Star-Crossed

by Luna Lacour

  “How would you fuck me?”

  He laughed, almost as if the words fuck me were an insult. There was a bitter ring to the sound.

  “I wouldn’t fuck you, Kaitlyn,” he said. “I would make love to you.”

  I looked at him, he looked at me. My stomach dropped; my veins buzzed with electric blood.

  “How would you make love to me, then?” I asked, a whisper.

  Marius dipped a hand into the pool, letting the water fall from his fingers in heavy droplets. We weren’t looking at each other, but rather, our own individual reflections; as he spoke, I watched his eyes close, just for a moment.

  “Well, for starters, it wouldn’t be anywhere near this place,” he said. “I would take you somewhere far away, to the outskirts, to some place where there’s none of this smoke and havoc. I would find some quiet place, rent a room in some cottage that’s nestled away in a forest; stone paths, maybe. Lined by lamplight.”

  He paused, swallowing, stepping behind me and running his hands down my bare arms.

  “I would start by kissing the back of your neck, then the nape of your neck,” he stopped, lining his way like a paintbrush over each spot. “I would stay there for awhile; watching your eyes grow heavy as I bit down, just a little, listening to you gasp.”

  Marius seemed bewildered by his own words, his voice cracking when he spoke again. “I would slowly work my way to your throat, kissing down your chest as my fingers worked to slide you out of whatever you were wearing. I’d make sure not to miss a single spot, marking every trace of skin. I’d run my fingers down your thighs, kissing that spot between your legs so that you writhed and gripped the bedsheets. But I wouldn’t dare go inside you yet,” he swallowed. “I would slowly strip you out of your pants, or skirt, and relish the way your body looked, sprawled out and warm from my touch and the yellow, setting sun. I’d still want light, you see.”

  He stopped again, and we looked at each other.

  “I’d want to see you. I’d want that mental photograph, something more than shadows can give. And after I finished looking, I would remove my shirt, pants, boxers - and let you look at me, too.”

  I had already seen him naked. The image of him fucking the pale-haired girl in his bedroom was already imprinted.

  Piper, I realized. He was fucking Piper.

  “I would fish around for a condom,” he said, lowering his eyes. He didn’t want to look at me. “And after that was taken care of, I’d run my hands through your hair and my lips down your neck. I would lay you back on the pillows, my weight over your frame, and before I slid myself inside of you, I would kiss your lips. I would kiss you harder than anyone had ever kissed you before.”

  I tried to imagine what that would be like. Marius’ mouth on mine; the sculpture-perfect lines of his body hovering above the slope of my stomach.

  “Would it hurt?” I asked.

  He nodded, sullen.

  “I would be gentle,” he swore. “I would go slow; moving and watching your every reaction, each sigh and breath like a line of film. I’d keep kissing you, thrusting harder only if you asked me to. I’d try my hardest to hold back.”

  “And if you couldn’t?”

  “If I couldn’t?” he dipped both hands in the water again, pouring the water out from his palms. “I would grind myself deeper into you, until I felt you flinch; until the act would never hurt you again, and I would keep moving until you felt that first initial blossoming of pleasure. I can’t promise an orgasm, not then, but something fantastic. And when it was over, I would cradle your face in my hands and kiss you, gently, a thousand times.”

  Smiling, he jumped into the pool, splashing me with glowing bathwater.

  “And then,” he added, brushing a mess of hair back. “It would be business as usual. We’d return home, and I’d laugh as you limped around the house, waddling like a complete fool.”

  “Whatever, Marius.”

  As I walked away, I waited for the sounds of Marius laughter; but there was nothing. All I could hear was the wind and water; the soft sloshing of Marius as he floated along on the gleaming waves. Just a boy and the vast-stretching galaxy above.

  It was barely nine o’clock when I stepped foot into my bedroom, slinking out of my clothes and into a hot shower. I scrubbed myself down, blinking back the warm water and touching the spots where Mr. Tennant had touched.

