Six
The first time I laid my eyes on Adam Lewandowski was on a hot afternoon in June.
It felt like I was in a kingdom, and the library was my castle—after all, it was my favourite place to be in. I moved slowly between shelves scanning the books neatly arranged with their spines facing outward. I didn’t have to touch them, at least not yet.
Finally I gave into the temptation, my manicured nails trailed along the spine, the touch reminding me so much of Walt Disney’s beauty and the beast but unlike her I wasn’t reading for comfort, I’d been searching for the perfect literature to ignite me, maybe strip away the relentless writers block, and flood me with so much ideas for my next publication.
I was about to finally pluck one of the books when I heard a deep confident voice behind me.
“Nice try, but if you are looking for something to inspire you, this should do just the trick!”
I turned around to stare at the face behind the voice and then at the book he was holding out for me to see.
The pleasures of Heather Johnson sound intriguing but sad and also convenient.
This stranger stood there with a smirk on his face leaning against the opposite shelves as though he owned the place. His legs were long and his jaw sharp, he had exquisite features I must say. But I wasn’t impressed, just startled. I wasn’t the type to start up a conversation so whenever anyone did, I tended to take it a bit seriously.
“Sorry? Do I know you?”I am still groping for the spine of the book I wanted to go for.
And he moved closer, a strand of dark brown hair falling across his face in an effortlessly charming way. His smirk died and he extended his hands even closer to me. His brown eyes were begging for me to accept them.
But I’m too stunned by him to even make any movement, he looked far too professional to be in this place, like he owned a multimillion dollar company not a college library and, his black blazers there was something about it, they looked ironed and neat, his red tie matching the pocket square in his breast pocket, he looked like he had stepped out of a board room.
I accepted it without even realizing it, my gaze still on him. “ That book is perfect for someone like you, it’s very emotional and beautifully written, it has some emotional layers to it, and there are some scenes that are catchy … if you understand what I mean.”
Was he trying to be flirty right now? That should be a red flag but for some reason, it turned me on, at least at that time, I was barely twenty-five anyway, it wasn’t long since my frontal lobe.
I purse my lips, “What do you mean by that sir?”
He didn’t look much older than me, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, but then he had this aura that commanded respect despite his flirty nature.
He narrowed his eyes, “I mean, you look like the kind of woman who appreciates stories that are … steamy and passion-filled, if you understand what I am talking about.”
“How do you know I was looking for something to read for inspiration?”
“I know a writer when I see one!”
The way his gaze locked mine made me uneasy, not in a bad way but in a way I hadn’t felt before, i mean, I have been single for a year but I wasn’t miserable, if anything I was excited to be finally free from Owen, it was one year of fake orgasm, arguements and torture, sometimes I forgot what true love felt like, I was never trulu attracted to him in anyway I only dated him because his pocket was fat and… I guess I was lonely too.
I stared down at the book before returning my gaze to his perfect face, “And what makes you think this is my taste in literature?”
“What do they say about a woman with piercing gray eyes with an obsession with books? Especially the tall glass of hot milk, they are always interested in something steamy because they are hot.”
For a moment I was speechless, what was he trying to do?
“I’m joking,” he said finally, a fleeting smile across his lips. “ It's just intuition.”
I didn’t realize when I started grinning like a sixteen-year-old girl in high school.
“I’m Adam Lewandowski,” he said, offering his hand, they were so strong and huge, veiny too.
“Betty Graham,” I replied, shaking it. They felt hard to touch too.
“Ah,” he gushed, his tone growing so soft, like my name reminded him of something important, “are you the new lecturers in the department of literature?”
“Correct, how did you….”
“Well I guess word travels fast,” he said, cutting me off smoothly. “And besides, it was nice seeing the new hot lecturer, you look even more stunning than they described.”
At this point I’m sure my cheeks were flushed, he was charming, I had to give him that, it’s been a long time since any man ever made me feel this nervous or lost for words. And all of a sudden he felt like the book I wanted to read.
We spent another ten minutes talking about random books, the one I’ve read in the past, it was mostly me talking, even though I chose my words carefully, but he didn’t seem to care, he was too engrossed in what I was saying and for a moment I felt the only girl in the world. I’ve been on dates but it was always the man doing the talking while I just leaned against my chair watching in utmost annoyance. But he was different, or so I thought. He only asked me questions about my career and I told him I was aiming to be a professor one day.
“Can I buy you coffee ?” he asked as we headed out of the library together.
“Like right now ?” I asked, startled. I was actually on my way to my apartment but then for him, I felt like I could adjust my schedule
“Yes, now,” he said calmly.
And the rest was history.
At first, it was coffee dates where we would discuss life in general and learn more about each other's lives, but then it soon graduated to long conversations at his office, where he schooled me about literature publishing and life in total. He was so helpful to me I wouldn’t even lie. He was now part of my routine. Immediately after classes I would go to his office and we would go home together, he never changed. He was still the same, calm and patient, always encouraging me.
It’s been two weeks since we met and he still hasn't made a move. I was at his office, as usual, while he reviewed the first draft of my latest book. He had slowly turned into my mentor advising me every step of the way making sure I did the right things in my academic and writing life.
“Your detailing is so perfect Bee,” he told me once leaning back in his chair as I nervously waited for his complete reaction. “ But you can do better, with the right guidance, no need to worry because I am here for you.”
He smiled at me, it was slow and maybe.. seductive, then he rested his hands on my thigh, I smiled back at him nervously but not doing anything about it, I just let his hand wander to my inner thigh. Somehow, it didn’t feel wrong. He wasn’t some old balding pervert with a wrinkled face, he was handsome and fit, and close to my age, plus he wasn’t just anyone, he was well respected, a newly reinstated professor, and he was so self-assured, sometimes it made me feel small and intimidated.
But the truth was that his moves were calculated, he was a predator, I didn’t realize he was making me feel small all in the name of a mentorship underestimating my work all the time, and behind that calm patient mask was a monster waiting to be unleashed.
By the time I did notice, it was too late for me.
The chill from the morning air brings me back to the present, and I almost forget that I was holding a mug, the steam from my tea almost blurring my vision.
I’m seated on the swing at the front porch wrapped in a fur robe, and I can still feel the slow movement of Kitty on my lap.
It was a peaceful Saturday morning. My head hurt so bad from the hangover from last night.
But it was all my fault I failed to keep up with the amount of drinks I had, you can’t blame me, work was hectic and my life was a disgrace too.
I sipped the hot cocoa tea, and flashes of last night rushed back into my head.
I can still remember his lips pressed against mine.
My rebellious student, Michael.
I shut my eyes tightly trying to block it away.
But it won’t go away.
His lips were so soft and he knew how to kiss… like really kiss.. the kind that left you longing for more, the one that made your panties moist.
I shook my head, “What have I done?” I asked myself.
Was it just my hormones talking? Or was it because I’ve been single for too long and suddenly a kiss feels like salvation? Or has this boy finally gotten under my skin?
No!
I shouldn’t even be thinking about this.
I rubbed Kitty's fur in a circular motion. My phone buzzed out loud, slightly startling me, I reached out for it wondering who could be texting me this early.
I glanced at my screen to see it was a text message with a picture from an unknown number.
It read; ‘I see you.’
And the picture was me, sitting on this very porch, wearing this same robe.
Immediately, I threw my phone across the table, my heart racing hard.
The angle indicated that someone had taken it from across the street or maybe from a house nearby.
My eyes darted across the quiet street, there was no one around, just empty sidewalks and houses that looked dark.
My phone chimed again. I reached out for it, this time it wasn't just a message, it was something else.
Something I feared.