"A man wishes his students a good evening.", he said to the assembly.
He had spent the last hour scrutinizing the room. His lack of attention had even made him lisp two times.
Where was the lovely girl?
Maybe she was sick. Or maybe she had too much homework. Or maybe she had other plans for this Thursday evening.
He hoped these plans did not involve the brother Jon. Her cheeks always reddened and her gaze drifted away when she spoke about him. Of course, at first he thought she was just being a bit socially awkward, like a lot of people, because it was her brother she was talking about. But the recent explanation that they had not seen each other for years, added to the fact that she had said that he was her adopted brother had him suspect that there might be some unspoken things between the two "siblings". It had not startled him as much as one might think though. He had seen worse. So much worse.
But he did not like to think that she was sick and that brother Jon was taking care of her. That image unsettled him.
Because adopted siblings are still siblings? A voice in him asked.
Or because you're jealous?
He shut the voice. He could not wonder about that. He could not be jealous. The situation didn't allow it.
But if she were sick or could not come to his lesson for whatever reason, she would have at least texted him, right? She had his number, and all the reasons to think that he'd like to know why she skips his classes. Maybe he should text her and ask if everything was alright. What if something bad had happened to her? There were on average 3 deaths on the road per day in this country, what if she was caught in-
He shut his flow of thoughts. He should not be wondering so much.
The lovely girl did not come today. Statement. Get on with it.
Well, maybe it was a good thing. He was not sure if he could hold himself much longer if she kept on so naively daunting him. And now he had reached the point he dreaded, the point where it would not only be bad for her, but also for him. He shouldn't care so much.
She was truly a mystery. Who could have guessed that the bored and lonely teen he had met a few months ago would enjoy testing his limits so much? She was always there with her fake innocent eyes, daring him to approach her and deal with the consequences of getting so attached. He had thought she was shy at first, and that messing around with her a bit would only amuse him and help her with her supposedly empty social life. It turned out this wasn't Arya Stark at all.
She was not truly shy, only an introvert who liked to carefully pick the people she cared about, and after she explained him about her deceased family, it actually made a lot of sense. But during all the time he discovered her, he had not taken the good measures. He had not paid attention to bracing himself against her increasing charm, and now he cared. Too much.
He shouldn't have gifted her these books. Not that he cared about these dusty antiques, as a theatre teacher he had no use of them. Why the hell did he do that? Why were the grades of a high-schooler suddenly important to him? But another question had raised his interest. She seemed to find some entertainment in playing the temptress recently. He had never found any intellectual stimulation in girls who placed their entire confidence on their looks, he had only been physically attracted to them and bedded seductresses of their kind to fulfil his own desires. But her, her temptations were not about looks (well, not fully, she was an interesting aesthetic, something unconventionally attractive, he couldn't deny it), but there was something about her charm he couldn't unravel. But that wasn't the question. The question was: Why did he allow it to work?
He cursed in his head.
What was going on? Why couldn't he keep his thoughts off this one? It was not like he had not known women before. Was it her youth that made her so attractive? Was it the fact that he did not allow himself to properly bed her that made him want her even more badly?
No. The lovely girl was like that. She enjoyed breaking rules for the sake of braking them, but that wasn't Jaqen H'ghar. And as fiercely as he wished to deny it, it was not the physical attraction that made him break his own rules.
Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Maybe he had taken pity over her for her difficult past, her recent losses, for the confused look that she allowed her face to adorn when he caught her off guard. She looked confident most of the time, but if one scratched a tiny bit on that hard surface they might notice the mysteriousness in her gaze. And that was tantalizing.
But all teens are confused. Nothing made her truly special. And he'd get bored with her pretty easily should he unravel the riddle that she was, because he'd discover that she's like all the girls her age. A confused little girl who likes to believe that she's different.
Yes. Surely.
And maybe if he repeated that to himself more often, it would someday not sound as wrong any more.
She was mad. She would not cry, not for this bastard. And they had been nothing. There had been nothing but mere attraction between them. If she compared, what she had felt for Jon was closer to love than any of the disturbingly…disgusting- absurd things he made her feel.
