The Tutor

Happy Halloween! I know it's been a while since I posted (shit, like a year, huh? Oops) but I decided to write this quickie for Halloween because who doesn't like a good, free ghost story? Huge thank you to E, who edited this in record time because I decided to wait last minute to actually write it. I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading.

J

*

The last place I wanted to spend my Halloween was at the university library, but that's where I was headed at 6pm on Friday evening while everyone else on campus was deciding which party to attend and which costume to wear. Dusk crept on the edges of the town, painting the sky an eerie crimson, twisting through the indigo clouds overhead. Children ran past me, chortling madly in their varied costumes, from little demons to cartoon characters and a handful of witches. A Batman bumped into me, his little bag full of candy smacking my leg. His excitement and happiness permeated the air around me. "Sorry!" the kid yelled before taking off after his friends.

I tugged my backpack farther up my shoulder and sighed heavily, longing for the ecstatic and uninhibited excitement around holidays that children experienced without effort.

My parents had always thought I was a bit strange, what with my fascination with the otherworldly, as I claimed ghosts visited me as a child—my parents deeming them nothing more than imaginary friends—and the way I could describe, in detail, the feelings swirling around someone. My grandmother had called me an empath, and when she died, I was devastated but not only did I have to contend with my own emotions at the tender age of eleven, I had to endure the sorrow and loss through the tumultuous sadness of my parents when I told them grandma visited me. They had told me, adamantly, that ghosts didn't exist, beating it into me with harsh words and cutting criticism. Grandma never visited me again, nor did any other spirits.

The porches of the tiny townhouses lining my street all contained carved Jack-O-Lanterns, their eyes twinkling as I walked by, as if winking at me, mocking me of what fun the night would bring while I sat behind a book, or four, and countless flashcards. What sick sadist scheduled a make-up exam the day after Halloween, on a Saturday no less? Undoubtedly Dr. Brewer knew how many parties were being thrown around the campus on that night but apparently gave little thought to it.Oh, well. It's not like I can afford to fail this class. And I couldn't, not after dropping the ball summer semester. I was lucky he was even giving me a chance to redeem my epic failure before I lost my financial aid.

Dressing up had crossed my mind before leaving the house because of the holiday, but I had to gently remind myself this was simply a routine tutor session, and nothing more, no matter how badly I longed for more. This didn't stop me from wearing my favorite black knee-high pleated skirt and a witch hat atop my head. The corset top I wore under my long jacket displayed a healthy dose of cleavage which would make anyone's head turn, not that I truly thought it would sway my tutor one way or another, but the ensemble lifted my Halloween spirit and I looked fucking hot.

The fifteen-minute walk only left me with overwhelming envy that I wasn't heading to a Halloween party or at least handing out candy to the kids in my neighborhood. I halted in front of the university library, taking in the massive three-story structure I had spent most Friday, and some Monday, evenings at for the last month and a half. The studying had proved rough, especially with a tutor who didn't takeI don't know for an answer. A breeze passed over me, tugging on the loose strands of hair escaping the lazy bun tucked beneath my witch hat, as if phantom fingers wanted run through my thick black hair. My skirt fluttered in the wind and I reached down to keep it from exposing any more of my legs.

I gazed up at the building again. Deep, red bricks encased the front of the structure, with intricate metal ironwork adorning the sides of the staircase and bright white in the windowsills. The countless windows seemingly peered at me, gaze pointed and unwavering in the early evening light. Behind me, raucous laughter erupted, and I whipped around.

A group of college students ran across the street, hollering to one another. I tried to shake off the edginess plaguing me, unsure where it originated, and I turned back to stare at the windows that felt more like malicious eyes. I assumed the uneasy and foreboding sensation had nothing to do with Halloween and all to do with the exam in the morning, one that would seal my fate one way or another.

When I'd begun my education at the university, I'd heard the rumors; murmured voices echoing down the aisles, ghostly apparitions trailing their pale hands down the spines of books, soft touches when one's back was turned, but I hadn't experienced it myself since I was a child. Oh, how I would've killed to hear the cackle of a disembodied voice or the touch of a wayward soul again. The world of the unknown intrigued me far more than organic chemistry but that wasn't going to secure my financial aid. Unfortunately, there was no degree I could obtain for that sort of thing.