  My dress still smelled of him, faint Oakwood and sage. His cologne was earthy, mythical; a stirring nightcap.

  After finishing my assignments, ensuring that every file was saved and each paper tucked away in its proper folder, I crawled into bed with my dress like a blanket, still damp, and fell asleep.

  I dreamt of making love to Marius in the water; his hair in pieces over his forehead; the beads of water glistening beneath garish sunlight. I dreamt of his mouth crushing against my own, the bruises black and swollen.

  I dreamt of Will, of my teacher, standing on stage with a hand extended, beckoning me towards him. He pulled me in, kissing me with such a raw, feverish intensity that before I could practice any reservation our clothes were shed and we were naked before rows and rows of filled seats, the sounds of cries and screams of disgust, dismay, all directed at us. But we didn’t stop, we paid no mind. We made love in front of the entire theater, our rabid hands and mouths and moans a soundtrack to the greatest production of all. The greatest tragedy that Trinity Preparatory Academy would ever see.

  At the end, standing naked with my inner-thighs aching and blood-stained, we bowed to the tune of music box bells; the curtain dropped.

  I awoke to sweat-stained sheets, short of breath, heart pounding, with my hands around my neck.

  SEVEN

  I stayed away from Will’s apartment for the duration of the weekend, despite the nagging temptation to jump in a cab after everyone was asleep and run until I saw those cement steps. I pictured him waiting for me, dressed in dark colors, his smile wide an open arms even wider.

  But to play it safe, I remained in the house, engaging in Yale-related conversation with my father and accessory-related conversation with Vivian; they had a gala on Monday evening, which would be a welcomed absence for me.

  I also wanted to give Will enough time to either decide whether he missed me, or if he wanted to sever ties and revert back to our proper places. If there’s one thing I understood about attraction, it’s either obsessive of fast-fading. We’re capable of making up our minds quickly.

  With my hands stuffed into the pockets of that same Houndstooth jacket, I wondered if he had thought about me at all.

  Tyler was waiting at the theater entrance, pointing at a piece of paper taped to the door. He was so lit on his own giddiness that the words spilled out in an almost indistinguishable babble. His breath, artificial-watermelon, was almost too sweet for a boy.

  “Guess who’s playing your star-crossed lover?” he grinned. “Me.”

  “You don’t say?”

  I tried my best at appearing over-the-moon over when I saw – on paper – that I had scored the role of Juliet; but my nerves, they were terrible. I could barely focus on anything at all.

  From behind, Marius jumped up and grabbed my shoulders, shoving me aside and darting straight for the audition results. When he saw his name beneath the role of Tybalt, he let out a victory yell so loud that it rang off the walls and resulted in a few covered ears.

  “Guess we’ll be working together,” Marius prodded Tyler on the shoulder, who withdrew immediately. “Straighten your tie out, won’t you? This isn’t some thirteen-year-old’s birthday party. We aren’t at a goddamn Bahtmitzvah.”

  “Shut up, Marius,” I snapped. “Don’t be a bully. Leave him alone.”

  I followed Tyler into the theater, my heart starting to quicken. I walked quickly; eyes low and feet marching straight up the steps and to the very back row of seats.

  Mr. Tennant was on the stage, sitting in a theatrical-style chair, legs crossed, watching me intently. When I looked at him, even at a
distance, he smiled and nodded; but he gave nothing away.

  “So we should practice after school or something,” Tyler prompted, snapping me out of my haze. I tried to ignore the image of Will and I; naked on stage; our limbs entangled. God, it was sickening; maddening, even. “Like, at my house or whatever. You know, aside from the stuff we rehearse here.”

  I turned to him, endeared by his frequent usage of like and whatever. I loved that he talked like a normal kid; not like the rest of us whose language had been adequately molded and trimmed and clipped to dribble from our lips with the perfect preparatory-child manner. Sure, there was the occasional expletive that slipped out; but most of the time, our vernacular was drole and pretentious.

