Love Lies Bleeding, Remmy Duchene [moboreader .TXT] 📗

The days seemed to melt into one big night and eventually they found him a foster home. He would sit in a corner, silently. Each day blended into another—then another—and soon he'd lost track of time. From time to time he'd hear a bit of the conversations around him and it was always the same.

"He hasn't said a word since he got here."

"Nothing? How do you know he's hungry?"

"I don't. I just put the food out and when he's hungry, he eats. But it's been three months and nothing."

"Maybe it's a phase."

"I doubt it… I've been begging someone to take him to therapy but the government doesn't care and we can't afford it…"

His eyes glazed over again and he hung his head lower.

Chapter One

Anderson sat up from the bench and exhaled. His body wasn't in the mood for a workout but he couldn't let that stop him. Since it was a little wet outside for a run, he had to settle for the university gym before anyone else got there. Reaching for his towel, he patted the back of his neck, then his face, and grabbed his water bottle. If he hurried, he would have enough time for a shower before he had to motor it back to his office and prepare for class. He was excited about the day, for he was teaching his students about the great masters of literature.

The thought spurred him through a quick shower, a stop for coffee, and a short climb to his office up the stairs. He never liked elevators, even on a good day.

The moment he walked into the office, his phone began ringing. Arching a brow, he grabbed it and dropped it between his head and shoulder.

"Hello?"

"Hi, son. I know you forget things."

Anderson laughed. "Hi, Dad. I remember our date for tonight."

Jazmon chuckled. "Yes, but will you in an hour?"

"Dad."

"I know. I know!"

Anderson spent a little time speaking with his father before glancing at the clock. He wanted to cry because now he was definitely late for his first lecture.

* * * *

Luckily his students didn't mind. He set up their attendance clicker questions and while they mused over the right answers, he got his slide show ready and grabbed his copy of Jane Eyre.

"Okay. Did everyone have a chance read the first chapter in Jane Eyre?" he called, glancing around the large lecture hall.

A few hands went up—more than he thought would. He smiled. "Good. Very good. First we're going to dissect the characters."

The class erupted in a lively discussion. Anderson loved that; he loved having his students participate and ask questions without the fear of being wrong.

"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent." Anderson read from his copy of the book. He looked up at the class and walked forward up one row. It was more to give them a chance to think on it, let it sink in. "Tell me what this means to you."

"She's been broken," one student hollered from the back.

Anderson turned. "Mikail, what do you mean by that?"

"Well. She seems to be a free-spirit—a person who thinks for herself—and they're basically telling Jane there was something wrong with her because she doesn't conform to what they believe in."

"Amazing analysis. There is no right or wrong answer here because each person interprets this book differently. But I love the way you're thinking. Yes. Mikail is right. The answer was like 'you are wrong to have your own mind. And you are wrong to demand to know what you did wrong. You are not entitled to a voice'. Anyone else?"

The day went by in a flurry, for it seemed he ran late for everything. His final lecture went overtime as well, and when he glanced at his watch, he wanted to cry, even as students hurled questions at him. It was as though they didn't want to leave, because it took about five minutes for most of them to clear out of the room. Anderson gathered his things from his desk, while he answered a few questions from the students who oftentimes wanted to speak with him. Except this day, there were quite a few more than normal.

Not wanting to push their questions aside, he answered as many as he could. Finally he told them if they wished to discuss anything further, they should meet him for his office hours. Then he was out the door. But the fact he was all but racing from the building didn't seem to stop anyone from trying to speak with him in the hallways. One student went so far as to jog beside him halfway across the large courtyard before getting winded and having to stop before he passed out. After a quick glance to ensure the kid was all right, Anderson darted home. He tossed his keys into a bowl by the door, plugged in his cell phone to charge, then darted up the stairs two at a time. He stripped on his way and tossed the dirty clothes onto the arms of a large chair by the window in the bedroom.

He took the fastest shower he had ever taken. He felt sweaty from all the rushing he'd been doing and needed the shower to cool his body down before meeting with his father. Finally dressed, he took a moment to glance at himself in the mirror. Anderson was dressed in a sleek pair of black dress pants and a dark blue dress shirt. He attached the chain his father had given him for his graduation from university and slipped on his Rolex before dumping some aftershave into his palms. He rubbed his hands together, lathered his neck, and gave himself a corny gun-salute in the mirror before jetting down the stairs.

Pushing his feet into his shoes, he unplugged his cell, grabbed his car keys from the bowl