The Record of My Heart (Words #3.5) (5 page)

It’s been a long day, one I wasn’t even remotely rested enough to face. Perhaps my exhaustion is to blame for my outlandish behavior. I’m not sure how best to justify it, but I wish I could take back my actions.

Having secured an alternate venue for my Friday tutorials after class today, I should have headed to the English office to check on my office hour appointments before my meeting with my advisor, but once again, I was drawn to Aubrey, and since I’d heard her telling Julie she was going to the Hart House library to do some reading, I felt compelled to swing by, hoping to share a few words with her. Plus, I had a note burning a hole in my pocket, something I wanted to give her which I’d penned late last night after reading poetry until all hours. I thought she’d find a handwritten note romantic and charming. Somehow, I doubt that’s the final impression I left her with after our encounter today.

When I arrived at the library, she was flaked out on a couch reading. I sat in a chair across the room and watched her for a while. Every few pages, she’d look up and stare into space. She seemed so melancholy…wistful almost…so beautiful. At one point, she stood and looked out the window for a few moments. Sadly, she was wearing a really long sweater. Happily, I have a fertile imagination. I swear, the thought of her luscious ass in those tight, black pants makes me lose the ability to think rationally.

A few minutes later, rational behavior joined its counterpart rational thought—both having gone up in smoke, apparently—and the next thing I knew, I was texting her (revealing my presence in the room and again feeling like a bit of a stalker, for the third day in a row) and begging her to remove her sweater. Whether this was a playful request or a desperate command, I don’t know, but Aubrey complied, regardless. She unbuttoned and slipped off the sweater and, perhaps understanding the motive behind my words, she returned to the window, taunting me by stretching her hands over her head. In addition to affording me a chance to salivate over her glorious ass, this move gave me a quick glance at a swath of creamy skin below the hem of her T-shirt that begged to be touched and kissed.

The way she looked at me over her shoulder as she slowly lowered her arms made me utterly unravel.

Was she more sensuous today than other days? Was there something about the quiet tension in the room that inspired my quickening desire? Or had Tuesday’s meeting—the embrace we’d shared, the feeling of her breath on my neck, her fingers in my hair—had this promise of physical delights to come awakened an insatiable lust that had to be articulated? I don’t know. I can’t account for what I said and did next.

I pictured her on that sofa with sunlight streaming across her naked body. I saw her beckon me to join her, begging me to kiss her, and even though this was all a fabrication, the machinations of my overwrought imagination, I needed her to know how much I wanted that—how desperately I wanted to devour her lips with mine, and then traverse her entire body with my tongue. The physical need to do this was acute to the point of pain.

I sent her a series of pointed and wildly inappropriate text messages, the physical gestures accompanying them undeniable in their intent. If she were ever to recoil, fearful of my feelings and the passion inspiring them, today would have been the day. She didn’t. She met my eyes. The desire in her gaze matched my own. Had we been alone in that room, I would have seduced her on that sofa without another thought. It stands to follow, then, that I owe my safe escape to the handful of undergrads sprawled around the room. After drawing Aubrey’s attention to the note I was leaving for her on the chair, I fled, taking a moment to send her a plea from the hallway, begging her to erase our ill-advised correspondence. Good sense had returned, and with it, the potential peril of having put my lewd desires into words became clear.

Given the raunchiness of the exchange I’d initiated, I’m sure she was expecting the note I’d left behind to be similar in nature. It wasn’t. It was quite lovely, actually, inspired by the Bard’s wonderful words in Sonnet 57.

“Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.”

~W. Shakespeare

Could I have picked a poem whose tone was more incongruous with the behavior I’d just exhibited? Aubrey must think I’m mad. I may well be. With fifty-seven days in the interim, by the end of the semester, I could be positively certifiable.

“Whatever.”

I hate that word. I never hear it without wanting to throttle the person saying it.

What does it mean?

Do whatever you want. It makes no difference to me. I don’t care. Fuck you.

