Chapter 11 THE HOLLOW ACHE.
CLARA'S POV:
It had been…. How many days now? Too many, yet not enough to dull the ache and make the sting feel any less sharp. I sat at my desk, diary open in front of me, pen in hand, but the words wouldn't come.
My fingers tapped absently against the cover, tracing invisible patterns, as if it could somehow erase the humiliation lodged in my chest.
I felt numb, disconnected from myself, like I was watching life through a fogged-up window. Every morning, I went through the motions; class - meals - studying, but it all felt hollow.
I had never felt so publicly embarrassed in my entire life. Not even when Dylan had cheated on me with my so-called best friend.
Not even then had I felt the weight of a hundred eyes on me, dissecting me, judging me, whispering awful things about me.
But this… this was different. This humiliation cut deeper. It lodged itself in my chest and refused to move.
I could still remember that day vividly: the moment Professor Asher stormed out of the classroom, leaving me frozen in my chair. The room had emptied quickly, the chatter and footsteps faded away, until only Jake remained.
He had stayed, awkwardly shifting from feet to feet, offering me an apology that I couldn't place a finger on - was it for me, or for him, or for the ridiculousness of the whole situation?
I hadn't said a word, hadn't looked at him, my lips had stayed pressed together, my eyes fixed on the floor. I hadn't allowed myself any reaction beyond the hollow pit of embarrassment twisting in my stomach.
He had even offered to walk me to my dorm, his eyes searched mine for permission, but I'd refused. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the walls of the world to swallow me whole.
Now, here I was, scribbling in my diary as if the page could absorb my emptiness. My words felt flat, lifeless. I tried to force meaning into them, tried to make sense of Professor Asher's words about Jake and me - Was it really about discipline or about something else?
My brow furrowed as I stared at the page, the pen hovering, unsure if it even mattered.
I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes, and let out a quiet sigh. My shoulders slumped. My hands rested on the desk, the pen dangling uselessly between my fingers.
I wanted to feel something - anger - frustration, even tears - but all I felt was this hollow, distant ache humming quietly in my chest.
Just then, the sharp sound of my phone ringing snapped me out of my thoughts.
I blinked, eyes darting to the screen - Jake.
Of course.
A tired breath escaped my lips as I pushed the phone aside, letting it buzz against the desk. For a second, the sound stopped. Silence. But, knowing Jake, it didn’t last long.
The screen lit up again almost immediately, his name flashing across it. Again. And again.
I ran a hand down my face and let out a small groan. This had been going on for days now - ever since that day. Ever since Professor Asher had said those words that still echoed somewhere deep in the back of my mind.
Jake had been calling nonstop, trying to talk, to apologize, to fix what didn’t even need fixing. But I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
Instead, I had thrown myself into the project - or at least, tried to. I’d decided to handle my part alone, letting Jake do his own.
I knew it wasn’t supposed to work that way; the project required teamwork, revision, planning - all the things that came with working together.
That’s why we were partners in the first place.
But every time I thought about sitting beside him again, I felt this tightness in my chest - not because of Jake, but because of what Professor Asher had said.
I wanted to prove him wrong.
I wanted to prove that there was nothing going on between Jake and me, that whatever he thought he saw was all in his head.
That I wasn’t the kind of girl who flirted her way into trouble or blurred lines with her professor and multiple men.
My jaw tightened slightly as I stared at the still-ringing phone. I wasn’t angry at Jake - not really. He was just being… Jake. Persistent, overly kind, and a little clueless.
But I couldn’t stand the thought of Professor Asher - of him - seeing me differently. Seeing me as that kind of girl. The kind he would look at and think, I was right about her.
My fingers gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles faintly whitening. I wasn’t sure why I even cared so much about what he thought.
Maybe it was because, deep down, I still couldn’t shake that night - the one night that had changed everything for me.
And yet, I wasn’t even sure if he recognized me.
Sometimes, when he looked at me, his eyes would harden - like I was just another student, another name on his list. Other times, there was a flicker of something else - something that made my chest tighten.
But I couldn’t tell if it was real or just wishful thinking.
Either way, it didn’t matter. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became - I was bound to fail this project.
Not because I wasn’t smart enough, but because somewhere along the line, I had stopped trying.
My pen slipped from my hand and clattered softly onto the desk. I stared at it for a moment before whispering under my breath, “What’s the point?”
Because at this point… failure felt inevitable.
Just then, the phone began ringing again, and I stared at it like it had grown another head. My thumb hovered over the screen, knowing exactly who it was. Jake.
My chest tightened, I didn’t want this, didn’t have the energy, but… maybe it would be easier to just answer and be done with it.
I swiped, bringing the phone to my ear. Silence greeted me at first. My lips parted slightly, ready to speak, when a familiar, tired voice cut through.
“Hi, Clara,” Jake said, soft, almost hesitant.
I frowned slightly, leaning back in my chair, arms crossed. “What do you want, Jake?” I asked, keeping my tone clipped.
I didn’t have the energy for his usual charm or flattery. My brain was fried from the constant turmoil, from the endless men orbiting my life like satellites I didn’t want.
Another sigh. “Yeah… I know we aren’t… close-close, and I know I’ve been bugging you-”
I cut him off sharply. “I don’t care about that. Just tell me why you’re calling.”
A pause. Then his voice, a little lighter, like he was trying to sound casual, slid into its usual confident rhythm. “I actually called so we could… revise a bit for the project.”
“You know, make sure we’re on the same page and everything's solid.”
I almost shook my head, about to refuse. “I’m fine,” I said.
“Wait - hear me out,” he said quickly, cutting in. “I know I’m asking for too much at this point, but… please. We both know this project matters.”
I immediately felt the tension in my shoulders loosen slightly. Of course. That made sense. Logical.
Something I could handle. I opened my mouth to refuse, to say I’d manage on my own, when he quickly cut me off.
“It’s not just about the grades - it’s about how we handle it. And I figured… Well, I can’t really do it alone, and you can’t either. So…”
I stayed silent, arms crossed, staring at the desk, chewing my lip, thinking. My pen from earlier was still on the desk, clattering softly as I pushed it back and forth absentmindedly.
The ache in my chest hadn’t gone away, but the logic of the project nudged me forward.
Finally, I exhaled, keeping my tone flat. “Fine. Where should we meet?”
There was a small, almost relieved, triumphant pause. “Alright… I’ll figure somewhere and text you. You won’t regret it,” he added, the flirt creeping back in, confident, smooth.
I pressed my lips together and said, coldly, “Just the place. Don’t try to sell it. I’ve got enough distractions today.”
“Got it,” he said, still lightly teasing, still persistent.
I ended the call, leaning back and closing my eyes. No warmth, no relief, no connection. Just the small, practical step of getting the project done. Nothing more.