Zachary
the guests leave, and soon after, my parents set off to Edinburgh for Hogmanay, which they religiously attend every year, and Zahara sets off with Iakov to meet her friends in Paris.
The house, once they’re all gone, is eerily empty. Normally, I, too, would be leaving at this point, sometimes heading to the south of France to celebrate New Year’s Eve with Sev, other times to meet Evan in New York. This year, though, Evan has invited his former friend, mortal enemy and reluctant tutor, Sophie Sutton, to stay with him at his home in the UK.
I’m surprised she agreed to do so since the two of them never miss an opportunity to drag each other’s name through the mud—but I know better than to get in their way.
I’d only end up getting caught in the crosshairs of their eternal conflict.
Besides, I have my own guest to think about.
“What would you like to do for New Year’s Eve?” I asked Theodora the evening after everyone left.
We were eating pizza out of a box in the Blue Lounge, Christmas movies on the TV. Theodora would pick a slice and tear it in two, and then tear those slices again, and then take tiny bites. I was just happy to see her eat.
“I’m not sure,” she answered, delicately wiping the corner of her mouth with the tip of her ring finger. “What about you?”
“I just want to make you happy,” I told her in complete honesty. “Anything you want to do, anywhere in the world—I’ll take you.”
She thought for a moment. “I’m happy here.”
It made my heart ache to hear it. I might have thought she was lying if I couldn’t see the difference in her. The slight flush in her cheeks, the ease with which she relaxes into chairs and cushions, the glitter in her eyes and the way I’ve never seen her smile as often as she has in the past few days.
“Alright, then. Let’s do New Year’s Eve here. Just the two of us? No parties?”
She shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. I’m all burnt out on parties.”
“Yes, I suppose my parents’ social calendar is overzealous, to say the least.”
“Not just this holiday,” Theodora replied. “Just in general.”
I frowned at her. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yes, really.”
“If you haven’t been enjoying the Spearcrest parties, why go?”
“If I only went out of enjoyment, I’d never go at all.”
We stared at each other, the lights from the TV plunging us in blue then orange, then blue again.
“Theodora, darling—not a party girl at heart? Who would have thought,” I said, more gentle than mocking.
She laughed, dispelling the emotion that had suddenly settled upon the conversation.
between Christmas and New Year, we settle into a comfortable routine: meeting for breakfast, going on long walks around the grounds, then spending the dark afternoons and evenings working on our various assignments. Later, we have dinner, something easy and wholesome, and then, sometimes, we sit and do nothing, playing cards or chess or just watching television together.
“If you don’t like parties, why do you go to all the Spearcrest parties?” I ask her one evening out of the blue because it’s been playing on my mind.
“Because it’s what’s expected of me,” she answers.
I turn to her with a frown. “Since when do you do what’s expected of you?”
She’s lying draped on her stomach on the sofa in blue satin pyjamas, her hair a long fishtail plait dangling off the side. She props her chin up on her hands to throw me an incredulous look.
“What are you talking about?” she asks in a haughty tone. “Since when do I do anything but what is expected of me?”
I stare at her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
“How so?” I prompt her.
She gives a laugh bereft of any amusement or warmth.
“Oh, where to begin? I behave as expected, I go to Spearcrest as expected, I look as I’m expected to look, I say the things I’m expected to say. At home, I behave just as my father expects, and at Spearcrest, I behave as everybody expects me to behave. I spend time with girls I have nothing in common with, I go to parties when I barely even drink, I dance to music I don’t even like. All because it’s expected of me.”
I’m seized with the same disorienting sensation I experienced when finding out about Iakov’s personal life from Zaro. A feeling like realising someone who’s been standing right at your side was mortally wounded the entire time.
“Why do you do it?” I ask. “If you don’t want to do those things, why not just—stop?”
She shakes her head with a sigh. “Because it’s not as simple as that, Zach. Failing my parents’ expectations is not something I can just do—it’s not something I could get away with, should I try. And as for Spearcrest, you and I both know the hierarchy exists whether or not we wish to acknowledge it. I cannot simply refuse the hierarchy—I cannot exist without a role. If I am not lofty, then I must be low. If I am not a queen, I must be a peasant. You know this just as well as I do.”
“I don’t… I just can’t accept… I just don’t understand how you can live this existence of—what? Duty?”
“What choice do I have?”
I sit up, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, suddenly wishing I could grab Theodora, shake her, make her see what I see, make her know what I know.
