Two desperate fists pounded vigorously on the wooden door of her apartment.
"Gwen open the damn door, I can explain." Nathan almost winced at how weak his voice sounded, at how pathetic he was being.
At how he had handled the situation.
At how he hadn't trusted her enough to tell her about his book.
No, trust wasn't the right word to use but for the life of him he couldn't think of any other word that could work, not when his body was barely functioning.
Gwen was standing by the door, her organism consumed by his betrayal.
The blood in her veins ran cold when she heard his lying voice.
Sure, she snorted to herself, a stray tear leaving her tear ducts and travelling down her pronounced cheekbone, you can explain, professor. Words are all you're good for.
"Go away, Nate."
"No." The refusal was uttered in such a way that made it seem like he was the one pulling the strings of their little puppet show.
Which he totally wasn't.
Truly, he wasn't.
Her sigh spoke of disappointment. She didn't know what she was hoping for. Did she want him to fail her trust so that she could have an excuse to pack her things and flee?
No, it wasn't that. For the first time in her life she felt like she could finally settle down properly, without running away every once in a while to pacify the voices in her head. In fact, the voices fell silent the moment the first box of things collided with the floor of her new apartment.
"Go home, Nate." She said, using a softer tone this time, hoping that he would find it in him to give up and let the glass shatter, that he would let the pieces fall to the floor. Holding them together did nothing but cut his hands. "I have nothing to say to you."
"No. I'm staying here until you let me in."
"Suit yourself, I'm going to bed." But she didn't instead, she remained there with her back against the wall, each hit on the door falling indirectly on her. Gwen brought her knees to her chin, hugging them with her powerless arms.
This is nothing but a very cliché movie scene, she concluded as she heard him apologise over and over, stepping on his pride and crashing it for the sake of the mercy only she could offer him.
At some point Nathan's feet failed him and he fell on her doorstep, the small mat easing his fall. He stayed there, angry at himself the whole night. He knew that their bodies were being separated only by a few flimsy centimetres but to him it felt like a whole world. He heard her harsh breaths and felt her tears as they slid down her cheeks and cursed himself in every language he knew because he finally understood.
He had hurt her.
The second and the third night he carried on with the same routine.
The fourth night went by in pretty much the same manner, only this time she had laid a small rug by the door.
Apparently, Einstein or whoever had said it, had been wrong to say that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Because Nathan was not insane and he considered that small rug an indication that one of those nights his fate would change.
That night, he abused his knuckles and his voice but he didn't ruin his trousers or scrape his knees.
The moment the Sun started to rise, he came face to face with the consequences of his actions. His knuckles were bloody, the skin around them had been scrapped off during his little one man show. He couldn't flex his hand without the nerves exploding with pain. His eyes were bloodshot but that couldn't be completely blamed on the sleep depriving habits he had recently acquired.
He was still sitting with his slumped back against her door. Needles pierced his brain and the Sun rays tortured his eyes.
However, none of it mattered.
Come night, he would repeat his little ritual. In fact, he wouldn't stop until she realised that he wasn't about to go away, that he would keep spending his nights self-destructing until she found it in her heart to forgive him.
Even if it took never writing another word, again.
She'd never read another word from him, ever again.
The decision came late one night, while Nathan was leaving blood on her door.
The decision had come slowly. She'd been reading a compilation of Bukowski's poems when her gaze had fallen on the little pile of the liar's books she kept by her bed. She dropped the book she'd been holding and crawled to the pile, opening the one on top.
His picture was on the inner page of the cover.
He wore no smile.
He simply stared at the camera with that infernal gaze of his, standing tall and proud.
"You have fallen my King, haven't you?" She whispered hoarsely as her finger came to graze his cheek. "You must have because you certainly don't resemble a King right now." Guilt laced her words but she chose not to acknowledge it.
She didn't want to care about him.
She wanted to be cruel and hurt him until he felt a sliver of the pain she'd experienced when she saw her whole life on paper.
