Page 58 of You + Me – Against the World

Alma_from_paris: Did you just send me an email?

Arcadius: No, I was just writing to you here.

Alma_from_paris: Wait. Let me check something.

With a lurching feeling in the pit of my stomach, I open my inbox and find an unread message. I don’t recognize the sender’s address. The email is empty, but a photo slowly begins to download. It’s very dark. The soft sheen of skin appears. My naked body, sitting, takes shape before my eyes. Then Vadim’s, his back to the camera, kneeling in front of me. My head thrown back. His face buried between my thighs.

My heart races. Pressure builds in my temples. My eyes burn. My right hand trembles, then hesitates. Should I delete the email? Smash the damn computer to pieces? Destroy the photo that is going to ruin my life? Again? In the end, I forward it to Vadim with a few clicks, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Arcadius: Alma, what the hell is this???

Alma_from_paris: I just received it.

Arcadius: Who the fuck took this?!

Alma_from_paris: No idea. Only Clémentine knew where I was. Who did you tell?

Arcadius: No one! Someone must have followed us!

Alma_from_paris: How is that possible, Vadim? Who hates us this much? What’s the point of these photos? Why can’t they just leave us alone?

Arcadius: I don’t know. I need to go out, or I’m going to kill someone.

Alma_from_paris: No, don’t go! We need to think about this!

Arcadius: No, delete the email. Don’t tell anyone. I’m going to find the sicko who’s doing this. I swear I’ll find them. See you tomorrow.

Alma_from_paris: Vadim, don’t go.

Arcadius: I know you’re scared, Alma, but I’m not gonna let you down. Whoever wants to hurt us is gonna regret it.

20

I’m happy to have my freedom back this Monday morning, and I’m thrilled to finally see Vadim again, but other feelings creep back in, poisoning my thoughts, knotting my stomach, and squeezing my heart. Fighting the urge to tell Clem about the latest anonymous photo, I scan the other students’ faces, trying to figure out who might know. The first class fills me with dread. I’m worried about Mr. Abrams’s outbursts and whether he’ll attempt to kidnap me for another day of tedious work as his assistant, tethered to the smelly Basset Hound.

As I take my usual seat in the front row, my partner slumps into the chair beside me, wearing a white T-shirt that makes his gray eyes look even clearer. He gives off the intoxicating scent of Ciao Amore by Fendi, and I know I wasn’t mistaken: Vadim and his new cologne are a perfect match. I fall for him a little harder. But between the stale tobacco smell lingering on the professor, the looks directed at us, and the tension in the room, I’m also not far from passing out.

Mr. Abrams, with his perpetually knitted eyebrows, fixes his gaze on us. His expression is troubled, clouded… disappointed. His voice is even gruffer than usual.

“Lancaster and Arcadi, your memorable collaboration ends today. You’re switching with the Lee-McPherson duo, and since you haven’t produced a damn thing yet, you’ll obviously be working on their short film ideas. Arcadi, get moving, Sophie is waiting for you.”

“My name is Phoebe, sir,” the student corrects him.

“And how is that relevant?” the professor snaps, annoyed. “You, Lee, do you have a first name you’d like to announce to the whole world too? Guy, perhaps?”

Everyone laughs.

“No, it’s not Guy. It’s Jude, Professor. Jude Lee. But you can call me whatever you want.”

“That’s too kind of you. Come on, change seats. We’re wasting time! Bruce Lee, don’t forget your sense of humor if you manage to find it somewhere. And, Arcadi, stop dragging your feet. Get a move on!”

“Mr. Abrams, that’s racist,” I mutter.

“Just let it go, Alma,” whispers the Asian student who’s just slipped into the seat next to me.

Halfway to his chair, Vadim turns around and walks directly toward me. With one hand on the back of my neck, he kisses me in front of the entire class. An endless, slow, passionate kiss that draws whistles and applause from the other students, who are more than happy to finally release some of the tension.

Abrams shouts at us to stop and threatens us with a trip to the dean’s office. That threat finally makes us pull apart. Vadim sits down next to his new partner, a triumphant smile on his face, while I flop back down into my chair, cheeks flushed, my lips still damp, and my legs trembling.