CHAPTER XII

"Restless nights in one-night cheap hotels..."

(The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot)

you don't know how to allow your heart

to fall, to

sink deeper than your stomach when he enters your sight.

this damned corrosive desire,

slowly rusting your bones and your self:

desire bred this

foolishness.

The following months were the most passionate of Wendy's life.

Discreet as she was, she could never help the rush that came over her when she saw Hook pass the corridors, in the distance as he gave lectures in the conference room, whenever he walked near her. Their fingertips brushing quickly as they walked by becoming a private message between them.

This simple contact was just a silent agreement of what came next, whenever they had the chance of being together alone, somewhere hidden within the university grounds. He introduced her to the confines of an abandoned storage room in the library, she led him to a secret blind spot behind the parking lot. The thrill of being caught, dangerous as it was, contributed to the excitement they felt when they met. It was ridiculous, Wendy knew. It was absurd, unwise, unreasonable… And yet, no matter how much she chastised herself, she could not will herself to end it. And neither could he – so enraptured by her very being, by her acceptance of him.

Once a month, they met in cheap hotels, afraid that his elderly, nosy neighbours would catch on if she visited him too often – never the same hotel two weeks in a row, or never the same room. He was the one who suggested it; and she agreed, though she could acutely feel the awful cliché of it all.

She would always remember the first time she drove to meet him at a second-rate hotel; not too shabby, but not worth any more than the exact amount of money they put on the table for a night there. She had gotten in, registered under a fake name; the hotel keeper handed her the keys to room 505 without asking questions, and all she had to do was to wait. Laying herself on the bed and looking around, Wendy discovered what was to be their love nest during their short escapade. She only saw gray walls that had been modern once, a few cheap frames containing soulless pictures, faded curtains. Even the mandatory Bible kept within the nightstand drawer seemed too tired to pass on a judgment.

Perhaps that should have ashamed her, and perhaps she was ashamed, deep down – realizing this was a gaudy caricature of those romantic outings shared by other couples, the regular ones; those who got away for one paradisaical weekend near the beach, at the mountains, abroad.

Youget what you deserve, she placidly considered. Put good things into the world, and get rewarded. Make low-grade decisions, get low-grade hotels.

It soon became a habit, and sometimes she forgot how mundane it might look, her driving away to meet her lover in low-grade motels, like an unhappily married wife having a tumultuous affair. She knew the hotel attendants were not fooled by their stratagem, but they didn't care – probably used to this kind of thing, not as sulfurous as it would appear as they were probably the fiftieth couple to meet this way during the month.

This always put things in perspective for Wendy. To know that what was happening between them was shared by maybe thousands of couples in this city, that for some, the risk was much higher – divorce from their spouse, separation from their children, rejection from their families and close ones… Well, her own personal and bittersweet torture seemed rather insignificant in perspective. One day, she shared her thoughts with Hook.

"Sometimes, it looks to me as though I'm worrying too much about us."

He was laying on the uncomfortable mattress of their bed, and turned to her to look at her, trying to understand her meaning, a puzzled frown adorning his features.

"What I mean is, you are not married. You don't have any children, and, harsh as it may be, you appear to be already estranged from your family," she continued. "And students having affairs with their teachers is not uncommon – you told me so, once. So I was thinking…"

He cut her straight away, his puzzled look turning into something more hideous – disappointment, disgust.

"Oh no," he began, "No – I did not think you would be like this."

"Like what?" Wendy asked, rebuffed by his sudden disparaging tone.

"Like any young girl who, no matter how smart, is starting to feel like settling down with their lover would be a good idea, ignoring her better judgment in the process".

"That is not what I meant at all!" Cried out Wendy, propping herself up on the bed.

"Then tell me, Wendy, what exactly did you mean?"

For a moment, she had been so put off by his sudden hateful opinion, his disregard for her own perception of the situation, that she could only fume, arms crossed.

"It's no great matter. I only wished to reassure myself, that if, if we got caught, there would be no other injured party than me, and my close ones. You would be, perhaps, frowned upon, but would be able to get away with this regardless. Perhaps even admired for this exciting affair, like your colleague, Mr. Cecco." She paused, and he was moved by her steel-like gaze; for a moment, he almost felt faint. "You would consider me selfish, childish, so easily," she carried on. "While all I cared about was that, twisted as this is… whatever this is, I would not be a homewrecker. I take responsibility in the knowledge that I hurt no one else – that the only life I'd be damaging is my own."

