Enough | ✔️

+ 3 +

With a heavy sigh, I run a comb through my hair and kneel down to open the dresser's bottom drawer where my clothes are stored. On cue, the door opens after flickering with a small, green light. Professor Hartley steps in, hair messed to perfection and clad in a suit.

After placing his suitcase down, his gaze locks onto me, kitty pyjamas and all. I swallow, drowning in the silence.

"Miss Neversea, would you care to explain why you are still dressed in pyjamas and not clothed, ready for a lecture that you should have attended an hour ago?" he asks, alluring voice as enchanting as usual.

I fiddle with one of the knobs on the front of the dresser, still on my knees, "I forgot to set an alarm...?"

Well it isn't a lie.

He clips his suitcase open and reaches in, extracting a thick booklet and handing it to me. I almost drop it, not expecting it's heaviness.

"That is your catch up work. We started it in class and planned to finish it across lectures, but your job is to complete all of it and guide the rest of the class through it over the next few lectures."

I gape, eyes wide at the booklet that is at least an inch thick, "Professor Hartley-"

"-Sir," he corrects, tensing as he takes off his blazer.

"-This is way too much material to cover! I don't have enough time, patience, or hands!" I exclaim, setting the booklet down as my eyes fill with shock.

He shrugs, tugging off his tie, "Not my problem, Miss Neversea. When you miss a lecture, you should expect that you will have to catch up."

I step closer to him, "This isn't catch up work for one lesson! I missed one freaking hour, give me break! This is day two of university!" I'm half-yelling at this point.

He closes the gap between us, eyes narrowed and only a couple centimetres away from mine. The tips of our toes touch as I look up at him, suddenly feeling very small. I timidly try to step back but he only advances further, unblinking.

"Do not yell, Miss Neversea. Having a bad temper will get you nowhere," he warns in a low voice, before breaking our staring contest and entering the bathroom to change.

Finally feeling like I can breathe, I sit down on my bed, eyeing the booklet with hatred as the running sound of water hitting the sink comes from the bathroom.

I open the thick booklet, swallowing my defiance as I see the small print completely covering the page. Oh jeez.

Actually no - screw you.

Furiously swapping my pyjamas for dark-wash jeans, a shirt, and a jacket, I walk out the door, abandoning the damn booklet on the bed like it deserves to be. As I approach the lift, flames of irritation still burning brightly, I mash my finger into the button for G, impatiently waiting for it to fly down a floor before storming out and instantly slamming into other students in a human car crash.

With an irked expression, I elbow my way out of the mass of bodies, stopped at a hand pulling my elbow. I grit my teeth and turn around with the friendliness of a guard dog, tempted to snap at the array of clueless girls behind me.

The brunette girl at the front, clad in a tight shirt and shorts, giggles, "Look, Martha-May, it's her."

Martha-May? Who the hell names their child that?

The aforementioned blonde whips around, her makeup-caked face analysing me as I yank my arm out of the brunette's grip and barrel down the corridor to drown out their squealing laughter. What the heck - 'her'? What on Venus does that mean?