Wildalone (22 page)

“
DOMAIN
would have been much less risky,” Ben pointed out while I was getting up to leave. “Are you sure you don't want to finish the game?”

I was certain.

On the way to my room, I saw festive lights. Entire garlands of them, lit throughout the hallways. But who cared about a party at this point? I had finally found a clue left behind by my sister. All those years ago, Giles had dismissed her talk of daemons and maenads as crazy, but could she have been onto something? What if it turned out that the key to the Dionysian mysteries—the greatest enigma of the ancient world—lay buried in an old student paper at Princeton?

I needed a plan. Even an unrealistic one. Anything that would bring me closer to the answers I had hoped to find on this campus. Maybe befriend Giles? Assuming, of course, that someone who called me “Miss Slavin” would allow himself to be befriended. He was the perfect co-conspirator: haunted by the past, eager to decrypt the rituals. And best of all, he was discreet. Scandal could tarnish his academic reputation, so he was probably
going to think twice before picking up the phone—to call the police, or my parents, or send me to a shrink, or declare anyone a stalker—if things went out of hand. Unless they already had?

I slipped two of my free tickets to Carnegie inside a note (“I hope you would enjoy this concert as much as you enjoyed my first one”) and signed my name in Greek: Θεíα. Just as I was sealing the envelope, a blast of music shook the building—someone was testing speakers in the main wing of Forbes. I could already hear the first signs of commotion through the corridors. Doors slammed in a hurry. Phones starting to ring.

In less than two hours, the Fall Dance was supposed to begin.

F
OR ONE NIGHT
only, the Forbes dining hall had decided to impersonate a carnival stage: tables were lined up along walls, color projectors blinked nervously, helium-pumped balloons bounced off the ceiling in a risky attempt to spice up the mood, and a disco ball swirled its shiny cheeks in the middle.

My last-minute whim to show up at the dance—with another guy and in the most revealing dress I owned—was just an impulsive attempt to get back at Rhys. But the plan backfired from the start, when Ben showed up at my door holding an orchid.

“Wow, Thea . . . you look amazing!”

I probably did, as the strapless red dress was so short it could pass for a tunic. Mistake number one: dressing up for someone who wasn't going to be there. Ben, of course, assumed I had done it for him.

“Thanks. You didn't have to bring me a flower.”

“Custom says you should wear it on your wrist.” A thin elastic band was attached to the stem.

“What if we broke custom and let the flower live a bit longer?”

He watched as I dropped the orchid in a glass of water. It felt awful to do this to him. But “custom” applied when one had a date, and this was definitely not our case.

As we were leaving, my phone rang somewhere in the room—most likely Rita, who had called twice already to convince me not to skip the dance. We ran into her soon enough, and the relief to see me oozed through the air.

“Thank God, Tesh! I was starting to think you were in eternal mourning.” I didn't see how showing up with a friend proved that I wasn't. “Come, I want you guys to meet Dev.”

Dev was a sophomore from Forbes who had scored the hottest date for the night and knew it. Originally from India, he epitomized the perfect human specimen: tall, muscular, with hair down to the shoulders and the dignified features of an ancient god. But my favorite thing about the guy was that he looked completely besotted.

Watching the two of them reminded me that I had wanted to be there with Rhys. That I had asked him and he had said no. Now no matter what Ben and I did, I wondered how it might have felt with Rhys. To walk in as his date. To dance with him. The entire evening transformed, exciting, magical. It was as if my life had split in two: the reality of what was actually happening, and then in parallel, played out only in my head but just as vivid—the reality I wished for, of things that could have been.

Even Ben's adorable sweetness didn't help for very long. When my mood dropped visibly, he suggested taking a break from the crowd and we sneaked out through the fence separating Forbes from the golf course. As soon as our feet reached the much thicker grass outside, the air became cooler. Shivery. Scarred by a deranged wind roaming the open hills.

“Thea, what's wrong?”

“Nothing.” The pond lay quietly, staring back at the sky with the silver eye lent to it by the reflected moon. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“I can tell. And sometimes . . .” He stopped and looked at me. “Sometimes talking about it helps.”

Of course it did. It relieved the talker at the expense of the one who listened. “I'm just . . .”

. . .
tired.

. . . overwhelmed.

. . . homesick.

It was all on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't want any more lies.

“I'm sad about something, that's all.”

“A guy?”

I looked away, trying not to answer.

“Is this why you wanted to skip the dance? The almost-promise you told me about?”

“I guess so, yes.”

He didn't say anything, just gave me a hug—the warm and careful hug of a friend—then pulled back quickly. Somebody was coming. A girl. In a rush.

“Tesh, can I talk to you?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Sorry, but it's urgent.”

In his usual tactful way, Ben said he would wait inside and left us.

“What's the matter? Are things with Dev all right?”

“Dev is fine. Your stalker, on the other hand, clearly isn't.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, don't play dumb. The guy who was staring at you that night in Colonial. You didn't tell me the two of you were an item!”

“We're not an item.”

“Then why was he at the dance looking for you? And not only that—when I mentioned you had a date, he seemed ready to kill someone. Didn't say a word, just stormed out.”

“Sounds like him. He tends to storm out a lot, but that's his problem.”

“Judging by that big smile on your face, the problem is yours too. I used to joke about the whole stalker thing, but now I'm getting a really weird vibe from this guy, Tesh. He acts as if he has a claim on you and, frankly, I can't believe you are okay with it.”

