‘Weren’t you the one who keeps boasting about being a genius? Don’t you remember my company? Don’t you remember what my family does?’
She thinks for a few seconds. ‘Oh, right. The production company.’
‘Exactly. Apparently I have relatives who’ve amounted to something, unlike me,’ I say with a hint of mockery. Or bitterness. Or something. I don’t know what it is.
‘Well, if you focused more on important things and less on what’s going on below your waist, perhaps you would amount to something,’ she suggests, bored, turning to leave.
I cannot allow her to have the last word. I grab her hand, preparing myself to parry a slap.
But it doesn’t come. She remains motionless, with her back to me.
I hear her sigh.
‘Can you tell me why you’re tormenting me, Teo? It is obvious that we are not compatible in any way, yet for one reason or another for the past few weeks we’ve done nothing but bump into one another.’
‘Just bad luck.’
‘Extremely bad luck, I would say.’
‘You’re pretty without your glasses,’ I let slip. I’m just implementing the plan, right? I’m courting her and then I’m blackmailing her. And I repeat it like a mantra because I’m not quite sure I believe it any more.
She’s not impressed. Why would she be? Her heart is as hard as a piece of flint.
‘If you’re trying to soften me up, you should know that I won’t change my mind. I don’t want to see you, on any occasion, accidental or premeditated. Now let go of my hand, please.’
‘Like hell I will! I… want to see you again.’
Here we go. I feel like Judas. In a very remote corner of my consciousness, something very like guilt raises its head, but I bury it quickly. All’s fair in university and war.
‘You’re a terrible actor,’ she says, turning round at last.
‘So, you’re not fooled by me, but you let yourself be taken in by that scruffy old tramp?’
She can’t hide her surprise. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘I heard your conversation. He’s exploiting you. You write articles and he takes the credit.’
‘Ok, passing over the fact that you shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations, not to mention that my affairs are none of your business…’
‘You just mentioned it,’ I point out with a smile.
‘And don’t act like a smart-arse! You’re no different, hanging around me just to pass the exam.’
Will I ever get her to give up? She’s a harder nut to crack than I could ever have imagined
Stop staring at her lips, Teo!
I won’t kiss her. Not voluntarily. I want to hear her beg!
‘The difference between me and him is that I admit I’m an arsehole, while he hides behind his mask of respectability,’ I force myself to let go of her hand. I absolutely have to put distance between us.
Throw the stone and then move away: that’s the technique to them fall at your feet.
‘The difference between you and him is that he has a brain. And that is an organ that interests me far more than anything you have to offer.’
Before I can stop myself, I hear myself mutter, ‘Because you’ve never been lucky enough to try…’
‘Stop it, please. You’re becoming repetitive and boring and… damn it!’
She flaps her hands and spins around in a frenzy.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘A moth!’ she exclaims, waving. And looking closer, I see a tiny insect hovering around her.
Maybe he can’t help himself.
Sara gives a little leap, and then and suddenly leans over, her hand over one eye.
‘Shit! My contact lens!’ she hisses agitatedly. ‘Come here! Do something! Help me take it out!’
‘You want me to put my finger in your eye?’ I ask doubtfully.
‘If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d be inside now and none of this would have happened. So yes, I authorise you to put your finger in my eye. In fact, I command you.’
Taking her by the shoulders, I help her up and peer at her face: her right eye is red.
‘Look up and try not to panic,’ I whisper, in a lower voice than I had meant. I support her head with one hand and with the other I do what she asked me. It takes a few seconds, but I emerge victorious with the lens on my finger.
‘What should we do with it?’
‘Let’s throw it away. I swear I will never wear lenses again, they’re not for me. They make me want to tear out my eyes.’
While we are still in the same position, the lens slips from my finger and I instinctively bend down to pick it up.
Unfortunately, Sara has the same idea, and our heads collide.
‘You are trying to kill me!’ she accuses me, half kneeling on the dark path.
‘Your head is harder than mine, so you must be trying to kill me!’ I retort, more or less in the same position.
‘Considering that your head is empty, it does actually seem more logical that mine would break yours…’
The phrase makes me laugh and to my surprise she joins in. A spontaneous laugh on both sides, for the first time.
And then the catastrophe happens.
I try to counter instinct, but I can’t: her mouth is a few inches from mine and I can’t let myself miss this opportunity. I must do it, I feel like I don’t I have a choice.
My laughter fades and the smile disappears from her face.
‘That’s not a good idea,’ she warns, but she doesn’t move away.
I shake my head. ‘But I want to do it.’ I whisper, putting my lips to hers.
14
Sara
This is just a game to him.
That’s what I think when I feel his lips touch mine. And yet, damn me, I don’t pull back.
In the back of my mind, the rational part, my one lonely brain cell is warning me that this is a huge mistake. But it is very much a solitary brain cell, drowned out by all the others which are in full-on hormonal crisis mode.
I don’t listen to it any more because I don’t want to listen to it any more.
Teo gently holds my face with one hand and wraps the other around my waist. Instinctively, I rest my hands on his shoulders, tilting my head and abandoning myself the sensations I am feeling. He tastes like liquorice, fresh and spicy. He tastes of everything that is wicked and it’s driving me crazy.
I can feel his fingers playing with my earlobe and with a few loose strands of hair.
He caresses me, falling on my neck, his touch warm yet somehow sharp as a blade. It is amazing how pleasure can be painful. Painful, considering we are kneeling on the gravel and I don’t care a damn. My hand, resting on one of his shoulders takes on a life of its own and begins tracing a circular pattern travelling upwards, towards his neck, tearing out a groan that I can feel resonating in my mouth. I drink it in deeply, mixing my breath with his.
Then reality hits, insistent and distressing. What the hell is happening? He wasn’t supposed to kiss me. The professor was supposed to kiss me, or at least that was what I’d hoped.
The professor!
The memory of the person with whom I arrived this evening immediately halts all my momentum and puts this game of tonsil tennis which has got out of hand into perspective. I pull away, but not without giving him a little bite on the upper lip. I lose myself in his eyes for a moment, wide open, seeming to ask me what it is happening. Obviously I have no idea, and in fact, I suspect it’s probably better not to know.