Part Eight: Jonah
Jonah lay on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was a blank white colour and not hugely inspiring. He should have been revising for the interview tomorrow or trying to get some sleep, but he'd long since given up on doing either. His thoughts were a jumble, his concentration was gone. All he could do was lie here passively and stare at nothing.
Everything reminded him of Cesca. His Spanish book lying on the floor of the room seemed to be a conduit for a thousand images, a thousand memories. She was everywhere tonight. She haunted him.
Sighing in frustration, he rolled over and hid his face in his pillow. She had been given the room next door to his and the idea that she was only a few metres away was almost too much to bear. He reached out and laid his hand on the wall which separated their two rooms, wishing that he could reach right through the wall and touch her. He lay very still, straining to hear something, anything from her room, but all was silent.
His phone beeped and he picked it up, hoping against hope that it was her, that she was asking him to come to her. He gave a small grunt of annoyance on seeing that the message was from Jess. 'Good luck for tomorrow,' it read. He flung the phone at the wall, knowing as he did so that it was an irrational reaction to a perfectly friendly message.
The clock on the wall caught his eye. It was nearly midnight and he really should try and get some sleep. Slowly, lethargically, he got ready for bed and slipped beneath the covers, knowing that sleep would not come easily. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, horribly aware that Cesca slept next door. Time and again, he half got out of bed, wanting to go to her and, time and again, his nerve failed him and made him lie down once more.
Eventually he must have drifted into something approaching sleep because a noise startled him into wakefulness. He lay still for a moment, listening to the noises of the night, not knowing what had woken him. Outside, he could hear the rattle of traffic, in the distance somewhere a door banged shut, muffled voices came from the floor below. None of this should have woken him though.
Then he heard it, a muted choking from the room next door. It was the noise of someone crying and trying desperately not to make a sound. In an instant, he was out of bed and knocking on her door. He knew that he should leave her, that she wouldn't want anyone to see her cry, but at the same time, he couldn't stand the knowledge that she was upset or in pain in the next room and not try to do something about it.
At her door, he hesitated, unsure of the reaction he would find inside. Then, with fingers which shook slightly, he knocked. The sounds from within ceased immediately to be replaced with a silence of that absolute kind which only occurs when someone is trying to fade into the background and pretend they aren't there.
He knew he should take the hint and leave, just go back to his room and pretend he hadn't heard her, but he knew even as he thought it that he'd never forgive himself if he did. He had to check that she was alright.
'Cesca...' he whispered through the door. 'Are you ok?'
There was a pause, then 'I'm fine. Just go back to bed.'
'Please let me in...'
She didn't answer and, for a moment, he was worried that she was simply going to ignore him. Then the door began to inch open. She was wearing a rose pink dressing gown which seemed to have been hastily tossed on. Her face was tearstained, her hair hung in limp strands. For some reason, the thing he noticed the most was the fact that she was barefoot. Without her customary heels, she seemed small, vulnerable, young. She didn't look at all like a teacher.
She looked up at him, her eyes still filled with tears which she was trying without much success to blink back. Without a word, he reached out for her and pulled her to him. For a second, she stayed still in his embrace, not moving or responding, then something inside of her seemed to snap and she pressed her face into his chest, her body shaking as she sobbed.
He guided her into the room, closing the door behind them and sitting next to her on the bed, keeping his arms around her all the time. She was clutching at him desperately now, obviously needing to be as close to him as possible. Her head was buried in the crook of his neck, her arms were wrapped around him. All he could do was stroke her hair and offer words of comfort.
When her sobs subsided, she didn't pull away from him. Instead she nuzzled up against him, her hands gently stroking his face. 'Thank you.' She whispered.
'What for?'
'For coming in and finding me.'
'I heard you crying...' he left the thought unfinished. He wanted to ask why she had been crying, but he wasn't sure of the boundaries between them now, wasn't sure what he was permitted to ask and what would scare her away.
'I'm sorry you had to see me cry. It can't have been attractive.'
At this, Jonah laughed. 'You could never not be attractive.'
He felt her smile against his shoulder. Then she quickly raised her head and kissed him gently on the cheek. She left her head against his for a moment, stroking his cheek with her hand. 'You're very sweet.'
This time she kissed him on the forehead, before returning her head to his shoulder. He wanted to kiss her properly, to feel the searing heat of her lips on his as he had felt once before, but something made him hold back. He sensed that she wasn't ready for that.
'I suppose you want to know why I was crying...'
'Only if you want to tell me.' He kept his voice gentle, kept stroking her hair, soothing her.
'I was crying because I don't know what's happening to me.'
'What do you mean?'
She looked up at him then, her dark eyes finding his. 'I've never felt like this before. About anyone. And it's scaring me.'
He was amazed that she could be scared of anything. She was always so confident, so sure of herself. 'I'm scared too,' he said. And he meant it.
'Let's take things slowly. Let's be friends first.'
He nodded, unable to speak because of the bubble of emotion which seemed to be filling up his chest. She had just admitted that she felt something for him, that there was a possibility of a relationship between them Eventually he found his voice. 'We can take things as slowly as you like.'
He suddenly realized that being alone with her in a bedroom late at night was probably not the best way to take things slowly and, reluctantly, he disentangled himself from her. 'I should go,' he said very softly.
She didn't resist when he stood up, but just as he was about to open the door, she called him back. 'Stay with me tonight.' Her words were so soft that, for a moment, he thought he'd imagined them.
'Cesca?' he turned back to her, questions written in his eyes.
'I don't want to be on my own.' She was still seated on the edge of the bed. She had drawn her knees up to her chest and looked more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. All those defences she put up around her in the classroom were gone. The facade of confidence had vanished.
Still he hesitated, not wanting her to regret anything in the morning.
'Please...' The emotion she put into the word was too much for him to bear. He joined her on the bed again, took her in his arms again.
She pulled him down so that he was lying on his back and then. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, she curled up next to him with her head on his chest. 'Just hold me,' she whispered 'I need you to hold me.'
