Page 78 of Endless Anger
Irritation boils under my skin. “At a certain point, this is just harassment.”
“At what point?” he snaps, those brown eyes finally meeting mine. They glow with an animalistic intensity, fierce and unyielding as he glowers.
I swallow a tiny gulp. “What?”
He leans in, the scent of his soap surrounding me. It’s soft, clean, and so familiar, and I stop breathing because of it. “At what point doyouconsider it harassment, pup? You got all the morals between us growing up, so do tell me where I fall on your scale of impropriety. I’mdyingto know where your opinion of me stands.”
“It’s low.” I lift my chin, defiance pulsing through my veins. “I told you I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“Well, that’s too damn bad. I didn’t ask what you wanted. I asked how youfelt.”
I blink. “How is that different?”
“Your wants are external. Always have been. They contrast with what you feel on the inside.”
“Are you trying to gaslight me into thinking I don’t actually hate you?” I ask. “Sorry,pretty boy, but in this case, my wants and my secret feelings are one and the same.”
“You’re such a goddamn liar, Lucy.”
Rage singes my nerve endings. “Howdareyou call me a liar, you fucking hypocrite?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“All I have ever done was tell you the truth, Asher. And all you’ve ever done ispunishme for it.” My voice breaks, tears springing to my eyes, making me loathe him even more.
His hold on me vanishes, like I’ve burned him—yet somehow I’m the one in pain.
“Ms. Wolfe,” Professor Dupont calls from the stage. He’s at the edge, arms crossed over his chest. “Could I see you in my office before you leave?”
My face heats. Asher tenses.
“It’ll just be a moment,” Professor Dupont adds.
I nod, the muscles in my arms growing taut.
Asher gets up, gripping his backpack in one fist. With the other, he shoves a piece of torn paper into my hand, his brows drawn together and mouth in a firm line.
“You should pay more attention in class.”
The crumpled paper hosts his sketches on it but also the notes he took in between. The definition ofeponymous, the entire basic structure of creating a performance in ancient Greece, as well as a site to visit for test prep.
Notes that Iknowhe doesn’t need because retaining information has always been effortless for him.
Notes he took for me.
When I look back up to ask about it, Asher’s already gone.
Professor Dupont’soffice is a small room in the Lyceum’s annex, down a back hall from the auditorium. With a deep orange love seat, a large mahogany desk, black-and-white film posters plastered on the dark sage walls, and a bust of Shakespeare sitting in the lone window, it somehow manages to feel a lot cozier than the dean’s.
There’s something disarming about the professor too, despite theknowledge that he’s a notoriously tough grader and unforgiving in his performance critiques. But I suppose you’d need to be to keep up a decent reputation around here.
Given the Duponts’ family history as major acting industry professionals, it’s no surprise he takes his courses so seriously.
“Lucy,” he greets as I enter the room, still clutching the notes Asher gave me earlier. “Come in. Have a seat.”
He gestures toward a plastic chair across from his desk, and I perch on the edge of it, my stomach churning violently. If this is a progress report, I’m in deep shit.
“Professor Dupont, I can explain?—”
