under Connor's chin and lifted his head. "When that day comes, remember this talk." Collins brought his hand back down to his side.

"You're being completely honest, right? You won't just hang up on me if I call?"

"I'm here for you, Connor." Collins put an arm around Connor as he put his sunglasses back on. "Come on, I'll walk you to your class, so you won't get yelled at."

The eighteen-year-old smiled and let his professor lead him out of the room.

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