will not ruin her. She deserves better. A white knight. Not a monster.
That silence again. It presses on my heart.
‘Would you like to tell me what you were doing, paddling in the lake at gone midnight?’ I ask.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she says. ‘I ... was nervous about my audition result.’
I hate that. To think that I could have caused her a moment’s pain …
I want to tell her that her audition was perfectly fine. Better than most of the other students, in fact. And certainly good enough to progress. She has a lot to learn, but that’s what she’s here for.
Her fingers are shaking in her lap, and I can’t take my eyes off them. They’re so slim and delicate. Vulnerable.
I don’t mean to touch her, but I can’t help myself. Not when she’s cold like this. I grab her shivering fingers roughly, and hold them against the heating duct.
She flinches at my roughness, and I’m glad. She should see me for what I am – an angry, compassionless monster.
‘I just want to warm you up,’ I tell her. ‘Rub your fingers together.’
‘You must think I’m such an idiot,’ she says.
I put my hands on the steering wheel and grip it tightly, holding on for dear life.
‘No. I don’t think you’re an idiot,’ I tell her, my chest softening. ‘I understand why you love walking in those woods. I love them too. Just don’t go to the lake on your own again. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ she says, rubbing her fingers together. ‘I’m so sorry about your car.’
I frown. She really doesn’t get it. Good, pure, lovely Sophia. So naïve. So oblivious to the way she’s making me feel. I wonder how many men have fallen in love with her. It must be hundreds. Thousands.
I can’t imagine a man who wouldn’t be obsessed with her innocence. It’s mesmerising. But I can’t imagine other men would want to destroy that innocence the way I do.
Yes – I want to hold her. To protect her. Even be gentle. But I also want to tie her down. To totally dominate her. To have her submit to me. To make her explore parts of herself she’s never seen. And to experience pleasure in ways she’s never known.
As I sit beside her, our unspoken words thick in the air, I am certain – totally certain – that she would enjoy being dominated.
36
Cassandra was right, all those years ago. You do learn to spot the types. And Sophia is one of them. Although I’m quite sure she has no idea yet. Unless I show her.
‘I told you,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t care less about the car.’ And then, because I can’t help myself, I add, ‘I care about you.’
It’s too much, and I glare at the windscreen.
If the silence was heavy before, it’s twenty sandbags right now.
I turn on the stereo, and the Kinks ‘Sunny Afternoon’ mercifully breaks the silence.
Denise bought me this CD. I usually hate ‘best of’ albums – to me, an album is a work of art. Taking the most popular songs and splicing them together wrecks the balance. But the Kinks are good enough for me not to mind.
‘You like the Kinks?’ Sophia asks, a little incredulous.
I’m not surprised. If she’s like most people, she’ll assume I like opera. Or some similarly weighty, heavy emotional music.
But I don’t. I like songs that tell a story.
‘They’re good storytellers,’ I explain, staring straight ahead.
I don’t say anything else. After that, ‘I care about you’ line, I’m not trusting what’s coming out of my mouth.
The music softens the silence between us. But I’m still keenly aware of Sophia’s light, small body lost in my running clothes. And the beautiful, huge brown eyes that sometimes dart in my direction.
‘Lucky you were working late,’ she says suddenly, the words blurted out.
I sense she’s as uncomfortable as I am – looking for ways to ease the silence.
‘Very lucky,’ I reply.
‘You must care a lot about teaching,’ she says. ‘To work so hard.’
She’s right. I do work hard. I want my students to have the best of
That silence again. It presses on my heart.
‘Would you like to tell me what you were doing, paddling in the lake at gone midnight?’ I ask.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she says. ‘I ... was nervous about my audition result.’
I hate that. To think that I could have caused her a moment’s pain …
I want to tell her that her audition was perfectly fine. Better than most of the other students, in fact. And certainly good enough to progress. She has a lot to learn, but that’s what she’s here for.
Her fingers are shaking in her lap, and I can’t take my eyes off them. They’re so slim and delicate. Vulnerable.
I don’t mean to touch her, but I can’t help myself. Not when she’s cold like this. I grab her shivering fingers roughly, and hold them against the heating duct.
She flinches at my roughness, and I’m glad. She should see me for what I am – an angry, compassionless monster.
‘I just want to warm you up,’ I tell her. ‘Rub your fingers together.’
‘You must think I’m such an idiot,’ she says.
I put my hands on the steering wheel and grip it tightly, holding on for dear life.
‘No. I don’t think you’re an idiot,’ I tell her, my chest softening. ‘I understand why you love walking in those woods. I love them too. Just don’t go to the lake on your own again. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ she says, rubbing her fingers together. ‘I’m so sorry about your car.’
I frown. She really doesn’t get it. Good, pure, lovely Sophia. So naïve. So oblivious to the way she’s making me feel. I wonder how many men have fallen in love with her. It must be hundreds. Thousands.
I can’t imagine a man who wouldn’t be obsessed with her innocence. It’s mesmerising. But I can’t imagine other men would want to destroy that innocence the way I do.
Yes – I want to hold her. To protect her. Even be gentle. But I also want to tie her down. To totally dominate her. To have her submit to me. To make her explore parts of herself she’s never seen. And to experience pleasure in ways she’s never known.
As I sit beside her, our unspoken words thick in the air, I am certain – totally certain – that she would enjoy being dominated.
36
Cassandra was right, all those years ago. You do learn to spot the types. And Sophia is one of them. Although I’m quite sure she has no idea yet. Unless I show her.
‘I told you,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t care less about the car.’ And then, because I can’t help myself, I add, ‘I care about you.’
It’s too much, and I glare at the windscreen.
If the silence was heavy before, it’s twenty sandbags right now.
I turn on the stereo, and the Kinks ‘Sunny Afternoon’ mercifully breaks the silence.
Denise bought me this CD. I usually hate ‘best of’ albums – to me, an album is a work of art. Taking the most popular songs and splicing them together wrecks the balance. But the Kinks are good enough for me not to mind.
‘You like the Kinks?’ Sophia asks, a little incredulous.
I’m not surprised. If she’s like most people, she’ll assume I like opera. Or some similarly weighty, heavy emotional music.
But I don’t. I like songs that tell a story.
‘They’re good storytellers,’ I explain, staring straight ahead.
I don’t say anything else. After that, ‘I care about you’ line, I’m not trusting what’s coming out of my mouth.
The music softens the silence between us. But I’m still keenly aware of Sophia’s light, small body lost in my running clothes. And the beautiful, huge brown eyes that sometimes dart in my direction.
‘Lucky you were working late,’ she says suddenly, the words blurted out.
I sense she’s as uncomfortable as I am – looking for ways to ease the silence.
‘Very lucky,’ I reply.
‘You must care a lot about teaching,’ she says. ‘To work so hard.’
She’s right. I do work hard. I want my students to have the best of
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