Office Hours Ch. 04

All characters are at least 18 years old.

------

Hank

Class today was going to be as hard as I was. Most of the students were already in the classroom before I got there, and I settled in quickly, spreading my things out on the desk.

"Good morning, everyone," I declared, turning to the blackboard, chalk in hand. "Today we're going to be talking about Maslow's hierarchy of needs, before moving onto attachment theory." I turned back to the class, eyes locking onto Jean immediately. She was in another baggy zip-up hoodie, with a ratty t-shirt underneath. And another skirt that went halfway down her thighs. It was November already; either she was one of those people whose legs didn't get cold, or she was persevering just to show off for me. Which was pretty fucking hot. "Who can tell me the five main stages of the hierarchy?" I asked.

Jean was among those who raised their hands, but before I could call for her answer, the blonde bombshell next to her began speaking out of turn.

"Physiological, safety, love and belonging, esteem, and self-actualization needs, in descending order of importance," said Lexi, smiling confidently. She was incredibly attractive, and was looking stunning as usual in her outfit of a tight sweater and skinny jeans. Based on features alone, she looked like she could have gotten into any sorority she wanted, if our college were part of the Greek system. Yet the look she had in her eyes sometimes, and the disarming vulpine grin she frequently wore, told of a very different personality beneath it all. But like I said, it was hard to not notice beauties like her in this job.

Jean was glaring at her, and doing a very poor job of hiding it. Lexi simply smirked at me, awaiting my response. From my estimate, Lexi seemed to simply flirt wherever she went; she wasn't targeting me or anything. Sometimes I wondered though, with how often she came to see me in my office.

"That's right. But please wait until I call on you next time," I noted before turning back to the board and drawing a tiered pyramid. "When represented visually, we use a pyramid to demonstrate the importance of each stage. As you can see, at the bottom we have physiological needs. These include what, class?"

Again hands were raised around the room. Jean's shot up fervently while she gave Lexi a dirty look. Her name was just forming on my lips before Lexi interrupted again.

"Physiological needs are things we need to survive. Food, water, shelter," she answered mildly, the only trace of mischief evident solely in her eyes. Jean looked appalled at her audacity, visibly fuming.

"Correct, but again, wait until I call on you, Lexi," I replied, my tone a bit clipped.

"Right, sorry," she said, looking anything but.

"Anyway. Next we have security needs, which are pretty self-explanatory. Good health, safety from danger, and nowadays we can even include financial stability. Can anybody explain what comes next?"

This time Jean was the transgressor, blurting out, "Love and belonging needs. Friends, family, trust, any sense of community can fall under this section." She and Lexi were starting to get looks from the other students now, though thankfully I wasn't included in the unfolding drama. I frowned at her sternly, and she seemed to shrink. "Sorry."

Probably best if I don't ask any more questions, or these two will be at each other's throats before long. I wrote their answers on the board, then turned back to move on. "So. Next we have--"

"Esteem needs," Lexi cut in, simultaneously sneering at Jean. "Respect for oneself, and respect from others. Status, fame, a sense of ability and achievement, and a need for independence and freedom."

"Which is separate from the last one, self-actualization," Jean added fiercely. "The manifestation of a person's full potential."

They had the attention of the entire class now, who were openly watching the match between the girls. I felt like I was in high school. The two of them were acting like children. I sighed and set down my chalk, walking up to the front row and folding my arms, a deep scowl on my face. "Would you girls like to take over the class?" I growled sarcastically.

They both looked ashamed, Jean more so than Lexi. "No, sir," they mumbled concurrently. I took a deep breath before grunting in acknowledgement, making my way back behind my desk. There was a sense of urgency, because I had to hide the raging erection I'd just grown. Two beautiful college girls calling you "sir"? My head was back in the gutter.

The rest of the lecture went rather smoothly. The girls had been cowed into silence, and I refrained from prompting responses from the class, instead describing why Maslow arranged the needs in a hierarchy. We moved on to attachment theory, which addressed how the way parents interacted with their infant children affected how said children formed relationships even into adulthood. Curiously, Jean looked like she was feeling some discomfort at the subject, further enforcing my suspicion that her family life was lacking.

"And I believe that's all we have time for today," I announced, with students already rising from their chairs. "I know it's Thanksgiving weekend, but please begin reading Chapter 9 over break!" The sounds of affects being packed and some light conversation warranted me raising my voice, as usual. "When we come back, we'll be going over parenting styles. Try not to forget everything during the holiday. And happy Thanksgiving, everybody!"

As Jean left, she gave me an apologetic look before slipping out. Meanwhile, Lexi sent me a wink that left me baffled. What the hell was that all about? She'd never done anything like this before. As my next class filed in, I ruminated on the cause. A nasty impossibility occurred to me, and my eyes widened. Were they fighting over me? It was farfetched, but I couldn't come up with anything else. Jean obviously wanted and enjoyed my attention, but Lexi... Even if she didn't hold any feelings toward me, she definitely seemed the type to fight over the position of teacher's pet. And she took great pleasure in riling Jean up.

I rubbed my forehead in exasperation. With that possibility bouncing around in my head, I had trouble focusing on my next class. Sure, there was no dick-measuring contest this time, but my mind was elsewhere. Being able to retreat to my office was a godsend. And Lexi had to ruin that as well.

"Hey, prof," she said flirtatiously as I exited the classroom. She'd been waiting outside for me. "Can I ask a couple questions?"

"Well, I'm heading to my office now, actually," I replied.

"Cool. We can walk and talk then," she offered, before launching straight into her agenda. "So, attachment style. I just wanted to recap on the anxious attachment style."

We made our way up the stairs to the faculty offices, professors and students coming and going in between classes. "There are actually a number of different types of anxious attachment styles, but all of them stem from bad parenting," I explained. "Either they neglect the child, or abuse them in some way."