“You do have a choice, Theo. You’re a human being with an independent mind. You have a choice.”
She sits up and watches me with narrowed eyes, the same way she would watch me back in our debate team days, back when I could sense her scorn for my ideas like frost and the passion of her ideas like flames.
“I’m a human being with an independent mind,” she says, voice clear and hard, “who is still bound by the rules and expectations of the world and people around me. Yes, my mind is free, but a prisoner in a jail cell, too, can think whatever they like—it still doesn’t make them free.”
“But you’re not in a prison cell.”
“It’s an allegory.”
“I know what an allegory is. But a prisoner cannot escape their cell because it’s locked from the outside, because there are concrete walls and gates and locks and guards, because they are being physically stopped from leaving. What’s stopping you?”
For a second, she just stares at me, her mouth moving soundlessly.
Is she speechless because I have a point? Or is she simply stunned by what she perceives as my stupidity?
I can’t tell, and in the end, she doesn’t say anything.
The conversation ends without any resolution; it ends like a heavy, uncomfortable cliffhanger where we both dangle over the edge of unsaid things, a yawning chasm below us waiting to swallow us.
by our incomplete conversation puts me on edge, making it difficult to concentrate the next day when we sit in the study to work on our Apostles assignment.
Theodora sits in the big leather chair, writing notes out into a notebook with that frown of concentration she wears whenever she’s working hard on something. I sit across from her on the other side of the desk, my laptop open between us. The word processor cursor blinks as it waits for me to type something incisive and poignant.
But even though I have some notes ready and an essay plan, I still can’t write. I keep sneaking glances at Theodora, drawn by the beauty of her face, those delicate features, that raspberry mouth. My desire for Theodora deepens with every passing moment between us, each time gaining new dimensions.
My desire for Theodora used to be little more than intellectual curiosity—the hunger for knowledge. I wanted to understand her, to penetrate the armour she wears around herself, to know her. I remember thinking of her as a book in a cryptic language—wanting to break the code and avail myself of the words.
I never did that in the end.
Then, of course, I grew older, and my desire became something more alive and physical. A conqueror’s desire: wanting to touch and hold and possess. Theodora is exquisitely beautiful in every way—even her flaws make her more beautiful.
How could I not want to caress that porcelain skin, to kiss those sweet lips, to lay her bare and wet and wanting in my bed?
And now, a new desire emerges, catching all the other desires in its wake.
It’s this horrible, sickening, burning urge to love Theodora. Not just love her from afar, like a knight in a story. But love her from up close, love her like one loves a real human being. Cherish her in every way, and most importantly of all—keep her safe.
I want to hold Theodora and make sure nothing bad ever happens to her.
It never occurred to me to want to save Theodora because I never imagined for one moment she might need saving.
Now, I’m not so sure.
My eyes fall on the last words in my essay plan.
The necessity of happiness.
I look up.
“Are you happy, Theodora?”
Her eyes flash up to mine. She doesn’t move at all at first, but her pen stops moving. “In what sense?”
“In the general sense. In your life—your existence. Are you happy?”
She gives a soft exhalation of laughter. “What a question. Is anyone?”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
With a sigh, she places her pen down and crosses her arms on the desk, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Are you sure you want an honest answer?”
“Why would I want anything else?”
“Because the truth, as we both know, can often be quite ugly.”
I shake my head. “No, Theo, I don’t believe that.”
She tilts her head, fixing me with a measuring look.
“No, Zach,” she says finally. “I’m not happy.”
Her words are like a knife to my chest. The pain is so sharp it feels like she’s inflicted a real wound. But she lets out a wistful laugh and says, “Do you think that means I’ve failed Mr Ambrose’s assignment?”
“I don’t think Mr Ambrose can penalise you for being sad,” I say, my throat a little too tight. “I don’t think he would.”
“Let’s hope so,” she says, straightening herself up and picking up her pen. “Are you happy, Zach?”
“Right now, no. In general—yes. I believe I am.”
“Well”—her lips quirk in a sad little half-smile—“we’ve finally found something you’re better at than me. Maybe you can teach me.”
I want to tell her that I would do anything to make her happy, that if I could scoop out every speck of happiness from my soul and pour it inside hers, I would. I want to tell her that her happiness might be the most important thing in my life because she’s the most important thing in my life.
“I’ll do my best,” I say instead, giving her my most charming smile. “I hope you find me a worthy teacher.”
“I hope you find me a worthy student.”
