by Ashley Love
"You breathe one word of this to anyone and I swear to you that I will use every fiber of my being to find every single girl you ever did this to. I'm not the first, right? The way you came onto me in your office before...so smooth, so practiced...the way you did it just now, cupping my face all tenderly, backing me into a corner and making me think it was my only option... there's no way I'm the first one."
"Scarlett," he chuckles nervously. I stand and he nearly topples backward from my sudden movement, but regains his composure, standing up so that we are face to face.
"I'll find them and I will have them tell their story to the dean, to the college board, and to every single company and organization that has sponsored your digs." His face blanches and he swallows hard. I grit my teeth. "And I will ruin you."
My chest is heaving and he is stares at me dumbfounded. This man, he's my mentor. He's like a father to me; often times I've thought he was more of a father than my own. I hate him. I hate him for not being someone I can trust and confide in. Just another man trying to get in my pants. Just another man who has let me down.
"I'm surprised at you, Scarlett," he says, his voice chiding but strained and I know I've won.
"What?" I ask, the hurt making me bitter. "You didn't think I'd have it in me to tell you no? Well, guess again."
"And what do you propose I do about you and the boy?" he grits out, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes hard and I know everything has changed. I'm no longer his prized student, his crown jewel. I'm just another girl in one of his classes. Even though it shouldn't, it stings to know this.
"Keep your mouth shut if you want to save your career," I spit back and he narrows his eyes at me.
"I can't just turn a blind eye to abuse—"
"ABUSE!" I screech, my jaw nearly hitting the floor. "I would never hurt Harry!"
"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't think it's hurting him," Andrew replies, smiling condescendingly. I clench my fists at my sides. "You must know this can't go on, Scarlett."
I release a shaky breath and look away, my insides clenching and knotting. No, this can't go on. Because the next time this happens I may not have a way of keeping the other person from going to the press. It can't go on. This is what I've said from the beginning, isn't it? It's what I have known in my heart to be true and now it seems I will finally have to put it into motion.
"If you leave..." Andrew says softly, his eyes boring into mine and I swallow hard. "Immediately, as in first thing in the morning, I won't tell a soul." He smirks. "It will be our little secret."
One of many.
"Tomorrow morning?" I ask, glancing at the clock and find it to already be eleven o'clock. Its too soon. "Wh-what about Harry's lessons?"
What about Harry? How can I explain all this to him? He won't understand. He'll beg me to stay. He'll give me a million scenarios in which we could be together. He'll yell and stomp around and pout. What do I say to him then? What do I say to ease the pain of him knowing there's nothing he can say to make me stay. What do I do without him?
"He shouldn't be your concern right now, Scarlett!" Andrew scolds and I look down contritely. "In fact I think it best you have no further contact with him."
"What?" I ask, looking up at him astonished. "I...I can't even say goodbye?"
As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize how absurd they sound. Andrew does me a favor by merely smirking and not laughing directly in my face.
"I'd think it best you didn't. I'll take over from where you left off in the lessons. You should be moving into the Pre-Renaissance period, correct?"
"Um," I say swallowing hard, my mind spinning. "We're a little behind..."
"I'm sure you are," he smirks and I close my eyes, clenching my jaw, willing the tears to go away.
"It's so...so sudden," I say, my breath coming in short gasps. "Shouldn't I—"
"First thing tomorrow morning," he says sternly and my mouth shuts, giving him a silent nod of concession. "You did this to yourself, Scarlett," he says more softly, almost gently and my chest constricts as tears threaten to spill over my lids.
"Is there anything else, Professor?" I ask, sniffing and clenching my jaw, my vision blurring with unshed tears.
"No, Miss Wilson," he says, "that will be all."
And with that I walk to the door and rip it open, throwing myself out of the room before the tears begin streaming down my cheeks. Six years of school where that man was my mentor, my yoda, my fucking father and I slam the door and it shatters. Everything just fucking shatters. I tear down the hallway, staggering blindly as sobs wrack my body and as I reach the door to the stairwell I push through, my knees give way. I stumble a little, falling against the cold cement wall and sliding down, hugging my knees to my chest, just trying to hold myself together.
