Gravel crunches under the tires as the car slows to a stop, and I know Calvin’s watching me from the driver’s side. He takes my hand and puts it to his lips. “We can still turn around.”
Mesmerized by the view through the windshield, I shake my head.
“This could change things between us,” he warns. “I still don’t think a week together is enough time for this.”
“This might be my last chance. And I think we need it.”
I exit the car and shield my eyes from the high sun. The mansion practically glows as light reflects off of large rectangular windows. Both times I fled its suffocating walls, I never looked back. This is my first time seeing it from this angle. But the spot I stand in now is one I’ve seen too many times from inside the mansion.
My hand is in Calvin’s, our fingers intertwining instinctively as we walk. I look up at him and still see two different people—but if that ever changed, he wouldn’t be him, and we wouldn’t be us.
After unlocking the door, he walks in without pretense. I hesitate only enough for him to notice. Entering the mansion is counterintuitive, and my stomach somersaults. The atmosphere is made of memories, and my pounding emotions are hard to conceal. Calvin squeezes my hand. The banisters are solid and shiny. The echo of my heels on the marble floor is precise. The cameras are still trained on me from the foyer’s corners. My surroundings are stunning, disturbing, and evocative, much like my time here. I’m questioning my decision to return.
I pull away from Calvin and head down the hall. The stale smell of aging books calls to me, and when I enter the room, it envelops me like a familiar embrace.
“Wherever we go, you’ll get your library,” Calvin says.
I turn to him. He fills the doorway, no less imposing without the drugs. The way we fit together, his muscular body seems made for me. He’d say it was made to keep danger away, though. His brown hair waves over his forehead, and his green eyes are astute. I’m grateful there’s no longer the need for the disguise of glasses. “I’d like that,” I say.
“And a game room. And an indoor pool, for that matter.” He pauses, his mouth slipping into a lazy smile. “It wasn’t all bad, was it?”
“What?”
“The time we spent together here.”
I don’t answer. In the mansion, good and bad became synonymous, and just trying to divorce the two concepts almost put me in my grave.
“It feels bigger. Or maybe just emptier without Norman here. Don’t you get lonely?”
He crosses the room and stills my fidgeting. “That’s why we’re doing this. I want to be with you, and I can’t do that here.” His hand covers mine, which is curled around my own wrist. Calvin tells me when I’m upset, I run my fingers over my scars. I rarely notice it, but it took him less than a week to pick up on it. “There’s still a little time before they get here,” he says. “If you want, I can take you back to your apartment.”
“No,” I say. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He lets me wander until we reach a place even more familiar than the library. I enter before him and scan my old room. It looks the same, as though I never left. Or, as though I was never here. I head for the windowsill and perch on it. When I look back, Calvin isn’t there. I stare at the empty space until it’s apparent he’s not coming.
Over the window’s ledge, the roses below are in full bloom. Time hasn’t erased what it meant to sit here.
When Calvin walked into my gallery, just the sight of him relieved a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying. That is not the reaction one should have to her enemy. But somehow he’s closing wounds I’ve been licking for three years.
Carefully, I push the window open and inhale. It’s been seven days since Calvin came back for me, climbing through my window and into my bed. He’s spent each night since in that spot.
One week earlier
After a breakfast of overdone scrambled eggs
Mesmerized by the view through the windshield, I shake my head.
“This could change things between us,” he warns. “I still don’t think a week together is enough time for this.”
“This might be my last chance. And I think we need it.”
I exit the car and shield my eyes from the high sun. The mansion practically glows as light reflects off of large rectangular windows. Both times I fled its suffocating walls, I never looked back. This is my first time seeing it from this angle. But the spot I stand in now is one I’ve seen too many times from inside the mansion.
My hand is in Calvin’s, our fingers intertwining instinctively as we walk. I look up at him and still see two different people—but if that ever changed, he wouldn’t be him, and we wouldn’t be us.
After unlocking the door, he walks in without pretense. I hesitate only enough for him to notice. Entering the mansion is counterintuitive, and my stomach somersaults. The atmosphere is made of memories, and my pounding emotions are hard to conceal. Calvin squeezes my hand. The banisters are solid and shiny. The echo of my heels on the marble floor is precise. The cameras are still trained on me from the foyer’s corners. My surroundings are stunning, disturbing, and evocative, much like my time here. I’m questioning my decision to return.
I pull away from Calvin and head down the hall. The stale smell of aging books calls to me, and when I enter the room, it envelops me like a familiar embrace.
“Wherever we go, you’ll get your library,” Calvin says.
I turn to him. He fills the doorway, no less imposing without the drugs. The way we fit together, his muscular body seems made for me. He’d say it was made to keep danger away, though. His brown hair waves over his forehead, and his green eyes are astute. I’m grateful there’s no longer the need for the disguise of glasses. “I’d like that,” I say.
“And a game room. And an indoor pool, for that matter.” He pauses, his mouth slipping into a lazy smile. “It wasn’t all bad, was it?”
“What?”
“The time we spent together here.”
I don’t answer. In the mansion, good and bad became synonymous, and just trying to divorce the two concepts almost put me in my grave.
“It feels bigger. Or maybe just emptier without Norman here. Don’t you get lonely?”
He crosses the room and stills my fidgeting. “That’s why we’re doing this. I want to be with you, and I can’t do that here.” His hand covers mine, which is curled around my own wrist. Calvin tells me when I’m upset, I run my fingers over my scars. I rarely notice it, but it took him less than a week to pick up on it. “There’s still a little time before they get here,” he says. “If you want, I can take you back to your apartment.”
“No,” I say. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He lets me wander until we reach a place even more familiar than the library. I enter before him and scan my old room. It looks the same, as though I never left. Or, as though I was never here. I head for the windowsill and perch on it. When I look back, Calvin isn’t there. I stare at the empty space until it’s apparent he’s not coming.
Over the window’s ledge, the roses below are in full bloom. Time hasn’t erased what it meant to sit here.
When Calvin walked into my gallery, just the sight of him relieved a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying. That is not the reaction one should have to her enemy. But somehow he’s closing wounds I’ve been licking for three years.
Carefully, I push the window open and inhale. It’s been seven days since Calvin came back for me, climbing through my window and into my bed. He’s spent each night since in that spot.
One week earlier
After a breakfast of overdone scrambled eggs
Similar Books