Ironically, in the poem she'd been reading Charles Bukowski wrote that people aren't good to each other.
And that's understandable.
Humans aren't good by nature just like they are not bad.
They simply are.
Asking them to be good is like asking them to go against their nature.
Nate hadn't been good to her, not where it concerned his book, at least. And that was what tore her to pieces. She tried to think if it all had been a ploy for him to win her trust and steal all her secrets but that simply wasn't possible.
"After everything, I still miss you." And she did, it did not matter that he was outside of her door, he wasn't there with her. They weren't speaking, they weren't touching.
Gwen found her resolve growing weaker and weaker as the days went by until one day, she couldn't take it, anymore.
She couldn't handle the sound of his knuckles colliding with the door and continuing until the blood stained his fists.
She couldn't stand hearing him beg.
Not him.
So, she momentarily chose surrender.
It was a little after midnight when she sauntered over to the door. She raised a fist, ready to let it collide with the wooden barrier when a defeated sigh reached her side of the wall and halted her movements.
Is he giving up?, the thought didn't appeal to her no matter how strange that was.
Within seconds, she was furious.
If he truly wants you, he won't give up. A voice whispered in her head, filling her with doubt.
But his knuckles fell on the door again, harder than before, erasing her doubts.
And giving her an excuse.
An excuse she intended to take full advantage of.
Banging on the door, she hissed, "Will you stop that? I've had three neighbours call me to make complaints."
"Not unless you let me in." He sounded calm, undefeated but the arrogance that usually hid with his words was nowhere to be found. "Let me in, love."
It didn't take long for Gwen to swallow her anger and slowly unlock the door, making sure to take her time and let him suffer for a few more seconds.
People aren't good to each other.
What she was met with when the professor came into view was shocking to say the least.
He was sitting on the little mat she'd left in a moment of weakness. His suit jacket had been discarded somewhere near the staircase and the rest of his clothing was wrinkled and carried remnants of his previous nights. Next to him lay a bundle of pages.
Black circles lived under his eyes and he seemed to have lost a bit of colour from his face. His cheekbones were sharper than ever and dear God did that frighten her.
Worry ripped her insides to shreds, melting her anger. "Enough." She told him, attempting to control her voice and not let her feelings show. "Come inside. We'll talk about what you did and then you'll be on your way."
Nathan's grey eyes brightened immediately with hope, reminding her of a disturbed sky after a heavy downpour. He saw her move away from the door and stroll towards the living room, taking in her graceful movements before following her inside, the pages resting in his hand.
He walked behind her until she came to a stop, just a few steps away from the balcony. He watched her fingers tremble as she took in their reflexion on the glass. Perhaps, she hadn't anticipated that he'd be so near. Even so, she took in the image silently, noticing how truly close he was only when his hot breath kissed her neck.
Then, she shuddered.
But she did not step away.
Taking a deep breath, Guinevere turned around and faced him. "I think-"
The professor made a sound in the back of his throat as he pressed his hand over her lips, silencing her. "You can talk after I'm finished."
"You've got some nerve."
"No, what I have is regret. Allow me to express it."
With her lips sealed she could do nothing but glare at him and that was good enough for him. "I've sat out there for days, thinking what I could do to explain that I never meant to hurt you when the answer was right in front of me from the beginning."
When Nathan noticed that she was truly listening, he removed his hands and silently mourned the loss of her lips.
"I don't understand." And he nodded, patiently because he could understand her vexation.
"I need to show you something." He muttered and started loosening his tie and removing his cufflinks, both a gift from his father who gave them to him along with the Rolex an hour after his first book had been published. "If you want me to leave then, that's fine but I want you to see first."
"What are you doing?" She tried her hardest to remain in control of both her self and the situation but as the moments slipped by their theoretically immobile figures she started to come to the understanding that it simply wasn't possible.