"But the same could be said of all the attachment styles except securely attached children," Lexi pointed out.

"Very true. So to determine which style a child has adopted, we have to observe their response to the Strange Situation."

"Alright. But once they grow up..."

"In adulthood, those with anxious attachment styles are more clingy and fear rejection. They need more reassurance in their relationships, and can get volatile," I replied.

"Hm. Very interesting." She didn't sound like any of this was new information, however. After all, we had just gone over it an hour ago. By this point, we were going down the hall toward my office, and I saw Jean scrolling on her phone, waiting outside my door. "Anyway. I'll leave you and your girlfriend alone then. Happy Thanksgiving, Professor Lang."

I stopped in my tracks, blood turning to ice as I watched her turn and head back the way we came. She gave me a little finger wave over her shoulder, and the lump in my throat only grew. Was that a joke? Did she know? What the hell was that interaction? Did she just need an excuse to walk up here with me? And to what end? Was she threatening me?

I was dizzy with questions, and not a one could be answered right now. Still stiff from the sudden stress, I continued down the hall and greeted Jean at my door. She looked up and put her phone away, forcing out a nonchalant "Hey." I led the way into my office, setting my bag down and dropping myself into my chair. Jean closed the door and seated herself across from me, not meeting my eyes.

Calming down from the recent interaction with Lexi, I took a deep breath. "What the hell was that today?" I demanded.

Jean gulped, looking down at her lap miserably. "You mean...?"

"Yes, I mean. I mean that whole spectacle you and Lexi put on." She was silent. "Her, maybe I could've expected this from. But you?"

"She was being a bitch," Jean complained.

"So if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. That right?" I shook my head and didn't push for a response. "So, what's up? Did you have questions?"

"I just wanted to see you, jeez," she said with a scowl, leaning back in the chair and folding her arms.

"I told you, we shouldn't do anything outside the club," I replied firmly. "Ground rules, remember? Besides, I'm starting to have second thoughts about this whole thing..." I took out my squash ball and squeezed it in my hand, looking off at nothing while I was thinking.

Jean huffed. "What, because of what happened in class? That's bullshit." I whipped my head around to look at her. "That doesn't even have to do with anything--"

"I'm not talking about that," I interjected, before she could swing off on a tirade. "Just now, Lexi walked up here with me with some questions about class. She saw you here waiting for me and called you my girlfriend." I heard from her the slightest intake of breath at that. "I'm afraid she knows."

She was silent for a moment, just staring at me. Her brow quivered with sadness, hurt flitting in and out of her eyes, and I wanted to assuage any misunderstandings she was experiencing. But I wanted to wait for her to speak, rather than jumping the gun and preemptively shutting anything down.

"Y'know," she whispered, "if you were just gonna throw me away anyway, you should've just opened with that. No need to waste time giving me the runaround like this."

With a sniffle, she hauled her backpack onto her shoulder and stood up, heading for the door. In an instant, I'd dropped my ball and gotten out of my chair, stalking over and placing a hand on the door.

"Get out of my way," she muttered angrily, eyes fixed on the painted wood.

"I think you misunderstood me," I responded. She tugged at the door, but I held it closed.

"What's there to understand? You're just like everybody else."

"Jean, let's just sit down and talk things through--"

"What are you, a fucking therapist?" she snapped, glaring at me. "This is exactly why I could never do therapy. All they do is talk, 'let's sit down and talk,' 'do you wanna talk about it?' But nobody will actually fucking help me!" Tears were gathering in her eyes, threatening to spill out.

And with all my previous uncertainty of what the right thing to do was, my body figured it out before my mind. My hand tipped her chin up, and I leaned down and kissed her. She clung to me as she cried, her lips pressed hard against mine. My one hand released her chin and wrapped around her waist, my other letting go of the door and resting on the back of her neck. When we parted, she seemed more calm, slowly collecting herself.

"Jean, all I've ever wanted to do was help you," I murmured, touching my forehead to hers. "But you need to talk to me. I can't help if I don't know."

She stared emptily at my chest, steadying her breathing. Her voice was still shaky when she started speaking. "Nobody wants me. My parents, leaving me in a goddamn dumpster. My foster parents, getting sick of my shit and offloading me to the next ones. My schoolmates, all laughing at my clothes that smell like garbage bags."

I pulled her close, and she rested her head against my shoulder. "You were in the system?"

She nodded. "...Y'know, sometimes I wish I could just be in a group home. When you're fostered, sometimes they have their own fucking kids, right? And their kids will always be their kids. You're just a stray they picked up to get a paycheck. In a group home... you're all the same. Just a bunch of orphans and rejects. Equals."

I studied her, mourning that she was romanticizing growing up in a group home. It was tragic, made more so by the fact that a story like hers wasn't rare enough. Letting her go, I walked over to my notepad and began writing. She watched me curiously until I ripped the page off and handed it to her.

"What's this?"

"My address."

"For booty calls?" she said skeptically.

I snorted. "No, not that. For if you need someplace to... to be, to crash, anything. You don't even need to call ahead, just show up whenever. If I'm not at school, or at the club visiting you..." At this, I gave her a wink, and she blushed. "... then I'll be at home. So yeah, whenever. I don't have much, but... Y'know."

"... Thank you." She stared at the address in her hand, as if committing it to memory, before wiping the tears off her cheeks. "Can't believe I just did that shit," she commented, and I smiled. "Don't say shit, alright?"

"I won't if you won't," I replied, and she barked out a laugh.

"So anyway, are you... Are you coming tonight?" She went in and out of that tough front of hers like she was born to it.

I stepped back over to her, taking her in my arms once again and reclaiming Shy Jean. "Well of course. You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"