  I looked at Marius, who was ignoring Piper’s clinging hands. It looked as if she was upset; her face heavily reddened like she’d spiked her morning coffee with whiskey instead of cream. I hadn’t seen her enter, and was glad that she had yet to see me.

  “You live in Brooklyn?” I asked, glancing over as Tyler worked to indeed straighten out his tie that was already too wrinkled. There was no fixing it. “That sure is interesting.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I live in Brooklyn. It’s alright. I mean, I don’t hate it or anything. Why? Do you go there often?”

  Mr. Tennant was still watching me, occasionally lowering his eyes or granting some other student a brief answer to class-related questions. He wore a black dress shirt and black tie, his pants a dark gray; black shoes, polished.

  I was starting to like the lack of color. It imprinted on me like an ink stain that I didn’t want to ever wash out.

  “Not typically,” I finally answered. “I don’t leave my house much.”

  “Well, we should do something,” he suggested. “There’s lots of fun stuff to do in Brooklyn.”

  “I’d be interested in seeing your place,” I admitted.

  This was true. I wanted to see where Tyler lived. I wanted to understand, in some way, the other side. “Fridays would work best for me, though. For practice.”

  Stage practice would be on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Weekend practice was perhaps stretching it, not being entirely necessary; Mr. Tennant’s instruction would suffice to give us a groundbreaking performance, no doubt. But at least it would allow me an excuse to be away from my father, from Vivian, from Marius; it would allow me to engage with a normal kid, in a normal setting. Maybe we could even go the beach, or some underground bar. Maybe Tyler had connections in the grittier parts I had never ventured into.

  I wanted Saturdays for myself, however. I needed to keep them open for Tennant-related activity. Business.

  “Sure. Sure, that’s fine.”

  It was then I realized that Tyler still thought of me as a girl sitting several tiers above him. I wasn’t a real flesh-and-blood human; he was intimidated by me. Whatever I put on the table he would sweep up eagerly; open to accepting anything and everything that came out of my mouth.

  It was startling, really. Frightening. I hated it.

  “This Friday?” he asked.

  I smiled, a quiet agreement.

  “Friday sounds perfect,” I said.

  Will clapped his hands, calling everyone together. We didn’t have much time before first bell, so he made the meeting brief.

  “I would just like to say that we had many brilliant auditions last week,” he started. “But as you can see from the posting outside, I’ve made my decision.”

  I loved it when he said brilliant. Brilliant, fantastic; his overseas accent gave a certain pang of delight with every single word. The other boys had tried to emulate it; throwing in phrases like cheers, mate or bloody brilliant - but it just didn’t work. Our American twang weighed the lines down with an unskirting plainness.

  “Kaitlyn and Tyler,” he said. From our distant spots, we regarded each other like student and teacher; not a trace of intimate, familiar warmth. “Would the two of you stand up, please?”

  We stood clumsily, smiling awkwardly as the room cheered for our success. In the very first row, Piper’s glare was soft, unmoving. She clung to Marius’ arm as he clapped lightly, smiling at both Tyler and I.

  When first bell rang, Mr. Tennant chimed up.

  “Kaitlyn,” he remarked brightly. “Could I see you for just a moment?”

  Tyler was totally unaware; he smiled, and told me that he’d wait up in the courtyard. I waited anxiously as the others – preoccupied with the coursing thrill of their earned roles – were heading out.

  Marius tossed me a brief glance, with Piper still glued to him. Her face had softened; she appeared, all things considered, accepting of the fact that she hadn’t earned a place on stage. She smiled at Marius, blissfully oblivious of the fact that he didn’t care about her. Time was running out. He’d try to cut her loose soon; but his coveted conquest, I knew, wouldn’t fall away so easily. Someone was going to get hurt.

  Will waited until everyone was gone before he spoke again.

  “Kaitlyn,” Will said, his voice low. “I think we need to talk.”

  We walked into his office; a small, concealed room that was behind the curtains. There were no windows; just a door surrounded by boxes filled with various props and racks of untouched costumes.

