THE PROMISE

THE PROMISE
ISABEL SLADE (First Person POV)
“I need to talk to you” he whispers in my ear.
I don’t look at him “You’re late.” My tone was flat.
The air in the lecture hall feels too thick.
Students were filing into the lecture hall ready for my class, and Cags had managed to slip from the crowd to where I was standing 
“You’ve been avoiding me for days. Can’t you even talk to me?” He whispered, but my eyes were farting around, looking to see if anyone noticed how close he was to me now. 
“Not now.” I snapped, not sparing him a glance.
“When then? You’ve been ignoring me all week.”
“Not. Now.” My tone slices through the chatter around us. A few students look up, sensing the tension.
“Isabel…”
“Class is about to start. Sit down.”
He flinches, jaw tight, but obeys. He walks away reluctantly, his shoulders tight and stiff like a storm waiting to break.
Cash is already sitting there when I turn. Front row, arms folded, eyes fixed on me like I’m the only person in the room.
I exhale and turn to the board. “Good morning, everyone. Today, we’re discussing forensic fieldwork and the importance of maintaining chain of custody.”
The words feel empty and rehearsed. And for a moment I wished Carl hadn’t pushed me to do this.
I hated everything that was happening and I hated the fact that I had been roped into having fond affections for someone I didn’t want.
But I had been up all night thinking of him.
Angrily thinking about him.
And furiously thinking of how to fuck with Cage.
I’m hyper-aware of him now, every shift, every glance Cash threw in my direction, I could feel it burning holes into my back as I lectured. “Now, in every forensic reconstruction…”
Ten minutes in, just as the room begins to settle and I’m midway into my lecture, he mutters something low as I pass by his desk . 
It was soft and almost inaudible. But I hear it.
“You told me you’d always protect me.”
The marker slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.
He had managed to rack my nerves.
I did promise to protect him. My boy.
My throat tightens, but I force myself to pick up the marker, walk back to the board and keep writing. “As I was saying…” my speech faltered.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. 
It’s deliberate, and cruel in the way only someone who knows you too well can be. He was pushing his limit.
I cleared my throat and kept my back turned to the class. “Mr. Steele, if you have something to contribute or share with the class, say it loud enough for everyone to hear.”
“Nothing, Professor,” he says, his voice was calm, but I can feel the weight of his eyes on my spine.
I finish the writing on the board and turn to face him. “Good. Then let’s stay on topic. Keep your mumblings to yourself.”
A few whispers fill the class but he doesn’t stop watching me. Not for a second.
The image of him and Cage kissing flashed through my mind again and my fury was reignited. But I managed to keep my calm and continue the class.
When I ask for thesis submissions, everyone moves to make their submission and Cash follows. 
He places his thesis on my desk, one we both know was useless, then slides a folded note under top.
I threw him a glare as he lingered at my desk, while everyone moved back to sit down and opened the note without hesitation.
Please talk to me. Let’s meet tonight, at the lake.
My pulse spikes. The nerve of him.
The students around us don’t notice what was going on between us, but I can feel the walls closing in. 
My eyes narrow and I whisper, “Are you insane?”
He leans closer, voice barely audible. “You won’t answer my calls.”
“Because we’re done, Cash. I told you.”
His jaw tenses. “You just asked for space. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”
I straighten, forcing my voice to stay level. “Return to your seat.”
He hesitates. The whole class starts to feel it, the unspoken war happening right here, right now. 
“Don’t push me, Cash” I said through gritted teeth.
Finally, he turns away and sits.
I tried to continue the lecture, my voice was clipped. “Forensic integrity means no contamination of evidence…”
And then, as if determined to make me madder than I was, he raises his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Steele,” I said tightly.
He looks right at me. “Professor, what happens if someone destroys evidence to protect someone they care about?”
Every sound dies.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “Just asking. Hypothetically.”
I was beyond mad at this point.
Why was he trying to make a scene just to get my attention?
A few students glance between us, confused. My chest feels hot. “That question isn’t relevant to this discussion.”
“I think it is,” he says. “You said every action leaves a trace. So if someone covers something up, that’s a trace too, right?”
“That’s unethical and against the law.”
“But…”
I slam my marker on the table. “Enough, Mr. Steele.” 
He leans back. “You always told us to speak up.”
“That’s not what this is!” My voice echoes across the hall. “You are trying so hard to be a distraction.”
The students freeze.
Cash stands up from his seat. “Then what is this, Isabel? 
I almost gasped, what the fuck was wrong with him?!
First he used my real name which was threat to this mission 
And, even if I was his professor in reality, we weren’t on a first name basis, which was disrespectful. 
Gasps ripple through the room.
“Who is Isabel?”
“Do they know each other?”
“Is something going on between them?”
“Oh, Brittany is going to love this gossip”
My heart stopped and I could feel my veins throbbing with a surge of anger.
“I’m sorry Mrs Lara…” he tried to apologize but I silenced him with a raised finger.
“That’s it.” I say lowly “Out,” my tone was dangerous.
He doesn’t move. “I’m sorry, I just wanted you to hear me out…”
“Get out before I have you expelled!” I yelled, trembling with rage and I could see the hope die in his eyes.
The class is quiet now, waiting to see the next move either of us would make.
Cash expression flickers, anger? hurt? A feeling… something I couldn’t quite name.
He hesitates, looking like he wanted to be stubborn about it, before he finally grabs his bag and storms out. The door slams so hard behind him that the walls tremble.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Everyone’s staring at me, wide-eyed, waiting for my next move.
“Class is dismissed,” I manage, voice flat and on cue, the bell rings.
They scramble out, everyone whispering as they go. When the last person leaves, I hold the edge of my desk and sighed, breath catching in my throat.
The note still laid open beside the stack of thesis files. 
With new found anger and a shaking hand, I picked it up, crumpled it and threw it in the bin. 
Why does anger always hurt more than guilt?
I stare at the empty doorway. I can still hear his voice echoing in my head… You told me you’d always protect me.
And maybe that’s what makes it unbearable. Because once, I meant it.
I still do.
But how do I get the image of him kissing another man out of my head?