So why was she so disappointed?
And why had she asked Bran to track down the email address to know more?
She knew that whatever she'd find would only disappoint her more. God, what if he had kids that went along with this beautiful wife? What if she'd find out that he had a pretty, boring house somewhere, filled with the innocent laughs of little blue-gold eyed babies?
She had sent her brother the text, seeking his help anyway. She had looked on the internet, but the ways to find out if someone was married were either to check the local papers (and she had no idea where he got married, maybe it was Germany, or somewhere else. Maybe Italy, the wife had an Italian tinge to her looks, or so Arya thought) or hire a private investigator, and she was definitely not spending a single penny on this cheating dog.
So she sent a text to Bran. He didn't ask why she needed to know the address, and she was sure he didn't even click on the pictures. Bran was like that. He only cared about the challenge of tracking down the email address.
She would tell them all, her siblings, someday, what happened between her and that teacher. Or maybe not. But maybe she would. Or maybe she'd just say that there was indeed something, that they had spun around the other for some time and played kissy face like foolish high-school girls experimenting with their sexuality. But in a few years, when she wouldn't feel betrayed anymore, when she'd feel like she could laugh about how stupid she was and look back at it with a wiser gaze.
Now she just needed to know if it was real. She needed to see the pretty house and the cute babies and the beautiful wife to believe that he was as huge of a bastard as she thought he was. Then she could walk in his bloody class on a Saturday morning. She'd let him think that everything is fine. He'd feel the tension, obviously, she was not as good at suppressing her emotions as he was. She wasn't a professional adulterer who's at ease with lies and stuff.
But when he'd ask her what's wrong, or better, if he'd try to kiss her, she would slap him hard in his pretty face and leave so quickly that he wouldn't even understand what's going on. Then she'd text him his own freaking wedding picture.
He was much bigger than her and her slap would probably be like a mosquito sting to him. But she had to slap him. If she couldn't hurt him emotionally, she'd hurt him physically.
She had thought about finding his wife and kids and tell them he was just a lying cunt.
But then she thought about the fact that almost nothing happened. He hadn't promised her some huge wedding or a house and a bunch of kids together. He hadn't promised her anything serious, they hadn't even slept together. And while thinking about that she had realized he might have never intended to. That 18 years old rule was kind of too ridiculous, even for him. Maybe he had planned on just toying with her, and he had decided to settle that rule only to keep her away for the needed amount of time, at the needed amount of distance for him to have fun but so that she wouldn't become an actual part of his life.
The wife and the kids had to stay out of that. God, it was so awfully weird to imagine him coming home after every course, after their fucking trip to Germany, and act the part of the good father and the faithful husband. He didn't fit in that picture. It was way too…normal.
It wasn't real, right? He… he couldn't be married…
She had to punch something.
"Hey", Sansa entered after knocking. She had a cup of steaming green tea in her hand, and Arya knew she had put two big spoons of honey in it, just like she liked it.
"You feeling better now?"
Of course, Arya had to come up with an excuse for not going to theatre a couple of hours ago. She had settled on saying that she felt a little sick. Surely her drained expression after the tremendously long day at school, fighting against the urge to cross the street and kick a certain redhead in the balls had helped convince her older sister.
"Yeah, thanks for that. It'll be much better tomorrow. I think it's just a cold.", she answered, taking the steaming cup in her hands. She was snuggled up in her bed, open books lying all around her because she hadn't been able to decide which one she wanted to read.
"You should probably trade your tees for sweatshirts. I know we're in LA but it's still December."
She looked around the messy room. Arya saw in her eyes that the piles of clothes on the ground and the books and all the random shit that was laying on the floor irked her sister, and that made the young one grin. Her room was her temple, and the neat and tidy ballerina wasn't allowed to touch anything there.
"Wow, where did you find these?", the pretty redhead said, holding up one of the old books that laid on her desk.
