Page 16 of Redeeming the Villain
“Are you sure?” she asks, already moving her way toward Sunny.
“Yes.” I chuckle. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” She reaches down, and Sunny encourages her hand even more by sitting up and leaning into her touch. “I’m always here if you need someone to help you. I mean, I’m sure that your girl here is great at her job. But if you ever need a vent session, I’m here.”
I know I just met this girl, but I can tell she’s genuine. Maybe it’s from being surrounded by lying politicians most of my life that gifted me with the ability to spot a liar a mile away.
“That means a lot.” My eyes burn, and I instantly shut the sensation down.
What the hell?Why am I tearing up at her simple offer? It’s ridiculous. Get it together, Alora. She is just trying to be polite.
But I can’t help it. I’ve felt the sinking claws of loneliness my entire life, but there’s a special kind of ache reserved for the absence of friendship. Something I’ve gone a long time without.
Apart from an old family friend I spent some time with after high school—Phillip Stephens, my oldest friend. We were brought together from our fathers’ dealings in politics, forced into friendship, but a natural one blossomed over the years.
I appreciate him greatly, but it’s not the same as having a real best friend. The one person you can trust with your life, the one person you tell absolutely everything to. No barriers. No lies. No walls.
I’ve experienced it countless times—always jealous of the connection everyone else in the world but me seems to have. I know there are worse things I could be a victim of. But that doesn’t change the ache in my chest, a hole that’s never been filled.
It would be nice to have a friend here, even someone just to get coffee with on occasion.
“Can I get your number for when I’m in need?” I smile at her.
Blair’s movement yanks me from my spiraling thoughts. She digs her phone from her purse. “Of course. Here.” She sets her phone on my desk with a new text screen pulled up.
I type my number into the designated spot, put a smiley emoji in the body of the text, and hit Send. My phone vibrates on the small attached desktop in front of me.
“Perfect.” She beams.
I didn’t even notice, but the classroom is nearly filled up, almost every seat taken.
An older woman enters the room, beelining it straight for the desk.
Professor Samson.
With a hand tucked into her white dress pants, she drops her bag on her desk and leans back against the front of it. “Good morning, everyone. Today will be a short one. We will cover the syllabus. Then you will be sent on your way. No point in making your first week of classes hell. I’m sure there are plenty of other professors who will do that for me.”
“Fuck yeah!” someone in the back of the room shouts, followed by some sporadic clapping.
“Please pull it up on your laptop or phone. We’ll be starting on page five,” she announces. She’s clearly done this enough times that she has it memorized.
She continues, “Attendance. It is your job to care about your classes. I can’t make you show up. But I can be sure that if you don’t, you won’t pass my class.”
Page by page, she breaks down her rules, expectations, workload, and pretty much every single little thing we could want to know. It’s impressively thorough.
By the time she’s finished, we still have thirty minutes left on the clock, but like she said earlier, she’s releasing us early.
“Thank you all for showing up today. You’re dismissed.” She walks around her desk and sits down in her chair, opening her laptop and typing rapidly.
Students file out of the room, happier as ever that it’s over so quickly. To be fair, I don’t think that anyone is too upset about getting out of an Economics class early.
“Best class so far.” Blair chuckles as we both gather our things and stow them in our backpacks.
“Yeah, I’d say so.” I smile, throwing my backpack on as I rise from my seat.
She glances down at Sunny. “She is the best girl ever.”
“Be careful. She loves compliments. She might never leave you alone if you keep doing that.”
