My Eros (Sub Rosa Secret Society)

by Tee, Marian

  The guidance counselor I'm supposed to be meeting in an hour also has an office in 44 Rosemary Square, but on my way there an all-black structure catches my eye, and my steps slow to a halt. It's all sleek lines, matte black walls, and panoramic windows, and it's the first building I've seen in the entire campus that actually seems to belong to this century.

  I take my phone out, and according to my map, the building I'm looking at is...The Art Gallery of the Roses of the Erotes?

  So it's not enough for this school to have its own wildlife reserve? It has to have its own art gallery, too?

  This place doesn't even feel surreal anymore. It feels downright unbelievable, and the more I see, the less I understand about their reasons for taking me in. Every school in California has turned down my application for transfer while Rosethorne here has practically welcomed me with open arms. Am I reading too much or too little in the matter? Is it dumb luck that I'm here or did someone divine put me—-

  My thoughts come to a half as the gallery's glass doors turn out to have motion sensors, and they slide open automatically as soon as I'm within range.

  There's only one painting in the first section of the gallery, and it's something that I've never seen.

  The Roses of Heliogabalus by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1888

  This is going to make me sound like a philistine, but I recognize neither the name nor the painting's title, and all I can do is gaze admiringly at the painting. The flowers look really nice, and...oh shit, are those footsteps I'm hearing?

  I quickly turn around, and my eyes immediately clash with a stranger's hooded dark gaze that sweeps over me with peculiar intensity.

  The first thing I notice about him is his height. I'm five-foot-two, so practically everyone I meet is taller by comparison. But this man? He's really tall. Like, guaranteed-to-tower-even-over-supermodels tall, and I'm already dreading the need to crane my neck if I were to look him in the eye. Doing that always makes me feel I'm at an automatic disadvantage, and I hate it.

  And as for the second thing I've noticed—-

  It's what has me silently gulping, since I don't think I've ever seen a man so beautiful...that he can actually give me a run for my money. His hair is a jet-black mass of unruly waves, just a tad longer than what may be considered normal, and my fingers are itching to brush away the dark lock of hair brushing over his left brow. His nose is strong and refined, his cheekbones proud and high, and his jaw chiseled to perfection...just like the rest of his body. The perfect fit of his white buttoned-down shirt emphasizes the sculpted breadth of his shoulders, and the way he's rolled up his sleeves to his elbows leaves the muscles in his forearms wonderfully exposed.

  When he takes a step forward, I can't help but do the same. There seems to be an invisible pull between us, almost as if the heavens have created this man just to tempt me to sin—-

  "Hello."

  Oh Lord.

  Even his voice is another form of seduction. It's just the right blend of deep and husky, and though there's also this odd note I detect in his voice, I'm too enamored to make myself care.

  "I believe you're not supposed to be here."

  The worlds startle me, but as he's now merely inches away, I'm distracted by the way his nearness has my senses tingling.

  "You probably aren't aware of it because you're new, but this place is private property."

  It takes an extra moment for me to get past the 'private' part, and when my eyes fly up to him in disconcertment, he only shrugs, saying, "Everyone knows who you are, Ms. Mariposa. You're the only new student for the year, and so everyone has been understandably...curious."

  Listening to him, I finally realize what that odd note was I detected earlier and what I'm hearing right now. That odd note is now mirrored by the glint in his dark gaze, and I also see it in the way his lips presently curve into a smile that's as beautiful as it's taunting. That odd note—-

  It tells me that this man knows what I've been through. What I've been accused of. But instead of making him feel fear, pity, or sympathy towards me—-

  All I can see in him...

  All I can feel from him...

  It's a cold and almost amused kind of speculation that's no different from a cat's curiosity towards a mouse it wants to toy with...before gobbling it whole.

  Chapter Four

  I don't need winter wear, after all.

