The Fall of Troy

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Sorry, midterms this week,” I mumbled by way of an apology.

  “Have you thought about why you haven’t called him?” she pressed again calmly.

  Léo, Léo, and more Léo.

  I’d bared myself for one man and been burned, the thought of talking to my father and doing it all over again was a hard thing to swallow. “Fear.” I stared at the white wall behind her, trying to find the explanation for my answer written on it. “I’m not angry at him. But then I realized that by calling to tell him that, I’d have to apologize for my behavior.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was wrong. It was hurtful to treat him the way that I did.”

  “So why is apologizing a scary thing?”

  My hands fidgeted in my lap; I really wished I had a cup of tea to distract them. “Because it means admitting that I’ve done something wrong,” I said softly. “And for so long, that’s the very last thing that I ever wanted my dad to see. Me, make a mistake. He already barely noticed anything right that I did and still kept me at arm’s length. Not maliciously. That’s what made it worse. Otherwise, I could’ve hated him for it. Instead, I hated myself. Could you imagine if I had done something wrong?”

  Dr. Shelly nodded slightly as she stirred the tea bag that she’d left steeping in her cup.

  “But what if your assumption is wrong?”

  I started. “I don’t understand.”

  “What if doing everything right made it easier for your dad to continue to let you do your own thing? What if all you proved was that you were doing just perfect without him? Without his attention?”

  No. “I-I don’t—” Not possible.

  “Troian.” The firmness in her tone made me focus. “I’m not saying that you should have messed everything up, failed every class, and made bad choices. I’m just trying to give you a different perspective—a different way to look at the choices that you face. Maybe instead of looking at this phone call as a reason for him to push you away, maybe it will be a reason for him to want to be closer.”

  I stared down at my hands letting her words sink in.

  “People aren’t black or white, Troian. Just because you’re not completely perfect doesn’t mean you are completely broken; a heavy armor of perfection will drown you just as surely as too many unpatched holes.”

  That was Léo, the thought came unbidden to my mind. Too many unpatched holes. Too stubborn to care that he was drowning.

  “I don’t know how to tell him that I was wrong to say the things that I did.”

  “Don’t know how or don’t want to?” She let out a soft laugh. “No one likes admitting they made a mistake, Troian. Even me,” she added ruefully. “That’s why I like to think of myself as a bone. Hard and strong. Capable of withstanding a lot of pressure and force. Sometimes, though, bones crack. Or they break. Does that make them weak?” She nodded as she answered her own question. “Yes. In the moment, it does. Just like mistakes show our weakness. However, do you know what happens when that bone heals?”

  Even though I nodded, she continued to explain anyway.

  “When a bone heals over an area of injury or weakness, it heals stronger,” she revealed. “Just like when you make a mistake and acknowledge it—you move on and heal stronger.”

  Maybe she was right. My father was who he was—he would never be the overbearing, helicopter, living parent. But maybe I had made my own situation worse by never going to him and never revealing a fault, never asking for help.

  “Is it still going to hurt?”

  She gave me a knowing smile. “That’s the hardest kind of forgiveness—the kind you give when you aren’t done healing.”

  The clock struck one. Our time was up.

  “Thank you,” I said as I stood and pulled my bag over my shoulder.

  “Of course. Don’t hesitate to call if you need me and good luck on your midterms this week.”

  That was the reason our session was longer today—I’d had to cancel last week because sure enough, Léo had given us a project to complete for a midterm grade—just like Jack told him he had to.

  “How do you know you love someone, Dr. Shelly?” I blurted out just as I reached the door.

  She looked taken aback. “I-I think that answer is different for everyone, Troian.”

  Of course. How could I expect her to answer that? How could I expect her to know?

  “How do you think that you know?” she countered.

  I should have seen that coming. It was her job to turn my questions against me. It was her job to turn a question into some kind of messed up answer.

  I could have just left. Walked out. Thought about it to myself.

  I didn’t.

  “I think you know you love someone when right and wrong—perfect and mistake—don’t matter anymore for you, only for that person… when you can’t look at a decision as whether it is good or bad for you, only good or bad for the person that you love,” I said hoarsely, giving her a weak smile. “I guess that’s the flaw of it all, really. Loving someone is when you’d break yourself apart to put the other person back together.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” I offered Kev zero excuses as I dropped my stuff down at the table he’d saved for us at the Wise Bean.

  There was no good reason why I was late. I’d left Dr. Shelly’s on time. But my feet couldn’t find their way here. Instead they walked me in snowy circles around blocks that I had no business being on.

  Did I love Léo?

  Even I didn’t think I knew the right answer for that. When had this happened? When had I fallen?

  “Everything okay?”

  Ugh. Genuine concern. I had no defense against genuine concern—especially when it came from Kev whose responses to my daily life drama was sarcasm and sass. Those I could handle.

  “No,” I admitted, my head falling onto my arms that were resting on the table.

  “Wow. This is serious. Okay, hold on.” He put his hands up to emphasize that I was to stay put.

  Closing my eyes, I buried my head farther into my arms. When I opened them again, there was a huge cup in front of me with whipped cream spilling over the top.

