Next chapter. One reviewer has been paying attention and sort of knows where this story is going. You know who you are. This chapter is to confirm your hypothesis and to bring two reviewers' worst fears to life. I am so evil.

I own nothing but a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.

While waiting for Joanne to arrive, Angel made grilled cheese sandwiches. She got lucky that she was able to find the fixings for the sandwiches since there wasn't much to eat in the apartment and she was dealing with two vegetarians. As Angel cooked, Collins and Connor had an in depth conversation about philosophy, which was turned into a conversation about love by the younger of the two. The boy was generally interested in the subject. He almost seemed like a robot learning human emotions. Collins felt bad for his student. There was a knock at the door just as Angel brought the sandwiches into the living room. She placed the plate with the three sandwiches on it down on the coffee table and went to open the door.

"Sorry it took me so long," Joanne said as she entered the apartment. She was holding a briefcase in one hand and Maureen's hand was in her other hand. "I had Maureen come with me because my car is being repaired and I don't like being in cabs by myself."

"Statistically, Americans spend 18 percent of their income on transportation and only 13 percent on food," Connor stated. The four others stared at him and he turned his attention to the plate of sandwiches.

"That's really interesting," Maureen told him. She looked to Joanne. "And don't lie, Pookie. You only asked me to come along because it gets dark earlier now and you're afraid of the dark."

"I didn't lie and that's a very rational fear," Joanne replied.

"Sure. Whatever you say."

"Actually, she's right," Connor said. "Fear of darkness is a common fear among most people. Our minds often associate darkness with the unknown, which is something propaganda that has anything to do with the genre known as horror has taught us to fear whether it's intentional or not. Fear of darkness doesn't always deal with the unknown though, it can also have something to do with a bad memory or just the inherent absence of light."

There was a silence as Connor received stares from everyone again. He slowly reached for a sandwich. He took a bite and waited for someone to say something.

"Oh my God," Maureen said, dropping Joanne's hand. "You are so adorable! Say more words!"

"I'm confused," Connor replied. "How exactly am I adorable?"

"Every word that comes out of your mouth makes you even more adorable!"

"I'm adorable when I speak?"

"Yes! How the hell can anybody even think about hurting someone like you?" Connor looked to Collins, who chuckled at the look of confusion on his face.

"Maureen thinks everything is adorable," he explained. "If you were a little younger, she would probably be squealing right now."

"I swear, if you look up 'adorable' in the dictionary, his name would be the definition!" Maureen continued.

"Actually, the definition of 'adorable' is-"

"Sweetie, she was just complimenting you," Angel told Connor before he could finish his sentence. Connor nodded as Joanne made her way to the couch. She sat down next to Connor, took a legal pad and pen out of her briefcase, and placed the briefcase down by her feet. The eighteen-year-old immediately looked down at the sandwich he was eating.

"Connor, do you know why I'm here?" she asked.

"Yes," Connor answered quietly.

"So, you're aware that you'll have to talk to me? Tell me some things that may be hard for you talk about?"

"I don't want to . . . but I know I have to."

"Why don't you want to?" Connor was silent. "Is it because you don't want your mother to go to jail? It's completely understandable if-"

"That's not it," Connor interrupted. Joanne waited patiently for him to give an explanation. "I . . . I don't want to think about what she's done . . . and let be done to me."

"What does that mean?" Connor put the sandwich back on the plate and wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. He then placed his hands in his lap and kept his attention on them.

"Connor, you need to explain what you just said," Collins told the boy. Connor shook his head.

"I don't want to remember," he said softly. "I want to forget . . . I just want to forget. I know it's not likely with my memory, but I . . . I just don't want to remember."

"Talking about it helps." Collins took Connor's hand in his. The student looked at their hands and thought back to the hug he'd received not too long ago. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"I . . . came out to my parents when I was twelve," he began.

"How did they react?" Joanne asked.

"They were shocked. I don't think they wanted to believe it. My father learned pretty quickly that he wasn't going to be able to change me, but my mother . . . she just wouldn't give up. She had already been beating me for nine years, so I was used to that."