  Apparently, all I have to be is annoyed enough, and I don't even notice the cold. I'm mad at the jerk in the gallery, but more than that I'm mad at myself, for being even the slightest bit attracted to a man like him.

  I'm still annoyed when I finally reach 44 Rosemary Square, but this time I make an effort to push all angry thoughts aside and calm myself. With help from my handy-dandy digital map, I take the stairs at the end of the hall and go all the way down to Suite 214. I glance at the name plate next to yet another pair of heavy wooden doors - Dr. Isabella Foames - and it gives me something to use as I knock on the door.

  "Dr. Foames?"

  Several moments pass, and I start thinking of how to best apologize for being seven minutes late. A lot hinges on my first meeting with Rosethorne's guidance counselor. No matter how you look at it, I'm the kind of student most other schools would see as just trouble waiting to happen: I'm adopted, I was accused of several people's murders, and I might be the only kid here who doesn't come from an old rich East Coast family who can trace her lineage all the way back to England.

  There's no excuse for being late, but should I even try to explain?

  Mm.

  Maybe I should, just to make things clear?

  It seems like a good idea, but when my new guidance counselor finally gives me permission to come in, the imperious note in her voice makes me start thinking otherwise. And once I finally enter her office, I'm absolutely certain of it.

  Because Dr. Foames?

  Not only does she appear as coldly beautiful as a porcelain doll, but she also happens to look super, super pissed.

  At me.

  "You're late."

  And now I know why.

  Hurrying forward, I hastily bow my head and make my apologies. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Foames." I take a peek at the other woman's face and immediately feel like I've been glared and scowled to death, despite the fact that Dr. Foames also happens to be one of the loveliest women I've ever seen, with her shiny black hair and fiery green eyes.

  "I lost track of time—-"

  The other woman suddenly slams a hand down, and the sharp sound startles me into taking a step back.

  "You dare make excuses?"

  I can only shake my head, instinctively feeling that anything I say will only make her angrier. Dr. Foames is obviously the kind of person who thinks tardiness is next to shittiness, but isn't she overreacting a little here?

  Unable to help it, I sneak another quick little peek at her face, and my heart nearly stops beating. If I thought she was angry earlier, well...whatever it was she's reading on her phone right now, it's succeeded in making her look like a wrathful virago from the Underworld. What on earth—-

  Her head suddenly jerks up, and I can only gulp anew as her enraged gaze lands on me. If looks could kill, I would have died by a thousand cuts by now, and—-

  "Were you at the gallery earlier?"

  Oh, that beautiful tattletale JERK!

  "Answer me!"

  There goes the guidance counselor's hand again, and this time I have a really bad feeling the older woman is wishing it's my head she's smashing.

  "That place is private property, Ms. Mariposa! Professor Lucious is a very busy man, and he has no time for silly, infatuated schoolgirls."

  Infatuated? I open my mouth to defend myself, but it's hard to get a word edgewise with Dr. Foames still intent on hauling me over the coals. Over an hour passes before her tirade finally ends, and by that time all I can do is nod at all of her stipulations.

  Never bother Professor Lucious again.

  Never go to the art gallery again.

>   Never, never, never—-

  So many other nevers follow, but I just keep nodding until she finally waves me off in contemptuous dismissal.

  My knees threaten to fold when I finally turn to leave her office, but I somehow manage to keep walking. I can feel Dr. Foames watching me the entire time, and I still don't let my guard down even when I'm back in the hallway.

  I rarely feel passionately enough to hate someone, but I think Dr. Foames might just be one of the rare few exceptions. I distinctly remember Ms. Roo saying that my case file has been forwarded to key personnel of Rosethorne, and I'd bet my life the guidance counselor was one of those given access. Because of that file, she would've known everything about my past, and that includes—-

  Sharp pain suddenly shoots up my leg, and though I try my best to reach a stone bench that's only less than two feet away, it's still too far, and the pain too much.

  My injured knee gives out, and I crumple down on the sidewalk...in full view of a couple of students who seem to have just arrived back at Rosethorne.

