Created By

irwinwe

Rate this Story

Embed

I rapped three times on the door to room 315D, and then waited to hear a response from the inside.  There was a small label in the door's center that caught my attention, Kane MacAllister, Ph.D., and looking at it made my insides to a strange twist, as if I was nervous before going on stage to sing an operatic solo like I had often done in my high school days.  Then I shook my head in derisive fashion.  How silly it was for me to be nervous to go talk to a professor, no matter his age or personality.  Plus, it didn't make sense for me to be attracted to him, because he and Iain were interested in another woman.  I was going in to ask him for help on a research paper, nothing more.  No big deal, right?  Right, I assured myself, exhaling and squaring my shoulders, this is purely academic, you hear that...brain?  

"Come in" came a deep beckoning from within the room.  I came in, and if I did not feel completely confident, I'm sure I looked it, with my shoulders back and my chin slightly elevated.

"Hello, Dr. MacAllister" I said, the sound of my voice causing him to jerk his head up from his task.  He had been furiously writing something, and textbooks were opened all around his work area.  I assumed he was working on a journal article, or some form of professional research of his own.

"Ellen.  Weel halo, how can I help ye?" He asked, his green eyes peering over the rims of his square-framed glasses.  He took them off, tossed his pen aside, and leaned back in his chair, regarding me with raised brows.  

"Um...do you by chance have 10 minutes to go over my research paper with me?  If not I can come another time...it looks like you're pretty busy..." I started, feeling as if I had interrupted him.

"No, no, I needed a break anyway, come in and sit" he said, pulling a chair up to his desk and motioning me towards it, "I was wondering when ye'd finally come in and ask for help, after the offer I made ye in class."

I sat down in the chair beside him and handed him the rough draft copy of the paper I had written so far.  "I suppose I was waiting until...until I wasn't mad at you anymore" I said on a huff of apologetic laughter, my admission of truth catching him off guard completely as he jerked his head up again to look into my eyes.  He held my gaze for a moment, brows furrowed.   

"I'm sorry for tha', Ellen" he said, quietly, humbly, "I shouldna 'ave treated ye tha' way.  Sometimes I..." he stopped, wanting to elaborate on the true nature of himself but deciding it best to stay guarded, "I treated ye unkindly for no reason and I apologize."

"It's okay" I said, feeling moved that he had remembered the occasion and still felt bad enough to give me a heartfelt apology, "and um...thank you for your note as well."

He nodded and then looked down to my paper to begin his editing process.  I knew that he was holding so much back, and unexplainably, it hurt that he wouldn't open up to me.  I knew we weren't exactly well acquainted, so the distance between us came as to surprise, but I still felt disappointed that he would hide from me...I wasn't a monster.  I wanted him to know, even if he wasn't interested in me in any way other than just a student-teacher relationship, that he could trust me, that I wasn't just another woman who would let him down.  I wanted to understand him, and I felt like I could.  For some reason, I felt like we had a connection that went deeper than just words.  I had no idea how I could sense it, but I could sense it.  I had that same sort of feeling around my dad and my best friend Lori from my college days.  It was like a soul-connection that happened regardless of whether you or the other person tried to make it so.  I had that with Kane.  The only problem was, he wouldn't see it.

My nearness to him was more effective than I had expected it would be.  In certain instances I caught a faint scent of whiskey lingering about him, mingled with a subtle woodsy smell, and it awakened my female senses; senses that had not had much experience in close proximity with a man who had matured.  Cool air from the room and incandescence from his skin swirled interchangeably on my own skin like pulsations, like tornados that landed one moment and were in the sky again the next.  The fireflies deep within me returned, against my wishes, and instead of being interested in the fact that he was about to review my research, I became very interested in studying his hands and forearms.  I noticed how the tiny muscles in his forearm twitched when he wrote, and how his hands were nearly twice the size of mine, with long fingers sparsely covered in black hair, making him appear more masculine.  He nearly oozed masculinity, and for the leashed virgin that sat beside him, in her caged and thus ultra-perceptive sexual state, it was supremely difficult to stay focused.  I looked discreetly at his face then, and admired the subtle layer of stubble that graced his jaw line, the way he ran his index finger slowly back and forth beneath his bottom lip when he was deep in concentration.  When he was thinking of a suggestion to make, he would run his fingers down to the cleft in his chin, the sound rendering a light rasp from the stubble for just that fleeting moment.  Then he would write again, and his muscles would twitch, and when he moved I could smell him, and I could feel another swirl of his heat hit my skin, and the controlled fire inside me would flare suddenly, threatening conflagration.  STOP!  I told myself suddenly.  Stop obsessing, you're being ridiculous.  It just amazed me that such subtle movements from him could do such things to me.  I fidgeted in my seat and took a deep breath, averting my eyes for a moment.  I could feel Kane glance over at me, but then he continued reading my paper.  

"This is guud" he murmured a moment later, thankfully interrupting my untrustworthy thoughts, to remind me of my paper.  "I only see ye doing one thing wrong...ye keep holding back your creative side.  Nonfiction normally isn't verra creative, but you are, so whyna feel free to add your own flare to your work" he suggested. 

