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“Why do you do it?” I ask. “If you don’t want to do those things, why not just—stop?”
She shakes her head with a sigh. “Because it’s not as simple as that, Zach. Failing my parents’ expectations is not something I can just do—it’s not something I could get away with, should I try. And as for Spearcrest, you and I both know the hierarchy exists whether or not we wish to acknowledge it. I cannot simply refuse the hierarchy—I cannot exist without a role. If I am not lofty, then I must be low. If I am not a queen, I must be a peasant. You know this just as well as I do.”
“I don’t… I just can’t accept… I just don’t understand how you can live this existence of—what? Duty?”
“What choice do I have?”
I sit up, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, suddenly wishing I could grab Theodora, shake her, make her see what I see, make her know what I know.
“Youdohave a choice, Theo. You’re a human being with an independent mind. You have a choice.”
She sits up and watches me with narrowed eyes, the same way she would watch me back in our debate team days, back when I could sense her scorn for my ideas like frost and the passion of her ideas like flames.
“I’m a human being with an independent mind,” she says, voice clear and hard, “who is still bound by the rules and expectations of the world and people around me. Yes, my mind is free, but a prisoner in a jail cell, too, can think whatever they like—it still doesn’t make them free.”
“But you’re not in a prison cell.”
“It’s an allegory.”
“I know what an allegory is. But a prisoner cannot escape their cell because it’s locked from the outside, because there are concrete walls and gates and locks and guards, because they are being physically stopped from leaving. What’s stopping you?”
For a second, she just stares at me, her mouth moving soundlessly.
Is she speechless because I have a point? Or is she simply stunned by what she perceives as my stupidity?
I can’t tell, and in the end, she doesn’t say anything.
The conversation ends without any resolution; it ends like a heavy, uncomfortable cliffhanger where we both dangle over the edge of unsaid things, a yawning chasm below us waiting to swallow us.
Theyawningchasmleftby our incomplete conversation puts me on edge, making it difficult to concentrate the next day when we sit in the study to work on our Apostles assignment.
Theodora sits in the big leather chair, writing notes out into a notebook with that frown of concentration she wears whenever she’s working hard on something. I sit across from her on the other side of the desk, my laptop open between us. The word processor cursor blinks as it waits for me to type something incisive and poignant.
But even though I have some notes ready and an essay plan, I still can’t write. I keep sneaking glances at Theodora, drawn by the beauty of her face, those delicate features, that raspberry mouth. My desire for Theodora deepens with every passing moment between us, each time gaining new dimensions.
My desire for Theodora used to be little more than intellectual curiosity—the hunger for knowledge. I wanted to understand her, to penetrate the armour she wears around herself, toknowher. I remember thinking of her as a book in a cryptic language—wanting to break the code and avail myself of the words.
I never did that in the end.
Then, of course, I grew older, and my desire became something more alive and physical. A conqueror’s desire: wanting to touch and hold and possess. Theodora is exquisitely beautiful in every way—even her flaws make her more beautiful.
How could I not want to caress that porcelain skin, to kiss those sweet lips, to lay her bare and wet and wanting in my bed?
And now, a new desire emerges, catching all the other desires in its wake.
It’s this horrible, sickening, burning urge toloveTheodora. Not just love her from afar, like a knight in a story. But love her from up close, love her like one loves a real human being. Cherish her in every way, and most importantly of all—keep her safe.
I want to hold Theodora and make sure nothing bad ever happens to her.
It never occurred to me to want to save Theodora because I never imagined for one moment she might need saving.
Now, I’m not so sure.
My eyes fall on the last words in my essay plan.
The necessity of happiness.
I look up.