  All eyes are on me.

  Just like before, all eyes are on me—-

  And I start to remember the worst days of my life.

  BLOOD. That was the first thing I noticed. The strong but unmistakable scent of blood, stabbing my nostrils as I came out of what I'd only learn later on was a drug-induced sleep. I remember wondering why. Why did Cen's house smell like blood?

  Pain. It was the second thing I noticed. Pain, originating from my left knee, and I remember how it just kept hurting and hurting until I opened my eyes...and found myself in even worse pain because of what I saw around me.

  Death. The word just played over and over my mind that time as I stared. For a long time, I just stared. I might've stared for a full minute, maybe even two, before I finally tried counting. One. Two. Three. It was the hardest thing to count, and I remember unable to bear to keep counting when I realized I've reached double digits.

  I remember being so naïve, thinking Cen would surely tell everyone I was in her house.

  But she didn't.

  I remember assuring my parents that the authorities would surely find the real killer.

  But they never did.

  In everyone's eyes, I was a killer, and they were all so sure that I almost believed them. It was all too easy to believe them except—-

  That one night I saw my parents crying, and they weren't even the type to show any kind of sadness, you know. But that night, while peeking through that narrow opening in their doorway, it seemed like their tears would never end.

  I remember listening to them as they blamed themselves for not doing enough to prove my innocence, and I remember finally starting to cry myself because it was at that exact moment I realized God's answered my prayer from the very start.

  Everything was a nightmare I could wake from, and all I had to do was face reality.

  Most people might believe I was a killer even if I wasn't.

  But if I kept acting like I had something to be guilty about, then it's my own parents I'll end up killing.

  Chapter Five

  It's a brand new nightmare I come back to when I manage to yank myself out of the past. It's a little disorienting, to be honest. I rarely let myself dwell on those memories, but when I do they're still vivid as ever, and it always ends up making me feel a little sick to my stomach.

  You were such a pathetic little piece of shit in those days, Halyna.

  But thankfully, I'm not that weak anymore, and I'm going to prove that right now. I'm going to take a deep breath, and this time I'll be able to stand with my own two feet—-

  Ouch!

  The pain has actually worsened, and once again I start to fall.

  No, no, no, no, no——

  I don't want anyone to see me fall. I don't want anyone to pity me. I don't want anything to happen, and somehow...

  I actually get my wish.

  Because someone is lifting me up in his arms, and even without looking I already know.

  Even if he weren't wearing the same set of clothes, and even though I've yet to look up and meet his gaze—-

  The way my heart jumps and my senses tingle, it all tells me I can't be mistaken.

  It's him.

  And I'm ashamed that it's him. Hate that it's him. But at the same time, the foolish, doesn't-know-any-better part of me is ridiculously thrilled that it's him. Even after having seen for myself what a jerk he can be, a part of me is still irresistibly drawn to him, and that part of me is what's making my toes curl so damn hard just because I'm in his arms...while still being watched by those students I saw earlier.

  Shit.

  I quickly start struggling to free myself, but this only has him snapping at me. "Don't be stupid. You know you'll only fall flat on your face if I let you down."

  I want to tell him that he's the one being stupid, and a few hours ago, I would have. But because I know who he is now—-

  "People are looking at us, Professor."

  "So? Shouldn't you be used to it by now?"

  His answer is so completely unexpected I can only choke back a laugh, more impressed than distressed or even offended by his rudeness. He's a jerk of the highest order without a doubt, but at least he's consistent and straightforward about it, which is more than I can say for most people.

  When the professor glances down at me with a raised eyebrow, I simply raise my brow back at him.

  "Any other pointless questions?" he asks silkily.

  I make a face, which I'm thinking would make him smirk, but it doesn't even make him crack a smile. Instead, I only see his jaw clench, almost as if he's controlling his temper.

  Huh?