  When it was just the two of us, door securely latched, my heart started humming; it thrashed around like a caged animal. Standing there, no words spoken, we were like two stranded, voiceless islands.

  Mr. Tennant looked down at me; hands at his sides; without so much as a single breath of sound. His dark, taupe eyes blinked with a mixture of panic and relief; as if my standing in front of him in that cramped room had given him solace. Comfort in the sole fact that over the past forty-eight silent hours, I was alive and breathing.

  He reached out, slowly, and touched my cheek with his hand; not stepping forward, not drawing me close. His fingers traced down my chin, withdrawing with that same, trembling hesitancy.

  “Are you feeling alright?” he asked; the first three words that broke what had felt like an age of silence.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just an early morning. I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “I could walk you to the Infirmary,” he offered, pausing. “I could write you a note if you’d rather sit down and rest for a moment.”

  He moved in just centimeters closer. Not enough to pose a threat, but near enough so that that comfort of his presence was more tangible. We were neither lover nor friends, pupil or instructor. At that moment, we were just two faces with two names that I’m not sure, if asked, either of us could have even remembered.

  I leaned back against his desk, pulling myself up and sitting with my legs crossed. Mr. Tennant remained standing, and I watched his throat move as if something lived inside there. Was it the skirt, or the knee-high socks?

  “Your turn,” I told him. “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Will smiled at our first private, inside joke; not the funniest, but even so.

  “There’s a part of me that wants to apologize. To resign from my position here, get on the first plane back to the UK, and never think about you again.”

  He looked at me; hands on his tie; running up and down the silk that matched the morbid humiliation in his expression.

  “It’s a shameful thing, you know, touching a student,” he added. “I swear, I’ve never had these thoughts before. I was a proper, well-intentioned man before I first saw you.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “And I won’t say a word. Nobody will know.”

  Will appeared unconvinced; skimming his hands through hair that only proceeded to fall straight over his forehead; black strands over fair and flawless skin. His natural allure was a tragedy in itself.

  “It’s not so simple, Kaitlyn,” he said. “These affairs can destroy everything.”

  He took a deep breath; I touched his arm, and he didn’t draw away. Eventually his stance softened; his fingers slowly traced over my wrist.

  “Intentions,” I
said quietly. He glanced at me, like I was addressing him, but didn’t say anything. “You mentioned that you were once a well-intentioned man.”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “What are you now? What’s the other half of you saying?”

  He spread my fingers apart with his own; regarding the ring, for the first time, with a sort of puzzled look.

  “What is this?” he asked, ignoring my question. “This ring. Does it mean something special?”

  “No,” I swallowed. Will stepped closer, and the guilt felt almost palpable. It beat along with every blood-pouring pound that my heart gave; giving me life but also, somehow, making me feel as if every trace of energy was slowly seeping out. I felt dizzy, looking up at him, with his hands still touching that small spot of bare skin. “It was a gift. From my father. A long time ago.”

  His fingertip pressing over the silver rosebud like it were some button that would set us off in a giant explosion.

  Maybe that would have been a good thing.

  He held my hand; his thumb tracing along the inside of my palm carefully, tenderly. There was a soft curiosity to the act.

  “The other night,” I told him. “I had a dream that we were making love on stage in front of everyone.”

  I omitted the part about it being a nightmare; but by then, it didn’t matter. I was still here, sitting on his desk; our hips aligned with a perfect symmetry, our breath brushing against one another’s lips like an unconsummated kiss.

  “Jesus,” he exclaimed; soft and feral in the way the words crawled into my ears, sinking like toxic paint into the crevices of my brain. “Kaitlyn-”

  He kept saying my name, over and over again as he leaned closer and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Mr. Tennant,” I said, weakening at the thought of him tossing out any reservation and kissing me. Our tongues and bodies colliding in a slow, morphing manner; like we were trying to get closer than our clothed torsos or even naked skin would allow. Even more than sex.

  When second bell rang, we drew away, immediately pulled apart like opposing magnets.