Page 25 of Crystal Iris #1

Twenty

“I invent nothing, I rediscover.” – Auguste Rodin

I stare at myself in the mirror, at my bright red lips.

My arm is still recovering, but luckily, I was able to take off my bandage.

The gold dress I picked is borderline inappropriate—too much skin showing.

I remind myself that it’s all part of the game: make Aaron jealous, get Hoyt’s money back, restore my peace of mind.

I’m outside. I read Hoyt’s message. I glance at my reflection one last time. Once again, I’m wearing my prism for all to see. I thought about hiding it, only I’m not wearing enough cloth to do so. I’m as vulnerable as I can be.

Hoyt opens the car door for me. I’m a sucker for gentlemanly gestures. Even with the warmer day, I can’t skip the coat. I need... coverage.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“So do you,” I tell him as I get in. And he really does. There’s something about his edginess paired with the tailored tux, I can’t keep my eyes off him.

“Thank you for… doing this. I know it’s not your thing,” he says.

“I’m happy to help. It’s kind of my fault you’re in this situation anyway. ”

I glance out the window at the beautiful night sky. Perhaps “happy” is a stretch.

“Iris, if you’re not comfortable doing this, I can turn the car around. We can find another way,” Hoyt offers.

“I know what I signed up for.” I’m to play a dark role… I tell myself it’s for the greater good.

The party is mostly outdoors. Lights illuminate the garden, and waiters move around the gorgeous pool. I hand off my coat at the entrance.

“Wow. You look… irresistible,” Hoyt says, staring at my almost-bare body.

“Shall we… play?” I ask, passing by beautiful flower arrangements.

Hoyt grabs a couple of glasses from a tray, and we begin our search for Aaron.

“It’s a little chilly for you to be wearing… that,” Hoyt says, eyeing me again.

It’s colder than I expected, and I’m sure he can see my hard nipples through the thin fabric. All part of the plan , I remind myself. And to my surprise, I’m actually... enjoying it.

I haven’t stopped to think until now that, after being with Aaron for so long and knowing how jealous he gets, I’ve always stayed in the shadows, afraid to draw attention to myself. No more. Tonight, I will steal stares, invite lust and madness. Tonight, the more jealous he becomes, the better.

We’ve done two laps around the place with no sign of him. I’m starting to doubt he’ll even show. But the Aaron I know would never skip an event like this.

A violinist plays beautifully, and I watch as she moves her arm, precise and intense .

I’m nearly finished with my second drink when I spot them. I can’t believe it—are they together? In public?

“Are you okay?” Hoyt asks.

“Yes, I… didn’t know they were… together, like this.”

“That bothers you?”

“It’s not because of him. I simply… can’t stomach her, after all she did.”

Lara is wearing a pretty pink dress, classy as usual. Aaron looks like the perfect match—a prince and his princess. A part of me wants to flee, but the new part, the vicious part , wants to put on a show. I steady my breath.

“If only you could kiss me right in front of him. We could be going home much sooner,” I tell Hoyt.

“I could… throw you in the pool,” he says with a grin.

I laugh at the idea. “Perhaps we can find our own pool… after.”

His eyes change, and my body heats up with the thought.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say, walking toward Aaron and Lara.

Aaron watches me as I move, heads turning in my direction. He stares at me with predator eyes, ready to pounce. Slowly, his gaze shifts to my right, to Hoyt. Even though we can’t touch, we make sure to look like we’re together.

Hoyt steps closer and whispers, “Let him think I have you.”

“I don’t have to pretend that.”

“I thought it was below you to rub it in my face,” Aaron says when I reach them.

“And I thought it was below you to fuck trash.” I look at Lara standing there.

“Look who finally grew up,” Lara replies, taking in my outfit.

Poker face, I remind myself. Play it well, and it’ll be over soon enough.

“Tell me, Aaron, what did Ted say, when he found out you were screwing his wife?” I ask him .

I feel him tense. I’m sure it didn’t go well. I actually feel sorry for Ted, but I don’t let them read my emotions.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Lara answers for him.

“We’d love nothing more than to do that. Are you done playing with my money?” Hoyt says in a low, devious voice.

“I’ll be done when there’s nothing left,” Aaron replies, staring at him.

“Aaron!” Lara snaps, reminding him to shut up.

“We both know you can’t do that, not without ruining your own business too,” I tell him.

“Do you think I care about that? I’d give it all up just to see both of you begging on your knees.”

“Looks like you’re the one who needs to grow up,” Hoyt says.

“Fuck you!” Aaron says back.

“We’re done here. I thought you could be reasoned with.” I look at Aaron and see the hurt beneath his anger. I still know him well.

“And I thought you loved me.” His words hit me harder than I want to admit.

“Looks like we were both wrong then.” I know he doesn’t deserve my words, but I need this to end. I start to walk away.

“By the way, all those lessons you said you gave her… thanks.”

I hear what Hoyt says and look back just in time to see Aaron lose it.

He pushes Hoyt, wanting to start a fight. But Hoyt just backs away and laughs.

Game over.

Thank God.

I put my coat back on and ask Hoyt, “Will you walk with me? ”

“I’m sorry you had to be there for that,” he says as we cross the street.

“I’m just glad it’s over. I think enough people saw him pushing you.”

“Yeah, I think so. Let’s hope it’s enough.”

People walk around us, yet it feels like we’re the only ones in the world. We reach the park, and the quiet night stirs up a lot of feelings inside me.

We walk in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Then, the rain starts to fall, catching us both by surprise.

“Got to love April showers,” I say, glancing at myself.

It shifts from a light sprinkle to a heavy downpour in minutes.

The second the water hits our skin, we both know what it means—what we can do, feel. We stop walking.