Tomorrow. I'll leave tomorrow. Where will I go? What will I do? I can't leave. I can't leave him. And yet I knew it would come to this. What do I say? How can I tell him I'm leaving? I can't...I can't tell him because I can't leave. I can't leave him.
"Scar?"
A gruff yet familiar voice echoes my name in the stairwell and I look up to find Joe making his way down the stairs. I wipe at my face, whimpering slightly and then sighing in what must be a truly pitiful way because Joe is crouching down next to me, a look of genuine concern painting his features.
"Harry told me about what happened," he says softly and I'm somewhat shocked at the gentleness of his voice.
I'm a blubbering mess in my response. "I-I-I have t-t-to leave t-t-tomorrow...f-f-first thing," I cough. "I can't even s-s-say g-g-good-bye."
And with that I dissolve into heavy sobs again, my heart wrenching and pulling in my chest and I can't bear it. I fear I may die right here in this stairwell, Joe's meaty hand heavy on my shoulder.
"What?" Joe asks, disbelief evident in his voice. "No...no, you can't not tell him what's going on."
"I-I-I have t-t-to," I sniff, swallowing the snot that's running down my throat. "My p-p-professor s-s-said."
"Fuck him," Joe says indignantly and I laugh because I almost did, which sends a wave of revulsion through my stomach and a new wave of tears down my face. "You can't just leave him, Scarlett. He loves you."
"You don't think I know that?!" I scream, wiping at my face angrily. "You think that this is easy for me? Fuck, look at me, Joe! Does it look like I'm having a good fucking time here?!"
"I think you're feeling damn sorry for yourself is what I think!" Joe spits and I look up at him, hurt. "You did this to yourself, Scarlett. I warned you. Louis fucking warned you. Yes, he knows," he adds when my eyes widen. "He wasn't sure but after the mess with Khefren and Gigi in Detroit it was pretty fucking obvious. You had every opportunity to end this—"
"How, Joe?!" I exclaim, opening my palms to him. "How the fuck was I supposed to quit him? You tell me that," I choke on a sob. "You fucking tell me!"
Joe heaves a sigh, eyeing me sadly. "You fell for him didn't you?"
I laugh but it turns into a sobbing cough as it passes my lips. "No."
I need to get used to saying no to this. I need to push this fact down and away because there's no way I can leave him if I love him like I do right now. I need to tell myself that I don't, that I can't. I need to not love him anymore. It's the only way that I will survive this.
"Uh huh," Joe says eying me and he doesn't believe me. "So you're just gonna leave? Break the boy's heart and go?"
I glare at him. "I was gonna leave a note," I lie and as the words pass my lips they become truth. I'll leave him a note.
"A note?" Joe scoffs and shakes his head. "Three months boiled down to a piece of paper? This is what you're gonna do to him?"
"Joe, what the fuck do you want me to do?!?" I ask, throwing my hands in the air.
"I want you to step the fuck up and take responsibility for what you've done!" Joe bellows and I cower under the gruffness of his voice and the sheer size of him. Joe really has found his calling in security. "He loves you, Scarlett. He lov
es you. This kid is like my little brother..." He purses his lips and turns his head to the side. His voice is soft as he continues. "He deserves better than a note, Scar."
"I know that," I heave shakily. "But I can't do it any other way."
"Yes, you can," Joe nods slowly and tears leak out of the corners of my eyes as my lids close.
"No," I whimper, shaking my head. "No, I can't. I'm not strong enough."
And it's true. I'm not. I wish I was but I'm just not. I wasn't strong enough to tell him no and I'm not strong enough to tell him goodbye. This is who I am as a person. And I hate myself.
"You owe him this, Scarlett," Joe says softly, struggling to stand. I look up at him, sniffling feebly. "He deserves better."
And with that he trudges up the stairs and out of sight, leaving me a crumpled mess in the stairwell.
