Chapter 16 16
POV Katherine
I stayed in bed a little longer after screaming, my face buried in the pillow until the crying finally subsided. I didn’t want to move, but time didn’t stop.
It was Sunday, and tomorrow he’d come. I had to get ready, though just thinking about it made my stomach twist. I got up slowly, my knee aching, and went to the bathroom. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, tried not to look at myself too much in the mirror. There was no point in dwelling on it now.
The day dragged on. I made something to eat that I barely touched, tidied up the house a little, watched TV without paying attention. Andrew didn’t call. Not even a message. I guessed he was busy—or maybe he just didn’t feel like it anymore. I didn’t want to text him either. What could I possibly say? That my student had seen me naked? That he’d kissed me before leaving? No. Better to leave it alone.
I couldn’t even say it out loud, let alone tell my husband.
What madness.
I swear to God I’ll never drink like that again—first night out with the girls and things had to go that way.
The next day, I woke with the sun already high. I showered quickly, came out wrapped in a towel, and stood in front of the closet. I needed to pick something for the lesson. I didn’t want it to look like I cared too much, but I couldn’t show up in the same old clothes either. I thought of shopping with Lucía. I pulled out the black leather skirt and the beige chiffon blouse. Tried them on in front of the mirror. The skirt hugged my hips, the blouse fell softly. It wasn’t exaggerated, but it made me feel a little more like myself.
Maybe… it was too much.
No, it looked good. I’d keep it on.
Deep down, I knew I wanted to look good—that’s why I’d bought it—so I wasn’t going to hold back.
I sat at the vanity and started doing my makeup. Light foundation for the dark circles, a bit of mascara, some color on the lips. I paused with the brush halfway. Why so much effort today? Normally, I was quick—just enough not to look ghostly. But this was the first time I’d see him since slamming the door in his face. Since remembering everything: his hands taking off my clothes, his mouth on mine. I stared at myself. I had to talk to him. Tell him it was a mistake. That I was drunk, that he probably was too, and that it couldn’t happen again. None of that.
But if I closed my eyes, I could still feel his breath on my neck, his voice in my ear, and my body pulsing with the memory of his closeness.
I finished getting ready, put on low heels, and went downstairs to prepare the lesson. I reviewed the notes on a poem, underlined the key parts.
I glanced at the clock: eight fifty-five. Five minutes left. My heart started racing. I went to the study and sat in the chair, hands still on the table. Outwardly, everything looked normal. Inside, I was a mess. I thought about what I’d say. It had to be clear, no beating around the bush.
What happened that night was a mistake. I was drunk, I don’t remember much, but it can’t happen again. You’re my student. You’re younger than me. And I’m married.
Those weren’t cheap excuses—they were facts. Real things that couldn’t be erased. If I didn’t put it on the table now, everything would only get messier.
The doorbell rang right at nine. I jumped up, as if pushed. Walked down the hallway with tense legs, my pulse pounding in my ears. I opened the door.
There he was. Backpack on his shoulder, white shirt, hair neatly in place. But he didn’t have that usual smile. His olive eyes didn’t meet mine; they lingered on the floor for a second before rising to my shoulder.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ellis,” he said, his voice neutral. He walked past me without waiting, straight to the study.
I closed the door and followed. I felt uneasy. He’d never been this curt. He usually came in with a comment, a look that made the day start lighter. Today, it felt like I was just the house itself, another piece of furniture. He sat down, pulled out his notebook, and waited, eyes fixed on the table.
I sat across from him, opened the lesson notes. I could pretend and start the class as if nothing had happened. But no. It was now or never. I looked at him for a moment, took a deep breath.
“Elliot, before we start... we need to talk about something.”
“Is it about the lesson?” he asked.
“No, it’s… about something else.”
He raised his eyes slowly. His gaze met mine, steady and unreadable.
“Of course. About what?”
I’d rehearsed it, practiced the words. I just had to say them. But holding his gaze was harder than I’d thought, and… I suppose we were too close, and stepping back would have felt strange.
Be brave, Katherine. Be brave.