The Broken

Chapter 8 REPUTATION

The next day, I went to school early just to be sure that there would be no roses on my table or I swore it would go straight to the garbage can and probably keep the vase (it would be a waste to dispose of them).

When I got inside our office, there were already four people sitting at their own tables. Thankfully, no strong sweet scent lingered in the room, although I noticed a small red bowler bag resting comfortably on my table. From afar, it looked like a classic leather bag but when I touched it, it was too smooth. It was then that I realized it must be a lunch bag that was too sophisticated and stylish, I might add.

When I unzipped it, there were a steel container that was shaped like a bowl, a black insulated tumbler with a straw, and a long rectangular-shaped container. This must be the food that Luther sent for me.

I opened first the bowl-shaped container and a flavorful aroma filled my nostril. It was a dried pollock soup, which was popularly believed to be a hangover remedy. I opened the other rectangular container that had a spoon and used it to eat the hot soup. Though I didn't drink too much last night, the soup spreading around its warmth inside my stomach really felt good.

The drink that was on the tumbler tasted like carrot juice mixed with apple and ginger. It wasn't as tasteful as the soup but when I researched Woogle how beneficial they were for my health, I drank it all.

While I was putting back all the containers inside the bag, Professor Gwan whose table was in front of me suddenly faced me. "They really look delicious. Looks like you’re finally moving on. So, who’s the lucky guy?" she asked, smiling sweetly.

I controlled myself from rolling my eyes and stared coldly at her. She turned her back on me and muttered something. Professor Gwan was one of Sophie’s friends but I was not. I didn't like her hobby of delightfully spreading rumors in the school. There were just some people who couldn't mind their own business.

I went out of the office and thanked Luther through text. He might be in a meeting or doing something important, so it's wise not to disturb him by giving him a call. Though my presumption was wrong, he called me immediately after I sent him a message. We briefly chatted since he was in a restaurant and having dinner with his business partners.

My days seemed to have passed pretty normal except for the food that I got every morning, attracting more curious eyes from my colleagues and engendering soft whispering. I didn't care though I was slightly bothered by some students staring curiously at me as though I was a new professor here.

I was on my way to the parking lot when I bumped into Ms. Park who was smiling coquettishly.

"Hi, Professor Smith," her sweet smile never left her face.

"What do you want?" I asked in a sharp tone.

"Nothing really, just want to tell you I already have my own car," she declared in a high-pitch tone.

My lips slightly curved up in a thin smile, feeling relieved that it was her car and nothing else that was making her feel giddy. "I’m happy for you, Ms. Park, I mean, Hazel. So where’s your car? I want to see it," I said in a more enthusiastic voice.

It was a big deal once a woman drove her own car that wasn’t a gift from her family or any man but came from her own salary. It was like a symbol of status for women's independence.

"It's a second-hand car only, but I really love it. Once I saw it, I just knew it belongs to me," her voice swelled up both with pride and excitement.

She then led me to where she parked her car-- a blue sedan. Maybe because it wasn't a girly type of car that made me like it too. “It looks good. I think it fits your personality, Hazel" I told her while patting her shoulder.

"Thank you, Professor Smith," she spoke while beaming from ear to ear.

"Faith, just call me Faith, Hazel."

We were both smiling at each other, fully understanding that we were not simply workmates but friends. I was truly grateful that I was able to form friendships with Hazel without the help of Sophie or Howard. Usually, I struggled in making friends as I was always awkward and uncomfortable whenever I was with people, but not Hazel. Maybe because I liked her from the first time I saw her.

"I must congratulate you, too. You're finally moving on."

My expression turned dark, blatantly showing my disgust for ruining this beautiful moment. She immediately waved her hands nervously as though she knew what exactly was on my mind.

"It's not what you think, Faith. I happen to randomly read an article saying that Mr. Moon was dating a professor here at Yeonghon University. I didn't--."

"What article?" I asked in confusion.

"It's on the internet. You haven't read it?"

"No," my voice sounded like a whisper.

"I didn't entirely believe it because, you know, fake news is all over the net but..."

I sauntered towards my own car, not caring what she was saying for my mind was focused on one thing-- reading that article.

When I was safe inside my car, I got my phone and opened the Woogle app. Turned out I didn't have to search, for it was one of the articles flashed on the Woogle home screen. The title itself was already irritating to my eyes: Billionaire playboy Luther Moon secretly dates a professor.

As I skim the first few paragraphs, I find it okay since it highlighted Luther’s numerous affairs with different women (many were either models or actresses, a two or three were married) and directly labeled him a ‘deadly Casanova’.

