Elija Cullen's POV
The classroom door shut behind us with a soft click.
But to me, it was a fucking earthquake.
My lungs were tight. My hands slick with sweat. I trailed behind Aurora Anderson like a sinner behind some gothic goddess who could see the rot in my soul. I swear to God, if she turned around and whispered my worst secrets, I wouldn't have even questioned how she knew.
Lorena marched beside me like a demon summoned from chaos and espresso shots, whispering obscenities about Aurora under her breath. "Fucking hell, did you see the way she looked at you? If looks could kill, you'd be a puddle. A hot puddle."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My heart was somewhere between a panic attack and a goddamn existential crisis.
Aurora didn't say a word. She walked to the front of the class, heels clicking in perfect rhythm, slow and precise, like she was counting down to someone's execution. Probably mine.
She placed her books on the desk with delicate purpose. The way a lion might set down a gazelle's bones.
I slipped into my seat, spine rigid like I was bracing for a sniper's shot. Lorena dropped into hers with a grunt.
"Girl," she hissed, leaning close. "That woman gives me bisexual trauma. She looked at you like she wanted to flay your mind open. I think I love her."
I didn't laugh. I couldn't. Everything felt underwater. Blurred. Aurora picked up the chalk and wrote something on the board in elegant cursive. Could've been a spell for all I knew.
My breath caught in my throat. I was unraveling. No one could tell. Except Lorena. And Aurora.
I couldn't breathe.
The panic was back. Loud, messy, mean.
My fingers gripped the desk, knuckles white.
"Eli," Lorena whispered, alarmed now. "Hey. Babe. You're spiraling. Want me to slap you? Want me to cause a distraction? I will scream. Right fucking now."
My vision swam. The edges of the room folded inward. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Then—
"Miss Cullen?"
Her voice cut through me like silk over broken glass.
I looked up. Aurora was watching me. Her expression unreadable, but her eyes—damn, her eyes were like ancient ruins. Heavy. Haunted.
"Are you alright?"
No. No, I was not. But what came out was something more pathetic:
I stood.
Too fast.
The chair scraped violently.
And I ran.
Out of the room. Down the hallway. Into the nearest bathroom stall.
I collapsed onto the toilet seat like I'd been shot.
I folded in on myself, arms around my knees, forehead pressed to the cold wall. Tears came fast, hot and humiliating.
Fuck.
I hated this. Hated feeling so fucking breakable.
Then—
Heels.
Click.
Click.
Click.
She entered the bathroom like it was a battlefield. Like she owned the silence. I didn't move.
"You okay?" she asked, voice low.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
"Go away," I choked.
"No."
Just that.
No.
She stood outside the stall.
"You can fall apart," she said. "You're allowed to. Especially when it makes no sense."
That voice. That fucking voice. It was soft in a way that felt dangerous. Like a knife dipped in honey.
I opened the door.
She looked at me. Not like a teacher. Not like anything I could name.
She looked like she saw me.
Not the version I pretended to be.
Me.
"Why do you care?" I whispered.
She was quiet for a moment.
"Because you remind me of something I forgot to mourn."
My chest fucking shattered.
She didn't reach out. Didn't touch me.
But God, it felt like she had.
"Let's go back," she said eventually.
We walked in silence.
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Lorena's POV
Elija ran out of the room like her soul had been hijacked and I was about two seconds from flipping a desk. I turned to Aurora, who'd just calmly watched her student have a breakdown and didn't fucking flinch.
"Is this some kind of weird gothic romance foreplay?" I muttered under my breath.
She didn't answer. Just kept writing on the board like a vampire with tenure.
I waited. Five minutes. Ten.
Right when I was about to cause an intentional fire drill with a lighter and a tampon (don't ask), Elija walked back in. Face pale. Eyes glassy.
Behind her?
Aurora. Silent. Serene. Like nothing had happened.
I immediately leaned in.
"Okay. What the fuck. Did she kiss you? Did she kill you and bring you back to life? You look like you time traveled and came back with PTSD."
Elija didn't answer. Just gave me this dead-eyed glare that said shut up or die.
I smirked.
Aurora turned to the class.
"Today we are reading Plath. Sylvia Plath. The kind of poet who bleeds out on the page. The kind of woman who burned so brightly she set her own world on fire."
My ears perked.
Drama. Delicious.
Elija stared at the front like she wanted to scream.
I whispered, "Oh. My. God. You are the Sylvia to her Ted Hughes. Except she actually looks like she gives a shit. This is better than a Wattpad enemies-to-lovers with a dark twist."
"Lorena," Elija muttered.
"Yeah?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"Okay but like respectfully."
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Back to Elija's POV
Aurora read aloud from the book.
"'I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I lift my lids and all is born again.'"
Her voice wrapped around the words like a caress.
I looked at her. She wasn't even looking at me.
But somehow, I felt like she was talking to me. Just me.
That was the problem.
She saw me. Too much.
Too clearly.
And if she kept looking, she might see all the things I didn't want anyone to ever find.
Like the way my skin sometimes felt borrowed. Like the nightmares that had started again. Like the voice that whispered my name in dreams.
Like the feeling that she wasn't just a teacher.
Not really.
Not to me.
Not to whatever the fuck was happening between us.
Aurora closed the book and looked up.
"Poetry," she said, "is not meant to be safe. It is not a cage. It is a wound that sings."
I couldn't breathe again.
But this time, it wasn't panic.
It was something else.
Something older. Wilder.
Something that wanted to be known.
And maybe that was more terrifying.