"I'm tired of hiding." He then sighed, showing her how truly exhausted the secrets he kept made him. Gwen knew that feeling all too well for it managed to tear her own insides into shreds.
The thing is, secrets destroy you. They crawl inside of you and play with your most vital organs, taunting your brain the whole time it resists screaming them to the world. At some point, your organs, the ones that were nothing but a hiding place for your dirty unspoken confessions, turn rotten. They reek but you are the only one who has the ability to smell them. The only one who knows the truth.
Secrets basically work like that Edgar Allan Poe story, the one where the main protagonist commits a seemingly perfect murder then goes on to dismember the body, burying it under the floorboards. The protagonist constantly tries to prove to the reader that he is sane, however, soon enough it is distinguishable that the narrator is losing his mind. He starts hearing his victim's heart beat, hearing the sound grow louder and louder until the guilt starts to eat him up and he confesses all about his act of malevolence.
Gwen's secrets were growing rather loud lately and, as it appeared, Nathan's did too.
Gwen's hold on her robe tightened as she watched the professor tear off his clothes. His suit jacket had been discarded long ago and was probably still somewhere near the stairwell. The white linen shirt he wore left his body with a sigh, freeing him from its weight.
"Nathan. . ." She trailed off, unsure of what to say.
He acted as if he hadn't heard her.
His slacks came off next and Gwen felt guilty about the way her dark eyes lingered on his leather belt, longing shining through them. She remembered the pain it had been the cause of and shivered, her backside tingling. She could almost hear it as it hit her butt cheeks. The bite of the belt lingered. So much, in fact, that she was tempted to stop him from doing what he had planned and make him use it again.
Soon enough, his pants went down his legs, his silk black boxers following the same path. Gwen didn't have half the mind to protest, the words stuck somewhere in her throat. Consequently, a gasp was all that came out of her.
His body resembled the one Praxiteles had created for Hermes. Lean yet muscular enough to be described as statuesque and God-like with a face that resembled that of the sleeping Satyr, who was protected by the peacefulness of lethargy.
Her hands fell from her robe, the loose knot falling and revealing the little white nightie he had caught her in. Her eyes widened significantly and she couldn't help but drink in every single inch of him.
His body appeared to be carved out of the most expensive piece of granite.
But surprisingly that wasn't what caught her attention.
No.
He had all seven deadly sins written on his skin.
She wasn't aware of the fact but as a child, he would write Wrath on the column of his throat, Greed on the still smooth skin of his lower abdomen, Envy over the dominating vein of his left wrist, the one that led directly to his beating heart.
Sloth was an angry scowl on his right ankle, on the foot that he had broken a couple of times while playing soccer. Gluttony was nothing more than a child's scribble on his left forearm.
Pride had once been written on his forehead, for everyone to see, but his dear mother had made him wash it off. From then on Pride decorated his collarbones.
Lust sat neatly over his heart.
Years later, when the ink of the pen wasn't enough, he carved them lightly on his skin.
When his knife had written the last word, he looked in the mirror and shuddered at the image. Blood escaped from his skin like a heavy downpour of tears. He was so disgusted at the unfinished product that he added one more sin, one that couldn't be recognised by many. Love, he wrote on top of his heart, right under his favourite sin.
Years passed before he took the decision to turn them into white-ink tattoos and even though nobody could tell what was hiding beneath the ink, the stigma never abandoned him. So, he kept them hidden from everyone, even the mirror.
And yet, there he was, standing completely naked before her, all his secrets out in the open for her to see.
In that moment, Nathaniel looked like a Seraph that had denied himself divinity for her sake, that chose to burn eternally in the sixth circle of the Inferno, knowing that they'd burn together.
Gwen hadn't seen anything quite as beautiful as him her entire life. Nathan had been graced with a rare beauty, one so sinfully alluring that had the power to hide the darkness under expensive suits and big words. It was only when he took off the mask, when he removed the suits and the engraved cufflinks that you could see it.
