Page 135 of Proof By Contradiction
Laurence flinches. I’m not sure if it’s the word or the accusation.
‘It’s not.’ Laurence starts. Stops. His hands are at his sides. The hands that grade papers, hold markers, hold me. ‘It’s consensual. I never forced him.’
‘Consensual.’ Ron’s mouth shapes the word. Shapes it again. ‘A thirty-one-year-old lecturer and a first-year student. You have a duty of care. You have a contractual obligation not to.’
‘I’m aware of my obligations.’
‘Are you? Because it looks like you forgot every single one of them the moment my brother walked into your house.’
‘Ronan.’ I move. My body between them before my brain catches up, chest facing Ron, back to Laurence. ‘Stop.’
‘You’re defending him.’ A crack in Ron’s face, not a break. Cracks again. ‘He’s groomed you and you’re defending?—’
‘He hasn’t groomed me.’
‘Then what do you call it? You’re nineteen! He’s your lecturer! He has a professional duty.’
‘I know how old I am.’ Steady. My hands behind my back are not. ‘I know exactly how old I am and I know exactly what this is.’
‘You don’t know anything.’ His eyes—bloodshot. He hasn’t slept. The skin under them is dark and pressed. ‘You think youdo, because you’re smart, because you’ve always been smarter than everyone around you, but you don’t know.’
‘He hasn’t groomed me because I went after him.’
Silence.
Ron stares. Laurence tenses behind me, the stiffness radiating from his spine into the room.
‘I pursued him. I seduced him. I turned up at his office. I waited outside his lectures. I pushed and pushed until he gave in.’ My voice catches on the truth of them. ‘He tried to say no. He said no a lot. I didn’t let him.’
‘Ewan. Please.’ Laurence, behind me. Pained.
‘I’m not a victim, Ron. I’m not a child who got tricked by a clever man. I’m the clever one. I saw what I wanted and I took it and I’m not sorry.’
It collapses across his face.
‘And it’s not only sex.’
Everything stops.
‘I love him.’ My voice reduced. ‘And he loves me.’
Behind me, Laurence doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But he finds me, reaches past my hip, fingers closing around my wrist, and the contact is everything.
Ron looks at our hands. Looks at my face.
‘He’s brainwashed you.’
‘No.’
‘This is textbook, Ewan. The power imbalance is the entire problem.’
‘I know about the power imbalance. I’ve thought about it. I’ve weighed it. I chose anyway.’
‘You’re nineteen. You can’t weigh the consequences.’
‘I can weigh whatever I want.’ Louder than I mean to. It echoes. ‘I’m not the version of me you keep in your head, Ron. I’m not twelve. I’m not the kid you drove up here in September. I’ve thought about this more than you ever will.’
‘Do you know what happens when this comes out?’ Ron’s voice drops. Low. He’s done the research—two AM on his phone reading university policies and disciplinary codes. ‘Disciplinary proceedings. Internal review, he loses his position. Possibly his career. His name goes on a record that doesn’t come off. And you, your grades get reviewed, your degree gets questioned, every mark he’s given you becomes suspect. Everything you’ve earned gets an asterisk. Is that what you want?’