This time, Hoyt kisses me slowly. He takes his time placing one hand behind my head and the other behind my waist. He pulls me closer and I can feel his prism against my chest. I know our lights are glowing, even with my eyes closed.

He moves his lips on mine, taking bit by bit until his tongue reaches mine.

He teases me with his teeth and I let my body arch against his hands.

We are both soaked but we don’t dare move away.

I move my hand to his wet hair. I’d fantasized about doing it since the first time I saw him. His strong, hard body is pushing against mine. He pulls back just enough to say, “I don’t think I can ever have enough of you.”

He kisses me like I have never been kissed before.

He tastes like bourbon and I want every drop.

I need more. I know we are still in the middle of the park; I don’t care.

Until I do. At that moment a lot of things come rushing to my head as I let myself feel all of it.

Aaron’s words, all I have gone through these past months, how much I have changed, how much of myself I’m still discovering. I pull away and look him in the eye.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” I say.

He takes a step back .

I’m confused. My body aches for his touch, but my mind isn’t ready.

“I’m sorry,” I continue.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I think tonight... I realized I’ve never been by myself. I’m not ready to jump into... something else.”

“I understand.”

I step closer and take his hand. “It doesn’t mean I don’t want this… us.”

He kisses me on the forehead and says, “I will wait.”

I move closer, letting him wrap his arms around me. I rest my head on his chest, allowing myself fully to feel him—for the first time. I know I’m making the right call, even if this is where my heart belongs.

“Let’s take things slow,” I say, looking up into his green eyes. “I have to figure out who I am when I’m not someone’s plus one.”

“You know where to find me.”

We walk back to the street, holding hands.

He puts me in a cab, and I watch him disappear into the rain while my driver takes me home.

I want to scream into my pillow. It took all my strength to walk away, to not ask him to take me right there—in the rain, in the hotel pool, in his shower—wherever and whenever he could.

I take off my dress and put on the comfiest sweats I own.

I crawl under the covers and cry. Too many feelings need to get out.

But I owe it to myself to get my life together, to not lose myself in another role.

I can’t be someone’s anything—not until I figure out who I am when I stand alone.

I know I have a journey ahead of me, and it’s time to learn who I truly am when let free .

I don’t even stop to eat breakfast. I wake up with a kind of energy I haven’t had in a long time. I need to unpack. The mantra comes to mind: messy house, messy mind.

I start by putting my books back on the shelves. First, I pull out the novels, separating the unread ones into a different pile. I have a habit of buying books and forgetting about them, only to buy more the next time I pass a bookstore.

I open another box with my art history books; surprisingly, I’ve gone through all of them.

I rediscover my passion for decorating. I experiment with the placement of my antique objects, including my marble statue of Cupid and Psyche—one of my favorite classical myths.

Cupid, son of the goddess Venus, falls in love with Psyche, a mortal, disobeying his mother’s orders.

They go through a series of dramatic events, culminating in the gods turning Psyche into an immortal and uniting her with Cupid.

The story proves that love cannot exist without trust.

Hours later, I’m happy to see a pile of broken-down boxes by my front door.

I move on to my bedroom, change my sheets, arrange my jewelry boxes, and proceed to take everything out of my closet.

Maybe I should’ve broken the tasks into smaller chunks. I’m exhausted, but I can’t stop now. Half the clothes I own no longer fit my style. I’ve changed in more ways than I realized.

By the end of the weekend, my apartment is put together.

It still needs a deep clean, and a few new furniture pieces will be arriving soon, but it feels amazing to see the progress.

I can’t believe I waited this long. It’s been almost a year since my place looked this nice.

I stand there for a while, admiring the outcome, proud of what I’ve done.

“Can you believe we only have two more weeks left this semester?” I ask Akira, waiting in line for coffee.

“I know. You never told me if you decided to teach that summer class.”

“I’m taking the summer off.”

“Nice. It’ll be good for you.”

“When’s your seminar again?”

“Beginning of June.”

“Have you been to NASA before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. I received an offer from them before.”

“Why didn’t you take it?”

“I’ve always known, since my lessons with Ms. Turner, that I wanted to be a teacher. What she ignited in me, I wanted to pass on to my students.”

“Professor De Loughery?” Stella calls from the hallway.

“Yes?” I turn around to face her.

“I just wanted to let you know, in person, that I’ve decided to… focus on my art instead.”

“Oh. I’m glad you figured it out.”

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Why? It doesn’t seem like my classes helped much. You’re not exactly following in my… footsteps,” I say with a smile, half kidding.

“No, they did help. It’s exactly because of your classes that I know I’m meant to be an artist. The way you talk about the painters—their passion, their hard work—I know I’d regret not giving it a chance.”

“Well, then I’m happy to have helped.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow for the final. ”

“See you then.”

I pass by an almost closed door and recognize George’s voice. He sounds upset. I’m about to keep walking when I hear him mention Darion’s name. I pull out my phone, pretending not to listen.

“You can’t possibly believe Morris!” he says to someone.

“George, it’s out of my hands. It’s everywhere.”

“It’s a fucking lie.”

“You know how these things work. It’s not about… the truth sometimes.”

“I have a reputation here.”

“And I’m sure you’ll find another great place to work. This is Harvard; doors will open for you.”

“Not after this, they won’t.”

“I’m sorry, George. I really am.”

A class ends, and people begin leaving from a nearby room. I start walking toward my own classroom.

I pull out my phone and search George’s name.

The news is indeed everywhere. I quickly read the headline: Professor George Wilson is damning Harvard’s reputation with widespread allegations of sexual harassment and misconduct.

It’s unknown whether Darion Morris, the plaintiff, will continue his studies at the campus.