Don't Tell

Due to signing a non-disclosure agreement, the names in the story you're about to read have been changed. Any similarities are purely coincidental. We’ll call the central figure here Captain Casanova, or just Cap for short.

During the first semester of my freshman year at a university I’m not allowed to name, I enrolled in a creative writing course taught by Captain Casanova, himself. One October morning, he invited me into his office after class to tell me how much potential he saw in me. Adjusting to life hundreds of miles away from home had been exhausting; my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I’d spent my life feeling like I was failing at everything I tried. Occasionally, I’d manage to be mediocre at something, and for me, that was writing. My sister Cadence, on the other hand, excelled at everything. She followed in our parents’ footsteps and thrived in law school, while I felt like a disappointment for choosing a different path. So you can imagine the boost Cap’s words gave me. He offered to mentor me, and I eagerly accepted, grateful for the opportunity to improve as a writer. Not that it mattered, but as a side note, he was a smoke show— perfectly coiffed hair, killer smile, and he spent a fair amount of time at the gym where girls constantly fawned over him. There was no denying he had a great body. Cap scheduled our first session for the following Tuesday night at seven. My roommate, Astrid, was so jealous.

The Captain didn’t live far from campus—about a twenty-minute walk from my dorm.

“I’d hate for you to be walking the city streets alone after dark, dear,” he said. “How about I pick you up?”

“That works for me,” I replied, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

I brought along the story I’d been working on, just as he’d asked. He read it, highlighting areas that needed improvement and explaining the reasons behind his suggestions.

For the next few weeks, I was at his apartment every Tuesday and Thursday evening, from seven to nine. One night, he mentioned he hadn’t eaten yet and asked if I was hungry. I was famished. I assumed we’d grab something quick, like McDonald’s, but he ordered takeout from a nearby Italian place that boasted organic produce and locally sourced meat.

Even though Cap had only been mentoring me for about a month, I already felt comfortable around him. That night, we shared a meal, laughed, and, for the first time, our conversation strayed away from grammar, dialogue, or character development. We didn’t discuss any particular topic; we just talked, bantering back and forth. The food was amazing—eggplant Parmesan, tomato basil soup, and arugula salad with fresh mozzarella. He served chilled Pinot Grigio, and never commented on the number of times I refilled my glass, despite my being only nineteen. Perhaps he thought I was older. After we ate, he drove me back to my dorm. The following week, after another long day, he ordered chicken scampi, and once again, the wine flowed freely.

“It’s getting late,” he remarked, glancing at his watch. “I should get you home.” It was almost eleven. We had been so engrossed in conversation that neither of us had noticed how much time had passed. As the weeks went by, winter approached, and the days grew shorter—as did our lessons, even though I was staying later. One evening, a blizzard hit, and the news announced road closures due to icy conditions. Schools were already listing closures for the following day. Cap confirmed with the dean that all morning classes would be canceled.

“I’m sorry I can’t take you home,” he said. “But we’ll make an adventure out of it.”

We spent the evening in the kitchen, listening to Christmas music and making holiday cut-out cookies.

“May I have this dance?” he asked chivalrously as the last batch of cookies baked.

Cap took my hand and pulled me close, gently holding me against his chest. He smelled incredible. He spun me out, then pulled me back in, dipping me. His beard was rough against my cheek and smelled like citrus and pine.

“I’m thankful for the snow.” He whispered in my ear, “This is nice.”

My attraction to him had been growing, but until that moment, I hadn’t considered he might see me as more than just a student. Suddenly, the possibility of something more between us felt both plausible and inevitable, looming just beyond the horizon. My stomach twisted with anticipation. I was nineteen, and he was twenty-nine. There was nothing illegal about it, but it was definitely against university policy, which should have given me pause. It didn’t. What is it about a forbidden romance that makes it so irresistibly alluring?

“Why don’t we watch a movie, and then we can decorate the cookies once they've cooled,” he said casually.

A huge Steinbeck fan, he suggested we watch The Grapes of Wrath when I admitted I’d never read it. To this day, I couldn’t tell you if I liked the movie because I couldn’t focus. I was too aware of him, of the subtle way his knee tapped against mine, sending electric waves through my body. His hand was warm on mine, his thumb gliding across my skin. His breath on my neck sent chills down my arms.

“Do you want to take a break and frost the cookies?” he whispered.

“Uh, sure,” I said, hoping it would be a distraction.

For a moment, the change of scenery cleared my head. I refilled my wine glass and started carefully icing the warm treats. Our usual banter returned, and we laughed, talking about books and movies. Outside, the snow continued to fall, nearly covering the kitchen window.

