The Professor I Shouldn't Want

The Worst Possible Timing

POV: Henry

I was inhaling a Caesar salad while keeping my eyes glued to my laptop. Jesus, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had a week this rough. The office had been a madhouse since Monday, and the only person who could still make me feel good was pissed at me for a reason I still hadn't quite figured out.

It was Friday, and she still hadn't texted me. I’m not gonna lie, I’d been holding myself back big time these last few days from reaching out first. I just wanted to understand what the hell happened and get things back to normal. But this time, I was letting my pride take the wheel. If she wants me to apologize for what I said, then she needs to explain why she got so offended in the first place.

“Mr. Anderson?”, my secretary called out, stepping into my office. “Here are the papers you asked for.”, she set them down on my desk.

“Thanks, Jane.”, I said, and she headed out.

I glanced at the papers, just some documents for the case I was working on. But the date caught my eye. It jumped right out at the page. Was that right? I looked at my laptop screen to check today's date, and they matched. I slumped back in my chair, suddenly losing my appetite.

“So, it’s today…”, I whispered to myself.

Dammit. Every year it was the same thing. This godforsaken day would roll around and just wreck me. Even after all this time. Would I ever actually get over it? Honestly, I didn't have much hope. How do you even get over something like that?

I rubbed my face with both hands, already feeling a lump in my throat. No, I didn't need this right now. I had too much to do. I tried in vain to push away the thoughts, the memories, too late. I was going to be a mess all day. Great. As if everything else wasn't enough, I had this to top it off. What a hell of a Friday.

I left the office at 7:00 PM. The plan was to head straight home, but I hit a bar first. I needed something stiff, the kind of stuff I didn't keep at my place. As soon as I sat down on one of the stools at the counter, I felt my phone buzz. It was Anne. Apparently, now she wanted to talk. Well, unfortunately, she’d have to wait, because I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, not even her. Right then, I just wanted to get those damn memories out of my head.

“What can I get you?”, the bartender asked from across the counter.

“Whiskey, neat, please.”, I replied. He brought the glass, and I just stared at the amber liquid for a few seconds.

I hated having to drink like this. It felt like, in some way, it made me more like Harrison. And all I wanted was to stay as far away from that prick as possible. I’d gone years without a single drop of alcohol just because of him. And even after I started drinking again, I avoided overdoing it or touching the hard stuff at all costs. I had a fear, no, a massive, paralyzing dread, of ending up just like him.

But tonight, I’d have to make an exception. I couldn't think of any other way to get my mother’s death out of my head. I left the bar close to 9:00 PM. I didn't feel completely wasted; I could still walk. But I called an Uber to get home anyway.

I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until this day was over. If I was lucky, maybe I’d wake up feeling better tomorrow. But as soon as I hopped out of the Uber, I saw a woman standing by my building's entrance. Either I was hallucinating, or that was my girlfriend.

“Anne?”

She turned toward me and scanned me from head to toe. Yeah, babe, I know. I look like absolute trash right now.

“Is everything okay?”, she asked, sounding worried.

Crap. I didn't want to talk about this with her. Not now. It was the worst possible timing.

“Yeah. What are you doing here this late?”

“I wanted to talk. Did you see my texts?”

“I did. Sorry. I was... busy.”

I sighed. I was truly too tired, too sad, and too buzzed to deal with this right now. Was there any way to tell her to go home without sounding like a total d**k? I really just wanted to sleep and forget today existed. Tomorrow, we could talk for as long as she wanted, but not now. Right now, I was drained.

“Anne... I... Can we do this... tomorrow?”, I asked, hoping I didn't sound too rude.

She stepped closer and looked me dead in the eye.

“Are you drunk?”, she asked, and I sighed again. “Henry, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“This is definitely not 'nothing'.”, she said, gesturing toward me. “Was it something at work?”, I didn't answer.

“Alright. If you don't want to tell me, that’s fine. But at least let me help you up to your apartment. Give me your keys.”, she said, holding out her hand.

For God's sake, why couldn't she just leave?

“Come on, Henry!”, she said impatiently, and I handed over the keys.

She let me lean on her shoulder until we got inside.

“Do you want something to eat?”, she asked.

“I just want to sleep.”, I replied, and she led me to my bed.

Once I lay down, she took off my shoes and tucked me in.

“Well... when you’re feeling better, just shoot me a text, okay?”, she said, starting toward the door.

I watched her walk away, feeling completely torn. I still wanted her to leave; I didn't want her to see me like this, broken. But at the same time, the distance between us felt unbearable.

“Wait.”, I said, and she turned back. “You... you can stay, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”, I nodded. “Okay, then.”

She walked back to the bed and sat on the other side. I had one arm over my eyes, trying to drift off.

“This isn't about our...”

“No.”, I answered.

“Okay.”

“Not that I wasn't upset... but it’s not about that.”

She didn't say anything.

“Look... I don't want you to think this is a regular thing.”, I said, looking at her. She was staring at me, confused.

“What? You being sad?”

“Me getting drunk. I’m not like this...”, I looked away.

“I wasn't thinking that. To be honest, I was more worried about what caused it.”

I still wasn't looking at her. Then she lay down on the bed, resting her head on my chest. My God, what was she trying to do? Get me to break down in front of her?

She wrapped her arms around me, and I took a deep breath, that lump in my throat coming back full force. I wanted to pull away, to hide, but I didn't have the strength to push her away.

“It’s my mom.”, I said quietly, barely a whisper, before I could lose it completely.

She lifted her head and looked at me.

“Did something happen to her?”

“Yeah, sixteen years ago…”, I met her eyes. “She killed herself.”