Mr Blackwell: Teacher Student Romance (9 page)

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 everything. But I wasn’t working hard tonight. I was thinking about Sophia. And here she is.

It’s almost like my thoughts were so powerful, they conjured her up out of thin air. My brain, my body, wanted her so badly that she just had to appear. And now it’s unbearable.

‘I care a lot about my
pupils
,’ I tell her. ‘Not teaching.’

Sophia gives a little yawn, her hand rushing to her mouth.

It makes me smile. How polite she is. It’s gone midnight. She’s perfectly allowed to be tired.

‘Tired?’ I ask her, letting her see my smile.

She nods.

‘I’ll take you back to the accommodation block.’ I climb out of the car and go around to the passenger side.

As I open the car door, I realise Sophia doesn’t have any dry shoes.

It’s freezing outside and the paths are made of hard gravel.

I let my eyes press themselves closed, summoning strength.

‘I’ll carry you,’ I tell her, darting down and pulling her into my arms.

Her soft, slim body falls against my chest, and she looks up at me with her huge, brown eyes.

She doesn’t say anything.

This isn’t a time for words.

We both feel it – the electricity between us. The way our bodies fit so well. But this can only ever be for a moment …

I kick the car door closed and carry Sophia towards the college, feeling her watching me.

At the accommodation block, I set Sophia down on the warm carpet.

It’s hard letting her go.

But I know I must let her go over and over again. Every day for as long as she studies here. That is my cross to bear.

‘Sleep tight,’ I say softly. I want to reach forwards. To stroke the slightly damp strand of hair from her face. To take her chin in my fingers and kiss her long and hard. It takes all my self-control to turn from her. Because every instinct tells me that she wants me to kiss her. That she’s as desperate for me as I am for her.

As I turn to go, Sophia says, ‘Mr Blackwell?’

The words are fast and frightened.

I close my eyes tight. Then I let them open and I slowly turn back to her. ‘Yes?’ I breathe, the word barely a whisper.

‘I ... thank you,’ she says. ‘For saving me.’

For saving me
.

The words warm my chest.

I want to tell her that I will always save her. That she is so precious to me, I almost can’t bear the thought of her walking up the stairs alone. I want to follow her day and night. To forbid her from seeing any man – any man at all.

But I can’t tell her that. So instead I simply murmur, ‘Don’t mention it.’ The words are thick and tight.

Somehow, despite my best intentions, our eyes end up meeting. I suppose ‘locking’ is the word, because for a good few seconds I know neither of us can look away. Our eyes – the gateway to our souls. She sees my soul, and I see hers.

God, she is so beautiful.

How can she not know? How can she not see what a monster I am? If I’m seeing her, surely she can see me.

Perhaps that’s what’s so mesmerising about her. That she’s pure and good and innocent, but really does see all of me and isn’t afraid.

Sophia mumbles, ‘And …’

‘Yes?’ I reply, my voice soft, my chest aching.

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Don’t ask me up to your room or anything stupid like that.

‘I saw a lot of light in you just now,’ Sophia says.

Of all the things to see. When I want to defile her. Humiliate her. Take her to the dark side with me …

This isn’t a movie. Or a fairy tale. Sophia and I can never be. And I’m glad. Sweet, innocent girls don’t fall in love with monsters.

I manage a wry smile. ‘Then I guess I’m having an off day.’

I stride away.

37

I look down at Sophia, sleeping beside me. It’s hard to believe we finally got here. The two of us. Together. We’ve been through so much, but we made it in the end. Yet we still have challenges ahead.

The new day is coming. And soon everyone will know that we have fallen in love.

I go to the window and look out over the college.

It’s dark, but at the college gates I see shadows looming.

Paparazzi.

Christ.

I message my security manager, instructing that my team be put in place immediately. The gates are locked, but it won’t take long before those press parasites find other ways in.

I glance at the bed. Sophia’s eyes are tight shut.

I wish she didn’t have to face all this when she wakes.

She has no idea what she’s getting herself into.

Why did she have to fall for me? If there had just been feelings on my side, I could have walked away. But we love each other and that’s just how it is.

Light and dark. Never apart.

I’m the one for Sophia. And she’s the one for me.

Sophia’s breathing is gentle. Delicate. She makes a little murmuring sound, and my heart melts.

I’ve never known love like this. I wish Sophia had been the first woman I slept with. But there’s nothing I can do about my past now. She has freed me from it, anyway.

I thought myself incapable of love. I thought myself a monster. If it weren’t for Sophia, I still would.

My beautiful, beautiful Sophia. Untouched by fame. Money. Power.

Will it change her – the overnight fame?

No.

She’s so different to any other woman I’ve ever met. So innocent and trusting. She doesn’t care about who I am. Only what I am.

I would die for this girl. Without hesitation.

I watch her, wondering what she’s dreaming about. Is she still remembering when we first met?

Or all those other times … the times I fought to resist her?

I wonder if she guessed, when we had our first one-on-one, what I was feeling?

Perhaps.

I smile, thinking of our second one-on-one in Queen’s Theatre, and our first kiss.

