by T. K. Leigh
“It all started innocently enough.”
Spying a bench along the walkway, I head toward it, lowering myself as I prepare to share the next part of my tale.
“I didn’t even know he was a professor when we first met. I was just happy to finally have someone mature I could talk to, someone who seemed to understand me. No one else in my classes could really relate to what I was going through. They were all still single without a care in the world. So meeting Jay was exactly what I needed, at least in the beginning.”
“Was he one of your professors?” Wes asks, sitting beside me.
I quickly shake my head. “No. Nothing like that. I’d never even seen him on campus. He was a newer professor in the English department, taught some upper-level electives. I was an art history major. At first, we didn’t talk much, other than the polite hello when we saw each other at the coffee shop. Or a random comment about the weather. Then…” I trail off, chewing on my lower lip, unsure how Wes will react to my next admission, especially knowing I was married.
“What is it?” He drapes his arm along the back of the bench, his thumb gently caressing my shoulder. It’s an innocent gesture, but is exactly what I need right now.
“At some point, I started spending all my free time in the coffee shop, hoping he’d be there. It was stupid, since I knew he was married with a baby at home, but he’d become the bright spot in my life. We began sharing parts of ourselves with each other. He told me about the research he was doing on the interplay of the portrayal of women in Greek mythology and their modern counterparts. I shared my love of art, archaeology, and architecture. We didn’t have dumbed-down conversations about the latest reality show drama or which celebrity had cheated on whom. Better yet…” I rub my palms along my dress. “Our conversations didn’t only revolve around religion, as was often the case with my father and Sawyer.”
“You finally felt a real connection to someone,” he says in understanding.
“Our conversations were deep. We talked about our fears. Our dreams.” I pause, lifting my gaze toward Wes. “Our desires.”
He doesn’t immediately say anything. Just stares straight ahead, his jaw tight, eyes contemplative.
“I’d been feeling somewhat…frustrated with the way everything happened with Sawyer, with our marriage. A part of me hoped that, with time, I’d feel that connection, that spark you see in movies. That things were tough because we’d spent the majority of our marriage up to that point living in two different states. Then a part of me wondered if it was because I was so…inexperienced.”
He arches a brow. “Inexperienced?”
“Sawyer was my first. So I thought maybe he didn’t want to sleep with me because I wasn’t any good at it.
“I can’t quite pinpoint when my conversations with Jay shifted from the development of art and architecture in the Byzantine Empire to conversations about sex. It seems stupid now, but I didn’t have girlfriends I could talk to. And I didn’t exactly trust Cosmo to give me tips on how to make my childhood friend actually want me sexually. So I told Jay all about my feelings of inadequacy in my marriage. And the bedroom. But he…”
Tears dot the corners of my eyes. I feel so stupid that I hadn’t seen it before. But I was young and naïve. I truly believed he was doing what any friend would. I didn’t realize this was just part of his personality as a master manipulator.
“Yes?” Wes asks with a quiver.
When his hand clutches mine, I grit a smile. No wonder I haven’t wanted to share the details of this before now, even with Hazel, who knows more about me than anyone else. Finally sharing the gritty, dark details is excruciating, a vice squeezing my heart, even all these years later.
“He made me feel beautiful. Made me feel like I was enough. Like any man who didn’t appreciate me wasn’t worth my time.”
Wes blinks, his expression even as he processes everything. Then he floats his gaze to mine, his features taut. “Did you have an affair with him?”
I pinch my lips together, eyes brimming with tears. My throat tightens, my vision going blurry. “It depends who you ask.”
“I don’t follow.” He furrows his brow. “You either had an affair or you didn’t. I don’t see any gray area in this.”
“There is if you don’t consent.”
Chapter Twenty
Weston
I stare straight ahead, but barely see the squirrels chasing each other. Or the grass blowing in the breeze. Or the rollerbladers skating by. All I see is red, my heart pounding a thunderous rhythm. My jaw tenses and nostrils flare, every muscle becoming rigid as rage consumes me. It takes everything I possess not to demand the location of this Jay guy right now. All I can do is pray he’s already in prison, although something tells me Londyn isn’t that lucky.
“What happened?” I ask through pinched lips, my voice coming out harsher than I’d intended.
She fidgets with her hands, her chin dipped close to her chest as she averts her gaze.
“Hey.” I touch her cheek, bringing her eyes toward mine. “It’s okay. Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”
She blinks repeatedly, swallowing hard. “I know. And I appreciate it.”
“We can stop. We don’t—”
“No.” She straightens her posture, vehemently shaking her head. “I need to get this out. Even if you never look at me the same way again, at least you’ll finally know the truth.”
“I would never look at you any differently, Lo.” I swipe my thumb under her eyes, erasing her tears. “You’ve got to realize that by now.”
“I wouldn’t make any promises yet, Wes.”
I peer at her, my hackles rising. Then I pull away, giving her space. “Okay.”