  “Alright, you get one sip and then you better spill.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, bringing the steaming mug to my mouth. I winced as the mocha burned the tip of my tongue but still kept drinking; it was too good to stop.

  “Look, I know I’m a horrible friend for ditching you and going on and on about Jake. But don’t think that because I’m just slightly obsessed with my boyfriend doesn’t mean that I haven’t noticed you, doll.”

  I groaned, hating when he called me ‘doll’ because it meant I was in trouble.

  “That’s right. I’m not going away until you tell me what is going on with Professor le Prick.”

  My eyes shot to his.

  “How did you know?”

  A hand waved in my face. “Oh, please. It is my job to know these things.” He rolled his eyes. “So, tell me. What did you do? How bad have you been?”

  “Very.” I laughed. “Very bad.”

  “Did you—” He looked around and then leaned in to make sure the other three people in the far corner didn’t hear a word. “Did you sleep with him?”

  My expression was answer enough.

  “Holy Mother—” Kev clapped a hand over his mouth and then began fanning himself. “I cannot believe… I’m dying of jealousy. You have to tell me everything. Literally. Everything.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” I moaned, burying my head again. “And I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not telling you everything.”

  “Does he look like your drawings?” he demanded, and heat flooded my cheeks

  Of course, Kev knew about Léo. I’d only drawn him all over my notebook like a stupid schoolgirl.

  “Better.”

  “Was it good?”

  I gave him a side eye. “Better.”

  The little jerk practically squealed with delight.
Then again, I’d had to listen to him drone on and on about Jake and his sexual prowess for the past few weeks. If I weren’t so conflicted, I’d give more details.

  If I wasn’t so afraid that it was never going to happen again, I’d give more details.

  “Is he bigger than Luke?”

  “Seriously!” I squeaked. But he just stared at me. Waiting. “Yes. Are you happy now?” I retorted. “Much, much bigger.”

  He sighed in appreciation like he could even fathom what I was talking about.

  “Alright, so what’s the problem? Did someone catch you?” He froze. “Wait, where have you been sneaking around? His place? Or at school?”

  I flushed. Another reminder of how stupid I was. I didn’t even know where he was staying while he was in town—aside from the nights that he clearly spent sleeping on the couch in his office.

  “Oh my God. At school. That’s so hot.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “So then tell me what the problem is, or I will just continue to sit here and make embarrassing suppositions,” he replied, nonchalantly leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms.

  “He doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

  “Well, you’re his student, Troy. And he’s not exactly on the good side of the administration. I’m not sure screwing one of his students falls much behind snapping another one in half.”

  “He doesn’t give a shit about that,” I said, taking another sip of the coffee he’d bought me. “Something happened to him. Someone damaged him, Kev, and when I’m with him, it feels like a piece of me dies every time he doesn’t let me fix it.”

  “Explain.”

  “Some woman… an ex… I don’t even know her name. She hurt him and then she died. And now, he’s stuck in this cycle where he can’t fix himself. It’s like unfinished business or something—except the only ghost haunting him is his soul. His career is tanking,” I went on, oblivious to my rambling. “I googled him. The incident with the pen is mild compared to what has happened in Paris. They’ve kept him tenuously on tenure, but he was forced on leave this semester for attacking a student.”

  “Holy shit.”

  I nodded. “He can’t work except with me. And that’s what kills me. You see how he is up there when he speaks—when he talks about the perception behind the work. He wants to create again… he needs to… and he can’t. It’s like this woman put him on permanent pause and left him no option to breathe until he met me. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the project he’s working on. I’ve seen the way what he feels for me has changed him and still he fights it because he thinks it’s going to ruin my future.”

  “And you can fix that?” he asked bluntly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying that’s heavy shit, Troy. And you’ve got a lot already on your plate. Can you… handle it?”

  A sad laugh spilled from my lips. “It’s like I don’t have a choice. If there was a choice to run from this, it feels like I would have had to choose it before even meeting him because he is inevitable.” Inescapable. “And to answer you, I don’t know if I can fix it. I know that he’s better when he’s with me, and he knows it, too. But at the same time there’s this heavy guilt—maybe because I’m his student—who knows? It drags him down—and he lets it. Like he deserves to be finished for how this crazy bitch made him feel.”

  “Tell us how you really feel.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. I just can’t… That’s what I mean when I say it feels like a piece of me dies. When we are together, things aren’t perfect; they’re very, very imperfect. But it’s beautiful and necessary like the perfect thunderstorm instead of a sunny day.”

  I pushed my empty cup over to him and looked down at my hands. Some things you don’t realize—can’t realize—until you’re in the moment. They’re too big, too deep. They surround you before you even realize it.

  “He thinks the storm will drown me—destroy me, Kev. But I can’t seem to make him see the truth. I don’t want sunny days. I want the thunderstorm that makes your soul shake. I want the lightning that rips through even the darkest moments and steals your breath as it brings them to life and light. And I want the rain—the rain that drenches you and washes away your hurt, the rain that fuels you and makes you grow. I don’t want sunshine and rainbows romance. I want earth-quaking and sky-splitting love.”

