The Professor

Nineteen

"Say 'I love you.' You didn't say it back." He snarls breathlessy, a hint of misery exposing itself in his tone.

My head swiftly swings up so that I look at him.

He assumes that I don't mutually feel his affection with him. I wanted to tell him, but the words wouldn't slip. Why is it that I find it so difficult to say those three damn words?

"Dean," I whisper while searching the room for an answer. My mind draws a blank. Not even I know why I hadn't said it back.

"You don't love me?" His tone is softer and more vurnable now, his delicate eyes pouting and threatening tears.

"No, Dean, of course I do." I shake my head down at my lap, trying hard not to cry. "I do, I just. . ." Words fail me. I can't say it. Why can't I say it?

He inhales while swallowing hard. He then nods his head slowly as if to understand an unspoken statement.

"I'm afraid." I speak up while turning my gaze towards him.

He tilts his head quizzically.

"I'm afraid of you." I finally admit, feeling the heavy weights lifting from my shoulders. Somehow, I find it easier to breathe.

Maybe all along this was the reason why I couldn't tell him how I really felt. He opened up to me while I never did.

His expression softens vurnably as if he'll collapse into a dozen shards of glass. It's obvious I struck him hard. He's hurt, like I'm the bully and he's the weak child.

I quickly explain myself, "Sometimes you just get angry over problems that can easily be fixed. I hesitated on telling you about Blake because I was afraid you would explode. You scare me when you get mad, that's why I went out of the way to avoid that." My gaze lowers to my lap. "I've not had the greatest experience with anger." My chest aches as my eyes dry out. I shut them to prevent myself from crying.

"Rosie," He watches me cautiously. "I. . ." He turns his head away, then back at me again. "I didn't know that's how you felt. You should've told me." His tone his calm and considerate. It's soothing and comforting for me to hear, causing it for me to open up easier to him. "What experience do you mean?"

I suck in my lips and inhale deeply. "It's-" I gulp. "It was just someone in the past." My head shakes down at my lap.

"You don't have to tell me." He composedly adds.

"No, it's okay." I look up at him. "You should know." My head nods before I begin. "I was sixteen when I dated someone. He was my first boyfriend, actually, my only one before you."

I never counted Chad as a past boyfriend because he was too unbearable to keep in mind. I tried my best to forget him and pretend it never happened. He's part of the reason I never dated anyone after him for so many years. It's hard for me to explain the situation now.

"He was very short-tempered." I continue carefully. "Sometimes he would get angry at little things, things I wasn't even sure why he was mad. He. . .He sometimes used me as a punching bag." I swallow the knot in my dry throat.

"Rosie," He painfully pronounces my name. "you don't have to continue." He seems hurt by my story already, like he's ready to cry. I've never seen him like this.

"We were together for a year when I finally gained the courage to break it off with him. He, uh-" I softly chuckle at my lap. "He got so mad that he cut me when I walked away." I turn my back towards him while pushing my sleeve down to reveal a large scar carved into the back of my shoulder. After I face him, he shakes his head painfully.