Another gust of wind threatened to take my hat right off my head, so I hurried, taking two stairs at a time, and pushed through the glass doors. My choice in outfits didn't shield me from the crisp autumn chill in the air but at least I looked good. As soon as I stepped through the threshold, the noises from outside quickly became replaced by silence and contemplation. The scents of ink and old paper wafted over me and I breathed deeply. Long tables spanned the space in front of me in two neat rows of twelve, divided down the middle by a narrow aisle.

I headed down the walkway, passing a sprinkling of students with their attention so immersed into their studies, none of them gave me much notice even in my evocative outfit. Music drifted as I passed a student with their headphones set at a deafening volume.

The path I took was the one I'd taken every week for the last month and a half; through the shelves bursting with romance novels, piles of books on scientific research and quantum theory, behind the classical literature, and in the farthest corner on the first floor of the library—left, a right, another right, then a slight left—where a lone table was pushed against the wall between two bookshelves: modern poetry and a random shelf containing an odd assortment of world atlases.

I was never really sure who put the table there but perhaps it was my tutor and university librarian, Libby Lang. The mahogany table bore striations of age running the length, a stark contrast to the particle board desks in the lobby of the library, and I loved it.

Libby sat angled with her back toward the wall, her brunette ringlets framing her face as her focus was held solely by the book in her hands. With her elbow perched atop the table, her eyes moved from left to right, presumably absorbing the words of the book.

"Just a minute," she whispered almost too low for me to hear as I approached. Libby's omnipresent red cardigan hung neatly over the back of her chair and her blouse exposed a beautiful patch of pale breast I couldn't stop myself from eyeing briefly. With Libby's brows knitted, lips parted slightly, I allowed myself a dangerous minute to imagine what it would be like to kiss her. Not that it's ever going to happen.

She was young for a librarian, or at least younger than how old I always perceived a librarian would be—she couldn't have been older than thirty—but her knowledge surpassed anyone I knew, even my professors. Librarians did need a master's degree, after all, so it didn't come as too much of a surprise to me after I gave it some thought. I'd always assumed Libby must've graduated early but never got the courage to ask her about more than her work in the library.

It was truly by chance that I was gifted with Libby's expertise in organic chemistry.

Summer semester nearly killed me with angst. After trying and failing (quite literally) my organic chemistry class, I begged Dr. Brewer for a retake of the final exam. I couldn't afford to take the class again, couldn't afford to keep the failing grade on my transcripts if I wanted to continue receiving financial aid, and with no other choice, I had to pass the class. After an embarrassing amount of pleading, Dr. Brewer had cracked, allowing me to retake the test later in fall semester, at a date yet to be determined, and he warned me that if I failed a second time, I was shit out of luck. If I didn't pass the class one way or another, I'd be left with nothing to finish my schooling.

With him offering me an exception to the rules, I could tell no one, thus leaving me optionless on peer tutors.

I'd gone straight to library after he agreed to the retake, desperate to begin my studying immediately. After trying to sit in the crowded area, surrounded by other students, some peers from my classes, I had realized I couldn't focus, not after receiving the failing grade, not with so much at stake. I'd been distraught, running through the possibilities in my head.

Frantically, I had searched the aisles of books for something, anything, to help me study for the retake or I was slotted to lose my financial aid within six months. I found myself on a strange patch of maze work in the shelves of books, lost, unsure where I needed to go. Then, I stumbled upon a gorgeous table with a beautiful occupant, book on her lap, head bent as she read. She'd lifted her gaze and asked me if I needed any help and that's where our friendship began.

Little did I know it would take only weeks for me to become swiftly infatuated with the librarian.

Libby cleared her throat, ripping me from my reverie and I blushed as she clearly caught me staring at her ample chest, a coy smirk lifting her lips.Or am I just imagining that look on her face? I wondered. Of course, I was. Libby had made her point clear she wasn't interested in me beyond a tutor peer and friend.