See that he's as much of a sinner as any other person, perhaps, even more so.
Nathan's eyes followed the young woman's movements as she stepped closer to him. He didn't dare move, an odd mix of excitement and fear running through his veins. It was the first time he had ever shown his dirty little secret in years and for some unfathomable reason he wanted to feel her delicate fingers dance over his damaged flesh. He wanted to gasp as her tongue traced each letter and groan as her teeth sunk into the hard muscles that constructed his upper body.
He wanted to sink so hard into her that she couldn't remember her own fucking name.
He wanted to tear her to pieces, destroy her.
Make her weep from the pleasure.
Cherish her in the way she deserved.
"Why?" The whisper cut the silence in two, loud and powerful in its utter powerlessness.
She still hadn't reached out to him.
"They helped tame my demons, a tad." He shrugged, sounding as nonchalant as ever. "I am a slave to all seven of them, showing it was the only way they would stop hurting me." Gwen tried but she couldn't understand the meaning of his words. But, as she came to realise, she didn't have to understand it just accept it.
"Why didn't you show them to me before?" She inquired as her hand traced each letter of Lust, her fingers trembling slightly at the overwhelming sensation.
"I didn't want to repulse you." He replied softly. His mouth parted slightly as he felt her play with his body. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong. It had been wrong since the first time he gave in to his desire and touched her in his class. Scratch that, it had been wrong since the wretched day he couldn't help but make a fool of himself. The day he came to her aid. It was all wrong and yet, nothing had ever felt as right. "I know how strange these look."
The choked laugh she let out reeked disbelief. "Repulse me? How could I ever be repulsed by you, Nathan? What the fuck are you talking about?" She didn't make a habit of cursing but the moment called for that little act. She wanted him to take her seriously. To open his fucking eyes and see what was right in front of him.
Still, she knew that his revelation was nothing but a last attempt at winning her over, the Ace he hid in his sleeve.
"Beauty is only skin deep when it concerns me. Not even that if you count the tattoos." One side of his lips twitched and she was tempted to slap it off his face. "You were getting too close, I had to drive you as far away as I could. Turn you into a character to see if what I was feeling was real or not. You were making me want things I shouldn't want, things I don't deserve. In theory, it was a magnificent plan but as it appears, I'm not much of a strategist."
She wanted to tell him that it was all right, that she forgave him. She wanted to reassure him that the tattoos were beautiful, perhaps, almost as beautiful as he was for they completed the puzzle that made him who he was. Without them, pieces would be missing and the incomplete work would drive any person with OCD over the edge.
And yet, the only thing her dry mouth was capable of producing was the most hypocritical sentence in history. "Please put something on, you're making me feel uncomfortable."
He, too, took it as a joke. "Or, you could take something off." His suggestion was met with a glare and the tightening of a belt. "Still not ready to appreciate a joke, I see." With a sigh, he crouched down and picked up his boxers before sliding the soft material over his thighs, marvelling over the fact that her eyes couldn't help but follow his movements.
Once he was partially covered, Gwen seemed to be returning to her normal self.
More or less.
She allowed herself a long exhale before asking one of the questions that bothered her the most. "Why do them if you're ashamed of them and have to hide them from everyone?"
"I'm not ashamed." He denied, shaking his head. He seemed positively furious at her suggestion. "They are just personal, I don't like giving people this piece of me."
And yet I'm giving it to you, she found herself thinking, I'm giving it to you.
Then Nathan remembered he wasn't in a position to lose his temper and so, taking a few deep, calming breaths, he scratched the back of his neck, his muscles flexing deliciously in response. The movement clearly was executed so that he could have a few extra seconds to think. "My father was an author, like me." He explained with a small smile playing on his lips, even though she already knew about his family. "I was about seven when he gave me one of his books to read. I was a slow learner at the time and my dad decided to help me in the only way he knew. He made me read and read and read until my eyes hurt and my fingers were numb but sure enough, it helped."
