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The insistent ringing of the alarm clock had disturbed my peaceful slumber, prompting a groan of irritation as I reluctantly lifted my face from the soft pillow. Blinking sleep from my eyes, I scanned the quiet and empty dorm room before collapsing back onto the bed. For a moment, I entertained the idea of drifting back into the embrace of sleep.
But then, as I gazed at the clock on the bedside table, my drowsiness vanished in an instant.
10:03 AM.
Panic surged through me, and I jolted upright with a speed I didn't know I was capable of. I had never sprung out of bed so quickly in my life. The realisation that I had overslept and missed whatever activities were planned for the morning shot through my mind like a bolt of lightning.
I scrambled out of bed, my heart racing, and began the frantic process of getting ready for the day. I yank out the uniform from the cupboard, teeth were brushed with hurried vigour, and a glance at the timetable reminded me that I had to be somewhere, and I had to be there fast.
I was out in the halls wishing second as I try to adjust this fucking tie whilst holding my books in one hand, I've barely left my sleep slumber before it each the front door. I push it open and slip inside, my eyes look up and everyone stares at me.
But only one pair of eyes caught my attention.
And he stood with his arms folded. He wore a black dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing intricate tattoos, and the first three buttons undone.
He settled his blazer onto a black leather chair along with a sleek black briefcase. The room was filled with a buzz of whispered conversations.
His dark brown eyes locked with mine before scaling down my uniform,
"Get out of the room, Miss Tate."
He ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Go wait outside."
Feeling a mix of anger, embarrassment, and confusion, I turned back and headed out of the lecture room. The door closed behind me with a final-sounding click, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
I leaned against the cool, tiled wall and took a moment to collect my thoughts. First day and I'm already late to a lecture.
The hallway was deserted, the distant murmur of voices from other classrooms serving as a stark contrast to the tense silence I had left behind. I felt like an outsider, a misfit, and the weight of that label bore down on me.
The lecture door finally opened, and the imposing figure stepped out. He stood at an impressive six feet six inches, his formidable build demanding attention.
I couldn't help but voice my frustration, "I'm sorry for my lateness—"
But before I could finish my sentence, he cut me off with a stern and measured tone, "let me stop you there, Miss Tate."
His interruption left me momentarily silenced, and I stared at him with curiosity.
"Fix your uniform before you speak to me." He speaks, I raise a brow and glance down to see the buttons of my shirts were misplaced, revealing my black laced bra.
I turn around and do them up properly, my cheeks fire red.
He regarded me with an intense, unyielding stare, seemingly unaffected by my response. "Miss Tate, disruptive behaviour, such as lateness, will not be tolerated in my class. Is that clear?"
I nodded, reluctantly conceding to his authority. "Yes, it's clear."
"Good," he replied, his gaze never leaving mine. "Now, you may re-join the lecture. But remember, any further violations of the class rules will have consequences."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me to process the encounter. As I headed back into the lecture hall, I couldn't shake the feeling that this new lecturer was going to be a formidable presence in my academic life, and his standards were far from lenient.
I take the empty seat beside Penelope and someone else, settling my books onto the desk.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"I did, you nearly punched me in the face because of it." She responds.
As Mr. Kane distributed the stacks of paper to each student, a palpable sense of unease settled over the classroom. The question hung in the air: was this an unexpected test?
I leaned in closer to Penelope and whispered, "oh no... is this a test?"
She nodded in response, her expression mirroring my apprehension. "I think so," she whispered back, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
A thick booklet suddenly slammed down in front of me, and I couldn't help but jump in my seat. I glanced up to find Mr. Kane standing before me, his stern gaze fixed on my trembling form.
"This is a test, Miss Tate," he declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
My heart began to race, and my palms grew clammy as I stared down at the intimidating page in front of me. With trembling hands, I reached for a pen and jotted down my name in the designated space. Mr. Kane's voice broke through the tense silence as he gave the instruction to begin.
But as I turned to the first page and saw the daunting array of numbers and words, a sense of overwhelming dread washed over me. The material seemed like a foreign language, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in way over my head. The numbers and words swirled in front of my eyes, leaving me feeling lost and helpless.
As time ticked away, students steadily completed their exams, handed in their papers, and left the classroom one by one. My knee began to shake uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of the anxiety that gripped me.
Beside me, Penelope followed suit and handed in her exam paper. I watched as she gathered her belongings and made her way to the exit, leaving me alone in the silent, empty classroom.
My hands trembled as I stared at the unfinished exam in front of me. The questions remained a daunting challenge, and my confidence had crumbled with each passing minute. I felt a surge of desperation welling up inside me, an overwhelming desire to cry out in frustration and helplessness.
"Time is up Miss Tate."
I close the empty exam paper and stand up, I walk over to his desk and hand in my paper as he settles it on the top.
. . .
I failed the exam.
I know I did.
I could have done better, I could have passed.
Now Mr Kane probably thinks I'm stupid, and the fact that I am stuck in this room with him because of this confinement rubbish-it just pisses me off even more. Thankfully there were other students scattered everywhere.
But my seat was the first row of seats in front of him.
He continues to mark the exam papers, a red pen settled in his hand.