I raised my brows and nodded, agreeing. "I didn't know if you would grade it well or not if I added the creative side.  I guess I should have followed my instinct."

"Aye, ye should 'ave.  Ye're like the flower girl throwing rose petals on the...whatever it's called...bridal runner...the petals are obstacles...stop throwing them in front of you...throw them behind you and move forward uninhibited.  You are almost there.  And I'm glad ye've decided to argue it this way.  I argued it the same way when I studied this topic...the less common way."

"I always try to take the lesser known paths, Dr. MacAllister" I told him in a sudden renewal of pride, momentarily forgetting that his nearness was making me feel things I wasn't aware I could feel, "I like to call myself a nonconformist."  Then I smiled, remembering that I'd stolen that theory from Ralph Waldo Emerson, my favorite philosopher.  Kane looked into my eyes then, and I recognized the look he was giving.  It was the same look he had given me at the bar, right before he had become wrathful.  It was wistful, admiring, very flattering.  

"If a man doesna keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.  Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away" he replied pensively.

"That's Thoreau" I said and smiled, recognizing the quote he'd spoken.

"There is much to be said for the person tha' walks to their own beat" he responded, looking at me pointedly, "I admire anyone who does."  

I was inwardly taken aback by the subtle complement, and there was a moment of silence before he looked down at my paper again.  And when he began to point out some of the suggestions that he'd made, I felt his moment of depth shrivel inside him, as the remote surface returned.  He had allowed a portion of his heart to be releaseed, and as soon as he realized it he instantly locked the fence that surrounded it, completely closing it off.  His aura became distant, closed off again, and my mind exploded with disappointment.

"Why do you do that?" I blurted with frustration before I could think otherwise.

He looked at me, puzzled.  "Why are you so open one moment and cold the next?  Especially when I talk to you" I continued, knowing it was out of my place to enter into such interrogation with my professor, but I had to confront him.

He understood perfectly well my meaning, and his eyes quickly averted.  He sighed heavily; obviously perturbed and astonished that I would ask him such a personal question, but I had a feeling he also appreciated that I had noticed. "There are things about me, Ellen, tha' ye doona know tha' 'ave caused me to be bitter.  Tis na' something ye sould fash yourself over."

"I know more than you think, Dr. MacAllister" I stated in a soft tone, but with bold intentions, and despite the warnings in my head that told me to shut up and keep all the information I'd accumulated to myself.

He looked at me again, sharply, and I flinched inwardly.  Now I've really done it, I thought to myself, the beast has emerged.  "Och, really?  And just wha' do ye know?"

"I..." I hesitated at first, thinking that I should just tell him to nevermind, and that I knew nothing, but I decided that that I would continued because a) I wasn't a coward, and b) he needed to be confronted by someone eventually anyway.  "I know about your loses, Dr. MacAllister.  I know about your mother, and your sister and girfriends.  And I am so sorry you had to go through that."

"Who in hell told ye?" He demanded, eyes pained but cold, like cracked ice.

"Well" I answered, "Iain did.  I told him about what happened at the pub, and how I thought you hated me, for no reason.  And he really had no choice but to explain why you would have acted that way."

"Tha' bastard" he whispered, pushing himself back from his chair and walking testily towards a cabinet beneath his bookshelf.  "Wha' else did he say to ye?  Wha' other...secrets...did he share with ye?  Wha' other foolery did he make ye believe?  Doona listen completely to everything he says, Ellen, he is star-crossed in love with ye and would do anything to win your good graces."  

He took out his whiskey decanter and poured himself a shot, which he swallowed without so much as a flinch.  I raised my eyebrows in shock, knowing now that it was I that Iain had an eye for.  Then the epiphany struck me - Iain and Kane had liked the same woman.  If Iain liked me, then Mother Mary of God, I thought, Kane liked me too.  I sat glued to my seat, too stunned to move.  

"Tha' treasonous bastard" Kane repeated, taking another shot of his whiskey.  I disapproved of him shooting whiskey to calm his nerves, but I felt invasive enough already, and I wasn't about to say anything in regards to that.  In fact, I could have used some whiskey at the moment.  He liked me.  He liked me?  Apparently yes, he did.  I felt a new power come over me, and thus the courage to continue.

"Really, Dr. MacAllister" I tried to defend Iain, "don't be made at him, he spoke very well of you.  He told me you were as good a man as they came, just that you didn't like women, or trust them, because of all the women in your life that had died, I..."

"That" Kane interrupted, gritting his teeth, "was none of his business to share, and it is none of your business to know.  Ye both 'ave crossed your boundaries."

I looked down, realizing that what he said was true.  I didn't know how I was going to get past this.  The only thing I could think of was to stay calm amidst his controlled uproar, and to tell him the truth about how I'd been feeling.  I just wanted him to know he could trust me.  "Dr. MacAllister, it is a woman's instinct to see when a man is pained.  It isn't very hard to look into your eyes and see pain behind them.  I am very good at reading people, and I'm sorry..."