After we finished decorating, I picked up a plump snowman cookie. It tasted the best—no added food dye, just warm, gooey frosting. I took a bite and noticed him watching me, his eyes lingering as I licked the icing from my lips.

“You missed a spot,” he said softly. He moved closer, wiped the corner of my mouth with his finger, and then licked it clean, never breaking eye contact. We each inched closer, drawn together, until our lips met, closing the gap. His body pressed against mine, our kisses hungry and unrestrained, yet somehow not enough.

“Stella,” he said, my name barely more than a breath. “Do you feel it too?”

“Feel what?”

“The attraction between us,” he answered.

Hazy from the wine and lost in the moment, I could barely think straight. I just nodded.

“Come here,” Cap said, taking my hand and leading me down the hallway to his bedroom.

He pushed me onto the bed—not rough, but not gentle either, just eager. Everything else was tender. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, lightly caressing my face. “Is this okay?” he asked as his lips trailed down my body. I hadn’t been intimate with anyone since high school, and being with a man was so different. He knew what he was doing. I briefly wondered how many other students he’d been with. Was I just a casual fling, or did he have valid feelings for me? I pushed those thoughts aside, trying not to let them ruin an otherwise beautiful moment.

Whatever it was, it felt genuine. He held me through the night, occasionally planting soft kisses on my shoulder or neck until I fell asleep.

But by morning, everything felt different.

I didn't need to open my eyes to remind me where I was. The room was permeated with his scent. But the sheets were cool. I awoke alone.

Upon opening my eyes, the sunlight burned. The pain in my head was excruciating. As I willed myself to sit up, my stomach churned from the motion. I knew I had only a matter of seconds to make it to the bathroom. The floorboards shrieked and every footstep intensified the throbbing in my head. There was no time to shut the door. I collapsed onto the floor in front of the toilet, hugging the bowl. It smelled of bleach and I was grateful to know that it was clean. There is nothing worse than having your face inches from a dirty toilet. The cleanliness doesn't last long. The contents of my stomach hit the water with a splash. When I was certain there was nothing left, I rinsed my face with cold water. I squeezed a blob of toothpaste onto my finger and swiped it along my teeth in an effort to freshen up.

Padding out to the kitchen, I saw Cap sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by a mess of papers.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.

“The roads are clear now, and I have papers to grade and a lecture to prepare, so I’m going to take you back,” he said flatly, almost cold.

“Please don’t tell anyone you stayed here last night,” he added. I shouldn't have been surprised, but it stung.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I replied, trying to reassure him.

The drive home was eerily quiet. I had a lump in my throat, but I managed to hold it together until I got back to my room and into the warm shower. The water cascaded down my face concealing my tears, washing them down the drain until it ran cold. I couldn’t let Astrid see me cry. She would ask questions, and when I’m upset, I tend to blurt out the truth without thinking. I wanted to believe Cap had real feelings for me, that maybe after the semester we could have had a legitimate relationship. But that wasn’t why I was crying. More than anything, I was angry and disappointed in myself. How could I have been so naive? Did he ever see potential in me or was that a line? Of course I was merely a conquest to him. How could I have ever believed otherwise? I decided to stop our sessions. There hadn’t been much mentoring going on those last few weeks anyway. I wanted to drop his class, but it was too late.

I wish I could say that was the end of it, and I’d learned my lesson. Unfortunately, it took several relapses before I realized the error of my ways. Though, if I’m being honest, I might never have learned, had I not found out that Cap had a family. That’s right—he had a wife, two small kids, and a golden retriever. He owned a home about an hour away from the university. The apartment? That was just for when he needed to focus on work, or when he stayed over on nights he had evening classes. There wasn't a single picture of his family there, nor on his desk, not even in his office. And he never wore a wedding ring.

In the end, I handled the trauma by crying to my mom. Very mature, right? She called the Dean, and though I wasn’t privy to their conversation, I’m certain a lawsuit was implied. With both my parents being attorneys, that wasn’t a hard guess. In the end, I was offered a chance to transfer, and Captain Casanova got to keep his position, provided we all signed NDAs.

I don't know if his wife ever found out. The thought of reaching out to her anonymously had occurred to me but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't want to hurt her or their kids.

I (the problem) was removed while the man got to stay and keep his job. Not the ending you were hoping for? Me either. But unfortunately, that’s the society we live in. For as much progress we’ve made over the years, it's still very much a man’s world.