Page 114 of Scarred King
“Kind of,” I scan the headlines, but I don’t see what I’m looking for. “I’d like to see some more gossip articles.”
“Hold on,” the freckled guy takes my laptop back. “You need to understand that there are thousands of dark nets, it’s not so simple.” Now he’s typing quickly and his friend is giving him tips. “How about this?” he hands me the computer. The background is still black, but this time instead of articles, there are video clips. I press one of them and a man with a mask starts talking in a disguised voice. He talks about the events that happened last night along with some paparazzi shots and I realize that this must be what I was looking for. “How do I go back into this later?” I ask, excited.
“Just leave the links open,” the freckled guy says mockingly, and I shut the screen and hold the laptop against my chest.
“You’ve been really helpful,” I say gratefully. They smile proudly and continue watching me curiously until I go inside the building.
I attend all of Professor Sawyer’s classes and he even gets me special permission to attend other lectures as well. By the end of the day my brain is filled with new knowledge and I feel strong and clean.
We return to his beach house and eat dinner together. I can’t stop thinking about the video clips that await me on my computer. My brain is trying to shoot warning signals, but I realize that my curiosity won’t give in.
“I talked to the head of your faculty in Boston,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “I explained that I asked you to come here to help me with my research, and I recommended that he allow you to stay here until the end of the semester.”
“Really?” I ask in surprise. “And what did he say?”
“He agreed, of course,” he smiles in satisfaction. “But you’ll have to go back in four weeks for your exams. Do you think you’re up to it?”
“Absolutely.” I struggle not to push the table aside and hug him. The timing is perfect. That’s exactly when Johanna is supposed to finish rehab, and I planned to go back to support her anyway. “I really appreciate this,” I say, not hiding my emotions. “What you’re doing for me is truly amazing.”
“Everyone has moments in their lives when they get sucked into a black hole,” he looks at me fondly. “You deserve a chance to hold your head up. If not you, then who?”
“Yes,” I mumble and lower my head, embarrassed by the struggle between my brain and my heart, even though it knows it has no chance of winning. “Excuse me, I should go to bed. I had a busy day.” I fake a yawn and start clearing the plates away.
“Leave it,” he gestures with his hand for me to put the plates down. “I’ll do it.” I thank him again with a smile and go upstairs. I shower, lie down on my bed and call my mom.
She chats happily for several minutes and before I hang up, she sighs. “Elena, tell me what’s happening with you,” she asks in a concerned motherly voice.
“Everything’s great,” I answer dryly. “I left the dark world; I’ve moved into the light and my professor is taking care of everything I need.”
“He sounds like a man I would like,” she tries to sound lighthearted.
“He’s perfect,” I continue in the same tone. “Exactly what you would want for me.”
“Then why do you sound so—”
“Mom, I’m really tired,” I interrupt her and fake a yawn again. “I’ll call you again soon.” I end the call and put the computer on my knees.
Don’t do this, my brain orders me angrily.
Just a peek, what harm could that do, my aching heart pleads.
I turn on the computer and gaze at the links to the videos for a while. Finally, I click on one and turn down the volume. The man in the mask begins talking in a disguised voice and I listen tensely. He starts by reporting on the meeting between two gangs which was mediated by the Jews. I don’t know whether I want to laugh or cry. Everything that happened that night is exaggerated and at times even false. My entrance to the club with Liam is described as a march of horror by the Duchess and Scarface. He says I threw a knife at one of the men who dared to stare at me, and it got stuck in the sofa right next to him. He says that during the tense meeting there was a shootout between the two sides, and he describes my finale with the gasoline can. “The Duchess lost her mind when Giovanni cut her hair,” he says excitedly. “At the last minute she decided not to burn the place down.” He shows a picture of the man who used to be mine, and my heart contracts in unbearable pain. He adds that the Duchess has gone on vacation to celebrate the end of the war and shows a picture of me at the airport, walking upright in my black bridal dress. I shake my head in panic, refusing to believe that my terrifying picture is out there for all his viewers to see.
I am about to shut the computer screen, but I notice that while I was watching the video, a new one came on. I don’t give my brain time to protest and I quickly open the file. The man in the mask appears on a black background again, but this time he’s talking about events that occurred last night. The Russians have taken over the Poles’ distribution area, the wedding of one of the French brothers ended in a stabbing, and other bizarre events including horrifying pictures. I place my hand over my eyes and peek through my fingers, trying to retain control over the images my brain is recording. Suddenly there’s a picture of Liam at the entrance of the strip club with the bleached blonde who sat next to him at the wedding. This time it’s not only my heart that contracts, my whole body clenches in pain. “The war may be over, but it looks like the Duchess has a new rival.”
Of all the terrible pictures I saw, this is the only one I can’t bear. I close the computer and collapse on the bed. He replaced me with the plastic doll as soon as I left. Was it all my imagination? The love he talked about, the intense passion, was it all my imagination? The truth is that she was there before me. Was she also there during our relationship?
I try to set out all the events, words, sentences, good and bad experiences in an imaginary chart in my head. The only things that pop up are his caresses, his soothing words, his concerned looks and the loving words he showered me with each day. His emotional request not to leave him as I said goodbye… but then the chart disappears and turns into a black background and the picture of him with that plastic doll flashes before my eyes. She is smiling but his expression is stony. Her hand is draped over his shoulder, but he isn’t touching her. Oh God! What’s wrong with me? I shake my head again in disgust. I chose to make my way there and I chose to leave. I escaped the black hole and he’s going on with his life. He’s accepted the fact that I left, so why the hell can’t I? The picture of the two of them together continues to bother me, until my pain fades and I fall asleep.
45
For a whole week, I listen to my brain’s commands and don’t check out any new videos. My pleasant routine at Professor Sawyer’s provides me with emptiness and apathy I embrace – anything is better than this horrific pain. My body pushes away sensations and my brain takes over, clear and sharp. I go from one class to the next and use each free moment to study for my upcoming exams. We spend the weekend studying together and taking long walks on the beach. The professor tries to put his hand on my thigh only once. My body reacts by freezing up and he mumbles an apology and doesn’t try to do it again.
He’s perfect, I think as I watch him during a lecture. Any girl in the class would change places with me in a heartbeat, but I can’t be satisfied with the intellectual desire that was my motto for the past few years. I’m not disgusted by him, I’m not appalled by thoughts of us together. The emotion is harder to deal with. An emotion of vast emptiness and numbness that has taken over my entire body, except for my brain, which is still alive and kicking.
Three more weeks pass. Every time I think that there’s a chance for the emptiness to be replaced by a different sensation, my heart constricts with missing him. I continue my daily routine without expecting to really smile, without disappointment when I fake a laugh, and without grumbling when every conversation that isn’t about my studies annoys me.
I’m sitting on the balcony by the dining table. Professor Sawyer pours us some wine and looks troubled. “I can’t believe that time has gone by so quickly,” he says and drinks from his glass. “Tomorrow I’ll take you to the airport.”