Page 7 of Crystal Iris
I know he means it. And that hurts even more.
I want to stop Aaron but I hold the urge. I have been avoiding him for a while now. I decide to embrace the distraction. I move closer and kiss him back. I let him feel my body, his light fingers brushing my arm, drawing circles on my back. He touches me with muscle memory. I feel him ready against me and I kiss him harder. We move like a pair of dancers in bed, knowing exactly when to turn, with which pace to proceed. That’s how long we have been together. There is nothing rough about the way he loves me; he’s always the perfect gentleman. Always making sure I climax before releasing himself, never knowing the difference when I actually do or when I fake it.
Four
“Creativity takes courage.” – Henri Matisse
My headache is now insufferable; no pill seem to ease it. It’s woken me up again. It isn’t even six o’clock, and Aaron is already gone. I check my phone and see his text about an early meeting. I find myself with nowhere to be for hours and in need of fresh air.
Days have passed since I emailed Elena, still no reply. I’m starting to get restless with the wait. I have no plan B. Nothing else to research. The more I search the internet, the more I realize it’s pointless. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I always find myself wondering: What is this necklace my mother gave me? Did she know something? Why did she give it to me?The answers are probably at my fingertips… if only I could bring myself to open it.
I scan the calm water of the Charles River during the chilly morning. The sun has only recently risen, and a few runners jog by, completely lost in their exhaustion. I’ve always admired the discipline of those who run in December. If the cold isn’t enough to fight against, they’ve got the holidays to deal with, too. They breeze past me and soon vanish from view.
So much to do, yet I want nothing to do with any of it. Aaron wants to decorate his place—our place—for Christmas.Akira is still acting weird. My old apartment is a hot mess with boxes scattered everywhere. I still haven’t come up with a plan for the final assignment I’m supposed to be giving. Despite the long list of things to do, all I want is to curl up with a cup of hot chocolate under the covers and let a good book help me forget it all.
As I shift my gaze to the water, I feel a pull to bring out the prism. Since the club, I’ve kept it hidden underneath my clothes—easy enough with all the winter layers. Even when it’s dormant, I swear I can feel its presence. I debated telling Aaron about it. Although after seeing Akira’s reaction, I knew this wasn’t something I could share with anyone. I could almost hear Aaron’s words if I did:“There’s no such thing as the supernatural. Everything has an explanation. Maybe you created this to satisfy a certain subconscious need.”He’d say anything except the wordpathetic, and that’s exactly how he would make me feel. Consequently, I have been keeping it all to myself.
I’m lost in thought, twisting the prism in my palm, when something cold hits my nose. I look up to see the first snowflakes of the season. I close my eyes, letting myself simply feel for a moment. A surprise welcomes me when I reopen them—the violet hue is exactly as I remember it. Alluring and trapped. The sight of it makes my heart race. I get closer and whisper, “What are you?” Only it begins to fade. I let out a soft laugh at the absurdity of talking to it. I keep staring, silently begging for it to stay longer, but it doesn’t. When I look around again, I find that I’m no longer alone.
Staring at me from only a few feet away is Darion. Did he see…?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, a little too defensively. He startled me with his proximity. I quickly let the prism fall back to my chest, swinging gently, caught by the chain. I don’t wait for him to respond. “I was… It’s snowing,” I add, gesturing to the air.
Darion looks at me strangely, his black-framed glasses perchedon his nose and his hair—just a shade darker than mine—greasy and unkempt.
Before I can say anything else, he asks, “What is that?”
Of course, he saw it.
“What?” I’m not sure how to answer. “The necklace?” I realize he’s staring at it. “Oh, it’s… a family heirloom. I think it’s broken though. The light goes on and off…” There is something about him that freaks me out. “I’m late for a meeting, but nice seeing you.”
I’m almost out of breath by the time I catch a cab. The encounter was weird—he was so close,too close. My heart is pounding at a speed I can only associate with the runners going by. I feel dizzy. I loosen my scarf and practice my breaths in the car, completely aware that I probably look and sound disturbed. In and out, in and out. By the time I get home, I’ve managed to calm myself down.
I decide grocery shopping can wait. Laundry can wait. I grab my novel and head to bed, pressing the buttons of Aaron’s automatic shades. I’m done with the world for the day.
I have another nightmare. This time, it’s Darion hunting me. I really don’t want to see him today. Still, I know it will be impossible to avoid him since he’s my student.
The campus is covered in snow, and walking requires concentration. I’m focusing on my footing when I hear a ping from my phone. All notifications are silenced except one. Elena has sent a reply. If I could run without risking breaking my neck, I would. By the time I’m inside and no longer freezing my ass off, I read:
Hi Iris,
Sorry for the delay. I’m still on maternity leave and have been slowlycatching up with my inbox. My guess is that you’ve already explored the classic tales like The Great Ring. If you need to go deeper, I recommend the book Accessories & Their Lost Fables by Phaedrus. (It’s out of print, but the library should have a copy.)
If you could give me more details, perhaps I might be more helpful.
Best, Elena
I’m on my way to my office when I hear a student calling my name.
“Professor De Loughery?”
I turn toward her. “Hi, Mila.” I don’t know her friend.
“I was wondering if you could tell me what the final paper will be on. I wanted to get a head start.”
“You’ll be asked to write about what made art valuable in the Renaissance and what makes it valuable now.” I’m not sure I should’ve answered her. I didn’t mean to give Mila an advantage on the assignment; I just needed her to move along. When Mila wants something, she can be persistent.
“Oh, shouldn’t we be focusing on critiques by now?” she says, her voice laced with attitude.