26
Dear Harry,
I have been staring at these words for the past two hours and have yet to come up with anything more to add. Well, that's technically not true. It took some time to schedule my flight, departing at seven-forty-five a.m. out of Houston Intercontinental Airport. When the woman asked my destination I was silent. Where was I going to go? What was I going to do? I felt so lost, just sitting there on the couch in my beautiful suite that Harry got for us, our sanctuary. I fought tears as I told her Morgantown, West Virginia. When you don't know where to go, you go home, right? Isn't this what normal people do?
I had sat there for awhile, just staring off into space and trying to get my head on straight, trying to resist the urge to run downstairs and throw myself into his arms and ask him to make it go away. I can't think like that now. I'd spent the past three months forcing myself not to think like that and I'd be damned if I stopped now.
So I shut down. I closed my heart and I walked into the bedroom, fully prepared to sit down at the desk and write this note. But standing in the doorway, seeing the bed where we'd—I shook my head—now neatly made with crisp white sheets as if nothing had ever happened, I felt my resolve crack. But it couldn't crack. I could not break. Not anymore. I'd done enough of that over the past three months.
I had sat down at the little writing desk, tucked neatly in the corner overlooking the bed, and picked up a pen, fully prepared to begin. But I kept getting distracted, looking around the room and musing, remembering.
The first time I saw him, all sullen faced and petulant, but cute and boyish as he always is no matter what. The way he would vie for my attention, how he'd sing or crack jokes, trying to impress me, his smile wide and beaming when I would praise him. The way he would sit close to me, touching me every chance he got, innocently brushing his hand against mine, shoulder bumping against me seemingly by accident. And that was before we even started this thing. After that first time—I swallow hard—it was like someone switched on the light. Like you know how you can be concentrating on something and it slowly starts to get dark and you don't realize it really until someone comes in and asks why the hell you're sitting in the dark and they flip the light on? That's what Harry was for me. And I hate that I'm just now realizing this.
I stood up and walked around, looking at things and putting off the inevitable. I had checked my bags, making sure I had everything even though I'd never unpacked. I changed into my pajamas and sat on the end of the bed. But I couldn't do that for long, be on that bed where we had—I cringe—and it was enough to get me to sit down at the desk and begin to write.
Dear Harry,
This is as far as I've gotten. I glance at the clock for the umpteenth time and it's six hours until my flight. Six hours until I'm gone and out of his life forever. This is good, I try and tell myself as the only words on the page blur over. This is the push I've been looking for all summer long. Something is finally forcing me to let him go. I blink and two teardrops splash onto the paper, leaving two wet dots on the page. I curse, crumpling it up and starting afresh. Maybe I was being too formal initially. Maybe that's the problem.
Harry,
Five letters. Come on, Scarlett, get it together. I take a deep breath and steel myself, bringing the pen down and writing.
I'm sorry
Because, really I am. I'm sorry for this entire situation. I'm sorry for the way I've acted all this time. I'm sorry for not thanking God for every moment I had with him. I'm sorry for pushing him away and hurting his feelings. I'm sorry that we'll never be more than a summer fling in tousled sheets in little hotel rooms all over the country. I'm sorry that all I can do is write him a fucking letter. He deserves better. I owe him more. But if there is any way in hell I'm going to be able to get on that plane in six hours this is what I have to do.
I stare hard at the paper, every moment with him running through my mind. The stolen glances, the secret smiles, and yes, the sex, but more so the quiet moment afterward when he was dozing off and his breathing had just slowed down and his head was on my shoulder or my cheek was resting against his chest. Those are the moments I'm going to remember for the rest of my life. I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear the door open and then slam shut, shaking the walls with the force of it.
"Scarlett!"
I'm frozen in my seat, wide eyed because in all the time that I've known Harry I have never heard his voice sound the way it just did when he bellowed my name from the next room. So much more than anger, so much more than hurt, it's raw and gruff and when he tears into the room the look on his face cannot even be described.
"What, so you were just gonna fucking up and leave without telling me?" he asks, his eyes hard and unforgiving, rage emanating off of him like an aura.
