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It feels like a taboo thought to have. I’m strong and intelligent, a feminist in a society that is still profoundly, harrowingly patriarchal—I know that I should be the one to fix myself, to protect myself, to take care of myself.
But I’m so very tired, and I’m so bad at it.
Zach’s eyes search mine like he’s looking for the perfect reply. I don’t want a reply. I just want to be saved.
I wanthimto save me.
“My beautiful nemesis,” he whispers in a sigh. “What’s making you angry? What’s making you sad?”
There’s a lump in my throat and a burning in my eyes. I’m not worried about crying in front of Zach. My tears don’t fall when I’m alone, why would they fall when I’m not?
“Everything,” I answer.
“Even me?”
My eyes flick to his mouth, to the kisses he refuses to give me, the pleasure that glimmers there, unspent and selfishly withheld.
“Even you,” I tell him. “Especiallyyou.”
“I’m sorry,” Zach says. His hand moves up my cheek to gently cradle my jaw. “I’m sorry, Theo. Don’t hate me. Don’t hate me. Please. Love me.”
“How?”
“Love me like I love you,” he says. “In every way possible. With your mind and your heart and your soul.”
I know then I’m going to kiss him. It’s inevitable, isn’t it?
A shadow crosses the corner of my vision, and I look up with a start. A student emerges from one of the reading nooks on the top floor, making their way wearily to the staircase. I can’t tell who it is, and we’re sitting far enough into the shadows that I doubt the student saw us, but I’m startled back to reality as if I’ve been thrown into ice-cold water. I push my chair back and stand, feeling suddenly stupid, vulnerable, as raw and exposed as an open wound.
“We should get some sleep before the exam,” I mumble. I don’t dare look at Zach, so I stuff my things haphazardly into my bag.
“Theodora.”
I grab my revision cards, my laptop, my pens, throwing them pell-mell amongst books and notepads. “Goodnight, Zach.”
“Theodora.”
Slinging my bag on one shoulder, I wave a hand. “I’m sorry I made tonight so weird—we barely got any revision done and…” He stands, startling me. I take several steps back, eyes wide, babbling on, “Please ignore what I said. I wasn’t even really being serious, I—”
He reaches for me, and I cringe back, but his hand closes around the handle of my bag, which he slides off my shoulder. I pull away from him with a frown as he carefully sets my bag down on a chair before stepping closer to me.
I retreat once more, backing away from him and into the shadowy corridor of an aisle. The soft green carpet swallows the sound of my footsteps. Zach follows me, plunging into the darkness of the enormous Victorian bookshelves with me.
“I wish that—I wish I had…” I mumble without really knowing what I’m saying.
With slow, calm movements, Zach takes off his glasses and folds them, sliding them into his pocket. Then he reaches for me, and this time, it’smehe’s reaching for.
His hand catches the back of my neck, holding it through my hair. His touch is impossibly gentle, but he’s firm as he pulls me to him by my neck and presses his mouth to mine.
My words melt on my tongue like snowflakes, becoming liquid and inconsequential. Zach’s kiss is as gentle as his fingers as they glide down my neck.
It’s a chaste, tender kiss, lingering yet pure. He pulls away first, and I retreat deeper into the shadows, my heartbeat an uncontrollable gallop, my cheeks smouldering like burning embers.
“Zach…” I breathe.
“Theodora,” he replies, his voice low and firm.
He follows me until my back bumps the end of the aisle. Zachary lays his hands on the bookshelves at the sides of my head, trapping me between his arms. My senses are filled with the smell of old wood and old books, with the rich scent of sandalwood and blackcurrants. I’m dizzy and disoriented and terrified and elated.
