Ghosts that Watch Us

12

The spring semester started in full force mid-January, a snowdrift sending flurries of white powder in the air, piling up against window sills and door jambs. Ellory hustled to his classroom, Delia tagging along beside him. She let out a squeal when she slipped suddenly, hand shooting out to grab at Ellory’s shoulder. He held her steady and then slid her arm through his for better balance. Holding their coffee mugs aloft, they made their way into the building and up the two flights of stairs to his office, Delia telling him about the family drama that always sprang up back home during the holidays.

“Anymore trouble with that one student? The lacrosse player?” Delia asked, standing by while he unlocked his door.

“No, thankfully. Although I feel nearly the entire school rose up in support of him. I felt I had no choice.” He set his things down on his desk, unwinding his scarf. “In all my years of teaching, that’s the first time I’ve ever felt so blindsided before. How naïve of me to think that the importance of academics would prevail over something as trivial as sports.”

Delia shrugged and took her usual chair. “I don’t necessarily think sports are trivial. I like a good soccer match as much as the next person. But I would never believe that skirting one’s responsibilities in the classroom for the sake of sports is the wisest decision. Who was it that said…People think of education as something they can finish…?”

Ellory smiled. “Isaac Asimov.”

Delia nodded. “Precisely. We never stop learning, no matter what’s written on a paper someone hands us after four or five or six years of higher education. And especially no matter the extent of our body’s physical performance.” Her brow puckered prettily and Ellory took a sip of his coffee, eyes crinkling in agreement.

“You are exemplary, Miss Turner.”

Her cheeks brightened and she shrugged with that familiar “I know but it’s embarrassing to hear someone else say it” face, throwing her scarf over the back of the couch and starting to check through Ellory’s mail for anything important. Usually all that came to his school-provided mailbox were posters for plays or ads for special events, and once a week the schoolwide newsletter that was never worth reading. She threw all that away for him, allowing him to pay attention to more important things. Like communicating with Miss Velvin in the library, which he swore he did before the break but his materials still weren’t here so obviously either he was wrong, or she was. His bet was on her. 

As the days progressed, as he became more entrenched in the semester’s work and drafting his research, Ellory realized he had started to see more of Sean around campus. The man’s wide shoulders in the hallway outside his auditorium, talking with his players as they got out of class, down by the stairwell in the floor below his office, in the dining hall, his friends gathered around him, still cutting in line much to Ellory’s irritation. Apparently Sean did have a temperature threshold, because it was finally cold enough for the man to wear full-length pants. 

And if Ellory wasn’t mistaken, it seemed as if the fool was trying hard to make eye contact with Ellory. But apart from the initial warning glare Ellory threw at him, however ridiculously mollified that the man had actually looked at him at all, he made sure to avoid looking directly at Sean, settling his gaze at some safe distant point behind his head. He didn’t know what the man’s problem was, but if he intended to c***k yet another joke at Ellory’s expense, or laugh at him with all his coaching friends, then Ellory wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of looking directly at him while he did it. 

February rolled in and with it, Ellory’s birthday, about which even Delia wasn’t aware. He spent the evening at home on the phone with his friend in Ottawa. Then a shower was in order, if only to help him release some built-up muscle tension, and after that he would take some tea and the newspaper into the living room to read before bed. He had turned thirty-nine.

It was only when the weather was this frigid that Ellory took truly hot showers, letting it soothe away the chill that would seep into him through the day. Ellory cleaned himself slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with the small bar of soap, letting the showerhead bathe his curls, water dripping over his face. And then his hands slid lower, along his belly, bubbly white suds making his skin slicker, over-sensitized and buzzing. 

Ellory let his head hang back, the spray landing on his throat, sharp spikes that reminded him of teeth biting down, and he bit his own lip, c**k twitching to life. It filled quickly, muscles jumping in anticipation. He was exhausted, and he was half-awake, but he circled his c**k with a trembling hand, letting his mind create a faceless man. Maybe he was from Spain, maybe from the deep South, but it didn’t matter. The images he conjured were half-remembered and half-imagined, and that was good enough for him. Being held hard, feeling small in an embrace, despite the raging emotions sparking. Someone’s name a soundless whisper in the foggy bathroom. He tugged and rocked his hips, his other hand gripping the tiled wall, fingers clawed. Oh, but he hadn’t done this in a long while.

He clamped his jaw shut to prevent any telling moans, to stop the burst of someone’s name from between his lips. Instead, he f****d into his own fist, balls drawing up, heavy with the need to release. Dizzy, he eased back into the corner of the stall, ceiling lights shifting and blurring in the drops of water that bounced over his vision. He blinked, but they still swam before him, and he tugged on himself harder for it, eyes hooded, lashes brimming with droplets of water.

When he came, he clapped a hand over his mouth, leg muscles spasming, his o****m rolling from groin to heart in half a second. Another wave hit him and he felt it in his veins, mapped outward into his fingers and toes, lightning winking into his brain, stoppering all thought.

He stood gasping, wringing his c**k until he felt emptied of everything, letting it fall limp between his legs. Head back, he caught his breath, rolling his face and pressing it to the wall, giving himself time. The spray of the water washed his spend down the drain, and he let his brain be blessedly blank. 

Happy birthday to him.