The next paragraph revealed that Luther was dating a professor from Yeonghon University, no name was mentioned, but the description obviously fitted me: black foreigner, voluptuous, and big curly hair. They might just as well drop my name. The succeeding sentences hinted that we were secretly and constantly seeing each other in a hotel. I scoffed as that just happened once only, yet stretching the truth made it more interesting for the readers but not for me. I found such an act to be despicable.

As those weren't enough, the article insinuated that Luther and I were not simply having meals but ‘enjoying an afternoon delight'. My eyes bulged as I let out a startled gasp and slowly put my hand over my mouth. What have I gotten into by simply dating that man?

Still, I continued to read and it was getting worst. To back up their malicious stipulation, the article claimed that a few attendants from the hotel had seen Luther helping me walk to the exit, again insinuating that Luther might have been too rough that he had me incapacitated. It concluded with a hope that I could be the ‘woman who can finally tame down the wild Casanova or just one of his pitiful victims'.

With my anger brewing inside, my hands started to shake uncontrollably. Then, I shut my eyes while mentally cursing Luther. If only I didn’t agree to have a date with him, this could have been avoided. It’s no use blaming myself or anyone. I knew I needed a solution—call Luther.

I picked up my phone and dialed Luther’s number, but he wasn't answering. After calling him countless times unsuccessfully, I thought that he might be sleeping since it was probably early morning in New York.

When I realized I was still in the parking lot, I started the car's engine and went home to my apartment. Though while I was driving, I was so tempted to use my phone and call Luther. But then I prioritized my safety first before dealing with my dilemma.

The moment I entered my apartment, my phone rang and it was Luther. Quickly, I answered his call.

"What happened? Why have you been calling? Is there something wrong?" His consecutive questions were filled with apprehension, but I was too angry and didn't care at all.

"Have you read the article?" I was trying to subdue my rage and resolved this as calmly and maturely as possible.

"What article?"

"The article," I said through clenched teeth.

"Faith, you got to be specific. There are lots of articles out there. I can't--."

"The one that's saying we're constantly f*cking each other on a hotel and that you're banging me up so hard I can barely walk after," I bellowed as my rage burst out.

"Faith, you must calm down first. We cannot--."

My feet automatically stopped from pacing back and forth. "Oh really, you want me to calm down, hell no!" I lashed out, my body quivering in fury. "I have a reputation to protect while you, well, what's there to ruin anyway? That might just as well boost your d*mn ego and reputation because the more women you get laid on, the more you got to brag that you can take any woman that you want."

"Shut up," he thundered in his commanding voice.

Hearing his command only spiked up my already heightened anger. "You must be really ecstatic because it just made your d*mn di*k twice its size. Ladies are surely thrilled and dying to--."

A disconnected tone sounded. Though there was a strong urge of throwing my phone, I settled on hurling my shoulder bag, and all of its contents scattered all over the floor. A tiny bottle rolling down to my feet caught my attention, so I picked it up and strode angrily toward the dining table.

As I gulped down the bitter liquor, a hot burning sensation spread, making my body less rigid. My mind that was a while clouded with anger was now a bit clear-headed as I came up with a reasonable solution. Before I could call Luther, my phone rang again. I let him speak first.

"Faith, I know you're very upset, but hear me out first," Luther said in a firm and low voice, indicating he was already calmed down. "Since I started my own business, I've managed to build good relations with the media. I've long accepted that media has greater influence over the people, who happened to be our customers."

"Go to the point," I spoke impatiently.

He breathed out a deep sigh. "They could write or report anything they want as long as it wouldn't directly affect my company."

"And how about my reputation?" I kept my voice low, trying not to start a fight again.

"We both know the truth. Should that be enough?"

"But the students and probably other professors, they..." I bit down my lip as I imagined their disgusted face while forming in their mind how low and unethical I could be after they’ve read that article.

"Does their opinion really matter to you"

I started spinning the tiny bottle and watching it somehow calmed me down. “You don't understand," I replied with a sigh.

"Then, let me, Faith," his voice was low, too low that it sounded like a pleading.

I stopped the bottle from spinning and lowered my head. "My reputation as a professor is all I have. I don't..." I cupped my mouth as my voice started to quiver. I remained silent for a moment, taking all the time to make sure my voice was steady and firm. "Luther, I’m giving you one chance to fix this,"

It was his turn to be quiet, but I waited patiently for his reply. "Okay, Faith," I heard him concede.

"Don't disappoint me."

"I won't."

I ended the call, feeling slightly relieved. Based on our previous encounter, Luther had been consistently keeping his word. As what he said, he had the means and resources to deliver the goods. I was hoping he would not fail this time.

Next morning, I woke up with my phone ringing. Luther told me to read something, but with my throbbing headache courtesy of my hangover, I couldn't fully grasp what he was saying and just repeatedly mumbled as my reply.