"From then on, I kept reading his books. I remember one in particular. It was about the meaning of life and death, of light and darkness, of love and indifference. There was this part about the Seven Deadly Sins that immediately drew me in. I read it over and over again until I knew it by heart. Once I finished it, I ran to his office. Couldn't help myself, I wanted to read more. And well, he fed my addiction."
"He's the one who told me that good stories are hard to come by and that you ought to chase them until your lungs bleed."
"So, I'm a good story to you, that's good to know."
"No, you're missing the point. You are my muse. You provide the story." He explained affectionately, longing to stroke her cheek and connect her little constellations. He did neither, even though the terrible ache in his chest was the only thing keeping him from going mad. "You've changed me for the better. I'm even nicer to Peters, if you can believe it and it's all because of you. That little fact changes everything."
"No." She argued once more. "No, it doesn't. I told you that I don't trust people but I trusted you enough to let you into my life. And you exploited me." What you did was worse than everything Seth has ever done because I never trusted him. I never loved him.
He broke my skin, you broke my heart. . .
"I never meant to. . ."
"And yet, you did it, anyway." Gwen was surprised by how harsh her voice sounded but she didn't let that stop her from continuing. Even if she didn't recognise herself. "Is that why you were so interested in my life? In my past? You needed information for your book? How could you do such a thing?"
"I was going to tell you once it was finished. I never intended to keep it from you." She tried pulling away from his arms but he wouldn't let her. In all honesty, he couldn't.
She struggled against him but it was in vain. As soon as she reached that realisation, she allowed her head to once more fall on his chest.
Tears run freely and for the first time in a long time she wondered if she was making a terrible mistake.
Perhaps, there was no malice laced with his actions.
Perhaps, he just wanted to free her from her own cage.
"Why, you wanted to bring me along to a reading?'' Even if her brain was starting to forgive him, her mouth was certainly not.
"I'll delete it if you want." Nathan promised, giving her a serene smile. "I'll destroy every copy if it'll make you forgive me."
"I'm not angry you chose to write about me, about us. I'm angry that you did it behind my back. I'm angry that you didn't come to me asking for permission. I'm angry that you perceive me as weak." Her supposed life in her Grandmother's house had brought nightmares.
His descriptions made it seem like he had been there, an observer away from all the madness.
"I don't think you paid attention to the book, just the parts you knew would hurt you. I think you just wanted to find a reason to hate the words and the man who wrote them."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?
"It is and I think you should go now."
"Not yet." His arms tightened around her, her warmth battling with his. "Not just yet." He had missed the way her scent filled his nostrils and the way, everything she touched gained some of her light, including him. "I want you to give this book and me a chance. Just one chance."
"I wasn't asking, Nathan." She stepped away, only for a second, only to clear her mind. "Please go and give me time to think about this."
"Promise me you'll read it."
"Not if it hurts."
"Promise me." A muscle in his jaw twitched. He placed his palms on her cheeks and forced her eyes to meet his. He flinched when he saw tears lurking at the corners. "Promise me and I'll go."
A solemn nod. "I promise but that doesn't change anything." She repeated, clutching the copy to her chest. Then, she dropped her weary head to his chest yet again, closing her eyes and hiding from the world for just a little while. "Your pretty words change nothing. This changes nothing."
His skin was warm, warm enough to shield her from the coldness of her apartment and his scent so rich and overwhelming she could almost feel it descend to her lungs.
His hand came to grasp her hair and stroke it gently as he murmured sweet nothings to her ear.
That must have been what true peace felt like.
What the calm before the storm sounded like.
What that last second in heaven tasted like.
"It changes everything." He murmured against her ear, his voice softer than she had ever known it.
Most of this chapter was written early on in the book. Nathan revealing his "scars" I mean and I have to say, it's one of my favourite parts. He finally shows some vulnerability and I can't help but feel proud.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Until next time,
Thea.