28. Hope
My legs were like lead by the time I reached the lecture hall. As soon as I stepped into Dr. Barton's class, I knew I'd made a mistake. I was a few minutes late, which meant my entrance had garnered the attention of almost everybody inside. As I moved towards the steps, I could feel hundreds of eyes on me.
The urge to turn and run was almost impossible to resist.
If you run now, you'll always run, I told myself. Anxiety wrapped like a tight fist around my ribcage but I forced myself to place one foot in front of the other, moving further down the aisle. Dr. Barton continued his lecture as though there'd been no interruption, and I could see the curiosity waning on the faces of those close to me.
I found my eyes roving over the seats, my hands starting to shake.
But I knew he wasn't there. I had no idea how I knew, only that there was no pull, no tug of curiosity or awareness stemming from some prescient instinct inside of me. When Diesel had appeared outside, I'd had had my suspicions, but knowing for sure that he wasn't inside, I felt —
Relieved.
The thought of facing him was harder than the thought of making it to the front of the lecture hall. My heartbeat started to race at the thought and a tremor of pure panic rippled through me.
I wasn't ready.
I wasn't even sure what to think about it, not yet. A part of me was still struggling to marry the person I thought I knew with the image he'd presented me with himself, even as the signs were becoming more and more apparent. I had been disillusioned before, but those circumstances had been vastly different. A part of me had expected it then, but for some reason, this time I had been utterly fooled.
And as angry as I was with him for what he did... I was just as angry with myself for not realizing it on my own.
I slid into a free seat near the front of the room next to a dark-haired girl. I tried to hide the shaking of my hands as best I could, but I could tell by the dubious look on her face that I hadn't fooled her. I pulled a notepad and pen out of my bag, and tried to settle into my seat.
"... One of the oldest accounts of Roman werewolf mythology is actually quite detailed," Dr. Barton announced to the class. He clicked onto the next slide, which was an image depicting a Roman officer and a taller, more muscular man with bright, golden eyes and a slightly elongated face. The painting was so eerily similar to Diego and Viktor, that I felt my heartbeat stutter in my chest. The man was wearing an emerald cloak, with strange black markings on the hood. "According to this legend, the werewolves were known as the Guardians of Rome. They were a secret force, not unlike our own Secret Service, under the command of the Emperor. The werewolf depicted in this painting was known as the Consul — their leader, and the only one who had direct contact with the Emperor. According to legend, this was how the empire became so powerful."
"Right," the girl next to me snorted. "Wouldn't the legend be more 'well-known' if a bunch of hairy mutts were running around fighting for the Romans?"
"Maybe they ate all the witnesses," her friend murmured.
I saw the corners of Dr. Barton's lips twitch, like he was amused, and I realized that he could hear them. Of course — he was a lupi. A flicker of anger rose in my chest, overriding my panic, as Diego's words flitted through my mind before I could stop them.
"When you enrolled in Robert Barton's class, I ordered him to sign me up too. He used his position to enrol me in a few other anthropology classes last semester, so I could learn more about you."
He continued on with the lecture, oblivious to my escalating anger. The next slide depicted a giant wolf engaging in a fight with four armed men, its grey fur coated in blood. I watched as slide after bloody slide appeared on the screen, paintings of battlefields and beheaded soldiers flicking by.
"It is simply the way our world works."
"That's... barbaric."
"You may think so."
By the time the lecture came to a close, my nerves were completely frayed. I remained in my seat while the crowd filtered out of the hall, the noise levels rising. I packed up slowly, pretending to smooth down the front of my notepad as the rows emptied.
When it was just Dr. Barton and me left, I approached the podium. My hands were shaking a little, but I couldn't tell if it was from fear, anxiety — or just plain anger. Dr. Barton was tidying up his own belongings and when I stepped onto the raised platform, he looked up, a neutral expression on his wrinkled face.
"Ah, Ms. Alcott," he said.
"You know who I am, then," I said carefully.
"I know each of my students by name." He tapped his head and offered me a thin smile. "Superhuman hearing."
"Oh." I hovered awkwardly near the stage, willing my heartbeat to slow a little. It was weird knowing what he was. As a professor of anthropology, he'd seemed — old, bookish. But up close, there were little details about him that didn't quite add up to his work persona. Despite his wrinkles, there was an aura of vitality about him — the same aura that had surrounded Madalena. Instead of seeming feeble or frail, he seemed almost... powerful.
And he knew about me. At least, he knew that I knew the truth, which meant he must have talked to Diego about me.
Or he knew about my kidnapping...
"Have you a question about today's lecture?" he asked.
"Actually, I wanted to know if it would be possible to transfer out of this class and into a different one."
Dr. Barton paused, his hands hovering over the clasp of his briefcase, and frowned. "Ah, you mean one without Mr. Morales. That won't be necessary, Ms. Alcott. As Mr. Morales is not a student here, he will no longer be attending classes."
"He really isn't a student, then?" I shouldn't have been surprised — but I was, a little. A part of me hadn't expected him to just stop so suddenly, especially given the fact that he believed he was in love with me. It wasn't that I wasn't relieved — I definitely was — but something wasn't sitting right in the pit of my stomach, like his actions didn't quite match his words.
"No," Dr. Barton confirmed. He turned to leave and I followed after him, nowhere near finished.
"How can you condone what you did?" I asked, the words, laced with anger, spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them. "You knew he was... stalking a student. It's unethical of you to help him."
