CHAPTER VI

"The refracted light of recollection"

(The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields)

I walk around in these empty streets

Filled with people I will never know

And every face I do not see is yours

"Wendy, darling? Please, don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

It was the third time that her mother had knocked on her door this morning. And it was barely even 10 o'clock.

"Thanks, mom", replied Wendy from across the door, "but I believe the only thing I need today is some rest."

Once she heard her mother's steps turning away from her door, Wendy allowed herself to lay back down onto the thick mattress of her bed, and let her mind wander into nothingness.

They had left Mrs. Dile's house soon after it had started raining. All in all, it had been a rather pleasant reunion. Everyone had had their share of joyous talks; had exchanged about their current lives; had appreciated the warmth of a homely meal in the company of good people. It was only reluctantly that everyone left, forced out by the rain; so much that they had all agreed to say they would meet up again in no time.

And Wendy couldn't look at anyone in the eye – not out of shame, but because she couldn't get herself to focus onto anything. It was as if everything that surrounded her was in a blur, softly escaping from her gaze each time she blinked. She wasn't there. She was wandering into a dream, her feet barely touching the ground, denying her the reassuring grasp of reality. As hard as she might try, she couldn't remember leaving the house, nor did she remember the ride home. Had she talked to her brothers, to her parents, to the host and guests? She might have muttered some thanks that she didn't mean in the least. But beyond that, she was empty of any memory following that – moment.

That moment, when everything finally became true. Real. She had been afraid; but the second his lips touched her neck, every trace of hesitation had vanished – like it had never existed. This denial, this tantalizing denial, had only fueled her desire, burning, from which she couldn't escape, even if she had wanted to. But how could she want to escape, when – at last – his tobacco and pepper scent had reached her? When she felt his teeth, ready to devour her, grazing against the lobe of her ear? And it was all but a fraction of what was to come. Of what he had silently promised her.

Laying down onto the soft fabric of her sheets, Wendy felt empty. It had been three days since – that moment. She couldn't find a name to define what had happened. Her mind was blank.

She was home; she had shared meals with her family, had watched TV with her brothers. But truthfully, something inside her had stirred, stirred so hard that it had knocked her senses out. Her mother had been the first, if not the only one, to notice she hadn't smiled once in three days. Something was off with her daughter, she knew it. She remembered only too well the way Peter had scorned her on the day of the reunion – but deep down, she sensed their argument must have come from something much more complex than a simple fight between friends. Mrs Darling was a meek woman, who was deeply and accurately affected by what happened around her. And as much as she knew her daughter would keep her secrets for herself, she needed to let her know that she was there. Her helping hand would always be extended, even if several years might come and go before her daughter reached for it.

So she allowed Wendy to rest, for now. One day, she might know what it was all about. In the meantime, the only thing she could do was to prepare Wendy's favorite dessert; blueberry pie, hoping it might make her come down from her room. The last time she had prepared it, it had found its way to the neighbour's door, as an apology for the mess Wendy and Peter had made, spilling pink paint onto his freshly mowed lawn.

Mrs. Darling smiled as she remembered the scornful look on her daughter's face, when she had made her knock onto Mr. Hook's door, a piece of her favorite pie in her hand.

"I can't share it with him, mom! It's not fair, you understand? He's our nemesis!" Her mother, surprised, didn't get the chance to ask her where she had learnt that word, as their neighbour's door opened. Mr. Hook was just as gallant and well-mannered as ever, and it had infuriated Wendy when he seemed to genuinely thank them for the attention, telling them that no harm had been done. Mrs. Darling had not seen her daughter dart her tongue at him when she had turned her back, nor had she seen the mischievous look onto Hook's face in return. Yet, two days later, Wendy's proudly home-made tree house had been wrecked by some unknown force. They had blamed the wind, but Wendy held yet another grudge against their terribly polite neighbour.

The sweet smell of blueberry pie softly baking in the oven started to make its way under Wendy's door. Along with it came the reminiscence of this long-forgotten memory. How she had hated her mother, forcing her to meet up with the enemy! How she had hated the look on his face when her mother turned away from his doorstep!

