by Suzy K Quinn
‘Come back to class,’ says Marc. ‘We’ll talk afterwards.’
‘Fine. I’ll sit in class, take notes and pretend nothing has happened. That I don’t feel anything for you.’ I turn and head towards the lecture theatre.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Marc, walking beside me. ‘I never meant to hurt you, but this is new territory for me. I haven’t worked out how best to handle it yet.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, feeling empty and defeated. ‘I knew this couldn’t last. We both did. I knew it had to end and I knew I’d get hurt.’
‘It doesn’t have to end.’
‘Oh? You’ve made your feelings pretty clear. Let’s get real Marc. Like you said, you can’t offer me what I want.’ I walk faster.
Chapter 55
Back at the lecture theatre, everyone stares as I squeeze into my seat. They must guess I’m upset by my red eyes, and maybe a few students realise I’m upset over Mr Blackwell. They probably think I have a crush, and he’s just told me to forget it.
Marc goes to the front of the theatre and begins his lecture, which is about body language. He’s so strong and in control. I got to him last night, but now the barriers are up again.
I try to listen to the lecture, try to see Marc as the intelligent, controlled teacher he’s portraying. But now I see something more – a vulnerability behind his upright posture and intense stare. A tender part of him that has been trampled down, and is too frightened to come out.
I realise I truly am in love with him – all of him. The amazing, charismatic, intelligent actor that everyone sees, and the vulnerable boy he’s trying to keep hidden. It hurts so badly that we can’t be together. But I always knew it would end this way.
When the class files out, I head out too. I have no desire to hear Marc’s goodbye speech, and I’d rather just let things end with dignity. But I feel a hand on my elbow as I’m leaving, and turn to see Marc, his eyes cloudy, two vertical frown lines above his nose.
‘Sophia, may I talk with you?’ His words are soft, and lack their usual fierceness. I feel a pain in my chest. The class files out and it’s just me and him. Alone.
‘Look, I don’t need the Dear John letter,’ I tell him. ‘I get it. You don’t want what I want. So ... let’s go our separate ways.’
‘No.’ Marc shakes his head.
‘I think we should end this before I get more hurt than I already am.’
‘You really want to end things?’ Marc’s thick eyebrows pull together.
‘Yes,’ I say, although it’s not true. I’m trying to be strong, but under Marc’s gaze I have precious little strength left.
‘Then tell me again,’ says Marc, moving closer to me. ‘Tell me we should end this, and I’ll never bother you again.’
‘We should -’ I whisper. But I can’t finish the sentence.
‘We should what?’ he asks softly, bringing his face closer to mine.
I look away.
Marc moves my chin so I’m facing him. ‘You think we should what?’
End it, I think. But the words melt in my mouth, and the next moment he’s kissing me and I’m lost in the clean, sharp smell of his skin, the strength of his hands on my arms. His eyes slightly pained looking, with those long eyelashes fluttering as his mouth moves on mine.
He lifts me up and puts me on the desk.
‘Tell me you don’t want this,’ Marc whispers into my neck. ‘And I’ll never touch you again.’ He pulls me closer.
‘Marc, wait. What happened last night.’
‘Something about you ... it’s changed me. And I don’t seem to be able to change back again.’
I let myself mesh with his body. The protestations in my head are partly drowned out by the tugging that pulls me to him. But some doubts still break through. ‘You were so cold when you left,’ I stammer against his lips.
‘I can’t think of anything else but you,’ Marc breathes. ‘I thought I couldn’t handle it. After last night. I thought I couldn’t handle it. But then, the thought of losing you ... when you ran out this morning, I realised losing you is what I’m really afraid of.’
I feel tears coming and fall against him.
He wraps his arms around me and kisses my hair.
We stay like that for a moment.
Then I say, ‘When we have sex. How can you stand not to come? I don’t get it. I want you to feel what I’m feeling.’
‘I need to stay in control,’ Marc murmurs. ‘But I’ll be the first to admit it’s getting difficult.’
‘Then let yourself go,’ I say.