She had never appeared more fierce than at this instant. Now Hook felt something akin to shame, condemning him at the edge of his conscience – something he rarely experienced in his lifetime. He had doubted her, when all this while, she had kept in mind the dangers of their relationship, but was still willing to put herself in the front lines should they be discovered. This self-abnegation was something Hook could never hope to even come close to feel one day, selfish as he was, cruel as he was. For he was a villain after all.

Perhaps it was this realization, that his whole being tried to reject, that repelled him, that moved him to tell her –

"Wendy. Do you remember that day, when you promised me you would not try and pry my secret thoughts from me?" He got closer, cupping her face in one hand. This intimacy was dancing on the edge of comfort, and something inside her flickered. It felt odd, almost wrong, but she remained. "Do you know what I thought then, seeing you – much as I see you now?" She shook her hand, amazed at his behaviour, by the strangeness of it all. "It was a realization that this – this beginning of a convoluted story with you, could vanish at any moment. At a moment during which we would both forget about it ever was a possibility. And yet, I was willing to forget, for an instant. To forget how fragile it all was, and delude myself into believing nothing could happen to –" He stopped abruptly, not able, or willing, to finish his sentence.

When had he become this man – this man softened by feeling? For a second, it almost repulsed her. He appeared so vulnerable. This was not allowed, not by her book. He was not meant to become vulnerable because of her.

She said nothing, but he felt her muscles tightening under his touch. Soon her stare followed, and when she looked at him again, he was struck by how hardened she appeared.

"Wendy, darling –" he started, but she cut him before he could add anything else.

"Do not 'darling' me, James, I beg of you." She pushed his hand away, and he let her. "I don't understand you. One moment, you're spiteful, blaming me for an idea I never mentioned – the idea that what is happening between us could turn into something else than – what, a pleasant, arousing pastime? And the next, well – look at you! You're opening up like you never did, and I'm not sure you meant to do so." He opened his mouth to protest, but she did not allow him to speak. "I wish to make one thing very clear, James, is that you should not give me any kind of hope. Not yet. Not ever, possibly. I never did cling too much to this," she gestured between the two of them, "because I am not 'ignoring my better judgment' for the sake of your alluring blue eyes. And unless you can honestly promise me your intentions go beyond the current benefits of our… arrangement, I won't delude myself. I am content with what we have, so please," and her hardened tone broke down a little, "don't make me expect anything else. I'm way too old for fairy-tales."

For a moment, none of them could break the silence that followed her declaration. She remained still, breathing hard trying to steady her anger, fighting down disappointment. Desperately trying to read the solemn look in Hook's face; but she couldn't decipher him. His gaze, unfaltering, tried to pierce through her own soul – as though the truths she had laid out into the world served the purpose of concealing the new lies she would tell herself.

Then he sighed and moved away from her, ever so slightly, but just enough for her to feel the cold, providing such a stark contrast against the warmth of his body.

"If you're so ready for our downfall, why don't you choose to leave before it's too late?"

She had not been ready for that question, though she had asked it to herself several times before.

"Do you want me to?"

For a second, despite her common sense, she was frightened, afraid of what he wanted to hear.

"Answer the question, Wendy."

Wrapping her arms around her knees and laying her head down to rest, she spoke – more addressing herself to the wall than to him.

"Maybe I should. You're right. It would be easier for us both, wouldn't it?" Wendy closed her eyes and carried on, her voice barely a whisper. "But the truth is – I'm weak. I am not ready for that yet. Flimsy as it all is – I want to hold on to it, just for a little longer. One day at a time." She turned to finally look back at Hook, who had been listening intently. "Is that all right?"

Hook's lips crashed down upon hers.

"Yes. That is all right."

That evening, she gave herself to him as much as he did to her. Perhaps it was wrong to try and figure it out.

They could carry on this way forever – no matter how long "forever" proved to be.

Shorter chapter here, but it does the job, I think. I still hope you'll appreciate how this story goes, despite the slight change of tone that's growing more and more visible with each update.

Also, YES that is a T.S. Eliot quote as a chapter title and NO, I am not ashamed of using this for a slutty fanfiction because the worst thing that happened to the dead poet's memory already happened when Andrew Lloyd Weber made Cats and even more recently when the eponymous film came out. That should have hammered down the last nail in the coffin, so what I'm doing here is mostly - taking an involutary step on the grave or something.