  I don't get what he's so angry about, but before I can even ask, he's speaking again, and this time his voice is cold and hard.

  "Who told you about me?"

  I just look at him. Take a fucking guess, Mister.

  A muscle starts ticking in his jaw. "Isabella then."

  Hearing him refer to her by name is strangely annoying. Isabella, huh? That implies some kind of relationship, doesn't it?

  "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I can already tell she's found out about your visit to the gallery."

  She...found...out? Does that mean he wasn't the one who told Dr. Foames?

  "Did you by any chance tell her yourself?"

  I can't help rolling my eyes at this, but my exasperation fades into confusion when the professor's expression turns even darker.

  "What are you so angry about?" I finally burst out. "I didn't do anything—-"

  "We're here," the professor interrupts me brusquely, and I'm momentarily caught off guard when here turns out to be a two-story structure with ivy-colored walls. It's very much in keeping with Rosethorne's whole dark Victorian theme, but once we're inside it's like we're suddenly back in the 21st century, and the change is a little jarring.

  This is the first building on campus that hasn't anything in stone or wood. Instead, all I see is glass and stainless steel...but I guess I shouldn't be surprised about that since this does happen to be Rosethorne's infirmary?

  "This is overkill," I mutter under my breath, but the professor simply gives me a bland look and acts like he's forgotten basic English.

  The guy behind the counter greets the professor in Greek, and the professor replies in the same manner. Both speak too fast for me to understand what they're saying, and next thing I know, the professor has taken me inside what looks like a private consultation room and is now lowering me gently on a hospital bed.

  I cross my hands over my chest and glare up at the professor. "My knee doesn't need any medical attention—-"

  "I'd rather take the doctor's word for it, if you don't mind."

  "Well, I do mind—-"

  "Then you should've taken better care of yourself—-"

  "No fighting please," a cheerful voice interrupts just as an auburn-haired doctor joins us. She's wearing a lab coat over her scrubs, and as
she comes closer, I'm struck by how ravishingly pretty she is...and how utterly unaffected she appears when the professor meets her gaze.

  "Keia, this is our new student Halyna." His lip actually curls as he gestures towards me, and I'm tempted to hit his face with my pillow. "Ms. Mariposa, this is Rosethorne's head doctor Keia."

  Keia? Did I hear him right? Is he saying I should just call the doctor by her first name?

  The redheaded physician smiles at me, and I guess my confusion must have shown as she goes on to explain, "The professor knows I'm not big on formalities. So yes, just call me Keia. Everyone here does. And now that we've got the introductions out of the way..."

  Keia starts asking me questions in rapid-fire succession. Does this hurt? How about this? And this? Did you do anything that could have put pressure on your knee? Did I have an old injury before? How long? What happened?

  While her voice is calm and her manner pleasant, I also get the feeling that she can be mean as hell if she wants to. It's motivation enough for me, and so I answer her as honestly as I can.

  "There's nothing here a good night's rest won't cure," she says finally, "but since Professor Lucious is notoriously paranoid, I'll have you take a painkiller as well."

  I open my mouth to argue, but when I see the way the professor's eyes are suddenly boring into mine, I decide to prioritize keeping my head connected to my body. "A painkiller would be nice, thanks."

  Keia's lips twitch. "It's nice to see that not all young ones are unwise. You'll do very well as long as you remember to choose your battles."

  Since I have no idea what she's talking about, I just nod and smile while Keia hands me my painkiller. I pop it inside my mouth, and it's while I'm in the process of washing it down with water that we hear the doors swing open.

  It's Dr. Foames, and her lovely features are a picture of concern as she rushes inside. "What's going on? I was told Halyna has had some kind of mishap?"

  Mishap, my arse.

  It's her fault I'm here, but since saying anything will only land me in more trouble, I simply watch her sidle up next to the professor like it's her God-given place. Dr. Foames smiles up at him, but her expression turns into one of mortification when the professor doesn't even look her way.