Marc shakes his head. ‘It wouldn’t be right. Especially while I’m still your teacher. Now. You’ve got another class to go to in ...’ he drops his arms and checks his watch, ‘about ten minutes, am I right? Singing with the wonderful Denise.’
‘Yes,’ I say, wanting his arms back around me. To spend every moment I have with him.
‘Then you should go,’ Marc says. He runs a hand over my hair. ‘I’ll see you on the trip to the Globe this afternoon.’
I nod. I’d forgotten about that trip. ‘I didn’t realise you were going,’ I say.
‘I organise the class trips every term,’ he says. ‘And as usual, I’m going on all of them. I need to make sure my students get the most out of the experience.’
‘Okay,’ I say, ‘but ... when will I see you again? Properly?’
He smiles. ‘Soon.’
Chapter 56
Denise’s class is fun, and I think she can tell I’m happy. She gives me the occasional smile, now and again, and it feels good to know she cares.
After Denise’s class, and lunch, we’re on our way to the Globe Theatre, courtesy of the college minibus.
The theatre is on the bank of the Thames, and the weather is windy and rainy. I stand with the other Ivy College students, shivering, waiting for our guide. The minibus dropped us off a little early, and we have a ten-minute wait.
Marc arrived separately, we’re told, and is inside the theatre, trying to hurry the tour. Tanya also thinks he’s inside to avoid being mobbed by adoring fans, who are waiting on the banks of the Thames. They’ve closed the Globe especially for our trip, and word has got around that Marc Blackwell is inside.
The theatre is huge, round and beautiful. Its walls are white and smooth, with dark wooden beams running around them, and there’s a straw roof on top. I stare up at this famous building, thinking what it must have been like for people to visit the actors here in Shakespeare’s time. It’s not the original theatre, but it’s a very good likeness, and enough to set my imagination racing.
A woman in a green anorak approaches, her hood pulled up.
‘Good afternoon, Ivy College.’ There are wiry glasses on her nose and coral pink lipstick stains her mouth and teeth. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you here. I’m your guide to the Globe. Come on inside.’
We follow her to the main doors, which she unlocks, and we find Marc waiting for us in the reception area. He looks as handsome as ever, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. How is he not feeling the cold?
His lips tip up a little when he sees me, and he holds my gaze. I look away, fighting back a smile.
‘Mr Blackwell!’ says the guide, breathlessly. ‘A pleasure, an absolute pleasure.’ She does an odd sort of curtsy. ‘So good of you to come with your class.’
‘A pleasure to be here,’ says Marc, shaking her hand.
‘I’ll lead you straight through to the theatre itself,’ says the guide, her hand to her cheek. ‘And then we’ll walk through the museum, and you can learn more about this fabulous building.’
She leads us out into a huge, round, open-air space, which has a gritty floor with wooden seating and banisters curving around us. There are three tiers of seating, and I can see part of the straw roof sheltering the seats from the elements.
A light spray of rain is whirling around the open-air part, and the guide leads us to the sheltered seats.
Tanya, Tom and I wait until last, so we can carry Tom u
p the steps and place him at the end of an aisle. Marc comes forward to help, checking that Tom’s brakes are in place.
‘I remember these things,’ says Marc. ‘I forgot the brakes a few times when I was acting in one, and nearly broke my neck.’
Tom nods and smiles. ‘Fancy Shakespeare not catering for disability. What a bastard.’
Tanya and I stand either side of Tom, but to my surprise, Marc doesn’t move. Instead, he stands behind me.
The guide looks sorry that Marc isn’t by her side any more, but quickly recovers and starts telling us how the theatre was lovingly recreated from historical pictures and documents. She tells us about the stage itself, and points out the wooden balcony above it.
‘Modern actors have played Juliet on that balcony,’ she says, ‘calling to her Romeo. But in Shakespeare’s day, the balcony was used to seat important guests, such as members of the royal family. In those days, it was less about what you saw than what you heard. So the best seats in the house couldn’t see the actors all that well.’