The smile remained as Libby's head tilted back, and she closed her eyes, bringing the book to her chest. "Beautiful prose," she said blissfully.

I smiled despite myself as I dumped my backpack on the table and took a seat opposite Libby. "What book?" The aroma that followed Libby—lilies and dried lavender—drifted toward me and I breathed it in, soaking in the desire flooding me, bringing to me an almost ineffable joy I wasn't allowed to enjoy.

With her hazel gaze set on me, Libby placed the book back on the table. "Nothing that would interest you." Though her hands covered the cover, I could make out the author was Anne Sexton. Libby wasn't always reading poetry but more often than not, when I stumbled on her reading, it was a large book of poetry from a dead poet, something I held little enthusiasm for. I blamed high school English for this.

Libby had always held such a calm attitude, even when I was ready to throw my textbooks across the aisle. Along with this, I sensed a deep sadness sprawling around her, like tenacious vines binding her. The heavy grief became visible every once in a while, noticeable through the darkness in her eyes, the downcast expression she'd take on until she realized I was watching her.

She grinned up at me. "Nice hat. Are you ready to ace this exam?"

"Thanks." I touched the brim of my witch hat and matched her smile. "I'll do all right, I think," I said as I nodded, though it lacked much gusto.

"You think?" Libby asked, pinching her lips together before she continued, "I want you toknow you'll pass. Thinking doesn't cut it. Thinking doesn't save you from getting kicked out of here." Though her words were harsh, her tone kept the same honeyed lilt it always did.

Quickly subdued by her honest admonishment, I plucked my textbooks from my bag, along with the flashcards Libby had painstakingly crafted for me, and my notebook. I clicked my pen, ready to start.

"Sorry. I just wish the test wasn't tomorrow. Dr. Brewer could've waited until at least Monday."

Libby tilted her head again , her brunette curls falling over one shoulder. "You're quite the complainer tonight, aren't you?"

I offered her a sheepish smile as I shed my jacket, wondering absently if my outfit would spark a reaction from her. She was right, though. I couldn't be complaining when Dr. Brewer didn't have to offer me the retake. "I'd much rather be at a sorority costume party, trying to decipher which girl has the most risqué animal costume on. Maybe a late-night ghost hunt is in order. I mean, the library is haunted, right? It would be the perfect day to do it."

Libby ignored me, flipping to page 342 in my textbook.So much for sexy outfits being persuasive. "Focus. Regardless of the holiday, you have an exam first thing in the morning. I am not letting our weeks of studying land you with less than 100%."

Her insistence was adorable, as was the way her forehead always crinkled when she became frustrated, or how she'd twist her lips when she could tell I knew the right answer to a question but wasn't confident enough to outright give it. She liked me, that much was certain, but not to the degree I wanted. She wanted me to succeed, that I knew from her body language, the way she pushed me, but I couldn't help but sense something else deeper for me, which stoked my persistence in my advances.

As Libby quizzed me on nomenclature of chemical compounds, electron configuration, and atomic orbitals, I answered when appropriate, watching her, longing to touch her. Maybe if I touched her, felt her warm skin beneath my palm, I'd feel more from her. Her sweet demeanor and even sweeter voice lulled me into a calm, making carbon cycles seem interesting, as long as Libby was describing them.

I'd learned so more information than I had when I took the class, a lot more than I'd learned from Dr. Brewer, but that was probably more due to the fact Libby was gorgeous, someone I would willingly spend my time with even without the free tutoring. I enjoyed her company so much so that I asked Libby on a date a few weeks into our sessions.

Libby had offered me a swift, kind rejection in the form of claiming she was far too busy. Sure, I could see it, what with working countless hours at the library, along with tutoring students, though I wasn't sure if she tutored anyone but me at the time. Another thing I hadn't asked her, too distracted and infatuated with simply being in her presence. Caught off guard by the swell of her breasts beneath her sometimes-sheer blouses, and the way her hips swayed when she walked between the bookshelves.

She didn't shy away after I asked her on a movie date, didn't change in any way. Though, ever since I'd asked, it seemed to me that Libby was trying to tease me, to torment me, wearing shorter and shorter skirts, unbuttoning the first three buttons on her blouses, gazing at me over her green-rimmed glasses as she awaited an answer from me.