But the smell lingered, and the hate faded. Those mischievous tricks meant nothing now, she told herself, her stomach starting to crave for the dessert awaiting her downstairs. Yet, having all the time in the world, she gave it a second thought.

What if she had never been at war with him when she was younger? What if she had only been just another student, meeting him for the first time a few months ago, unable to strike any interest in the handsome literature professor? If things had been this way, she might have never been in the trouble she was in now.

So maybe it was bound to happen because of it all – after all these tricks, after all this childish hate – something had to give. This passion wasn't nearly as sweet as the dessert that seemed to beckon her from the kitchen. This passion and desire seemed to have been nourished from their previous history together, no matter how different from the present circumstances. They had never known which one of them had won their little war, when she left Peter and her old house. Today, their struggle for dominance – over themselves, and over each other – looked a lot like a way to resolve this old conflict. From this unresolved conflict appeared this sudden and unexpected attraction.

But then again, she reflected, it might have always been there. She might have denied it so strongly during her friendship with Peter that she forgot it, but there had always been some kind of something more than hatred she felt towards Hook. When she had seen those blue eyes for the first time, she had been too young to realize what it was. But now, she could dare to name it. Fascination? Certainly. It isn't hard to impress a little girl: a striking face, some original features, or an impressive dress will do the trick. Therefore, the piercing blue eyes and the dark figure were enough to entrance her, even if she could never have predicted what was to come out of it years later.

Indeed, years later, fascination had grown into something else, something more: a hundred times as powerful, and a thousand times as dangerous. Her friendship with Peter was holding onto a thread; he had no power over her. If she wanted to embrace this fascination for the piercing blue eyes that haunted her dreams, she would. She almost entirely had.

When she remembered, laying – as if disembodied – onto her bed, the way his hand crept and seized the back of her neck, it was her own hand that retraced that path. Unable to reach those lips – although they here, warm at the corner of her mouth, in her memory – she threw her skirt aside, frustrated. Burning with desire.

She allowed her hand to lower down, still imagining, her eyes firmly closed, his own. Fingers started to trace the contour of her breasts; they came up naturally, up to her pink nipple; along with them, up went her hips, looking for some contact. Looking, longing for a body to collide with.

It was his body that she craved for; his. Only his. Still caressing her nipple, Wendy lowered her right hand – slowly. As much as frustration nourished her lust and envy, she didn't wish to succumb to it right away.

She wanted to remember the lingering tension hidden behind every caress, behind every gaze. She took her right hand with her left, pushing it down towards the core of her desire. As if she rehearsed the moment she would have to do the same with Hook. It slipped under the white cotton of her underwear, and made its way around a thick layer of soft dark curls. Without knowing it, her left hand came back up to her face, tracing the contour of her jaw with idle fingers. And, without knowing it, her thumb started to press against the corner of her mouth – that same corner that had her undone, a few days ago.

Increasingly, roughness joined the tips of her fingers, before taking control of her whole hand. Roughness surrounded her as her senses started to confuse; it was all flashes and peaks of pleasure in the midst of pure sensation. Roughness, in both her hands; one that clamped around her neck and that went up again to her mouth in an oblivious back-and-forth motion; another that followed the rhythm of her heartbeats to administrate the most delirious frictions around the erect bud that only she could please. And, among the blur of desire, only one thing was clear.

Clearly, his moans filled her mind; his harsh gasps of breath, his delicious sounds of pure lust – they mingled with hers. She opened her eyes as she reached the highest point of pleasure: his eyes were there. His body was atop of hers, covered in sweat in the dimmed light of her room. Unblinking, she came. The vision of him disappeared along with the echo of her silent scream of pleasure.

It took Wendy a long moment before she came back to her senses, not wanting to let go of the delirious pleasure that had made her so wonderfully powerless. And it took her another long moment before realizing that something had to give – soon. There was no use in fighting it. They were both halfway through – it would take nothing more than breaking off the feeble thread that held them apart to complete the journey together.

She turned her head to the cheap calendar pinned at her wall. Then, looking back up at the ceiling, she felt the corners of her mouth creep up in an abandoned smile.

She were to come back to university in two days. And only one thought seemed to be repeating itself in her mind.

Good.