I feel Marc’s breath on my neck as the guide tells us about the history of the theatre. I try to listen to the guide, but my entire body is tense. All I can think about is Marc being so close to me. I can feel the heat from his body.
As the guide tells us how the new theatre was built, my hand finds Marc’s.
He squeezes my fingers tight.
I turn and sneak a glance at him. There’s the tiniest smile on his face as he catches me looking at him, but in the main he looks completely impassive, one hand rested nonchalantly on a wooden beam, the other squeezing my fingers.
His jaw ripples as he stares straight ahead.
Having his hand kneading and pushing my fingers, I can hardly stand still. It’s a relief when the guide finally stops her talk and announces it’s time to see the museum.
The class files down the steps, and Marc’s hand drops away. Now it’s gone, I miss its heat. Marc lifts Tom down from the steps, and Tanya and I wait for them. Then we all walk towards the museum, but as I reach the doorway, Marc catches my hand.
I stop, looking stupidly at Tom and Tanya’s retreating backs.
‘Come with me,’ he says.
‘Where?’ I ask, watching the door to the museum swing closed.
‘Up here.’ He squeezes my hand and leads me up the wooden steps onto the Globe’s stage.
‘Are we allowed up here?’
‘I am,’ says Marc. ‘I’m a patron of this theatre.’ He leads me through one of the rounded doorways, and up some creaky wooden stairs. Suddenly we’re on the balcony above the stage, looking out at the Globe Theatre.
‘This is amazing,’ I say, looking out at the empty seats. ‘Imagine this place full of people.’
‘Amazing building,’ Marc says. ‘A perfect recreation – as perfect as possible.’ He tilts my chin up. His eyes dart back and forth. ‘Go to the balcony rail.’
I do, holding the smooth wood and looking out over the theatre. It truly is amazing. I could stay here all day.
Marc strokes the hair from one side of my neck to the other, and goose bumps run down my arms. Then he sucks hard on my neck, and I give a little gasp.
‘Marc, what are you doing? Don’t you know where we are?’ I grip the balcony.
‘I’m well aware of where we are, Miss Rose.’
Chapter 57
In one smooth movement, Marc lifts my dress and slides my bra upwards so my breasts are exposed. Then he covers my breasts with his hands and presses himself against me.
I look out at the empty theatre.
Marc uses one hand to pull down my panties and free himself from his trousers. Then he slides a finger between my buttocks.
‘Has anyone else ever had you in there?’ he asks, sliding his finger further inside until my buttocks clench.
‘No,’ I say, as his hand tightens on my breast. ‘Never.’
I turn to see what he’s doing, but he forces me back around to face the front.
He slides himself between my buttocks and I feel he’s hard, but much more slippery than usual.
With one swift movement, he pushes himself inside me – a different me. A me no one has ever been in before.
I grip the rail.
‘I’ll go slow,’ he whispers.
‘Okay,’ I murmur, feeling the tightness.
He inches further in.
I start to feel sore, and hear a gasp – my own.
Marc slides one hand between my legs and moves it back and forth, all the time inching further and further in.
He’s so hard, everything feels too tight and suddenly he begins to move slowly back and forth.
Oh. Oh.
At first it feels far too strange, and I almost ask him to stop, but as he slides his hand back and forth, it starts to feel good.
I moan as he pushes himself deeper and deeper. I grip the rail, and everything turns blurry. All I can think about is Marc and what he’s doing to me. It feels so good.
Marc moves faster. His hand slides back and forth, faster and faster. I hear him moan then, and that feels better than anything.
‘Oh god,’ he says, pushing further inside me with every stroke.
I can feel he’s nearly all the way inside, and I come, feeling my knees go weak, and hearing myself calling his name.
As waves of pleasure ripple through me, I feel him slide all the way inside me until his body presses against my buttocks.
‘Oh god, oh Sophia.’
I feel the beat of him against me.
He collapses against my shoulders, grasping my breasts and pulling me into him. He holds me tight for a long time. Then he slides himself free.
I see he’s still hard, and feel disappointed. He didn’t come.
