PROLOUGE
1226 Words
TRISTAN MOORE
I never planned on meeting Victoria Blair.
She arrived in my life like a disciplinary notice disguised as a person—neat, unimpressed, armed with color-coded notes and an expression that suggested she already knew I was a lost cause.
The first time I saw her, she was standing in my apartment, holding a clipboard like a weapon.
I was sprawled on the couch with a beer in one hand and a half-asleep girl I couldn’t remember the name of draped over my shoulder. Music thumped from the speakers. Sunlight stabbed through the blinds like an accusation.
Victoria took it all in with one slow look.
Then she turned to my mother.
“This is a waste of my time,” she said calmly.
I laughed. Actually laughed.
“You hear that, Mom?” I drawled. “Your hired help’s got an attitude.”
Victoria’s eyes snapped to me.
Brown. Sharp. Unimpressed.
“You’re failing three courses,” she said. “You haven’t attended lectures in weeks. And you smell like regret.”
The girl on my shoulder stirred. “Wow,” she muttered.
“Get dressed,” my mother hissed at her, mortified.
Victoria didn’t look away from me.
I grinned wider. “You stalking me now, Blair?”
She frowned at my last name. “I know exactly who you are, Tristan Moore. That’s the problem.”
Something about the way she said my name—flat, unawed—irritated me instantly.
“You’re my tutor?” I asked. “You look like you’d cry if I spilled coffee on your notes.”
“I look like someone who won’t tolerate your nonsense,” she shot back. “And I won’t.”
I liked her immediately. Which meant I was absolutely going to destroy her patience.
Victoria Blair became my new favorite target.
I showed up late. Or not at all. I interrupted her explanations with deliberately stupid questions. I leaned back in my chair and kicked the table while she tried to explain concepts I could understand perfectly well if I bothered to listen.
She noticed that, too.
“You’re not stupid,” she snapped during our third session. “You’re lazy.”
“Ouch,” I said. “That’s harsh coming from someone who probably alphabetizes her emotions.”
She glared. “Do you enjoy sabotaging yourself?”
“Do you enjoy being boring?”
Her jaw clenched. “Education isn’t boring.”
“Neither is chaos,” I replied. “You should try it sometime.”
She packed up her bag and left early that day.
I watched her go, something strange curling in my chest.
I told myself it was victory.
She hated me.
I could tell by the way she rolled her eyes every time I skipped a step. By the clipped tone she used when correcting me. By the way she refused to laugh at my jokes—even the good ones.
Especially the good ones.
But she kept coming back.
Every afternoon, like clockwork. Same seat. Same notes. Same determined look that said she wouldn’t let me win.
That annoyed me more than anything.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told her one day, feet propped on the desk, hands laced behind my head. “My parents will just throw more money at the problem.”
She didn’t look up from her notebook. “This isn’t about your parents.”
“Oh?” I smirked. “Then what is it about?”
She met my gaze. “You wasting potential.”
I laughed, sharp and bitter. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re afraid of failing,” she said calmly.
The room went very quiet.
I stood abruptly. “Get out.”
She didn’t flinch. “No.”
I stared at her. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Her voice shook just slightly—but she didn’t back down. “You’re not afraid of failing classes. You’re afraid of proving your parents right.”
My chest tightened. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.”
“I do when you make it this obvious.”
For a long moment, I considered throwing her out.
Instead, I sat back down.
She won.
I started noticing things I shouldn’t have.
The way she chewed the end of her pen when she was thinking. The faint crease between her brows when she was annoyed. How her voice softened when she explained something she genuinely loved.
I hated that.
It made things complicated.
“You ever relax?” I asked her once.
She didn’t look up. “When there’s time.”
“There’s always time.”
“For people who can afford to waste it,” she said.
That stung more than I expected.
“You think I waste everything?”
“I think you’ve never had to fight for anything,” she replied.
She wasn’t wrong.
That made it worse.
The day she quit, I didn’t see it coming.
I showed up late—again—still half-drunk from the night before. She was already seated, notes laid out, expression tight.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Fashionably.”
She stood. “I’m done.”
I blinked. “Done with what?”
“With you.” She shoved her notes into her bag. “I'm tired of dealing with you.”
Something cold slid into my chest.
“You can’t quit.”
“I absolutely can.”
“You’re paid.”
“I'm paid to teach you, not to babysit a big kid.”
That startled me.
“You’re giving up?”
Her eyes flashed. “I don’t give up. I refuse to be disrespected.”
She walked out.
The door shut behind her.
And for the first time in my life, the silence felt unbearable.
I didn’t go to class that day.
Or the next.
I kept replaying the way she looked at me when she left—like she’d expected more and was disappointed not to find it.
I hated that look.
Hated that I cared.
When I finally tracked her down in the library, she didn’t even look surprised to see me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly.
“I’ll try,” I blurted.
She paused.
“I’ll show up. I’ll listen. I won’t mess around.”
She studied me carefully, like she was weighing the truth of my words.
“Why?” she asked.
I swallowed.
“Because you’re the first person who didn’t give up on me for money,” I said. “And I don’t want to lose that.”
Something softened in her eyes.
“Last chance,” she said.
I nodded. “I know.”
That was the moment everything changed.
I didn’t realize it then—not fully.
But years later, standing in a glass tower with the city at my feet, I would remember that day clearly.
The day Victoria Blair stopped being my enemy.
And became the one person who saw me before I knew who I was supposed to become.
But life has a way of f*cking things up.
Of ruining the only best thing that ever happened to me.
Because Victoria Blair not only changed my life back then, he made me into the man I am today.
- Writer