"My physics teacher told us about these when I was in High-school! He told us they were the best to learn the intricate formulas, but I never actually had the chance to lay my hands on a real one, he talked about them like they were pieces of art. How did you manage to get two?", she continued, going through the pages without paying attention to what was written.
The image of Jaqen's face flashed in Arya's mind, associated with the crumbly covers of the books that she hadn't dared to touch since she had learned the truth about his marital status. It was like a dagger piercing right through her throat. She had even called him sweet for caring about her so much. What a fool I was.
"My uh-… my theatre teacher gave them to me."
"The one who likes you?", she asked, bubbly and joyful. She meant it as teasing, so Arya concentrated to smile back and act as if she were embarrassed. Had she acted like that in front of him, he would have given her that look, with one of his brows raised and his eyes telling her that she could do better.
"Why would a theatre teacher have books about maths and physics?", she continued.
"I don't know.", the brunette answered, he gaze distant.
She truly did not know. She didn't want to know. She didn't care if he had a whole library about maths and physics, and she didn't care that he made no sense. She didn't want to hear another word about him.
"I should work some.", she said crawling out of the bed where she had been reading (or 'holding a book and planning on ways to get her revenge in her thoughts', rather). Her voice sounded tired.
"Dinner's ready in five minutes-"
"Eat without me.", she said, sinking in her desk chair.
"Are you sure?", Sansa sounded concerned, and the tone of her voice was breaking her a little.
"You alright? You know, you shouldn't skip meals, even if you think you're not hungry-"
"I'm fine San, really. I just-", she took a shaky breath in. Don't cry. Don't you dare. She didn't even know why she suddenly felt like crying. Maybe she'd be on her period in a couple of days and her hormones were going mad.
"I don't want to retake a grade another time."
In truth, she wanted to be alone. And she still wouldn't meet Jon. Somehow she had managed to dodge him, and their only conversation since yesterday morning and her comment about his relationship with Ygritte had been a cold 'Hi' and dry 'Bye'.
Sansa nodded, convinced by her little show, and left. For an hour Arya sought peace and quiet. She could hear the low grumble of Jon's voice from the other side of the wall, in the kitchen where he was eating. He was probably telling Sansa about his day, and the older sister giggled at times. Arya couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, but the cheerful sound of his voice made her smile.
She wanted to hug him. To feel safe in his powerful arms. Of course she'd never tell him that he was right about everything, she had her stupid pride. But she wanted him back, she wanted to snuggle up with him like before when they were kids and talk for hours under the warm blanket.
She looked out the window, and the sky was dark. The flat had been quiet for a while. She checked the time.
0:23
Had she spent the last three hours doing nothing? Just blankly staring?
She looked at her unfinished maths exercise.
That can wait
She got out of her cave and saw the rest of meatpie on the counter top in the kitchen, next to a halfway empty plate of vegetable lasagna. Sansa had been experimenting with vegan dishes lately because all of her model friends were following weird diets and cutting out gluten or carbs or whatever, and she felt left behind with her "normal" lifestyle. But Arya appreciated that her big sister was not blindly following the movement like a sheep and still cooked what she liked on the side of her supposedly healthier experimentations.
She nibbled some at the crust and ate of bit of the over salted meat, and then took a quick shower to refresh. Despite not being really sick, she still felt a bit under the weather. The news of last night had been kind of difficult to swallow, and she felt as if she had just been hit by a truck.
Why was that? She only knew that guy for like… three little months, and they hadn't been "together" as a couple, they had barely been friends. They had only kissed a couple of times. And that was it. So why did this revelation have such an impact?
Some crafted images invaded her mind again. Yesterday evening, before checking her stupid email box, she had imagined taking a run with him, or go out to that Indian restaurant. She had even wondered what kind of movies he liked so that they could maybe organize an evening together when she'd be on her own in the apartment. Even then she knew it was dumb to day dream about things that'd never happen, but she hadn't been able to suppress the wish to spend more time with him.
Ugh
She should probably slap herself each time she thought about him again from now on. Why had he invaded her mind so?
