Page 113 of Scarred King
“I know that,” I smile at him in appreciation.
“Then it's settled.” He raises his glass in my direction. “When we finish eating, we’ll go and get your stuff from the motel.”
“I didn’t bring anything with me.” I avoid his gaze. “It was a spontaneous decision.”
“You really did run away,” for some reason he sounds amused. “I’m glad you chose to run to me.” He goes back to the kitchen and several minutes later he reemerges with two cups of coffee. “I have my dream job,” he says thoughtfully and looks out at the ocean. “I have a huge research budget, I’m invited to endless conferences, and quite a few women offer me to keep them company. But I still feel empty, like something is missing.” He looks back at me. “Can you understand that?”
“Yes. But the emptiness that I feel now is more like a blessing than a curse.”
We sit on the balcony for hours. He tells me about his slow progress in his research, the university’s support and the last conference he attended. Our conversation should have filled the empty space inside me with positive energy, but the pain is still too intense, and nothing can soothe it.
We clear the table, and after I wash the dishes, he dries them and puts everything away. We go upstairs together, and he shows me one of the guestrooms. The style is minimalistic and there is an adjoining bathroom. He puts a T-shirt and toiletries on the dresser, makes sure I have everything I need, and leaves the room.
I take a shower, fighting tears. I won’t allow myself to be sucked into my heartbreak now, I’ll handle it bravely and prove that nothing will stand in my way.
I lie down in bed and call my mother. She chats happily about her life, which has been calm since my last visit, and I tell her of my decision to go after Professor Sawyer. She doesn’t ask me about Liam or any other difficult questions, but I hear the relief in her voice. I say goodbye, promising to come and visit her soon, curl up into a fetal position and order my head to turn its thoughts off.
44
I wake up hearing knocking on the door.
“Elena, would you like to go into town to buy some clothes and then you can come with me to the university?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately and go to the bathroom. I get ready quickly and go downstairs.
“Good morning, Professor Sawyer,” I put my bag down on the floor and look at the large breakfast laid out on the table.
“Elena, you really should start calling me Brian,” he laughs and hands me a cup of coffee.
“My mom would love you,” I smile and help myself to some salad. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” I imitate my mother’s French accent.
“You have a smart mother,” he replies as he reads through the newspaper. He waits patiently for me to finish breakfast and we leave the house.
It’s hard for me to feel comfortable in this strange situation. The professor I adore is waiting outside the stores while I try on clothes. He is not pressing me to hurry up, on the contrary, he suggests that we continue shopping until my hands are full with shopping bags. I try on several pairs of jeans and smile at the mirror bitterly. If he only knew who took care of my bank account and allowed me to go on this shopping spree.
I remain in some jeans and a tank top and tell him that we can go to the university now. He puts all the bags in the trunk and drives through crowded streets.
I glance at him while he drives. He is so calm, relaxed. Black and white, I think. Unlike the man who wrapped me up in darkest black, this man radiates white light. I try to imagine how I'll feel if he held me in his arms between the sheets, both of us sweating with the heat of passion, and I blush when he looks at me with his bashful smile. No. I simply can’t imagine it. My body reacts completely opposite to my expectations. A chill travels down my back and my heart begins to torment me again. The professor says goodbye to me in the parking lot and goes to his office. I have a half hour to enjoy the pleasant sunshine and I sprawl on the lawn opposite the building where the lectures are held. Two students are sitting on the lawn beside me, one has a laptop computer open on his knees and they're holding a loud conversation about programs, updates and applications.
“Are you computer science students?” I interrupt their conversation and they both nod. “So… do you know anything about the Dark Net?” I ask and immediately regret it.
“Mmmm, yeah,” the freckled guy answers, and looks at his friend with a strange expression. "How did you hear about it?"
I ignore his question. “Maybe you can help me.” I take out my laptop from my bag and turn it on. “I want to find a Dark Net site that reports on the nightlife in Boston.”
“Why do you need the Dark Net for that kind of info?” the freckled guy asks looking confused. “You can just go into Boston news sites. I’m sure they have—”
“I don’t mean regular nightlife,” I cut him off and move closer to them. “I’m looking for information on less conventional nightlife.” I fall silent and try to figure out how to explain myself. “Like strip clubs, gang wars and the type of gossip I wouldn’t find on regular sites.”
They both stare at me open-mouthed. “What do you need that stuff for?” the student who hasn’t spoken yet asks in shock.
“For research I’m doing,” I lie and smile at him. His face reddens and he shifts nervously from side to side.
“I don’t know… better not,” he stutters.
“Okay,” I shrug. “I thought you could help me but it’s no big deal to say you can’t or don’t know how.”
“Of course we know how.” He grabs my computer angrily. “Do you think we’re amateurs?” he starts tapping the keyboard and his freckled friend mumbles some words I clearly don't understand, but it looks as if whatever he is saying, is very clear to the guy holding my laptop because he nods and continues typing with a crazy smile on his face. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he shows me a black screen with dozens of articles about crime organizations in Boston.