When the call ended, I didn't want to rise up even though I knew I was already late for my first class. Not motivated to go to work and faced my students or any of my colleagues, I actually considered for the first time staying here alone in my apartment the entire day. It wasn't as unpleasant as I thought it could be.

However, my conscience that couldn't just shut up repeatedly voiced out that I was acting unprofessional and childlike.

Though not wanting to move, I still got up and prepared to go to work. Knowing I already missed my first class, I decided to go to the library and determined not to set foot in our department's office even if a pack of food awaited me there. Also, I maintained to look straight ahead, never attempting to make eye contact with any student that was passing by.

As I neared the library door, a student suddenly came forward and told me that Dean Choi wanted to see me in her office. I simply nodded though inside I was panicking. It was about that d*mn article. If it were only President Shin, then I would know how to handle him, but not Dean Choi. I could only wish I stayed in my apartment.

When I entered Dean Choi’s office, she was seated behind her table, her head bent down as she seemed to be immersed in reading some book.

“Sit down, Professor Smith. I'll just finish this,” she said without taking her eyes off the book.

I obeyed her and took a seat on one of the chairs in front of her table. Her office--white wall and ceiling, hardwood floor, wooden bookshelves and cabinets, and a small table with a coffee machine--I was so familiar with, for she would regularly ask any of us to come here and have a little chat with her. Though the conversation would be all about work-related, never personal.

The next minute, I heard the book close, but I didn't dare to face her, so I just stared at the blank wall opposite of me.

“I was told you miss again your first class,” she said directly, not wasting any time beating around the bush.

I clasped together my sweaty hands and rested them on my lap. ”Just had a hard time getting up early,” I answered with my eyes still fixed on the wall. I didn't want to blatantly tell a lie or the complete truth.

I heard a soft mumble, probably she found my answer acceptable, though I knew it was a lame excuse. “I've also received an alarming report that you've been under the influence of liquor while teaching. Is that true, Professor Smith?”

How am I going to respond to that? If I said yes, I’d probably get suspended, but if lied, I wouldn't feel good either. But who could have reported to her? I knew I was careful. I would always sneak inside a comfort room, took a couple of drinks, and gurgle mouthwash afterward.

Before I could even come up with an answer, she spoke again. “At first, I didn't believe it because none of your students or any student for that matter had complained about it. But then...” she abruptly stopped and a clinking sound of bottle echoed in her office. “These were found in the trash can in English Department’s comfort room, and they said you were the last person who went inside. Are these yours?”

I didn't have to look at those tiny bottles because I was too familiar with them. I might have one time thrown those bottles as they were creating too much noise inside my bag. I was left with no choice but to admit it.

“Yes, they're mine,” I answered as I lowered my head.

She took a deep sigh probably out of disappointment. “I’ll let this pass and not write any report about this matter, but I don't want this to happen again. Do you understand, Professors Smith?”

I nodded as a surge of relief washed over me. Though only a simple thank you escaped from my mouth. I was already thinking of leaving but Dean Choi stood up and sat on the chair opposite of me, replacing that blank wall of her wrinkled but resolute face.

“I’m aware that these past few months have been difficult for you. And I might say, you've been doing good so far. Though there are a few lapses, which are quite understandable considering your situation,” she spoke like she was more convincing herself that my recent actions were something she could overlook.

However, hearing her make an excuse for me brought an uncomfortable feeling. Here she was sticking out her neck for me, but for what, for my uncontrollable urge for liquor? Well, I knew drinking while on duty was unprofessional, but emptiness always filled me up right after teaching and I couldn't bear it.

It was then I realized how hypocritical of me to get so furious at Luther for that article when I was guilty as well of ruining my own reputation. I looked down at the floor again, feeling ashamed of myself.

“I understand people cope up differently. And whatever means you're doing to cope up would hopefully turn out to be just a passing fad after you recover and not some self-destructive vice that you would soon acquire because I will never tolerate that.”

I might not be looking at Dean Choi, yet the shift of her tone--from casual to stern--stiffened my body. I cleared my throat rather loudly before I straightened up and stared at her with an emotionless expression. “I assure you, Dean Choi, this will be the first and last time you’ll cover up for me. Nonetheless, I’m truly grateful for your leniency and understanding even though I might not deserve it.” I then stood up and bowed my head. “Good day, Dean Choi.”

I was about to head out when I heard Dean Choi's voice again. "One more thing, Professor Smith. I hope the article didn't get to you. People who respect you like me wouldn't believe such rubbish.”

Tears brimmed from my eyes upon hearing her words. As much as I wanted to thank her once again, I could not as I feared breaking down in front of her. I ended up walking out of her office without saying anything.