Her fists tightened when she looked at herself in the mirror after her cold shower, wet hair, skin so white she looked like a zombie, and the tiny amount of mascara that she hadn't removed smudged on her face making her look like a sad raccoon. Yeah, she did feel like slapping herself. Slapping that stupid, naive face, to wake that silly imp from her dreamy made-up life and face her with reality.
In real life, cute forty year old teachers are happily married and don't care about bloody high-schoolers. She shouldn't even find forty year old teachers attractive, she was a fucking seventeen year old.
She got out of the small bathroom in her oversized shirt that served her as nightwear, her feet soft on the ground to not make a sound. The flat was empty and quiet, and she felt like a cat gliding in the silent streets of the night. She should probably sleep, she had class early in the morning.
But Jon's door was too appealing. She hoped he wasn't asleep yet.
She didn't bother to knock, if he were asleep she wouldn't wake him. She turned the handle slowly to not make it creak and managed to get a look inside his bedroom. He was in bed obviously, it was almost 1am. Maybe she shouldn't bother him when he had training so early in the morning.
"Hey.", she heard his rusty voice.
She slipped in the room.
For a moment they just looked at each other in the eye. She could guess his features despite the lack of light. She knew his brown eyes were looking at her almost emptily, waiting for her to say the first word. But she knew his mouth wasn't flat and that it adorned a gentle smile to encourage her.
"I uh… I'm sorry. About what I said yesterday.", she said, her voice flat though she meant it.
She saw his smile grow larger. The light glow of the moon kissed his face like a veil that embraced his features.
"Aye, I know you are."
She thought about leaving right now, but she didn't want to. So she sat down, and then laid next to him. His bed was softly warm, and it smelled of him. It smelled manly, with a tinge of that foresty smell that always floated around him. Maybe it was his deodorant that smelled like that, and after using it everyday the smell had impregnated in his skin. She loved it.
He shifted and took her in his arms, laying her head on his chest. He was warm, and his bare chest was like a gentle ray of sun on her cheek.
God, how good it felt to be in his arms. She felt so… safe.
"Maybe you were right.", he said.
The sound of his voice made his chest vibrate under the side of her face. She heard him gulp down, and she sensed his face loose it's gentle expression to grow sad.
"Can I tell you something?", he growled.
She smiled. It was just like these evenings they spent at Winterfell eight years ago.
"Of course.", she willed her voice to be reassuring.
He took a deeper breath in and it made her head move gently up and down again.
"I don't think I love Ygritte."
She circled her hands around him. She didn't really know what to do with this information. What should she tell him?
"What you said, it… it got me thinking.", he continued.
"Jon, I… I wanted you to leave me alone, I didn't mean to-"
"No, I know Ar, I just…", his arms closed more tightly around her.
"I just… You were right, I should focus more on my own business before messing up with yours. We… Ygritte and I, we've been together for almost a month now, and I know it's not a lot, but… I don't know, something's telling me that it's not quite… right, you know?"
Her smile died, although he couldn't see it. She understood him. That was what her whole life felt like. Not quite right.
"And… I don't think she loves me either. I think she got with me because I'm the new guy in town, like… sometimes I just feel like fresh meat to her. And I got with her… I don't know, I think I felt lonely, and I liked the idea of having a girlfriend more than I liked actually dating her. I don't want to be selfish like that, I don't want either of us to waste our time, because… I just know, I just know she's not the right one."
Please Jon, just… stop talking…, she begged inwardly, while biting her lower lip hard to restrain the tears. He shouldn't be telling her this, and she should not be letting his words sparkle hope in her.
I'd be right for you- she shut the voice, she wanted to stifle it, to destroy it. No, please no, don't think about that Arya…
It was so horribly wrong, so disgustingly inappropriate.
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his skin, soft and firm and forbidden. She kept her hands from wandering, despite the urge growing in her belly when his started to draw random shapes on her back. She didn't want to shiver like that each time his fingers brushed a new inch of her flesh on top the shirt, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't help her body from reacting at his touch.
