I slid my hand over the pages of my manuscript and looked up at the sky. A gust of wind burst into the room, rustling the pages and tangling in my hair. I didn't remember leaving the window open so late, but it didn't matter anyway. Everything that had happened in the past few months had coiled inside me like a vine, slowly suffocating me, forming a knot in my chest that made it hard to breathe. I lowered my gaze and saw a dark stain spreading across the paper. Only then did I notice I was crying. I didn't know how much time passed until I heard the footsteps. I hadn't realized when she'd entered the room or how long she'd been there. Or if she'd seen me cry. The only certainty was that she was beside me.
"Do you understand now that you're caught up in adult matters without being prepared?"
Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of judgment in it. I tried to smile, with the clumsiness of someone caught at their worst moment. I wiped my forearm across my face, drying my tears with more force than necessary, embarrassed to have been discovered. Then I stood up, with the hesitant resolve of someone who has nothing left to lose.
"Then teach me how to be an adult," I murmured, taking her arm. "You have experience, don't you?"
"What are you doing?"
"Are you going to play with me until the very last day?"
My voice trembled, betraying the pain I was trying to contain. She looked away, uncomfortable, caught between guilt and indecision.
"You don't know what you're doing, you don't understand..." she murmured. "You're just a boy playing at being a man, nothing more. And I... I prefer men, not boys."
I let go of her arm as if it had burned me and returned to my seat.
"Leave me alone then. There's nothing more to say."
She dragged the chair from the next desk and sat close, though maintaining her distance.
"I don't mean to bother you, but at least I can give you some advice. We can be friends, if that's what you want."
I didn't look at her. Her words were a knife twisting in the wound. But there was something I couldn't accept. Being used like a dog. I had been before, licking others' wounds, waiting for crumbs of affection. I'd been kicked too many times. And this new rejection cut even deeper. I felt even smaller, and a painful cry lodged itself in my chest. Something within me was sinking irremediably, and my voice came out harsher than I intended.
"Do I inspire that much pity in you? I don't want your friendship. I'd rather do what you said. Pretend nothing happened between us."
I put the manuscript in my bag and stood up. Her hands were clasped in her lap, nervous, silent.
"Good night, professor. Goodbye."
She reached a hand towards me, but before she could reach me, I moved away. I left the classroom without looking back. Another gust of wind entered the solitary room, rustling the papers left on the desk. Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon, painting the sky a dull red. As if a curtain was descending on what could never be. On what should never have been.