Page 35 of Crown of Thorns
“I can’t believe I did that,” he finally mutters, sounding miserable.
“Was it good?” He doesn’t reply, but doesn’t hang up either. We stay like that a while, in silence, and I listen to his breaths becoming steadier.
“Louis…”
“Yeah, Professor?”
There’s a voice in the background, followed by Noah’s muffled reply. “I’ve got to go.”
Something ugly trickles down my spine. “Who’s there with you?”
“No one.”
“You fucking liar.”He’s mine. He just doesn’t know it yet.
He stutters an excuse, but jealousy is incoherent and fuckingdemanding. It throws all rationality out the window. My current dick-situation doesn’t help.
“Let me be clear here, Professor,” I snarl. “If I text you twenty times a day, you reply. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. If I want you to fuck me, you will. You don’t want to be in trouble.” I say it low, a threat curled in silk.You’re mine. Mine.
I hang up the phone, panting.
“Dude? Are you alright?” Gaël’s standing at the beginning of the path, the magnum of champagne in hand, eyes wide with surprise. Around us, tourists have gathered, watching us. Filming. The motherfuckers.
“Well, looks like you don’t need that photographer anymore.”
He ignores my words, per usual, raising a curious eyebrow instead. “That sounded awfully close to a quarrel.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t.” I let out a heavy sigh, then snatch the bottle out of his hand, ignoring his triumphant snicker. “Fuck, I needed that.” I wipe my mouth clean.
“Who’s the lucky target of your stalkerish behaviour?”
“No one.”
“Texting someone twenty times a day isn’t considered stalking? Do they reply at least? Ouch,” he adds when I stay silent.
“Ha. Ha. Very fucking funny. Thank you for eavesdropping, fucker. Is that how you conquered Dominique? By stalking him?” I don’t mean for it to come out this harsh, but it does. Perhaps I’m asking him for advise in my own, fucked up way.
Gaël turns to face the shore. “I didn’t have to stalk him physically. It’s his mind I had to corrupt.”
“What do you mean?”
Gaël’s gaze softens. “Dominique’s been badly hurt. He got bullied at school, then lost his brother. He’s taught himself to flee whenever his emotions get too much.”
I think of Noah. Stoic, in control, always well-prepared. I think of the rough life he’s lived in Paris.
Gaël wraps a silver arm around me. “Here’s the real question. Are you stalking your…special person? Or are you stalking yourself, going back in circles because you can’t break your own habits?”
“Piss off,” I grumble. But he’s got me thinking. And those thoughts spiral fast, dragging up want and need in equal measure, wanting Noah with an intensity that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Because it’s not just about lust. It’s about needing someone who sees right through you, and wanting to be seen anyway.
Gaël, the fucker. He always does that. Too many hours of meditating aren’t good for the mind. He plucks the bottle out of my hand. “If you need help stalking this person, all you have to do is call my name.”
His words fade, but their echo lingers. I laugh him off, but something in my chest is already stirring, hot and restless.
It pulls me back, violently, to that night. I thought we were going to have some fun. The atmosphere, the masks, the chargedtension, it should’ve excited him. But something in that ritual space cracked him open. He saw too much, maybe too fast. And he fled, like the demons from hell were chasing him.
We walk back toward the party in silence, the wind tugging at Gaël’s ridiculous coat and champagne still fizzing in my blood. The firepit ahead glows orange in the distance, casting shadows across laughing silhouettes.
Why did Noah run? Maybe because the mask slipped. His, mine, all of ours. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen the way I see him. But I’m done playing by his rules.