I blink at him, shocked. "Who told you I was leaving?"
"Who do you fucking think?" he replies condescendingly. I let my head fall back.
"Joe," I mutter to myself. "Of fucking course."
I can't talk with him about this. This isn't something we can discuss and that he can talk me out of. It's something that has to be done. I can't let him charm me. I can't let him smile and bite his lip and pull me into bed. This is how it has to be. I don't have a choice. But he'll beg and plead anyway, and I'll get to be the bitch one last time. It's a fitting end for us really.
"How'd you get in here?" I ask, rising from my chair, putting off the inevitable fight for just a few more moments.
"I asked you a fucking question, Scarlett," he says, stepping into the room and it fills with his rage and the effect is suffocating.
He looks as if he could kill, as if he could break everything in the room with his bare hands as he strides up to me, and I'm glad to have the desk between us. My entire body is tense and I fight the urge to back away. I deserve this. He has a right to be angry. But I can't do this right now. It's selfish and I know that, but if I'm going to leave, I can't see him right now. I can't be near him. He needs to go.
"You don't have a key—"
He rolls his eyes. "I told the girl at the front desk to give me one."
"And she just gave it to you?"
He snorts. "I charmed you outta your panties, I'm pretty sure I can charm the desk girl into giving me a fucking room key."
My nails bite into my palms but I don't retort, just glare at him and we stare at each other for a moment. His chest is heaving underneath his thin tank top, fire in his green eyes, his jaw locked. His hands are fisted at his sides, causing his biceps to bulge and the veins in his forearms to stand out. He looks like an angel that's fighting his way out of heaven but I can't think that way anymore. No, I have to push all this down. If it hurts him, if it kills me, this has to end tonight.
"This is how it is, Scar?" he asks, his eyes softening, his voice weak. "You just up and leave. Fuck Harry, that's how it goes?"
"No," I say, my voice pleading, my heart cracking. But I can't crack. Not again. "I...I was gonna leave a note."
He scoffs, his face breaking into a mocking smile. "A note? A note?! Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
He looks down at the desk and snatches the paper I'd been writin
g on. I dart around the desk, trying to reach for it but he's too quick, backing away from me a bit and dodging my hands as they grope for the page. I shift my feet, crossing my arms over my chest as his eyes scan the page, his tongue moving over his teeth inside his mouth. He stares at it for a moment before shaking it at me, the rustle of the paper deafening in the silent room.
"'I'm sorry?'" he mocks and I tuck a strand of hair nervously behind my ear, looking away. "That's all you got for me is 'I'm sorry?'"
"It's not finished," I reply weakly and a derisive sound pulls from his throat as he crumples it up and tosses it so that it hits me in the chest and bounces to the floor.
"Fuck you," he spits, flipping me off as he turns towards the French doors.
"Harry, I'm sorry!" I exclaim, my voice breaking, and he stops but doesn't turn. "This is all my fault. I never should have let it get this far. I should have been more responsible." I swallow hard. "And I never should have led you on."
He turns slowly. "Led me on?" he asks, his eyes narrowing. I look down under his penetrating gaze. "We're still gonna play that fucking game?"
"It's not a game," I sigh, letting my arms fall to my sides.
"That's all it's ever been, Scarlett," he growls. "You, playing your little fucked up mind game with yourself, convincing yourself you don't feel shit for me but we both know it's not fucking true."
"Harry, we can't do this," I say, shaking my head at him, my throat constricting.
"It's not fucking TRUE!" he yells, his voice breaking and his mouth opens slightly as he looks down, working his jaw from side to side, his eyes becoming glassy and I have to look away.
"I'm sorry," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to be the strong one again, one last time. "This is your life, Harry. This is my life. We can't throw away everything we've worked for...my masters...your career..."
"We don't have to!" he exclaims, his eyes pleading. "We can keep it a secret. We've done it this long!"
I sigh, shaking my head at him. "Harry, I have to leave first thing in the morning or my professor is going to tell your mother and your manager—"