Lit: A Story

Chapter Eight

Tasha flings herself to my bed, opening her arms like a bird on flight. Her lustrous locks frame her angelic face. She is serene, that I know for sure. Her innocent disposition can fool anyone but me.

I open the glass doors leaning to the terrace. It is a Friday; the night is eternally young with celestial bodies adorning it. I imagine them recognizing me; those inanimate objects have once been our audience. I smile, lifting my hand and drawing forms with my fingers.

"What are you doing there?" Tasha sings, her voice with childish edge. I remain mum. She patters to the carpeted floor and reaches me. She sets herself beside me.

"The sky is beautiful, isn't it?" I must. "Especially at night. Everything is hooded, shadowed, but still--"

"Don't go Shakespeare on me," Tasha groans. "I do not speak alien language," she plugs her fingers to her ears and makes a silly face.

I brace myself for the beginning of this rigmarole. My mind forms a defense that will hopefully throw Tasha off the loop. "Only to you. It is what they call literature. The art of using words to present the pulchritude of one's thoughts. Shakespeare is not the only one who fills the history of this far-stretched subject. There are also--"

Tasha hushes me by placing a finger over my lips. Her eyes are open of every thought she is holding at the moment -- flippancy towards the topic and empathy (I like to believe it is anger) towards me. Yes, I see her reflection of me in her eyes, and all I can read is her simmering hatred. Oh, the best actress hates me. No surprise there.

"Aurore," she cups my cheek, "You're a beautiful girl. Ridiculously gorgeous, actually. I appreciate your acumen. You must be considered a genius. But if you want to have a man by your side, you must start being contemporary. Shakespeare, Dickens, Hugo, Austen, your heroes are long dead." Her hand slides to my nape. "A man of true manly talent won't need a sacred savant hanging by his arm." She gives me a winning smile.

She leaves me, sparks of infuriation flying after her. Her touch tingles even in her departure. My chest heats up. Blood pumps hard in my extremities. Tasha is smart enough to go. If she were to stay for even a second longer, I might have flung her down this lodge. The demon's maiden really has impeccable timing.

I fold my legs under me, not minding how cold or late it is. My head is throbbing. Tasha never fails to push me on the edge. As much as I adore her witty remarks, she knows what I dislike and she uses it against me. We pull each other's strings, not letting one to lead the race. Even in personal matters, the theory is applicable. If only I can have her out of my life, I will joyously say 'Good riddance' -- to the woman who managed to have me both as an ally and enemy, to the bitch who plotted schemes for and against me, to the friend who slyly but surely contributed to my ruination.

I need a drink.

---

"Flush that down your fucking mouth!" I hear an awfully loud voice. "Empty that bottle or I swear you'll be drinking toilet water!" It is followed by glass hitting glass and the whooping of the other boys.

The gentlemen have produced an unbelievable mess in the living room. Oh, they will not only get an earful from the administration. With the number of rules they are currently breaking, I will not be shocked if some of them gets kicked out.

Stealthily, I enter the kitchen. It is still spotless, thank heavens. The fridge has a few drinks -- lemons, soda, juice, some wine, gin, dry vermouth. Looks like they are really in for a party. I reach for the things I need and fix myself a serving or martini.

I thank my feel for being quick. Nobody has noticed my stay at the kitchen. I reach my room with a smile in my face, but it fades as I see someone lying on my floor.

Pierre noticed my arrival. "A-Au--"

I harshly grab his arm. "Get out." The warning is crystal clear, but Pierre shuts it like an empty threat. He reaches for my ankle, causing me to spill the drink on him. Roughly, I kick his back.

"I said, get out, asshole." I shout. Fear envelopes me. Déjàvu is too strong to ignore. Pierre stands up. I push him out. My hands shake. Bad idea. He senses my fear. Catching me off guard, he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. I am almost convulsing. I cannot move. I cannot speak. Feeling his warmth against my own, it triggers the memory of that night.

His tears burn my shoulder. Something shouts in my head. If it were two years ago, I might have whispered sweet nothings in his ear. But no, what is done is done. I fight the urge of falling on my knees.

"So-- Sorry, Aurore. I-- I c-cannot-- She--" He whimpers.

Fright has me in strangle hold, cuddling to the folds of my innards. My epiphany is a mantra in my head, 'He has not been so strong'. I feel wetness in my own cheeks. That small iota of goodness I sense from him holds my tongue. It scares me -- being good to Pierre like he has never betrayed me scares the hell in me. All I can think of is, "Fuck, sooner or later, he will have you wrapped in his finger. Acquiesce to his charm? Well, there is the drill: You end up naked in a room with hungry demons."

The door opens. Geoff sees our uncompromising position. Pierre is still holding on to me like a lifeline. I look away from Geoff's own anger and pity. The weight in my arm disappears; Pierre holds my hand and pleads, but I have the upper hand now.

When someone forms a dent in your life, you can easily camouflage it. The figure might be slightly distorted, but it is still defined. Imperfect, but intact with its insignia of strength. My case with Pierre is different. He has not dented me; with his hands, he has brought me to my destroyer. He has seen my downfall with both his eyes. I have seen his hand twitch in anticipation when his master passed me to him. I have been tainted with dirt from inferno because of his foolishness.

When I look at the door, it is Geoff's eyes that met mine. His jaw is locked. His face is not brushing Pierre's hair. He holds him like trash. He removes his mask; I see him reliving that night. I shake my head, mist forming near my eyes once more. He nods, a sign that he will come back, before dragging Pierre out of my sight.

For sure, both of us will not be somnolent tonight.