"If you're looking for advice, I'm not sure I'm the one you should refer to.", she managed to say in a flat voice.
He said nothing, and his fingers moved slowly from her shoulder blades to her lower back. She knew it was want that strangled her so, but she refused to pay any attention to it, despite the fact that a voice in her mind was screaming, begging for him to move under the shirt.
He doesn't mean it like that, freak
He had just admitted not being in love with his girlfriend, he was looking for advice and someone to reassure him, and she felt awful because all she could do was think about herself and fall deep into that dangerous void, again.
No, she refused to pay it attention. She'd manage to kill those impure seeds, one by one if she needed. And the first thing she had to do was be honest with him. She took a deep breath in, and swallowed her ego. He had admitted that she was right about Ygritte and him, so she'd be an adult too.
"You were right too. About my theatre teacher."
He clenched his teeth.
"I swear if he laid a single finger on you I'll find him and beat the shit out of-"
"No." she stopped him.
"Let me do that myself."
"What did he do to you?!", he tensed up but she remained calm.
"Nothing, Jon, really, believe me. Nothing serious at all. I just… I got carried away, and I got a hard slap in response."
"What?! He slapped y-"
"No!", she laughed. Never had she feared that he'd hurt her physically, despite his apparent strength. Although she knew she didn't know him as well as she thought.
"I mean a figurative slap, he… I discovered that he's married."
"Oh.", she felt him relax.
"I'm sorry."
She scoffed.
"No you're not."
"Let me rephrase it: I'm glad this'll keep you away from him, but I'm sorry that it makes you sad.", he ran his fingers through her wet hair.
"You looked like you liked him."
"And it looked like you were really annoyed by that."
He sighed and caressed her hair in a soothing motion.
"It hit me, you know. When I left Winterfell you were this little girl who didn't even know how babies are made. I came back eight years later and…"
"I became that girl who fools around with her older teachers.", she said mockingly.
"No, you're not that kind of girl. I know you. You're just… you're so different. And I think I have to get used to the fact that you're not the fragile baby sis anymore. You're stronger than you look."
She was grateful for his acknowledgement, but she wasn't sure he was right. She had been naive and foolish, the very stereotype of the stupid high-schooler in love with a freaking married teacher.
No, I wasn't in love, she corrected herself.
I was just… hoping for a little more. That's not love.
There was silence for a moment. The nights were lively in LA, there were always cars passing by under the flat's windows, alarms or sirens or random lights showing through the curtains. The city was never asleep, always buzzing, and sometimes she missed the real quiet of Winterfell.
"I missed you.", he said again when she thought he'd fallen asleep.
She grinned.
"It's not even been two days since we haven't talked.", she answered.
"No, I mean… during all these years. Almost what, eight years? We didn't text, we didn't call, I didn't… I trapped myself in my little bubble, we all did the same in our own corner of the world. I got used to being away and have zero way to communicate with the outside world, but… until I came back, I hadn't realized how much I missed you. I never want to be away from you for so long ever again, from any of you."
She didn't look at him. She couldn't. If she did, she'd be tempted to kiss him. And she didn't, absolutely did not want to be tempted to kiss him. Because he didn't mean it like that, how could he mean anything beyond his words? Why was her mind twisting and writhing and shouting for something that wasn't even close to be real?
"Me neither, Jon.", she whispered, burying her face in his chest.
"Me neither."
She woke up in Jon's bed. He had been gone for an hour, and she heard her clock ring from the other side of the wall. First thing she did was unlock her phone to see a text from Bran.
ProfessorX: I wasn't able to track down the email address, but I know where the email was sent. Idk what you're looking for, but the person was there when they sent you the message: 515 Essos Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90019, USA.
Arya tightened her jaw, but couldn't help but feel the punch in her guts. She was getting close to the dreaded answer. Essos Boulevard was the highest ranked area of LA, where all the fancy flats where, the gourmet restaurants, the Louis Vuitton shops and everything.
She could imagine him live there. She could picture him exactly, coming home every night to his beautiful wife.
She'd slap him so, so, so hard in his pretty face.