Tilting her head back, she stares at the darkening sky for a beat before looking forward again. “Every year, the College of Arts and Humanities threw an end-of-year masquerade ball at the dean’s house for the graduating seniors, their dates, and the faculty. It was this breathtaking Victorian a few blocks from campus. Old wood, and dust, and heavy tapestries.”
“Sounds stunning.”
“It was. While I hate to admit it, I took quite a bit of care in choosing a mask and dress because I knew Jay would be there.”
“Did you ever see each other on campus?”
“No.” She pauses. “Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. I did occasionally. And the more we discussed…intimate things, the more I began seeing him. He’d walk by my lecture on 20th Century Photographic History. Then I’d notice him lurking in the library near where I was studying with a few of my classmates. Then again when I was in the art studio, working on a project. I liked that I had his attention. But we never crossed that line. Whenever we talked, it would always be in reference to my husband or his wife. He’d never tell me things he wanted to do to me, or me him. But that night, everything changed.”
“What happened?”
I can already tell this guy is bad news. Londyn admitted she felt inadequate and insecure in her marriage. Instead of giving her solid advice, he preyed on a young woman. He manipulated her, stalked her, then God knows what else. I’m not sure I want to know. But I’ll listen. For Londyn’s sake.
“I was twenty-two, so the champagne was flowing. It didn’t help I’d never been a big drinker, at least compared to some of my fellow students. After three or four glasses, I was feeling pretty damn good. When the party ended at midnight, I was wavering a little. At least I’d had the forethought not to drive. So I started walking back to my apartment.”
“How far away was it?”
“Not too far. Five or six blocks maybe. But before I could get far, Jay pulled up in his car and offered to drive me. I didn’t immediately agree, unsure what people would think if they saw us together.”
“Weren’t you just at a party with him, though?”
“Not with him. Was he at the ball? Yes. But we didn’t really talk. We never did when we saw each other on campus. We kept that line drawn. At the coffee shop,
we could debate the meaning of life from our separate tables, but on campus, he was a professor, and I was a student.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, still processing this fucked-up relationship she’s describing, doing everything to keep my anger in check, something that’s becoming increasingly difficult with every second, with every tiny detail I learn about this waste of space.
“Did you get into the car?”
She pauses, then sighs. “I did. He pulled out of the lot and began driving toward my place. Then he asked if I wanted to have our own little afterparty. I was hesitant, for good reason. I mean, this was the first time we were alone together. Everything about it felt different. That should have been enough for the warning bells to go off in my head. Instead, I asked what he had in mind. He revealed a set of keys, told me they were to the Allen House.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “The Allen House?”
“It was this historic landmark on campus. A house built in the early 1800s where the founder of what would eventually go on to be the university held his first classes back in 1835. I’d always wanted to see inside, but only a few faculty members had access. I saw this as my one and only opportunity, so I had no qualms about agreeing, although I shouldn’t have, considering he must have stolen the keys from the dean’s house earlier.
“During the short drive, I could barely contain my excitement. It sounds stupid now, but it was the first nice thing anyone had done for me. Sawyer hardly listened to a word I said. When I’d share my excitement about a piece of art or an amazing old house or a new archaeological find, he wouldn’t even look up from his notebook where he was preparing his next sermon. Most of the time, I felt like I was talking to a wall. But Jay… I’d mentioned the Allen House to him once. Once,” she emphasizes. “And it was months prior. Yet he remembered. He listened when I spoke. At the time, I convinced myself that was all the proof I needed to assure myself he was just a nice guy. But now I know the truth.”
“What’s that?”
“The reason he took note of those little things about me was so I’d feel comfortable. So I’d be too blind to see the darkness within him.”
She takes a minute, closing her eyes as she basks in the wind kicking up around us. The setting sun casts a glow over her, and I see the pain she’s been carrying in the lines of her face. What I wouldn’t give to know what’s going through her mind right now. If she’s trying to come to terms with the guilt I sense still plagues her.
“Everything was pitch black when he led me inside,” she begins, her voice shaky. She stares into the distance, as if watching a movie of the night and is simply reporting back as a disinterested observer, not someone reliving her trauma. “There was this…charge. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was thrilling to be there. To do something I shouldn’t. I’d always been a rule follower, always did what was expected of me with little or no argument. So to be somewhere we weren’t supposed to be was a rush.”
“What was the house like?” I don’t know why I ask her that. Maybe to distract her from what she’s about to tell me. Or perhaps to prepare myself for it.
“Incredible. It was built in the Italianate style. Low-pitched roof. Symmetrical, rectangular shape. Wide, overhanging eaves. Square cupola on the top. A porch with balustraded balconies. Molded double doors. Roman arches above the windows and doors. And that’s just the exterior. But when we stepped inside… It was like stepping back in time. I didn’t understand why the college hadn’t done anything with the house, why it seemed to be frozen in time of the last day it served a purpose. There was certainly evidence of other people breaking in — beer bottles and used condoms. Other than that, it was like walking through a snapshot of history.”