She certainly knew then that my feelings weren’t entirely proper …

38

As I head towards Queen’s Theatre, I am a vision of self-control. My walk is purposeful. Upright. Rigid. No one would ever guess the turmoil I’m feeling inside.

I am tutoring Sophia Rose again. One-on-one. Alone in the theatre. And I can barely stand the thought of it.

But I have to do this. I have to prove to myself that, no matter what the temptation, I can resist this girl. For her sake, as well as mine. She has no idea what she could be getting herself into. No idea who I really am.
What
I really am.

I have spent years perfecting my self-control. Refining it. I will not give into this. I will not.

I turn a corner and see Queen’s Theatre up ahead.

Sophia is outside, shivering in the cold.

Christ.

What is she doing without a coat? She’ll catch her death.

I feel angry. With her, and with myself for caring. I don’t want to care about this girl. And yet there’s something so vulnerable and pure about her that I can’t help wanting to protect her.

The worse of it is, I sense she feels something for me too. But not because I’m famous. I sense she sees me. Like no one else does. That thought scares me to death.

I stride towards her, fighting the impulse to pull her into my arms and warm her body against mine.

‘Miss Rose,’ I tell her. ‘Nice and punctual I see. Very good.’

She nods in response, looking awkward.

I want to tell her it’s okay. That she can relax. That she’ll be safe with me. But as I stand beside her, smelling her beautiful skin, I begin to doubt if she really is safe.

Take control, Marc Blackwell. Take control.

I reach past Sophia and unlock the theatre doors. Then I step past her, flicking on the lights.

‘Let’s go inside,’ I tell her. And of course, ever the gentleman, I add, ‘After you.’

As Sophia heads into the theatre, I feel myself breathing deep. Breathing her in. This is torture.

I follow her into the theatre, feeling like a wolf stalking a deer.

Sophia tells me she’s ready to play Jennifer Jones again, so we go up on stage.

I decide on a scene that will really stretch her as an actress. Something that will bring out her seductive side.

I tell her I’ll play Antonio. The male ballerina. Sometimes I wonder if I delight in torturing myself. But the point of all of this is self-control. If I can’t control myself around her, I have no business being her teacher.

I am her teacher.

Self-control
no matter what
. Even if she throws herself at me. Which she won’t do, because – despite her poor background – she is a good, respectable girl. The sort of girl I don’t come across too often.

Sophia takes out her script, but I tell her no. We’re going to adlib.

She looks terrified. Her shoulders, her face … her body is afraid.

‘You look far too tense,’ I tell her. And some foolish part of me reaches out to take her hands.

God!

Her fingers are so soft. I want to put them to my lips. I want to close my eyes and feel her skin against mine. To lift her into my arms and carry her to some dark corner …

No.

I shake her arms –a little trick I’ve learned to help let go of tension. As I shake her, Sophia looks at me – big, brown eyes fixed on mine.

I’ve met a lot of beautiful women. But I’ve never seen eyes like these. They’re so full of light.

It’s almost unbearable.

I drop her hands.

‘Better?’ I mutter.

‘Thank you,’ she replies, her voice soft.

Why isn’t she afraid of me? Doesn’t she know what I’m capable of?

We talk about the scene, and then take our positions on the stage – Sophia’s posture changing into the seductress that is Jennifer Jones.

It’s so beautiful – this pure, innocent girl playing a sexually charged villain. Such a delightful combination. I have no fear that Sophia will go very far in the acting world. Whatever part she plays, she’ll bring her soul to it. And it’s a beautiful soul.

‘You’re an extremely talented actor Antonio,’ Sophia says, stroking her hair. ‘I imagine you’ve known a lot of leading ladies in your time.’

This is better. Acting is familiar territory. When I play someone else, my self-control is absolute.

‘A few,’ I say, feeling Antonio’s swagger and youth.

‘Oh?’ Sophia smiles at me. ‘How well have you known these leading ladies?’

‘Some of them very well.’

This is easier now. Antonio is a young, arrogant pig of a man who uses women to get what he wants. But he isn’t a teacher obsessed with a female student. In this moment, it’s a relief to be someone else.

‘Perhaps you’d like to get to know me better,’ says Sophia, coming towards me. She really is playing this part very well. A huge improvement. As her teacher, I’m proud of her courage. This role is a million miles away from who she is.

I expect Sophia to stop a metre or so away. But she doesn’t.

My heart pounds as she steps right into my space. Close to my body. I look down at her and struggle to keep my breathing even. I’m barely holding it together. My self-control is hanging by a thread.

I want her so badly. In every way. I want to kiss her until she can barely breathe. I want to tie her up and fuck her. And I want to make love to her and let go – totally let go. That last thought frightens me the most.

Just as I’m thinking I can’t bear it any longer, Sophia takes a step back and walks around me.

She circles as Jennifer, a seductress taking charge of the scene. And in spite of my pain, I’m proud of her.

‘Do you like what you see?’ she asks.

She’s adlibbing, and my pride threatens to spill over.

‘Very much,’ I reply.

She falters for a moment, taking a breath. And suddenly she’s Sophia again. Innocent. Vulnerable.

I am so confused by my feelings. I want to protect her. Keep her safe. I would die to keep her safe. I would kill anyone who laid a hand on her. And yet …

I am her teacher.