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at me for a brief second, studying the look on my face. I’m a good actress, though. All he sees is a seductive grin and my wanting eyes. “I’m not distracted, and I don’t need to pretend,” he says, breaking up the moment of silence. “After these little teasing games of yours, you will be mine, one way or another. You can call it rape, but I’ll call it retribution for you coming in here like this and looking like that.” He looks me up and down shamelessly and bites down on his bottom lip.
    I uncoil my body from his as I hop down, pushing him away so I can take a few steps back. In a honeyed voice, I say, “Before you rape me, I need a second.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and click upload.
    “What the fuck did you do?” he asks. “Get over here you fucking bitch.” He grabs my arm and pushes me over to his desk. He pounces on top of me from behind and claws at my bra, so I let out a few cries— pretend cries. But he doesn’t know they aren’t real. He flips me around and tries to shove his hand down my pants, which gives me the perfect opportunity to attack. I lift my leg and wrap it around the back of his knee. Then he lifts me up to his chest, and I wrap my arms around his head, putting him in a choke hold.
    “It’s your move,” I let out a small laugh. “But I warn you. You make the wrong one, and I’ll kill you.”
    He releases his hands, so I release mine, but then he shoves me to the ground. I rebound quicker than I fell, though, and while I want nothing more than to attack him again, I’d much rather get the hell out of here. I slide my shirt back on and fix the few stray hairs curled up on the top of my head. Then I pull my lipstick out of my back pocket and glide it slowly over each lip. I’ve pushed him to the point of no return, which is precisely where I intended for him to go.
    “What the fuck is your problem, psycho?” He moves in behind me, and I back kick, shoving the stiletto of my boot right into his perpetrator.
    “Fuck you. That’s what,” I respond, turning around to stare down at his crouched body and flushed face. “Oh, and you don’t have to worry about hiding that rape from your wife, the dean, or police anymore.” I slide my phone back out of my pocket and play up my smug grin while checking the screen. “YouTube works so freaking fast nowadays. I’m pretty sure this is record timing, actually. Don’t you think?” I ask, playfully. I show him the display on my phone screen. “Damn. I’m good. This is totally going viral.” I laugh a little more, knowing I’m pushing him far over the edge.
    His jaw drops open as he adjusts himself and backs up until his knees buckle at the desk chair. “What the . . . “ He stumbles over his words as a white pallor clouds his strawberry licked cheeks. “Why would you . . . ?“
    “Krissy Tate? The girl you raped—you know, your straight A student?” Confusion washes over his already flushed face. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. “I lied about that not being a distraction. You see . . .“ I lift my hand to check out my nails, dragging this out to build up the suspense. “I’m her sister. Carolina Tate.” I shove my hand out to him. “Nice to meet you, asshole.”
    “Oh shit,” he says with a sickening sneer. “You two do look alike.”
    “You think because you’re a psychology professor you can work a girl’s mind over?” I quirk my brow. “Did you ever wonder what would happen when one of them worked your mind over?”
    I straighten my sweater and lift my bag up from the ground, ending this encounter once and for all. “By the way,” my voice rises in tone as I turn around and tap my finger into the air for effect, bending my thumb down as if pulling an invisible trigger. “If I were you I’d go ahead and off yourself. I mean . . . your wife is gone.” I count the reasons on my fingers. “Your career is gone.” I press my fingertip into my chin and grin for the final shot.