For the remainder of class, he lectured on, and what was a cold demeanor became absolutely resentful and angry by the end of the night. He dismissed the class early and left before most students had a chance to even collect their belongings, and as she drove home, she felt finally some measure of vindication. He’d hurt her, and like the immature young woman she was, she wanted to hurt him back for it. She’d succeeded, and it felt good.
By the time Friday night rolled around, the last thing Ember wanted was to go on a date with Josh. He was far too young for her, and she wasn’t the least bit attracted to him. But it was the price to be paid for her ploy, and as he picked her up at the curb in front of her apartment, she put on her brave smile that usually looked more startled animal than brave, and she sank into the front seat of his car.
Ember rarely dated, but when she did, it was nearly always an older man, at least by a few years. She appreciated the calm mannerisms of a man older than herself, and though she had dreadful nightmarish memories of an older man, they still felt safer to her for some reason. They moved with more intention, they spoke with more thought, and she never felt as though they were being led by their hormones rather than their brains. Josh seemed nice enough, but like most boys his age, he had the look of sexual desperation written all over his demeanor. She hated that look. It was what chilled her body and left her ready to flee from men—from all, that is, but Truman.
He’d looked at her with longing. He showed his want, and he could barely contain his desire for her on the day she’d invited him up to her apartment, but oddly enough, his desire never scared her, and she wouldn’t have thought for a moment of fleeing. Instead she welcomed his desperate touch and aroused needs and matched them with her own. It made no sense to her whatsoever, and sadly, the man next to her tonight incited none of those responses.
Dinner was pleasant enough, the movie was nothing more than an excuse not to speak to him, and as they climbed into his car, he asked the question she was dreading. “Do you want to come to my place for a while?”
His words were hopeful, his eyes were pathetic, and Ember’s skin was suddenly bristling with goose bumps. Hell no she didn’t want to go home with him. “I better not. I have a long day tomorrow.” She had absolutely nothing whatsoever going on the next day. “If you could take me home, I’d appreciate it.” Then feigning a yawn that came out more like she was trying to clear a bug from her throat, she continued, “It’s getting late.”
In truth, Ember was growing wary of his interest. He’d behaved himself, but he leered with too much want showing in his eyes. He touched without her permission, and while his touch was innocent, the desire behind it frightened her. She was patiently biding her time until she could escape him, and as he navigated his car through the streets of Portland, she envisioned herself opening the door of her apartment and smelling her own safe sanctuary. She imagined locking the door behind her, raiding the fridge, throwing on comfortable sweat pants, and relaxing for the first time all evening. She didn’t like this tension, and she was ready to be done with it.
As he pulled to her curb, he stepped from the car, and she inwardly groaned. Ten feet to go, and he was going to make her deny him a kiss. She could sense it coming; there was no other purpose to him stepping from his car, and as she walked hastily to the door of her apartment building, he caught up to her, placed a gentle hand on her arm, and backed her against the entryway as she panicked. He wasn’t being violent or aggressive, he simply believed she would reciprocate, and as his mouth moved to hers before she could stop it, he kissed her. He pushed his tongue past her lips and her body to the wall. She was terrified and panicked, and as she finally found her strength, she put a hand to his chest and pushed him away.
“What the fuck!” His voice was defensive, and she cowered.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not interested.” Her voice was far quieter than she wanted to be, and her fear was evident as her voice wavered.
“Then why the hell did you agree to go out with me? Huh?”
She still couldn’t look at him as her heart pounded away in her chest and her fear rose by the second. He was angry, and while he wasn’t being violent or giving her any reason to think he would, she wanted to scream. She wanted to flee, and she was ready to hit him if he came even one step closer. Such was the life of a victim—she’d lost her perspective long ago in a dark basement filled with shadowy and terrifying memories. Studying psychology endlessly for years had helped Ember understand herself well, but it failed to undo the responses that were so programmed into her. This boy likely didn’t deserve her terror, but he had it, and with every passing second, she came one second closer to having a panic attack that she knew would leave her in hysterics.
She was hugging the wall of the building, cowering, and when he saw just how close she was to panicking, he held his hands up in placation. “Jeez, Ember. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“She told you she wasn’t interested. You should leave now.” As she cowered, his voice purred its soothing and warm, protective statement. When she looked up, he was there. Truman stood between her and Josh, who was now back out on the sidewalk. Josh looked from one to the other of them as Truman held his ground. “Please, Josh. You need to leave.” His words were demanding but gentle. Josh backed away and rounded his car for the driver’s side.
He pulled away from the curb quickly, and as Ember’s gaze followed the car out into traffic, Truman spoke as he walked away. “Good night, Ember.”
“Were you following me?” Her voice sounded mildly accusatory. In truth, she didn’t care if he was; she just didn’t want him to leave.
Turning to her slowly, he studied her. His expression was unreadable, but as he nodded, his eyes flitted away in what could only be embarrassment. Soon they found hers again, and he spoke once more. “I’m sorry.” And with that, his gaze dropped from hers again.
“Why don’t you like me?” Her voice sounded quiet and meek as she spoke, but it had been a long week with this question running circles in her mind, and she had to speak while she still had the strength to.
His brow furrowed, his mouth grimaced in what looked like pain, and he shook his head slowly. He looked defeated and broken, and he still refused to look up. With one final shake of his head, he turned from her and walked away. She wanted to stop him. She wanted to beg him. She wanted to scream at him. His rejection hurt for the second time in so short a time, and as she entered her apartment alone, she tossed on an oversize T-shirt and collapsed on her couch. He followed her. Why? She must mean something to this man, but what it could possibly be, she couldn’t fathom. And as she started to drift off to sleep, there was a knock at her door, and she rose.
Even as he knocked he was wrestling with the decision to return. It wasn’t a decision at all. It was desperation—plain and simple. He shouldn’t, but he had to. She couldn’t feel hurt by him, not him. She couldn’t feel the sting of his rejection because there was no rejection. He accepted every last thing about her, and she’d accepted him once too. It was the most hopeless feeling in the world, knowing he’d lose her someday, knowing she could never see him the way he wanted her to, but as his hand rose to her door, he was suddenly calm and coursing with need. He’d deal with her mortality later, he’d cope with never being able to show himself to her some other day. Right now, he just wanted her.