I don’t even know what to do. I don’t even know what to think.
I’ve lost all ability to function.
But he doesn’t have that problem.
In a split second, he pulls my dress up, covering my breasts, then pushes the hem down, covering my thighs and my core. He even zips up his pants. Then, “Yeah, just a sec.”
His loud, calm voice jars me again. It makes me even more afraid. It makes me feel like I’m going to be sick. And he can see that. He can see my apprehension, my utter panic, because he comes in for a soft kiss and whispers, “Trust me.”
So I do.
I trust him as he brings me down from the counter and puts me against the wall by the door so when he opens it, I’ll be hidden behind it. He straightens the rest of his clothes, runs his fingers through his hair to tame it and opens the door.
“Oh thank God,” I hear Helen’s voice say. “I thought I was losing my mind. Someone told me that they saw you go in there. Uh, what…” A pause. “Were you doing in there?”
The question of the hour.
The question that almost makes me hyperventilate. But something happens that instantly calms me down. That instantly spreads a rush of warmth all over my chest.
His hand.
He gives it to me.
Standing at the door, his right shoulder half-hidden behind it, he reaches his arm out and grabs my hand. He threads our fingers together, giving me something to hold on to, giving me a tether, reassuring me as he talks to the woman he loves.
And my eyes well up as it hits me again. What I put him through tonight.
Especially when he always does the opposite.
He makes sure to do the opposite.
Ever since I saw them together that day, when he came to St. Mary’s to tell me that he wouldn’t be there that week, he’s been very careful about avoiding Helen. He’s been very careful about not getting sucked into a conversation with her, or even if there is a conversation, it’s when they are surrounded by people.
He’s been very careful to stay away from her at every opportunity, going so far as to avoid her in hallways and around campus.
I’ve noticed it.
And even though I’ve never said anything about it to him, I know he does it for me.
I know he does it so as not to hurt me. He does it out of respect for me.
For his wallflower.
He’s doing the same now. He’s not going to fuck me and leave me. I know him. That’s why he’s given me his hand to hold on to.
And grateful, so grateful, I do.
“What do you want?” he asks in a flat tone.
A tone that I feel makes Helen hesitate. “I… I just, I was looking for you.”
“And you’ve found me.”
Another pause before she asks, “Are you… are you okay? You look a little…” I tighten my hold on his hand as I wait for her to finish. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think…”
When she trails off, Conrad squeezes my hand in response while saying to Helen, “You’d think what?”
I hear her self-conscious laugh. “Nothing. Just… I’d think you had someone in there.”
I’m pretty sure my nails are going to break his skin any second with the way I’m gripping his hand. Not that there’s any sign of distress on him, at my furious hold. In fact he only grips me harder.
“Well, you do know me better,” Conrad says. “So what is it that you want?”
He uses his authoritative, cold voice that discourages all sorts of questions and it does the same with Helen. Because instead of prodding more, she asks, “Can I… Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Not really, no. Now’s not a good time.”
“But I —”
“We’ll talk at school.”
“Please, Con. I really need to…” She sighs again. “It’s important, okay? It’s about us.”
His fingers flex. “Us.”
“Yes. Please. I really… It’s important that I talk to you right now.”
Conrad doesn’t say anything.
He lets the moment pass in silence and I think — I have a feeling — that he won’t. Say anything, I mean.
I stare down at his hand, so solid and strong, slightly darker in shade than mine, and I realize that he won’t leave with her.
Because I’m here. Because he won’t do that to me. Not right now.
But Helen insists again and her voice is so… pleading. “Please, I have to tell you something.”
My heart starts to thud in my chest.
Thuds, thuds, thuds.
And I let go of his hand.
I open my fingers and set him free.
Like he said he’d set me free from my parents. He doesn’t have to – I can do it myself – but still.
Only he doesn’t go anywhere.
Not for another three seconds.
In fact he tightens his hold. I can see his knuckles jutting out, almost bursting through the skin, so white and leached of all color. Like he doesn’t want to let me go.