flinched. If only he knew the full extent of it.
‘It’s not that easy.’ I looked at the floor. ‘I can’t let people I know down. I need to act my age. We,’ I said, clearing my throat, ‘are not possible.’ I gestured to Robert, then back to me. ‘And we have to end it.’
And then he grinned: I was amazed at his ability to shift effortlessly from one mood to another. ‘I need you in my life. I know you want me and I know you don’t want to be alone any more.’ His hand ran over his tattoo. ‘You’re everything that’s right in the world.’
‘You’re twenty-five, Robert, a postgrad student. You’re still so young. You’ll get your DPhil and that’ll be that. You’ll move on.’ I paused. ‘You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.’ I paused. ‘I’m almost fifty.’
He laughed; it had the same youthfulness that I had noticed in September when he first arrived at our weekly meeting. We had become a cliché: professor and research student; initially bound by our passion for academia, but it had been more than that. Even as he had walked through the door and our eyes had locked, I knew. I felt weak around him. I had fallen in love – or was it lust? – with this man in front of me and I didn’t know how to stop it.
He nodded slowly. ‘You really think I need to move on?’ He met my gaze and I immediately averted my eyes.
‘Robert, don’t push me. It’s over,’ I sobbed. ‘Please.’
‘That’s really what you want?’ Robert raised a brow, challenging me. ‘You want to forget us?’ He shook his head, confusion crossing his features. ‘I don’t get it, and in some ways I don’t want to question it. You’re so cagey about your life outside of here.’ He paused. ‘I hope you’re not playing me for a fool, Frey.’ He raised his brows, his face lighting once more. ‘You looked amazing at the department drinks the other night. What did you think of my suit?’ He grinned foppishly.
‘I have no opinion of how you looked.’ I dropped my gaze once again to the floor, heat creeping up my neck.
‘That’s not true. You told me I looked handsome.’ He scratched his arm. ‘Handsome. I remember you saying it.’
‘Then why are you asking me?’ A surge of irritation moved through me.
‘Because I want to hear you say it again.’ He paused. ‘Do you know how I felt when you said it?’
I didn’t respond.
‘I felt like the happiest, luckiest guy in the world and I wanted to shout out about our relationship.’
Tears smarted my eyes. This was not how I had planned this conversation; I had woken this morning certain I needed to end it. In my mind, our relationship had been over. Only, I knew I couldn’t blame Robert alone. My resolve around him, around this man who made me feel more excited and alive than I had done in years, was weak.
‘You need to go,’ I tried again. ‘Why would you want to be with me, anyway? I don’t go out, I don’t do the things people of your age do.’ I placed a hand on the filing cabinet, grateful for the cool of the metal. ‘You will find someone who loves you, who’s just like you. I can’t give you any of those things.’ My words settled in the still air. I could hear James, our colleague, in the corridor. ‘There are people around.’ I wasn’t sure if I said this to calm my own jagged nerves or to warn him off.
‘I don’t care who’s around.’ He walked calmly to the window, lifted the lever and pushed it open. The fly, barely alive, responded to the rush of air and flew drowsily outside.
Perspiration clung to my upper lip as I watched him close the window once more. I rubbed the base of my back with my shirt, stopping a trickle of sweat in its tracks.
‘Just go, Robert. It’s over,’ I eventually said, in almost a whisper.
He laughed: hollow, disbelieving. ‘No, it’s not.’ He caught me looking at the tattoo and frowned. ‘You don’t seem to realise what you’ve done. You’ve made me fall in love with you.’
‘I haven’t done anything.’ My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a sob. ‘Please. Don’t make this harder than it already is.’
‘Tell me you love me.’
My heart raced, my eyes drawn to the smoothness of his palms. I wanted him in my life; I wanted the love he gave me, I wanted the way he brought my body alive, the way he made me feel like the version of myself I so desperately wanted to be.
‘I can’t.’
‘Then why do you look at me like that? Even with other people around, I see you looking at me, I can feel your eyes on me.’ His eyes followed my gaze to his hands. ‘Frey, I’m not stupid. Even now, I know you’re thinking about us.’
Lust surged through me; a wave of goosebumps travelled across my arms and down the length of my back. He moved towards me and placed a hand at the base of my neck, his fingers softly caressing my hairline.
‘Please get off,’ I whispered hoarsely, my eyes briefly closing and giving in to his touch. ‘Please.’
‘Freya.’ He continued to ply my skin with increasing urgency as he shifted forward once more. ‘You want me. You don’t want this to end.’ He breathed heavily into my ear. ‘Not this, not our chats, not our love for each other.’
My breathing came hard and fast. ‘Don’t.’ I couldn’t touch him. I knew I couldn’t touch him. ‘Please don’t,’ I said, my voice an urgent whisper as I felt the familiar stirring in the pit of my stomach.
‘Freya.’ He brought his lips towards mine and lingered above my mouth, his breath strong – the smell of lager enticingly close. ‘Freya.’ He brushed his lips against mine and I stumbled back towards the desk, my hand knocking the penholder – a gift from my daughter, made at school, years ago – to the ground. I looked desperately at the broken clay shards, then back at him.
‘No. No. No,’ I gasped, realising this was exactly why I had to end my affair with Robert. ‘Please go.’
He didn’t move, his face twisted with hurt.
‘Please… go,’ I said again.
He nodded slightly and moved towards the door. Turning, he looked back at me.
‘Freya, I love you. Don’t give up on us now. We could have it all.’ He stopped talking and his eyes appeared to be drinking in the sight of me. ‘I’ve never given up on anything I love before and I’m not going to start now. I admired your work even before I met you in person and now you have become more than just an idol, you’ve become real. You’re a part of me now, Frey. We’re meant to be.’
He turned the key and then, straightening up, he left. The door remained wide open.
I waited, my ragged breath echoing in my ears. Hot tears wet my cheeks and I strode to the door, slamming it shut, turning the key once more. I stumbled to the sofa and sat, elbows on my knees, my hands over my face.
I wanted to tell myself that it would all be fine: that Robert would just walk away, that I would forget how good he made me feel. I couldn’t. Instead, my mind was wracked by an image of his