If I’d ever doubted the damage words can do, Nicola made their catastrophic powers clear with three words. Those three words that she uttered
—he molested me—
they didn’t just damage my life, they obliterated my hopes and dreams. Indeed, I’m no stranger to the power of words.

And last night, Aubrey dealt me a “whatever.” I lost my shit.

I have no idea how it happened. Everything seemed fine on Friday. We went to Mary’s service, not a happy occasion by any stretch of the imagination, but we were there for each other, our fingers secretly intertwined during the whole ceremony. I felt so grounded by that simple touch. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve grown to rely on Aubrey as a stabilizing force. She validated this feeling in a note she gave me afterward in which she mentioned that she feels connected to me, even when we’re apart. I was heartened to see how in sync our feelings were. It seemed to further underscore our compatibility.

Desperate to forge ahead, eager to know everything about her, to understand what makes her tick, I convinced her to meet me at the Four Seasons Hotel after the service. We shared a clandestine embrace in the stairwell, and feeling her in my arms, so soft and warm, her body melded to mine, I was reminded of the slippery slope I was navigating, revisiting the anguished journey of my week and recalling the advice Penny had shared over breakfast that morning. “Just get it over with,” she’d said, claiming I’ve already lost my objectivity and might as well follow my instincts with Aubrey.

I refused to see that as my only option, believing it entirely possible to nurture a friendship with Aubrey. Certainly affection would come into play, but I reasoned that there was no need for either one of us to give in to primal sexual urges. I was convinced that we could move forward with a chaste courtship in which the primary goal was simply getting to know one another.

With that philosophy in mind, I talked Aubrey into joining me for lunch at the Four Seasons, and we spent two hours enjoying a leisurely meal, during which we finally had a chance to talk—properly. I have to admit, there were a few suggestive moments, but we seemed to navigate our way through the minefield of desire and stay remarkably focused on learning about each other. In fact, over the course of those two hours, we covered a hell of a lot of ground.

I discovered that her parents are not only divorced, but they’ve both relocated, leaving Aubrey here in Toronto to fend for herself, something she’s obviously doing quite admirably, working part-time and still managing to carry a full-course load while achieving Honors standing. Listening to her talk, I got a very clear sense of her pride and determination. Knowing the obstacles she’s overcome made me feel ashamed of the lack of financial obstacles I’ve had to face. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been surrounded by luxuries and all manner of indulgences.

Despite the many things Aubrey and I have in common (not the least of which is our mutual fondness for witty repartee and an affection for Elizabethan literature), we’ve had very different upbringings. I find myself wanting to give her everything—to take her to nice restaurants, to buy her clothes, to take her on trips…in short, I want to spoil her silly. Already I can tell that won’t be easy. Have I mentioned she’s stubborn as a fucking mule?

Have I also mentioned she’s so sexy she can liquefy my bones (all but one of them), with a simple hug, a few suggestive whispers and a coy glance from under her eyelashes? The embrace we shared in the underground car park as we headed to my car was very nearly pornographic, despite the fact that we were both fully clothed and we didn’t even so much as kiss…

Essentially, when faced with her charms, I become a dithering idiot. I’ve swung from one extreme to the other and back again (several times) this week—horny and desperate one minute and restrained and prudent the next, back and forth, changing my tune with the direction of the shifting wind. I suppose it’s no wonder things fell apart last night.

The day started well enough. Aubrey and I talked on the phone (yes, I took the plunge and made first contact). We had what amounted to a very normal phone call between two people who have just started dating. We even had the most hilarious “phone sex” exchange, innocent enough, and primarily in jest, but another reminder of not just her fantastic sense of humor, but of exciting things to come.

At least that’s what I thought yesterday. Now I’m not so sure of our future. We went to the benefit concert in honor of Mary last night, had a great time with my brothers, Penny and Julie, and as far as I was concerned, it was a successful evening. Sure it was a little tense here and there, with Cara’s arrival, and Matt’s unfortunate presence (he’s like a bad rash), but having Jeremy, Brad, Penny, and Julie around us, finally aware of what’s going on, normalized things.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Perhaps that’s what inspired Aubrey’s uncharacteristic outburst last night in the taxi. It was bad enough that I climbed into the backseat of that car with her in the first place, but then to find myself in a position where she was kissing my neck, whispering in my ear, pleading with me to bring her home to the condo…well, how was I supposed to react? She seemed to have lost her ability to think straight and completely forgotten the inadvisability of us being alone together.