Dr. Barton spun around, brows furrowed in an expression that was part resigned, part sympathetic. "You forget that Diego is a figure of authority to me, not the other way around."
"That doesn't make him right."
"No," Dr. Barton agreed, "but if I make those decisions for myself, then what is the point of having an authority figure at all?"
My brows rose. "So you'll follow his instructions mindlessly?"
Dr. Barton sighed and lowered his briefcase. He beckoned for me to follow him over to the set of chairs at the back of the podium, and lowered himself onto one of the plastic seats. I perched on another one, folding my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking.
"I'm sure you've been paying attention in my lectures?"
I nodded. "Mostly."
"Well, then you realize that the lupi... they're more animal than man. It's in our nature to be. We crave authority; it's instinctive for us to seek out others like us, to seek safety. There are a few dominant men born among us with the desire to lead and it's those types that we gravitate towards. Something inside of us recognizes their power, and their ability to protect us." He shrugged. "We crave that comfort and if we are forced to endure a few moral challenges, it is a cross we bear for the greater good of the lupi."
"But from what Madalena told me, and what I saw last week... Diego isn't leading you," I pointed out. "He's running away from his responsibilities." And following me instead.
"Diego is not a natural born leader," he answered. "But he is still our leader because he chose to be, for whatever reason."
I frowned. "But doesn't it irritate you that he neglects you all?"
"Some of us are becoming restless, yes," he allowed. "But we have Viktor. Many of us expect Viktor to take over from Diego the night of the full moon."
I laughed bitterly. "They expect him to kill Diego, you mean."
"Diego made his choice."
"Well, what if he made the wrong one?" I demanded. "You're all going to kill him for making a mistake?"
I got to my feet, that jittery feeling returning to the pit of my stomach. I couldn't understand how he — and everybody else — could be so blasé about the idea of killing one of their own. As angry as I was with Diego — as furious and violated as he had made me feel — I didn't want this for him. Because it was my fault he was in this position — my fault that he had allowed Viktor to challenge him when he so clearly wasn't ready.
A part of me wanted to get out of this world as fast as humanly possible, to shove every lupi or supernaturally inclined person out of my life — but another part of me felt too guilty to just exit.
A conflagration of fury burned in my chest, and no amount of suppressing it could fully extinguish the flames.
I hated that I felt so vulnerable. I hated that I freakin' cared at all. I hated that he'd put me in this position, and I hated that I'd let him get close enough to do so.
But most of all, I hated that my fury was so pointless — because as soon as the full moon rose, he'd be too dead to endure the true weight of it.
And I'd never truly understand why.
Why he did, what his motives were.
Because he'd be dead.
A cold, sort of numb feeling stole over me. My chest burned, but the numb feeling hit my brain like a salve. It was like I'd finally figured out how to disconnect my head from the rest of my body. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and exhaled slowly, one foot landing in front of the other.
I was halfway across the podium before Dr. Barton called, "Ms. Alcott?"
I slowly pivoted to face him. "Yes?"
"Have you considered that the reason why Diego went to so much trouble to learn more about you... is because it is exactly his true nature?"
I frowned him, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that Diego is surrounded by people expecting him to make all the decisions and have all the answers," Dr. Barton explained. "But nobody has answers for him."
"And you... think I have these 'answers'?" I asked doubtfully.
"I think that Diego is ill," he said simply. "I think that he's been hurt in ways that none of us can truly understand and his mind has... shut down. He's operating completely on instinct. And, as I said before, our instincts demand that we find safety — that we gravitate toward a dominant figure in our lives. Diego is looking for somebody to tell him what to do because he can't find a way out."
"And he thinks I can?" A wave of hysteria flooded my veins. "I'm not that person! I could barely leave my dorm room this morning — I'm a total mess. I'm not that person!"
"But you are."
"How would you know?" I demanded incredulously. "You have no idea how I am!"
"Perhaps not," he allowed, "but I have been privy to your whispered conversations in both my lectures and in the library last semester."
"What?" This conversation was starting to stray into dangerous territory and the feeling of being on edge forced its way to the forefront of my mind.
"It's difficult not to observe people when your senses are so acute," he said apologetically. "But some people stand out more than others — and you, Paige, stand out. You surround yourself with people who are weaker than you. People who rely on you, people who look up to you."
"You mean Lexie."
"And your ex-boyfriend, Andrew," Dr. Barton agreed. "And, I believe, there was a boy before him?"
"Michael," I said, a little dazed. His words struck a chord in me, more than I was willing to admit. After the night I spent on the bathroom floor with Charlie, I had been mulling over our conversation, dwelling on the fact that we never really did click until recently.
And, going by Dr. Barton's thoughts on the matter, it was because Charlie could look after herself. Charlie didn't need me the way Lexie always had.
But I hadn't asked for that!
"I can barely look after myself," I reiterated. "Why would I want them to rely on me?"
"Because you possess the unique ability to put others before yourself in a way that many humans lack. You're selfless — to a dangerous extent." He stood up, an earnest expression crossing his face. "You shut down your own emotions, you push away your problems and you avoid as much personal conflict as you can by focusing on everybody else. Because when you're concentrating on somebody else, you don't have to concentrate on you. You hate concentrating on you."
"You're saying that Diego stalked me for five months because he thinks I care about my friends?" I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest.
"I'm saying," he said, "that Diego was drawn to you because to him, you represent hope. You represent a world that doesn't give up on hopeless causes."