"I amna interested in your pity" Kane interrupted hatefully, halfway yelling.  I couldn't give up now, not after I had come so far.  I had tried gentle and it hadn't worked.  Now maybe I need to match his tone.  

"I said I am sorry that you had to go through what you did, but if you want to move on with your life and be happy then you are going to have to learn how to trust someone.  Remember the flower girl?  Well that doesn't just apply to me, it applies to you too.  And on the contrary, sir, the last thing I would do is pity you" I said forcefully, looking him dead in the eyes, the intensity of my conviction evident in my gaze.  "You have overcome a great deal and for that i can only respect you."

He was silent as he stood looking at me, jaw muscles furiously quivering, looking like a bellicose animal that had been halfway cornered and was now teetering on the seesaw of sanity and insanity.  I continued, warily, delicately.  

"Can't you see that I am just trying to be your friend, Dr. MacAllister?  I don't expect you to trust me now.  I have a hard time trusting too.  But please now, I cannot possibly be a threat to you, sir.  I am not like those insensitive, pretentiously urbane, people that you resent, and that you guard yourself against.  I am different, an atypical woman, really."  

There, I had explained myself, and I had put my complete heart into it, telling him exactly how I felt.  I had never done something like that before...I felt as if I had just leaped off of the branch and was free-falling.  The outcome of the conversation, however, would all depend on what he would say next, and I anxiously awaited the deep timbre of his voice, boring holes into my high-heels and black tights with my eyes in the process.

I heard him set down his glass of whiskey, and slowly walk back over to where I sat.  He lowered himself into his desk chair, and then he looked at me.  He didn't look into my eyes because at the moment I was too busy looking at my shoes.  But he was looking at me, nonetheless.  I could feel it, and my cheeks grew hot as a desert rose.  And he kept staring at me until I was forced to look up at him.  Once again, his voiceless presence commanded my senses.  

His eyes were wistful again as he looked at me, and I inwardly rejoiced that I did not have to look up into eyes that were wrathful.  Good God I have won, I thought to myself as I read his expression, knowing that if he was looking at me this way, he was obviously accepting me rather than trying to push me away.  

"I know tha' you are different, Ellen" he started in a gentle voice, "which is why I 'ave treated you as I 'ave.  I admit, at first I thought ye were just like every other woman, and so I wasna kind to ye, and I tried to distance myself from ye.  I'm such a bluidy arse..." he huffed in self-ridiculing laughter for a moment, "But since I discovered you werena false, but genuine, I've been...trying...though I do a poor job at it...I've been trying to open myself to ye" he finished, with trouble, but with heart.  

I had the strange urge to reach across the arm of my chair and embrace him, but I did not act upon it.  There was still the barrier of teacher-student looming before us, and it was not something that gave us much freedom for expression beyond words.  Suddenly I realized that if it was me that Kane and Iain both liked, then Iain certainly had the advantage.  I wished so much that it was the other way around.  I wanted Kane.  I wanted Kane.  The realization scared me, primarily because I had heard Iain's warning that millions of women had fallen head over heals for Kane to no avail, and secondarily because he was my professor, and we simply couldn't be, could we?  I realized that I was still staring at him, and he at me, so I suddenly jerked my head away.  "Thank you for giving me a chance" I said in response to his admission, and then I added, "and I'm sorry I stepped out of my place and asked you all those questions, Dr. MacAllister, it was really none of my business."

"No, doona be sorry.  I am glad ye did, now."  He stared at me again, and I felt as if he was trying to tell me  something that he kept deep within him. 

"So, they were enemies but not really enemies at all?" I asked, repeating the very same public apology and request for friendship tha the made to me during class several weeks before.

He half-smiled, "Aye."  He handed back my research paper, and I thanked him for checking it and headed for the door.  

"Ellen?" he said, right before I stepped outside, "I doona hate you.  I never did."

I looked at him for a moment, wishing instead that he'd just outright admitted, I like you, I always have.  But it was better than nothing, I thought.  I smiled at him, then as I caught the whiskey decanter out of the corner of my eye, my eyes adopted a gleam.  "Well, you don't like me either, or else you'd have offered me a dram of whiskey" I said to him, unable to resist myself. 

His look went from genuine admission to outright humor in no less than a second, as he suddenly began to laugh.  "'Ave some, then, if ye like whiskey.  Much better than tha' Kentucky bourbon ye 'ave in the States."

I glared at him playfully in return for the insult, and he smiled widely.  It was a rare and beautiful thing, seeing Kane MacAllister smile.  "You're right" I said, swallowing the scotch whiskey without even blinking an eye, "there really is no comparison between bourbon whiskey and scotch whiskey.  Scotch is just...weaker."

He laughed outright then, and was still chuckling to himself by the time I had said goodbye and walked out of his office.  I continued walking until I had rounded the corner, and then, with the wall as my support, I slid to the floor, in disbelief over all that had just occured.