Until Kingdom Come (Discontinued)

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VIII. Texts and <3s

“You lied to me!” I said, not raising my voice as I looked into his stormy eyes. He was frozen still. “You said you’d told me everything, but there was a bloody prophecy with my name on it! Nobody told me, nobody asked me if I was okay with it, nobody thought of me at all.”

There was a pregnant pause as we had a staredown. He was the first to look away, admiring his shoes.

“Morgana, you know that’s not true,” he replied, his tone neutral but soft. “Everybody has been thinking of you alone.”

“Lies,” I scoffed. “If you were thinking of me, you would have told me. If you were thinking of me, you would have asked instead of demanded.”

He sighed. “You know you always have a choice, right?”

“Oh yeah. Because a prophecy screams choice, doesn’t it?” I replied sarcastically. “Forget it, Professor. I’ve lost all the trust I never had in you.”

“I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I just couldn’t, Morgana.”

I laughed. Who the hell does he think he is? “It’s not that you couldn’t, it truly isn’t. If you wanted me to know, you would have tried harder.”

“I—”

“Besides, you promised me you would tell me everything. You promised!

He began to pace, running his fingers through his hair. “I know, and I’m s—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Professor Donahue,” I replied icily. “If I could have a dollar for every time you’ve said sorry to me, I’d be rich.”

“Aren’t you already?”

The nerve of this man! I huffed. “I came to Alessia on a scholarship and they only considered me because of my dad, who I’m not even biologically or emotionally related to!” I said. And then, feeling particularly passive-aggressive, I continued, “Not everyone can be a bloody millionaire.”

“I’m sor—”

You say you’re sorry, but it’s too late now,” I sang. Lyrics always seemed to have a greater effect on him than words.

He stopped pacing, and then looked me in the eye. I could see the hurt swirling in them. “So, save it, get gone, shut up?” he finished softly.

If I cared for him even a little at this point, I would feel remorse. But I didn’t, so guilt was out of the question. “Yes, that would be great,” was all I said, and then I turned around, placing my folded clothes inside the duffel bag which lay open on the bed. I could no longer look him in the eye without feeling a bit emotional myself.

And before you ask, nope. Still not guilty.

“Why are you putting things in your duffel?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a Professor,” I retorted, my heart not in it. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.

“You’re going back?”

“I’m going home, so I can forget this, return to mum, and be completely and utterly without obligations and broken promises,” I replied. All I wanted right now was a good cry, some chocolate, maybe a season or two of Good Witch.

“I know you don’t want to, Morg—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I want and don’t want, Professor,” I reminded him. “I and you are two separate beings.”

I could sense he was beginning to get angrier. “But we belong together, Morgana. That’s what the Fates and Eros have—”

“Screw the Fates. Screw Eros. We may be soul mates, but we don’t have a relationship. A relationship is about trust, and you’ve proven time and again you can’t be trusted. End of.”

“Morgana, what am I supposed to say except I’m so—”

“Nothing,” I said, exasperated. When will he understand? “Nothing you will say will have any effect on me anymore. Your words have lost meaning.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “So, this is how Cassandra felt.”

“Glad you’re catching on,” I replied, willing myself to be emotionless. He has cost me too much for me to continue to feel for him.

“Look, I’m not one to give up,” he said assertively. Oh, gods. I don’t like where this is going. “You want to go back? That’s okay. You don’t trust me? Perfectly understandable. I’m going to show you I can be trusted, okay?”

Oh. Well, I didn’t think his sentence would take this route. I thought it would be something along the lines of, I’m not going to leave you alone until you give in and trust me.

So, I feigned nonchalance, zipping my bag up. “I don’t care, do whatever.” I then remembered that he was a Professor. Moreover, he was my professor. “But remember, if it involves my grades, forget it. I’m not going to get my way up the college hierarchy by being your soul mate.”

“But you’re already at the pinnacle. What more do you want?”

I turned around, my skirt fanning around me. One hand was on my hip and the other was pointing at him threateningly. “I’m going to score an A star in your class, you mark my words. I will do whatever it takes, but I will score an A star, and then you get to tell me I’m at the pinnacle.” I had never lost a challenge yet, and I was confident that if I willed it, I could.

“Fine,” he smiled, amusement dancing on his lips.

He looked too happy, so I decided to burst his bubble. He didn’t get to feel happy after he made me feel like a bloody fool. “Get out.”

“Morgana, I—”

“If you want to earn back my trust, you need to respect my space, and I say get out.”

“This is blackmail.”

“So be it.” I didn’t budge.

“Fine, bye.”

“Goodbye, Professor Donahue.

“I do wish you’d stop calli—”

Goodbye,” I said, pushing him out of my room.

“I’m sending Aphrodite, by the way,” he replied as I began to shut the door.

I stiffened. “Don’t bother,” I said and closed the door. “She is no mother of mine.” I heard his footsteps retreating and heaved a sigh of relief.

My cell-phone pinged in my pocket and I took it out. There were texts from two chats. I opened the notification.

Victoria (Roommate): Hey, r u ok? Your status is troubling, and u didn’t talk 2 me yest.

Me: I wasn’t feeling too well yesterday; sorry I didn’t speak with you. And my status is just a quote in Latin.

I put my phone away once I saw the name on the other chat, but it pinged once again.

Victoria (Roommate): Hope ur better soon, sis. And ur status is about crying women and traps.

Me: Thanks, I will be. But be as that may, how is that troubling?

Victoria (Roommate): That’s it, I can't control it anymore. Which boy </3?

I knew enough about emoticons to know she meant broke your heart.

Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I silenced my phone and put it in my purse, not wanting to listen to Tori talk about boys breaking my heart. She was happily girlfriend-ed to Nora after she broke up with Julius.

On the way back, I saw a glint of diamonds on the floor. I bent down and saw broken glass and a piece of paper. A cork was lying close by, and I realized it was the vial Hecate had given me. I must have dropped in when Apollo got me here after the panic attack.

I picked up the piece of paper gently and put the roll in my pocket before grabbing my phone again to text someone to help me out with the glass.

I instinctively opened my chat with Apollo, and immediately regretted it.

Phoebus Apollon (Prof. Donahue): I know I am a bloody fool/ But hear me out, my dear. I’m sorry I acted so cruel/ I was just operating under fear. I thought to tell you everything/ Would hurt your love for me. I just wish to sort out this thing/ So of guilt and pain you and I can be free.

Me: Can we discuss this later? I’m in a bit of a fix right now. I wouldn’t text you if I had someone else’s number, but I don’t, so…

Phoebus Apollon (Prof. Donahue): No worries, dear. Whatever happened?

Me: There’s glass all over my floor.

Phoebus Apollon (Prof. Donahue): Zeus almighty! I’m coming immediately. Are you hurt?

Me: No, I’m fine. I just need someone to bring a broom.

Phoebus Apollon (Prof. Donahue): On it. Worry not, I’ll be there soon.

I sighed. Why did he have to be this nice? Sure, I was still angry at him, but it was the little things I thought were sweet that was making staying angry at him all the harder. The way he asked if I was hurt. The way he said no worries and worry not, knowing I was high-neurotic. The way he composed a bloody poem for me. The way he said bloody fool, knowing I was thinking that of him.

I hardened my heart. Persephone was taking me home tonight, and I wasn’t going to interact with him any more than I had to as his student. He was dead to me. D E A D.

Why didn’t my heart hear it then?

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