Absent but Present

The school felt different on Monday mornings. Quieter, heavier, as though even the walls were bracing themselves for another week of droning bells and sluggish teenagers. Eliza Matthews used to feel the same way. Used to.

Now she floated.

Her heart beat faster as she entered her classroom, not because she loved history—though she did—but because her eyes flicked instantly to the desk in the second row. Joey's desk. Empty.

And so was Indira's.

That absence pressed into her chest like a weight. Indira was bright, diligent, dependable. Always there. If Indira wasn't in her seat, if Joey wasn't in his—it wasn't hard to imagine the two of them together. Eliza's pulse quickened.

She smoothed her skirt and took a careful breath. The outfit didn't feel like hers, not really. It was Joey's, as were all the other clothes that were housed in the apartment she gave him. The day before, he had generously worked with her to go through her closet, tugging hangers aside, preparing her for the week. "We'll make a list," he'd said, in that matter-of-fact tone that brooked no debate, growing into his role as her man. "One for each day this week."

So there she was, obedient in Monday's choice: a pale lavender blouse that gaped just a little at the buttons, tucked into a tight pencil skirt that hugged her hips more snugly than she ever would have allowed before. The skirt ended higher than she liked, showing more thigh than was strictly professional, especially when paired with the glossy nude heels he'd insisted "pulled it together."

It was barely acceptable for a teacher, and she flushed with the thought of the other staff noticing. But the knowledge that Joey had chosen it, that he wanted her like this, filled her with warmth.

Still, two desks remained empty.

She clutched the attendance sheet a little tighter. Where were they?

Her mind spun through possibilities. Maybe Joey was home, still in bed, hair mussed, yawning as he pulled the covers over his chest. Maybe Indira was curled beside him, shy and glowing, her dark hair spilling across his pillow. Or maybe he was out walking, hoodie pulled low, mysterious and untouchable, Indira's hand tucked possessively in his. Maybe Madison and Aynsley had joined them, their laughter spilling into the night, lips on his throat, hands in his hair, on his chest, slipping down, touching, rubbing—

Eliza blinked, heat crawling up her neck. Too far. Too much. She had classes to teach. Fantasies wouldn't get Joey marked present. She **** herself back into the rhythm of calling roll, pen hovering over their names before she deliberately, neatly checked Present.

Of course they were present.

Assignments slid onto her desk in a ragged stack. Joey's wasn't there, of course. Neither was Indira's. She gave them both full marks anyway. The best marks. None of this busywork mattered. What mattered was Joey's future—and if that meant Indira's, too, then so be it. She was going to carry them through.

Between classes, she found herself staring at her phone again. She'd already texted Madison and Aynsley, and neither had seen him. That made her chest ache all the more.

Her thoughts circled back, unbidden, to the weekend. Saturday night already felt like another lifetime. Derek—gone, finally. Banished with nothing more than Joey's words, as if her years of entanglement had been nothing compared to a boy's certainty. And later that night at the party, upstairs with the rest of the girls, watching Joey with Madison—his hands, his body, the way Madison melted beneath him. Eliza had never let herself imagine she might be the sort of woman to watch, to want, to learn by seeing what another girl gave him.

And then Sunday morning. Her cheeks warmed at the memory: returning with Donna to the apartment that Eliza lived in, Donna herself, and Joey between them both. His hands roaming, his mouth moving from one to the other, his laughter low and easy. Eliza could still feel the press of Donna's body against hers, the giddy shock of sharing, of being welcomed in. Slipping into the plaid skirt and button-down blouse, heart racing at the absurdity of playing schoolgirl for her own student. It was titillating, terrifying, delicious.

She had never experienced anything like it before. Not with Derek. Not with anyone. Her world had been turned inside out, but in the best possible way. She felt like she was carrying a secret so intoxicating she could barely keep it in.

And yet, what about the future? What about when the last bell of her teaching career rang, and she packed her last box, and walked away from this school forever? Who would she be then? Just Joey's girl? His… what? Girlfriend? Mistress? Concubine? She didn't even know the word for it, only that she wanted to be whatever he needed.

Would he define it? Would he want to?

The memory of him in the bedroom making her list crept back in—his faint scowl as he tugged through her closet, pushing aside conservative blouses, sighing at the muted colors. He'd written her list with more efficiency than excitement, as though it were a chore to get through. The thought pricked her with unease. Perhaps she should go shopping, bring home new clothes that thrilled him, that made his eyes light up. Lacy things. Shorter skirts. Brighter colors. Outfits that weren't chores, but play.

She scribbled a note in the margin of her lesson plan: Shopping—soon.

The bell rang, pulling her back to the present. Students filed in, laughing, groaning, dragging their feet. Eliza straightened her skirt, lifted her chin, and began class. But her mind never drifted far from him. Joey was absent from his desk, yes—but not from her. Never from her.