When she falls silent, I squeeze her hand, offering my reassurance that everything will be okay. That no matter what she tells me, I won’t think any differently of her.
“For those few minutes we explored the house, I felt…free. Like I could spread my wings and fly.” She shifts her gaze to mine. “Like I do whenever I’m with you.”
I smile, but don’t say anything, giving her the time she needs to work this all out for herself.
“I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t feel like myself. Within that house, I wasn’t who I was. He wasn’t who he was. So when we reached the bedroom…” She pauses, drawing in a quivering breath, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. “I kissed him.”
I blink, processing this, unsure how to react to her admission. I put myself in her shoes, try to imagine how I would feel if I was more or less forced into marrying someone I didn’t love. Normally, I would say there’s no excuse for being unfaithful, but she weaves a compelling story. To feel so lonely that you cling to the first person who shows a modicum of interest? I can’t help but sympathize with her.
“I never should have kissed him,” she mutters, her voice barely audible.
“What happened next?” I press, swallowing hard, my stomach heavy with dread.
“I tore away, finally snapping out of whatever spell the house had cast, realizing what I’d done. I tried to apologize, tell him it was a mistake, and walk away.” Her chin trembles, tears now cascading freely down her cheeks. “But he wouldn’t let me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, squeezing her hand tighter, much like she did to mine on the Ferris wheel. I need her to ground me when I feel like I’m being torn apart. I can only imagine how Londyn must feel to relive this.
“You don’t have to tell me anything else. It’s okay.”
“I do, Wes,” she insists. “I’ve kept it all inside for so long now, and I am just fucking exhausted from it all.”
I inhale several deep breaths through my nose, then nod subtly, indicating for her to go on, even though I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what comes next.
“He had me on my stomach on the hardwood floor. The entire time, he said he wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want. And for the life of me, I don’t remember telling him no. I can remember all the other details about that moment. The chip on the baseboard I stared at the entire time. The leather and citrus scent of his cologne. A dog barking from down the street. But I can’t remember ever telling him he was wrong. That it wasn’t what I wanted. It was then that I finally understood how Echo felt.”
“Echo?”
“It was a story from Greek mythology Jay told me. Echo was a nymph Zeus often consorted with. When his wife, Hera, grew suspicious, she came down from Mount Olympus to catch him in the act. But Echo protected Zeus, as he’d ordered her to do. In response, Hera cursed Echo, took away her ability to speak anything other than the last words spoken to her. She became just an echo, unable to speak her true thoughts or feelings.”
“And what were the last words spoken to you?” I manage to ask.
She juts out her chin, summoning the courage to say them out loud. “He’d said, ‘Tell me you’re mine.’ I just wanted it all to be over, so I kept repeating I was his. Thought it would help him…finish quicker.”
“Jesus.” I scrub a hand over my face, my expression pinched, my teeth digging into my bottom lip, causing it to bleed. I need the pain to distract me before I do something rash.
“Afterward, I couldn’t move, in shock. Then he forced me to get up before we were caught. I was in a daze as he dragged me out of the house and toward his car.” She laughs slightly, looking up to the sky. “Do you want to know what detail has always stood out in my mind about that night?”
I want to tell her I don’t think I can stomach it, but instead, I remain silent.
“He opened the car door for me. My own husband never did that. And here was this man who’d just forced himself on me acting like the perfect fucking gentleman. Like it never happened. I’d wondered if I’d imagined it all.”
“You got into the car with him again? Even after—”
“I was scared, Wes. I remember my entire body trembling violently. I worried what he would do if I didn’t. So I did. And for the first time since we’d met, neither of
us spoke a single word to each other. It wasn’t until he pulled up in front of my apartment that he finally did.”
“What did he say?”
“He knew how much I hated the constant media attention after my mother’s death. So he told me if I were to report this, it would turn into a circus. That my photo would be plastered on every news site out there. Then he said no one would buy my story anyway, since he didn’t do anything I didn’t want. Like the cursed Echo I was, I repeated it back to him. Told him he was right. That I’d wanted it. I was too frightened to disagree.”
I hang my head, squeezing my eyes shut, balling my free hand into a fist. I know the statistics about sexual assault on college campuses. Being the overprotective older brother I’ve always been, I did a ridiculous amount of research on this stuff before Julia went off to college, armed her with more material on the topic than necessary, along with a can of pepper spray and a pocket knife. But as Londyn’s story reminds me, it’s not the masked man in a dark alley you have to watch out for. It’s someone you know. Someone you trust. Someone you let your guard down around.
“Did you report him?”
“Not right away. I thought if I could get through the last month of school, it would be okay. I didn’t know if I could sit through all the questions I’d have to answer if I were to report him. I’d stopped going to the coffee shop. Purposefully avoided spending any time outside of my apartment unless necessary. But then…”
“Yes?” I lean toward her, absentmindedly running my thumb along her knuckles.