I knew he was marking my paper by the amount of crosses he was putting on the paper, I flick the page of my book-trying my hardest not to look. He shuts the exam paper and circles around the number I could read.
The bell goes off, and the students stand up along with me. I gather my things, "Miss Tate. Stay behind." He speaks, I watch as the students leave the room and the closing door alerts that we are now alone. Mr Kane stands up from his seat, walking over to me before dropping my exam paper onto my table.
My heart plummeted at the sight of my results. Twelve percent. It was an embarrassingly low score.
"Everyone else got over eighty percent except for you," Mr. Kane remarked, his tone stern and unyielding. "Why?"
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "I don't know," I whispered, unable to meet his gaze before I am forced too.
Mr. Kane's piercing eyes bore into mine, and I could feel the intensity of his scrutiny. He leaned in closer, his hands pressing onto the table, and his voice remained low and stern. "I don't like liars, Miss Tate, so please explain to me why you achieved twelve percent."
My palms grew sweaty as I struggled to find the right words. "It was an unexpected test," I stammered, my voice wavering slightly under his unrelenting gaze.
"That's no excuse," he retorted, cutting through my feeble attempt at an explanation.
Frustration welled up within me as I shot back, "I don't understand what you're trying to gain from this conversation, Mr. Kane."
He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he straightened up from his intimidating posture. "You're a resit, Lina Tate. You failed the same year twice. And, funnily enough, this exam is the same one you failed twice. And you achieved the same grade twice."
His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment and shame. It was true—I had failed this particular exam twice before, and my performance wasn't improving. I had been hoping that this year would be different, that I could finally overcome this hurdle, but it seemed that history was repeating itself.
Mr. Kane's stern demeanour remained as he challenged me further. "Give me four risk factors for DVT," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling the pressure of the situation. "I don't know—" I began.
But he cut me off abruptly. "You know it, answer my question."
Gathering my thoughts, I quickly responded, "immobilisation, surgery, trauma, and acute infectious or inflammatory illness."
His face relaxed, and he nodded approvingly. "So why did you write nothing here?" He flicked the first page of my exam, pointing at the blank space where my response should have been.
I felt a flush of embarrassment wash over me as I realised my mistake.
"I don't know-"
"Well, when you decide to know, Miss Tate- please come to my office. But this-if this happens again, I'll make sure you resit the entire four years again."
"You cannot do that."
"Don't underestimate my power, Miss Tate."
"What do you want me to do? I don't know why I keep failing?"
"Read this out for me." Is he trying to embarrass me? The words weren't adding up together, they weren't making sense and the letters were floating around me.
"Name...I can't!"
But Mr. Kane interrupted me, his tone surprisingly gentle as he said, "you're dyslexic."
I blinked, taken aback by his statement. How on earth did he figure that out? It wasn't something I had mentioned to anyone at the university, and I had always kept my learning disability private. The fact that he had discerned it from a simple exchange left me both surprised and vulnerable.
"What? No I'm not-"
"Yes you are." Mr. Kane nodded, as if he had expected my admission. "Why have you not told me or the university before starting the semester?"
"I don't know," I replied.
His response was measured but direct, "I understand you're dyslexic, but does that get in the way of you using words? Or is 'I don't know' all the words you know?"
The intensity in his gaze bore into me, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny. "No, sir," I replied, attempting to maintain composure under his unyielding gaze.
His pupils seemed to dilate slightly at my response, and his eyes darkened as he took a step back, giving me some space. "You're ashamed of it because of who your parents are," he said, his words cutting through the air like a blade.
My brows furrowed in frustration, and I stood up abruptly. "That's enough. May I be excused?"
Mr. Kane didn't immediately grant my request. Instead, he continued to stare at me with an unwavering intensity. "No, you may not. Am I right or wrong, Lina Tate?" His use of my name, spoken with a hint of authority, sent a flutter through my stomach, though I resented it.
"You're wrong," I shot back defiantly.
He leaned back in his chair, his expression remaining unfazed. "And you're a liar. You are excused."
My temper flared at his dismissal, and I couldn't contain my frustration any longer. "I don't know who you think you are, but you know nothing about me or my fucking parents. So keep your opinions that aren't needed to yourself, sir."
With those words, I turned on my heel and exited his classroom, determined not to let his judgmental attitude affect me.
Penelope stood beside the door as I stormed out of Mr. Kanes classroom, and I watched as she followed me into the corridor. She must have sensed my frustration, evident in my clenched fists and quick, angry pace.
"Hey, hey, what's going on?" She asked, concern etched across her face.
I stopped abruptly, my frustration boiling over as I unleashed my pent-up emotions. "I fucking hate him, Penelope. I hate everything about him! He thinks he knows everything."
Her brows furrowed in confusion, clearly taken aback by my outburst. "Whoa, Clara, calm down. What happened in there?"
I took a deep breath, attempting to regain some composure. "He's judgmental, Penelope, and he assumed things about me and my parents without knowing a damn thing. He thinks he has me all figured out."
"Just ignore him, he isn't worth your time." Penelope whispers, I look back and notice him standing outside his classroom talking to another teacher whilst his eyes were on me.
And my heart rate increases just by the way he looked at me.
Like he figured me out.
But little does he know-he hasn't.