Saturday - Gray
1319 Words
8:47 PM.
I stood in front of my mirror in gray.
Sweater. Loose. Too big. Pants. Boots. No makeup. Hair in a clip.
Gray. Like he said.
Aisha was in the kitchen. “You look like a ghost,” she said. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said. “Thesis meeting.”
“At 9 PM? On a Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
My phone buzzed.
L: Car’s outside. Don’t make me wait.
I grabbed my bag. My laptop. Chapter 1 printed out with all his red.
The car was there. Same driver. Same warm seat.
But tonight Lucien was already inside.
He was on his phone. Work. Talking in low, clipped words I didn’t understand.
When he saw me, he ended the call. Didn’t say goodbye.
“You’re wearing gray,” he said.
“Yes.”
He looked at me. All of me. Slow. Like he was checking for lies.
“It suits you,” he said. “I told you it would.”
No smile. No touch. Just that.
The ride was 20 minutes. No music. No talking.
He kept his hands folded. I kept mine in my lap.
But our knees brushed once when the car turned. Neither of us moved away.
The Ashford Building. Empty. Security nodded to him like he owned the night.
His office. Same. But different.
The desk was cleared. Two laptops. Two chairs. Food on a tray.
No wine tonight. Just coffee and sandwiches and berries.
“Sit,” he said.
I sat in my chair. Not his. Not yet.
He sat across from me. Opened my chapter 1 on his laptop.
Red comments in the margins. All his.
“We’re going through it line by line,” he said. “You’re going to defend every lie you told.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he cut me off. “Page 3. ‘I was not afraid.’ Bullshit. Page 9. ‘The contact was unwanted.’ Also bullshit.”
He looked up. “Start.”
For two hours we fought with words.
Me explaining. Him tearing it apart.
Every time I said “subject” he made me say “Lucien.”
Every time I said “the girl” he made me say “me.”
By 11:30 I was exhausted. My throat hurt.
He noticed. Pushed the sandwich toward me.
“Eat.”
“I’m not—”
“Eat, Maya.”
I ate. He watched.
When I was done, he stood. Walked to the window. Hands in pockets.
“You did good,” he said. “The truth is ugly. But it’s true.”
“Is that why you wanted it?”
“Partly,” he said. “The other part is I needed to hear you say it.”
He turned. Leaned against the window.
“You look good in gray,” he said again. “Not like a ghost. Like you belong here.”
“Do I?”
“Yes,” he said. Too fast. Then caught himself. “For the thesis.”
Silence.
His phone buzzed. He ignored it.
Mine buzzed. He didn’t look at it.
“Lucien,” I said. His name felt weird in my mouth.
“What.”
“Why me? There are other students. Smarter. Prettier. Less trouble.”
He laughed. Once. Bitter. “You think this is about smart? About pretty?”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” he said. “It’s about the library. You didn’t flinch. It’s about dinner. You didn’t run. It’s about tonight. You wore gray because I asked.”
He pushed off the window. Came around the desk.
Stopped in front of me. Close.
“I’m not a good man, Maya. I told you that. I take. I watch. I control.”
“I know.”
“But with you,” he said. “I want to ask. And that scares the s**t out of me.”
My heart was pounding.
“Can I touch you?” he asked.
The question hit harder than the kiss.
Because he was asking.
I nodded. Once.
His hand came up. Slow. Like I was something breakable.
Thumb under my chin. Tilted my face up.
His other hand brushed my cheek. Knuckles grazing.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“The office is cold.”
“No,” he said. “You’re cold because you’re scared.”
“Are you scared?”
“Of you? Yes,” he said. Honest. Raw. “Of what I’ll do if you say yes. Of what I’ll do if you say no.”
He bent down. Forehead to mine.
“I can stop,” he whispered. “Say the word. Say stop. Say Ben. Say anything and I’ll walk away.”
I didn’t.
His mouth met mine.
Different from last time.
Slower. Careful. Like he was memorizing me.
Like he was afraid if he went too fast I’d disappear.
One hand stayed on my cheek. The other came to my waist. Over the sweater.
Not pulling me in. Just holding. Anchoring.
I made a sound. Small. I didn’t mean to.
He pulled back instantly. Eyes dark. Searching.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said. “Don’t know is better than no.”
He let go. Stepped back. Put space between us like it physically hurt.
Ran a hand through his hair. Breathed out.
“s**t,” he said. “I said I wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t promise.”
“I should have,” he said. “You deserve someone who asks twice.”
He went to the other side of the room. Poured water. Drank it like he was trying to wash something down.
“Chapter 2,” he said. Voice rough. “We start chapter 2.”
“Now?”
“Now,” he said. “Before I do something stupid.”
We worked.
Or tried to.
Every 10 minutes his eyes would cut to me.
Every time I typed he’d go still.
At 1:14 AM he snapped.
He slammed his laptop shut.
“Come here.”
I went.
He pulled me into his lap in his chair.
Not asking. But not forcing either.
His arms came around me. Tight.
“I’m sorry,” he said into my hair. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I can’t let you go. I’m sorry I kissed you and I’m sorry I want to do it again.”
“Lucien—”
“Don’t,” he said. “Just sit. For five minutes. Please.”
So we sat.
His heartbeat under my hand. Fast.
Mine probably matching it.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I know you think I will. But I won’t.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I’m terrified of it,” he said. “Because the thought of you crying because of me makes me want to put my fist through a wall.”
He loosened his grip. Just enough to see my face.
“You’re safe with me, Maya. Even from me. Especially from me.”
I believed him. And that was the problem.
At 2:00 AM he walked me to the car.
Didn’t kiss me again. Didn’t touch me.
Just opened the door. Tucked the blanket around me.
“Sleep,” he said.
“Chapter 2?”
“Monday,” he said. “You need a day. I need a day.”
The car pulled away.
My phone buzzed.
L: You looked beautiful in gray. I’m sorry I lost control.
L: I’m not sorry I kissed you.
L: Sleep. Don’t wear blue on Monday.
I stared at the messages.
Then I typed:
Me: I’m not sorry either.
Three dots.
Then nothing.
And tonight, for the first time, he asked.
And I said yes.
- Writer
