I can control it, but I can’t escape it. Working out no longer banishes darkness. I sweat, hit, pummel, and run as fast as I can, and sometimes for a couple of minutes she goes away, but the instant I stop, she’s back.
Steady gray eyes. Brown hair streaked with gold like a sparrow’s wings. Soft breasts pressing against my side. Touch like a feather. Curious. Alive.
If I stay away from her, she’ll be safe. I have to close off the beast in his lair.
I make arrangements to go back to New York for the week of Thanksgiving. I tell Henry I’m spending my time at the beach house to work on my book and that I’m planning to move up there as soon as I finish the repairs. He’s pleased about the book and says I’m always welcome to come back.
The guilt is another form of torture. Henry knows me. He knows who I’ve been. The unruly, rebellious student, the wild teen who couldn’t wait to break free from family constraints and his shitty father, the restless, driven young photographer hell-bent on plunging into the world’s danger zones. The broken former captive who needed his oldest friend to point him toward a path to normalcy.
But he doesn’t know about this. The monster roused by a violent, predatory craving for his daughter.
Should I tell him? Confess?
Then what happens to Nell? After beating me senseless, Henry might think it was a sign of a newly formed medical imbalance in her brain or that she’s been traumatized again. He’d find a way to “help” her, which could mean anything from strict curfews to therapy to another institution.
Or he’d just kill me.
If I could guarantee he’d pick door number two, I’d spill the whole sordid tale. But sacrificing myself could put Nell at more risk.
I avoid her on the rare occasions when I’m at Henry’s house. It’s almost painful to hear her footsteps on the stairs, her voice drifting from her father’s office, her shuffling around in the room above mine. I leave for school before she’s even awake, and I don’t talk to her in class unless someone else is present. I make sure we are never in the darkroom alone.
On the Thursday following the party, Hannah sends the photography students out in pairs again and asks me to keep an eye on them while she preps for the next class.
“Darius, I also wanted to let you know we’re in a bind with the Student Art Competition judging,” she says. “Mary Jensen had to bow out last minute because her daughter is having an unexpected C-section, and she obviously wants to go and be with her. Would you be willing to step in and judge?”
If I thought for one second I could judge the artwork without bias, I would. “I’m not the right person to judge anything that’s not straightforward photography.”
“I don’t believe that.” She taps a few keys on her keyboard. “I have one other person I can ask, but the show opens in three weeks and we’re getting into a time crunch. Can I put you on as a backup, in case I can’t get anyone else?”
“Have you checked with Patrick O’Hare?”
She looks up. “He’s still in town?”
“He’s in San Francisco. He’d drive up for the art show, if he’s available.” I take out my phone, then stop. “Actually, he’d prefer hearing from you.”
Two spots of color appear on her cheeks. “Are you sure it’s okay if I ask him?”
“Yeah.” I stick my phone back in my pocket. “You have his number, right?”
“Well, yes, but…” Hannah fiddles with her scarf uncertainly. “Are you sure?”
“Ask him, Hannah.”
“Okay.” She lets out her breath and picks up her phone, then puts it down again. “I’ll just need to think about how to phrase my request first.”
“You could offer to buy him a drink.”
Her blush deepens. “You think he’d want to go out with me?”
“I know he would.”
“Oh my god.” She presses her hands to her cheeks. “Look at me. I’m like a teenager. Of course, I’m all about finding the best judge possible.”
“Of course.” I force a casual note into my voice. “Is Nell still participating in the competition?”
“She’s on the list, yes.” Hannah leafs through some papers on her desk. “I don’t know what she’s submitting yet, though. She said she’s still working on it.”
If there’s anything I can feel good about, it’s that everyone will finally know how talented Nell is.
After going into the quad, I make the rounds and answer questions, approaching Nell and Simon last. They’re in the garden near the science building, where another class of about fifteen kids is taking notes and gathering leaf specimens.
“Hey, Mr. Hawke, are close-ups of insects and animals considered portraits?” Simon calls.
“Good question. A debatable one too.” I pause beside him. “Some photographers think the definition of a portrait only involves people, but I’m not convinced. I think a photo can be considered a portrait if it reveals something unique about the subject, whether it’s an insect or a polar bear.”
“It’s essence, right?”
“Yes.”
“See?” Simon throws Nell a smug look. “I’m going to work on a series of insect portraits called Essence of Grasshopper.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sounds like a really bad perfume.”
Simon snorts and returns to his work.
I approach Nell. Her head is bent as she adjusts her camera controls. Long strands of hair brush against her cheek. I curl my hand into a fist against the urge to push them away from her face.
“You okay?” I nod to her camera.
“Fine.” She adjusts the focusing ring.
“Ms. Meadows says you’re still working on your art competition entry.”
“Yes.” She lets out her breath, and her sudden expression of defeat is a knife in my gut.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she says in a low voice, “if what happened is going to ravage you with guilt. That isn’t at all what I want or intended.”
“Nell, none of this is your fault. I take full responsibility for what I said and did.” And the fact that I shouldn’t have.
I can’t say that last part. The hurt in her eyes will kill me. She won’t believe that my attraction to her is wrong. She can’t accept that it’s a result of my fucked-up psyche. I’m like the serpent in the Garden of Eden targeting Eve. Corrupting her.
I understand the serpent, though. When you’ve seen the worst of humanity, taken the brunt of evil, and only lived another day, another minute, because your captor allowed it…you crave purity and goodness. You want to get as close as possible to generosity, compassion, and courage, even when all those things come wrapped up in a girl who is far too young and innocent for the likes of you.
“You’re right that it’s not my fault.” She touches my arm, her gray eyes luminous. “It’s not yours either because there is no fault in what’s happening here.”
I can’t look at her. A battle fires up in the pit of my soul. I don’t know how to fight it. Never before have I been at war with my mind and my base instincts. The only weapon I have is retreat.