Crossing the line

Apart

1. Apart

January

She should have understood that no teacher shared the same enthousiasm nor the same methods. That the woman that now stood before them seemed to be having short nights – her baby was but three-month-old – and that, perhaps, she wasn't as passionate about geography as she was about the new addition in her family. She should have understood that perhaps what made Mr Kristiansen's classes so great was her own inclination towards the man. Or the light in his irises, or perhaps, the incredible cut of his high cheekbones.

Perhaps she was biaised, after all.

But in the end, nothing that woman did could hold a candle to his classes. The enthusiasm was gone from her class, the sky dull, the days long.

So looooong.

The first French class of January was hellish; she didn't know what had happened to Tristan, and was trying to find the courage to ask Mr Tebrus. Nothing unusual; she had always taken the time to share a few words with him before running to the biology practical lesson, which was much more awkward ever since Madeleyne had left. But this time... facing his gentle face, hearing that he had driven Tristan home and made sure he was all right, she would have hugged him... except that the look of disapproval upon his face told her he knew. Her French teacher knew she had been literally banged against the wall by his colleague. Would she ever survive the shame ? Fortunately, her professor had told her not to worry about it anymore. That he didn't held her responsible for this misshap. 'I am an adult', she said. 'I am responsible for my actions'.

And she couldn't forget about it. Because forgetting about the incident would mean forget about Tristan, and she clung to the memories.

Frances couldn't wait for this masquerade of a year to end; she had had enough. She wanted to leave this place, to bury memories that brought her joy and grief at the same time. Every geography lesson was a stark reminder of what had happened in this very classroom. For she sat, now, ten feet away from the place he had taken her against the wall. And she remembered the tightness of his fingers around her thighs, the softness of his lips, the demands of his body buried within her. His chest, stuck against hers, his smell filling her nostrils, the abandon and passion. His grunts, sensual and repressed, when he spasmed within her...

When her mind didn't replay the pure moment of bliss, she could only compare their new teacher's methods to his own. How her voice didn't feel like the caress of silk upon one's mind, how her blue eyes didn't twinkle in delight whenever they asked an interesting question, how she sat at her desk instead of upon it. How her posture was closed, and tired when Mr Kristiansen always stood proud, his arms open, his body language inviting them in rather than shutting them out.

She missed him. The air was thinner without him in the world. The dull ache had settled in her chest never to let go. At first, his absence had been unbearable; now she was learning to live with it. How difficult, for every single corridor, every single smell or noise reminded her of him. Tristan had unwittingly woven his way into her life, populating her thoughts far more than she had realised.

Now he was gone, hopefully back to his wife. Happy, perhaps. Or so she hoped; it would at least make one out of two. No strength left in her to be jealous.

So Frances waited for the pain to dull, listening to classes after classes, working like a robot. Catching, sometimes, professor Tebrus' worried gaze. Putting one foot in front of the other, expecting the world to crash down every moment, and waking up disappointed that it had not happened.

March

'What do you want for your birthday?', her mother had asked. 'Tristan, please', she wanted to answer. But she couldn't. So her birthday passed, and her mother bought her a lovely ring. Frances smiled; why not, after all ? Given the man she loved was married to another, she could accept this token from her mother. There was no doubt that her parents loved her; a meagre consolation for an aching heart, but one nonetheless.

There was a feast, and a cake, and her grandparents, brothers and cousins alike that came to celebrate. And for a moment, the ache in her heart lessened.

Time heals everything, they say. She could relate to that, but it certainly took its damn time !