I went home because he told me to, and the order followed me through the door like a hand on the back of my neck.
My apartment was too quiet. The lamp on my desk made a small circle of light over books I was supposed to care about. I sat down like a good student. I opened the assignment. I read the first paragraph twice and did not keep a single sentence. All I could hear was the lock turning in the classroom. All I could see was the paper in his fist and the way his slacks had tightened while he read what I wanted him to do to me.
Go home, Miss Dove.
I had gone home.
It had not helped.
I tried to highlight a line and the yellow mark went crooked. My pen tapped the margin. I wrote his name without meaning to, then scratched it out hard enough to tear the paper. Three months of this. T