As my RCA, she loved worrying about me. Still, there were worse things than being “stalked” or “claimed” by a guy like Rhys. And what was this American obsession with stalking anyway? We had no such word in
Bulgarian—people expressed their emotions in all kinds of ways, and to pursue a woman was expected of men; it didn't automatically mean crossing criminal lines. Yet now was not the time for existential arguments with Rita, so I thanked her and headed to my room to call him.

I had barely walked in when someone pulled me inside, shut the door, and pushed me against the wall.

“Why are you playing games with me, Thea?”

I tried to move away but couldn't. “I'm not the one playing games.”

“No? Except for blowing off my calls so you can go out with that guy again.”

I remembered the phone ring I hadn't answered earlier. “As I recall, you weren't supposed to be part of my social life.”

“I said I'd come tonight if it's such a big deal to you.”

“Then where were you?”

“At your door! But too late, apparently. I wanted it to be a surprise. And it certainly was one—for me!” He lifted my hands against the rough edges of the cinder blocks. “I decided to be honest with you. And you take that as a license to go behind my back?”

“I told you, Ben is just a friend.”

“Not according to your girlfriend. Who, by the way, seems to know more about your dating life than I do.”

“There isn't anything to know. You're imagining things.”

“Am I? How about you in his arms a few minutes ago—am I imagining that, too?”

There was something intoxicating in his jealousy, even in his rage. It left him vulnerable and gave me a strange sense of power.

“Rhys, you are crushing me. I can't even breathe . . .”

He pulled back just enough to let me catch my breath, but his grip around my wrists tightened. “I said that I'm not going to share you. Which part didn't you understand?”

“I thought we agreed on the sharing when you told me you were not a one-woman guy.”

This must have confirmed his suspicions about me and Ben, and it drove him absolutely crazy. He hit the wall with his fist, sending a tremor up my spine.

“I made it clear there's no other woman I want to be with. So you could have had the decency to stay away from that guy, couldn't you? But no, you had to get it on with him in my face! And I should have known—no better place than the Princeton fucking golf course!”

“Better place for what? Stop acting this way . . .”

“I'm not the one who's been doing the acting. Dying to make love to you all this time and fooled by that clever shyness of yours—” His leg pushed between mine. The wall blocked it but he pushed again, sliding his hand up my thighs while his knee kept them open. “Is this what you wanted out there? Because if it is, I can give it to you better than anyone. Better than you ever imagined . . .”

He knew exactly where to touch me and how—insistent, erasing my anger, leaving me ready for him. Embarrassingly ready. Warm, wet, swollen. Yet I was still terrified of having sex with him. Of everything that could, and probably always did, go wrong the first time.

“Rhys, we should stop.”

He wasn't listening. We were both turned on and the rest didn't seem to matter to him.

“I can't do this now . . . Rhys, I need more time.” My body was turning stiff with panic. “I haven't had sex before. Please stop!”

His breath vanished. His hands fell, the rest of him still in shock from what he had heard.

“You really mean . . . never?” As if my words could have meant anything else. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I just did.”

“No, earlier. In the field, when I tried to . . . My God, I wish I'd known!” He rubbed his forehead, deep into some invisible knot of guilt. “I'm so sorry, Thea. I had no idea.”

“Now you do. But, either way, I think you should leave.”

“I tried. I can't be away from you.”

“I meant my room, right now. And this isn't me being shy or clever. I really mean it.”

“I can't be away from you. Do you understand that? I've never been someone's . . .” Then he corrected himself, to avoid the taboo word: “I've never been serious with anyone. But I'm trying. I want to try.”

“Try what exactly?”

“To be with you and not see you get hurt. You just have to be patient with me.”

“I don't have to be anything.”

“Of course you don't. That's not how I meant it.” His eyes always hypnotized, but until now I had never seen them pleading. “Come home with me; the car is outside.”

“I need to rest. In my own bed.”

“Then let me stay here. We'll just go to sleep, I promise.”

My phone rang and the sound was so jarring I realized he had been whispering. It was Ben. I apologized to him, asked if he would mind finishing the party without me, and promised to make it up to him soon. He was nice about it, as always.

Rhys observed, waiting for me to hang up. “I love how sweet you are with everyone.”

“Sweet? I was rude to my friend just now because of you. It can't happen again.”

“I'm sorry, Thea. I really am.” His fingers ran down my cheek, fast but barely touching it, as if afraid to harm the surface of a butterfly wing. “Let me stay here tonight. Please.”

“Stay how? My bed is barely big enough for one person.”

He kissed me quickly. Turned. Grabbed the end of the covers and pulled them off in a single sweep, throwing everything on the floor—blanket, sheets, pillow. Before I could say a word, my shoes had been taken off, my dress was slipping down and my feet were being placed on cotton fabric that was incredibly soft, much softer than I would have imagined my linens against the rough carpet. Then he folded everything in two and tucked us both inside, kissing my face for a long time . . .

And so, the two realities had converged again. At least on the outside, my evening was ending exactly as I had wished—with me in his arms.

I DREAMED THAT I WAS
with Rhys. In a field. A field that spread its astonishing grass under us—red, devastatingly red, as if the ground had bled its entire sadness out at the tar-black sky. Begging it. Exhausted from waiting.

All around, paled to the white of winter birds, frail skeletons of trees wove their secrets into a dense web of silence. And within it the air pulsed, ready.