He puts an extra-thick condom into a plastic bag.
I pull my dress down. ‘I want you to know that I’m not usually the sort of girl who … well, you know. Does what we just did.’
He wraps his arms around me. ‘You think too much. Did it feel good?’
‘Yes,’ I admit.
He kisses my hair. ‘You’d better get back to your trip. Catch up with the class.’
‘What about you?’
‘I don’t want anyone to get suspicious. I still have your reputation to think of. I’ll leave by the fire exit and meet you later on.’
‘Okay.’ I swallow, not sure how I’m going to make it down those creaky wooden steps. My knees are still so weak. ‘Where?’
‘I’ll have a car come pick you up from the campus gates in two hours. Bring your passport. Now go.’ He gestures to the staircase. ‘They’ll be getting suspicious.’
My passport?
‘Okay.’ I head towards the staircase, then take careful steps until I reach the bottom. I cross the stage, and turn back to see Marc on the balcony. He’s staring at me, deep in thought. When he notices I’m looking up, a fondness passes over his face that makes my heart melt.
‘It’s going to be hard to wait,’ he says.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘What are we going to do, Marc?’
He runs a hand through his hair. ‘That’s what I’m trying to figure out.’
Chapter 58
After the museum tour, Tom, Tanya and I have coffee in the Globe restaurant. It looks out over the Thames, and we watch the grey waters churn under rain and wind.
‘I’m loving this place,’ says Tom. ‘Wheelchair ramps aside, what a great day out. And apparently, it’s educational! Shame you dawdled, Soph. The museum was by far the highlight.’
‘I thought it was pretty boring,’ says Tanya. ‘Soph had the right idea – hang around and get a better look at the theatre itself. What an amazing building.’
‘It was,’ I agree.
‘Did you like the stage?’ Tanya asks. ‘You know Marc performed on that stage, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I say quietly. ‘I loved the stage.’ And Marc performed again on that stage this afternoon.
‘Well,’ says Tom, taking a sip of capp
uccino. ‘A little London tour awaits, do we think? Shall we walk and wheel ourselves back to the college, and take in the sights on the way?’
‘You do know how far it is to the college, don’t you?’ says Tanya.
‘Of course I do. I grew up in London. Are you saying because I’m in a wheelchair, I can’t go very far?’
‘No,’ says Tanya. ‘I’m saying because you’re incredibly lazy, you can’t go very far. You moan about going over the grass on campus, and that’s just a few metres. Which means either Sophia or I will end up pushing you most of the journey.’
‘I understand,’ says Tom. ‘The two of you will squabble about who gets to push the famous Tom Davenport. Well, squabble not ladies. You can take it in turns. I like to be fair.’
We all laugh.
‘I don’t mind pushing you,’ I say.
‘Nor do I, really,’ says Tanya.
‘Then what are we waiting for? We’ve got no lectures this afternoon, correct? So we’ve got all the time in the world.’
‘Actually, I have to be back on campus in an hour,’ I say, checking my watch.
‘Really?’ Tom raises an eyebrow. ‘A hot date with your older man?’
‘Something like that,’ I admit.
‘Sophia, be careful with him,’ says Tanya. ‘He’s older than you, and ... well, you know my thoughts. Exactly how much older is he?’
‘Five years,’ I say.
‘Hardly an age difference,’ says Tom. ‘I’m dating a thirty five year old divorcee online.’
‘Yes, but this is different,’ says Tanya. ‘This is real life. I don’t want you being taken advantage of, that’s all. Has he met any of your friends yet?’
‘In a way.’
Tom’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘In a way? Intriguing.’ He’s silent for a moment, and I can almost see the cogs working. ‘Mr Blackwell disappeared very quickly this afternoon, didn’t he?’
‘Did he?’ I scratch the back of my neck. ‘I didn’t notice.’
‘And you vanished suddenly too ...’ Tom stares out at churning waters. ‘Older man. In control. Five year age difference ...’
I look at Tom, my eyes begging him not to think too much about this. But I’m too late.