On that particular night, Libby's fourth button was undone, leaving little to my imagination, though she wore black slacks instead of her usual skirts. I found myself staring between the blue fabric of her blouse, where delicate skin begged to be touched, maybe even licked. I bit my lip, wondering what it would be like to touch her, to kiss her, to press her against the nearest bookshelf and—

"Chrissy?" Libby's voice cut into my daydream.

I swallowed hard, my face burning from the blush rising from my neck to spread crimson over my cheeks. She caught me staring, again. "Sorry."

Libby smiled at me. Goddamn, that smile. "It's okay. Do you want to take a break? Maybe we could take a walk, stretch our legs." She glanced down at her watch. "We've been at it for almost two hours already."

Nodding, I stood from the table. "A walk sounds wonderful."

Libby followed suit, standing from the table and slipping on her red cardigan, but her gaze took in my figure finally and a devilish smile crested her lips. "You've got quite the outfit on, don't you?"

I blushed again, glancing down at myself. "Yeah, well, I figured if we got out of here early enough, I could maybe hit up a party," I lied. I'd put the outfit on solely for Libby, but I couldn't voice that aloud without sounding ridiculously desperate. "You could come with me, if you wanted to," I added before I could stop myself.

Libby's smile vanished and she turned away from me, placing the poetry book back on the shelf. "All right, how about that walk?"

Another rejection added. I couldn't even consider it as such, though, not without an actual word stated about my comment. Had Libby heard me, or had she completely ignored the invitation? A wave of disappointment encompassed me as I followed Libby through the labyrinth of bookshelves, and I slowly admitted to myself it was the latter of the two. Her ass looked so good in those slacks, though, and I couldn't keep my mind, or my gaze, off her backside.

Light rain pattered against the bay of windows as we headed to the winding staircase that overlooked the first level. I should've known better than to push my luck. Maybe Libby didn't think I was smart enough given my poor absorption of organic chem.

The stairs creaked as we climbed to the second floor and I gazed out to the side, over the railing. The lobby was empty, no students at the tables nor a librarian at the main desk.

"So, you really believe there are ghosts here?" Libby asked as we reached the second level.

"You've worked here awhile—have you ever seen a ghost?"

Libby laughed, a low, sensual sound that went right to my core. Damn my uncontrollable attraction. "I can't say that I have, and to be honest, I don't think I believe in ghosts," Libby said.

I feigned my surprise—of course an astute woman like Libby wouldn't believe in the paranormal; she probably considered it immature to even humor the thought.

"Okay, you can't really think I believe you've never seen a ghost here. I mean, this library has to be at least a hundred years old," I said. Libby led me down a long aisle I'd never been down before, shelves holding books with bindings so impossibly large, they seemed to bend gravity.

She trailed her fingers along the bindings and a whimsical expression upturned her lips. "Perhaps a few restless souls wander through the myriad of books, but, like I said, I've never seen one myself."

A gentle breeze tickled the hairs on my neck, as if on cue with our conversation. I stopped abruptly and looked around as Libby continued down the long aisle of books, frozen by the sensation. Had a ghost finally made itself known to me again? Only intermittent darkness lay behind us, broken by the scant recessed lighting. A bowing shadow taunted me, as if a ghost were trailing us.It's only my imagination. Not the real deal.

I stifled a chill as I caught up with Libby. "I've always wanted to meet a ghost, you know, just to say I have." I didn't want to tell her that I had, that I wanted to see them as frequently as I had during my childhood. It seemed like the type of thing to send a girl running.

Libby turned to me then, grinning. "Well, maybe we'll meet one on our walk, but don't think I've forgotten about the rest of your studying. You are not failing that exam tomorrow."

I shrugged. "I won't. You've got me seeing carbon chains behind my eyelids."

Libby laughed and continued on our path along the railing overlooking the lower level. We could've been the only ones in the library, and we probably were due to the countless student parties, and faculty spending time with their families. I glanced over the railing as we walked. Darkness shrouded the lower part of the library, cloaking the long shelves in ethereal shadows.