  The words came out in a rush and once they were out there, I gasped, feeling like I didn’t recognize the person who’d said them. I was the chemist’s daughter. I was the artist’s daughter. I left words to people like Baudelaire—the book now carried around with me for a whole different reason.

  Hesitantly, I looked to him. I could handle more sarcasm—I could handle his jokes about my feelings, I told myself. But I saw none of them in his expression. After a quick wave to fan off his face, he wiped tears from his eyes and reached for me, hauling me against him for a hug.

  “Oh, honey,” he said with a watery voice into my ear.

  Shit, now I was going to start crying.

  “What do I do?” I whispered into his ear.

  “The only thing you can do for ‘earth-quaking and sky-splitting love’… fight for it.”

  I’d had a plan.

  And that meant I should have known, with my luck, nothing was going to happen the way I wanted.

  Recovery was slow for a heart that felt like it was made of those magnetic words you stick on a fridge, just waiting for someone to come around and arrange them into something that made sense.

  Wednesday was particularly painful. I knew it would be—going to class and having to pretend like nothing was wrong while Léo pretended like nothing had happened.

  I forced myself to focus on the first step—dealing with my father. I had all the pieces. I knew what to do—what needed to be said. Still, fear made me slow. And when I finally did call Friday morning, it went to his voicemail. I called him again right before class and it still rang through to his machine. Not getting ahold of him wasn’t part of the plan.

  What was the plan?

  Step one: Accept my father’s apology and apologize to him in turn.

  I needed to clear the air—not just because it was time, but because of step two.

  Step two: Corner Léo in his office Friday after studio and force him to admit that what we had wasn’t going away.

  We were like chemistry—like hydrogen and oxygen. Once we found each other, what we became was like water—essential to living.

  It looked like I was going to have to skip step one and come back to it later. Step two was imperative because Friday was the last day before spring break. I couldn’t go a whole week without seeing him.

  I wouldn’t survive.

  “Miss Milanovic.” My eyes shot up at the deep scratchy bass of his voice. I flinched but didn’t break eye contact when my manila folder containing my midterm paper smacked on my desk.

  A second later he was gone—smacking an identical folder on the desk next to mine as he made his rounds.

  “Holy shit!” Kev exclaimed. “I got an A minus.” He leaned over to me. “How did you do? I bet really well…”

  There was no mistaking the wryness in his tone. After Tuesday, his sarcastic humor began to reinject some levity into my heart-aching dilemma.

  I didn’t care about the grade.

  Still, when I opened the folder and saw the giant ‘B’ staring back in my face, I couldn’t stop the flush of hurt and anger that crashed over me.

  I gave the man my virginity and he couldn’t give me an ‘A’ for fucking effort?

  I groaned at how terrible that sounded. Only Léo would still give me the grade he felt I truly deserved, no matter where I’d begged him to stick his dick.

  “Troy…” Kev drawled out, reaching for my arm to steady me—or to hold me back.

  The desk jumped back a good few inches as I stood and made for the door with Kev on my heels.

  Professor Baudin was in for a sorry surprise if he thought a ‘
B’ was the pinnacle of the indifference that ‘needed’ to be between us.

  It was like clockwork.

  An alarm to signal how things weren’t going to plan.

  It was eight-thirty; it was thirty minutes before the studio class was about to end and that was when my phone began to ring. I didn’t need to look at it to know who had chosen this moment of all moments to call me.

  My dad.

  I chewed on my lip. There were still technically a few minutes left in class. Léo was still at his desk and Luke was still posing. I could do this. I had time.

  I stood and, holding my phone down by my side, darted from the room, heading in the direction of the restroom and hoping that was enough.

  “Hello?” I squeaked, my feet carrying me on autopilot up the stairs that led to the offices.

  “Troian?” my dad replied, and I could hear the disbelief in his voice.

  “Y-yeah. Hi.” Great start.

  “I didn’t…” He cleared his throat—an annoying tick of his; you could always find him in a room because of it. “I didn’t expect you to. I thought maybe you’d called earlier by mistake.”

  Breathe. You can do this.

  “I know. I didn’t though.” I blinked and realized that I was in the office hallway with my back against one of the walls, and Léo’s office was just a couple doors away. “I called on purpose… I called to apologize.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about? I’m the one who made a mistake here, Troy. I’m the one who—”

  “Dad. Please. Just… just let me talk for a sec,” I begged. “I need to apologize to you. I’m not saying you didn’t make a mistake. I’m not saying that you handled this the right way. What I am saying… what I need to say… is that I didn’t do all the right things either. I… was hurt… and I lashed out.”

  I felt my throat getting thicker as all the words I’d bottled up over weeks were finally being poured out and served on the rocks.

  “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you for how you feel. I know… now… that it’s not always possible to… control… how you feel about someone.” I sighed and he waited patiently, even though I was sure it was killing him, for me to continue. “I need you to know why. And not just because my therapist thinks it’s a good idea. What happened hurt me, Dad—in a lot of ways—but the biggest was because I felt like I’d been working so hard my whole life for you to really notice me.”