But when I tried to talk sense to her and remind her of the precariousness of the situation, she snapped. I tried to reason with her, but by that point she was too angry to listen. She simply crossed her arms and shut down. I decided she needed a chance to cool down and think things through. As we pulled up to the condo, I asked her if it would be okay if I phoned her, and that’s when she delivered those three unfortunate syllables:

What-ev-er.

In light of that “whatever,” I didn’t call Aubrey today. At first, I couldn’t bring myself to phone her because I was angry, but the more I think about the situation, the more I realize I’m partly to blame for what happened. All week, I’ve sent her mixed messages. I can’t expect to go from being suggestive and playful, verging on seducing her and then suddenly pull back, do a complete 180, and claim surprise at her reaction.

Now I’m avoiding calling because I’m actually afraid of what she might say. What if she’s decided this whole mess is too much aggravation? What if I’m the only one who’s an emotional train wreck right now? And that’s not as inconceivable as it might seem. I called Penny to tell her what had happened and discovered that she’d called Aubrey to chat and that Aubrey sounded fine.

Fine?

She sounded
fine
. What the fuck?

So here I am analyzing every detail of our argument and trying to figure out what to do next, and Aubrey’s fine? Am I over reacting? Did I imagine her hostility? I don’t think I did. Perhaps she was putting on a brave face for Penny, knowing Penny would talk to me. I can imagine Aubrey doing that. Not that I blame her—I see myself doing exactly the same thing. Excessive pride is something else we have in common and it’s not hard to hide your feelings over the phone.

But what if pride has nothing to do with it at all? What if she
is
perfectly fine? Fuck, this is painful. How did my grandfather do it? Over seven months he waited, hoping against hope that Patty would still be available to him at the end of the school year. The man must have had nerves of steel. I’m not sure I have it in me. To be honest, I find myself re-evaluating my priorities. I wonder how hard it would be to get a transfer to another course section. As much as I’m enjoying Martin’s class, as well as the course content and the students I’m working with, perhaps it would be a good idea to explore my options. Hell, maybe I’m not ready to be a TA at all!

Between now and tomorrow, I have to do a great deal of thinking. And since I’m so completely ignorant of Aubrey’s state of mind, I’ll have to proceed cautiously (especially if I hope to preserve my own damn pride).

It seems to me that regardless of what I decide to do, there will be an inherent sacrifice.

Sacrifice. Not a fun word. Almost as unpleasant as
whatever
.

It’s seven a.m. and I’m about to head off to U of T. I’m grabbing coffee with my dad at eight, but I’m going to go to the interoffice mail depot first, to drop off a parcel for Aubrey. Yes, I’m making the first move. Perhaps I’ve read too many stories in which the main character is destroyed by his own hubris. Having said that, I’m also wary of allowing myself to show weakness. I don’t know how much my heart can take.

I bought Aubrey new gloves yesterday afternoon—a goodwill gesture, restitution of a sort for losing her gloves on Saturday. I’m also enclosing my black T-shirt in the parcel. Aubrey said that if she couldn’t have me in bed with her, she would at least like some item of my clothing to sleep in. If she reads between the lines, she’ll understand the significance of me giving her the shirt.

I’ve been sitting at my desk for an hour now, carefully composing a note to enclose in the package. I think I’ve finally found the right balance of disappointment, contrition and regret tempered by a small dose of cautious hopefulness. I’ve written, deleted and rewritten, agonizing over every fucking word. At this point, I have to trust that the important words will speak for themselves—

We need to talk. I was careless. I’m sorry. Your choice.

All that’s left now is to deliver the parcel and see what comes of it. Once it’s in her hands, there’ll be no going back.