― Fernando Pessoa
Rescuer
It was weird driving home to an empty house on Christmas Eve when the rest of the world seemed bright and festive.
Mine was the only house on the street without Christmas lights or decorations and although it was just before 5 pm, it was already dark and rainy.
I wondered how Jana was faring and if she were still in the hospital or back in her condo. As miserable as I felt, she probably felt even worse nursing her wounds and recovering alone, not certain if her attacker might return.
It had not been a happy month for either of us.
As I thought about Jana I experienced many of the same emotions I felt when seeing Sofia. It was the same interplay of light and darkness, only sadder.
At least for the brief time when Sofia and I were together we had each other—Jana and I have no one.
This is crazy thinking though. I have to remind myself she's a student, although no longer in my lectures, and separation is necessary for her physical safety.
But yeah, she's right—I am dangerous. Ironic, but true nonetheless.
I light a fire, make coffee and ponder whether I should cook supper or order in. It's a simple decision but even that seems beyond me.
Why is it things always have a way of turning out so badly?
There's a soft knock on the door and I open it to see Sarah's beautiful face smiling at me.
"Hey Prof—aren't you going to ask me in? I brought dinner."
"You brought dinner?" I ask, perplexed. I'm not sure I heard her right.
"Yes, I brought Chinese," she laughs brushing by me but close enough to trail a faint scent of perfume across my path. "You're always making food for me—I thought I'd return the favour."
I see the familiar pink takeout bag from the Mandarin Restaurant. "You didn't have to do that," I protest.
"Don't worry, Prof. I know you're a picky eater—it's sweet and sour chicken balls, fried rice and an egg roll—nothing too authentic or exotic to challenge your taste."
Now I'm really perplexed. "How do you know about my taste in food—have you been talking to Matt?"
She rolls her eyes. "No, I've been channeling the ghosts of girlfriends past and they all say the same thing—great guy but picky eater."
"Great guy, eh? You sure about that?"
She's smirking as she gets dishes from the cupboard.
"I'm sure about what they said as I am about your famous 'healthy' food style. They all say your Four Food Groups are steak, potatoes, wine and dessert. Yep, that's the big flaw I've managed to uncover in your past. It was kind of boring really after the first few times hearing it."
"Why does that not tally with my memory of a wild bachelorhood?"
She uses the serving spoon as a faux magic wand to ding me on the nose, leaving a smear of red sauce. "Hmm, why is there a discrepancy? Could it be you're not the great stud you considered yourself to be?"
I hold up a hand. "Now, hold on—I'm not bragging about past exploits—I actually find them embarrassing."
"That may be true for you now, but face it Liam—all men brag about past greatness, but apparently, in the eyes of women who knew you, that was no big whoop."
I use a paper towel to daub the sauce from my nose and sit down dejectedly on the sofa. "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed."
She gives me a wry smile. "Your body language tells me you like to think of yourself as a bad boy but your reputation says otherwise. You weren't a saint, but no devil either. Certainly not anyone women would be wanting to crucify fifteen years later."
"Then maybe the profile is wrong and we're barking up the wrong tree."
She shakes her head and in a little girl voice dripping with sarcasm says sweetly, "Or, maybe your cute little student isn't quite the innocent victim you've made her out to be."
She brings in two plates of food and heads back to retrieve a bottle of cab sav and two glasses.
"Maybe we should eat first and discuss this later," I suggest.
"Suits me, but I was going to update you on our progress during dinner."
"Okay," I brighten, "an update would be welcome."
"You sure about that? You might not like what you hear."
"If it's the truth and you made some progress, I'm all ears."
She stares at me with huge dark eyes.
I notice she's lit candles and dimmed lights—candlelight and wine—and eyes so dark and fathomless I fear I might fall in.
If I did would it be worse than in my dream? In that instance I submerged but surfaced again, gasping for air.
But staring into her limitless darkness, I might never return, and it doesn't matter.
Jana's power over me is broken. I don't want bondage—I want someone who cares.