"Did her violence increase at all?"

"Tenfold. The beatings were more often and more severe." Connor looked down at his shoes. "One day, I came home from school and she was waiting for me at the front door." The boy paused.

"What did she do when you got into the house?" Connor opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it. "Connor, what did she do?"

"She . . . made me put on a dress . . . and a wig. Then she put makeup on me, took me to her room, and left me there."

"Was she trying to humiliate you?"

"I wish."

"So she did something else?"

"No . . . but he did."

"Who's 'he?'"

"The man she brought up to the room." Angel and Maureen gasped. Collins closed his eyes and put his head down. He didn't need to hear anything else to know what Connor was trying to say.

"Connor, the fact that you have an eidetic memory has nothing to do with why you can't forget that," Collins said. "Even if you didn't have an eidetic memory, you would still remember that clearly. You actually made that point in one of your essays."

"'The human mind will most likely recall the death of a family member better than what a person had for lunch on Tuesday,'" Connor recited.

"Exactly. You remember it because it was an extremely traumatic experience."

"Well . . . can someone help me? How do I forget it?"

"You don't forget it, Connor. You learn to deal with it and eventually move on. You learn how to live even though that memory will most likely always be somewhere in that big brain of yours." Connor brought his attention to Collins.

"Do you think that's why I study all the time?" he asked. "Because I'm trying to push that memory out of my mind?"

"It's a possibility."

Connor spent a little over an hour telling Joanne about the current and past injuries he'd suffered at the hands of his mother. Collins continued to hold his hand while he spoke. Knowing that his professor cared for him made talking about the abuse slightly easier for Connor. He was grateful that Collins was as kind as he was. He had never seen himself as someone other people would concern themselves with even if he was able to muster up the courage to talk about what he was going through on a daily basis. The boy had always had a high level of respect for his professor, but now he had the same level of trust in him. He could tell Collins would never hurt him.

Once Maureen and Joanne left, it was decided that Connor would stay with Angel and Collins for the night. Angel took the empty plate into the kitchen and placed it in the sink while Collins went to search for extra blankets. Upon reentering the living room, Angel noticed Connor seemed a bit on edge.

"You okay, Connor?" she asked. Connor looked up at her and nodded. "You sure about that?"

"I'm just . . . nervous," the eighteen-year-old confessed. "I don't really know what to expect out of all this."

"Sweetie, everything will be fine. Collins wouldn't have called Joanne if he knew it was going to put you in danger." Connor nodded and dropped his attention to the floor.

"Miss Schunard-"

"Call me Angel," Angel interrupted.

"Angel . . . I have a question."

"What is it?"

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you and Professor Collins meet?"

"Oh, I don't mind you asking that at all." Angel sat down next to Connor. "It was Christmas Eve and Collins was coming home from MIT. When he got to his old home, three men chased him into an alley where they mugged him. They just left him there."

"Professor Collins was mugged? How? He seems like he would be able to defend himself fairly easily."

"He was outnumbered." Connor nodded and waited for Angel to continue. "It just so happens that I like to drum across the street from the alley those men left him in and I heard him coughing. I walked down the alley, found him, brought him back here, cleaned him up, and . . . the rest is history."

"Did he fall in love with you at first sight?"

"No. And for a while I think he was only in love with the fact that I saved his life. That's not true anymore, of course."

"You saved his life . . . and he fell in love with you?" Angel nodded. "Do you think something like that could happen with anyone else?"

"I suppose it could. Do you have your eye on someone special?" Angel was smiling at Connor, but he didn't notice. Collins returned to the living room then. He was carrying a sheet, a blanket, and a small pillow.

"This is all I could find," he told Connor, putting the blankets down on the coffee table. "I hope you don't mind."

"It's fine," Connor replied. He thought for a moment before standing. "Thank you for letting me stay here." He stepped closer to Collins and wrapped his arms around his middle. Though the hug was awkwardly initiated, Collins returned it. As he involuntarily rubbed Connor's back, the boy closed his eyes and gave a content sigh.

Yes, Angel, he thought. I do have my eye on someone special.

Yep.

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