Page 5 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)
Hannah
Back in my dorm room, I sit on the edge of my bed, feeling the quiet envelop me.
It’s overwhelming after the charged atmosphere of the Manuscripts Room, where every thrust and kiss with Johan left me breathless.
Now, alone, the weight of reality sinks in.
Johan is engaged to Astrid, and despite knowing the circumstances behind that engagement, I can’t shake the feeling of being an outsider, a third wheel in their narrative.
Then, there’s the realization that he came inside me and that I’m not on birth control.
I had intended on getting on the pill after our weekend in Portmeirion, but since he broke up with me a few days later, I hadn’t bothered with it.
I make a mental note to take another Plan B, my lack of proper planning bothering me more than I’d like to admit.
I promise myself that I’ll see a doctor tomorrow and get everything in order.
Hugging my knees to my chest, I stare out the window, lost in thought.
The warmth of Johan’s lips lingers, reminding me of the connection we share, but it's tangled with guilt and uncertainty. Was having sex with him a mistake? He’s still bound to someone else, and no matter the justifications, it complicates everything.
My eyes drift to a photograph of me and Oma Margaret on my desk. She might understand, maybe even help. She knows about Amelia’s secret, Johan’s, and my crush on him, and perhaps she could offer guidance or even a solution to navigate this mess with Ludovic.
With a sense of resolve, I decide to call her tomorrow after class. It’s not just about getting advice; it's about drawing on the family strength that only she can offer. She might know how to deal with Ludovic and how to protect both Johan and myself from the fallout of his manipulations.
As I prepare for bed, the day’s revelations and the remnants of Johan’s touch swirl in my mind.
Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Oma Margaret. Maybe together, we can figure out a way to counter Ludovic’s plans and secure a future where Johan and I aren't pawns in someone else’s game.
I know the road ahead will be tough, but with my grandmother's wisdom and the truth on our side, maybe we stand a chance. Lying down, I close my eyes, the memory of Johan’s embrace still vivid, a bittersweet comfort as I drift toward sleep.
This morning, as I sit in the front of the classroom, every minute drags, stretched thin by anticipation and nerves.
The room is dimly lit, the walls lined with old portraits that seem to watch us from the past, adding to the gravitas of the history we're here to study.
As the class patiently waits for our teacher to arrive, I notice an unusual flurry of excitement among some students.
I glance around, seeing a sea of particularly well-groomed female students, their hair more polished, makeup impeccable, and they chat in hushed, eager tones.
Some adjust their scarves; others check their reflections on their phones, and a realization starts to dawn on me, unsettling yet unmistakable.
The door swings open, and Johan steps into the lecture hall.
He’s every bit the academic ideal, wearing a tailored shirt that highlights his athletic build, and his hair, usually a bit unruly, styled neatly.
He moves with an effortless grace to the podium, his briefcase in hand.
As he sets up his notes and glances around the room with a smile, the atmosphere tightens slightly with anticipation.
“Good morning, everyone,” he begins, his voice resonating with a clarity that captures the room's attention instantly.
“Today, we’ll delve into the fascinating world of Gothic architecture, a style that not only transformed Europe's skyline but also its cultural identity.” He brings the projector to life, displaying images of towering cathedrals with intricate designs.
“Let’s discuss the key elements of Gothic architecture," he continues, pointing towards the images of pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and flying buttresses.
“These architectural innovations were not just aesthetic but had significant structural and symbolic purposes.”
Johan then asks the class a question that digs deeper into the implications of these architectural marvels: “Can anyone tell me why these elements were revolutionary at the time? What did they signify socially and politically?”
I know the answer. But now, in the full light of day and in front of the entire class, I hesitate.
The answer sticks in my throat, tangled up with memories of his touch.
A hand shoots up from the second row—a girl with keen eyes and an eager expression—and for some stupid reason, a pang of jealousy washes over me when Johan nods at her.
“These elements allowed for higher walls and larger windows in the cathedrals, which meant more light could enter these spaces,” she explains confidently.
“This not only symbolized a reach towards the divine, but also demonstrated the power and wealth of the cities that built them. It was both a religious and a political statement.”
“Excellent, Miss,” Johan acknowledges with a nod, his eyes lighting up with appreciation for her insight.
The class murmurs in agreement, and he uses this momentum to further engage them, weaving her points into a broader discussion on the socio-political climate of medieval Europe.
I force myself to focus on his words rather than the sinking feeling in my stomach.
Johan talks about the historical contexts that gave rise to such designs, his passion for the subject evident in his animated explanations, and the lively way his eyes scan the room, engaging with his students.
I sit there, somewhat dazed, feeling a mixture of jealousy and a renewed sense of secrecy about our clandestine encounter.
The realization that I’m not the only one drawn to Johan's charisma and looks adds a complex layer to my feelings.
As he continues with the lecture, I find myself wrestling with this new awareness, balancing my personal feelings against the visible admiration he commands from others.
This complicates the already tangled emotions brewing within me, making the wait for our next private moment all the more intense and fraught with conflict.
As he wraps up the class, he leaves us with one last thought-provoking question. “For next time, I want you to consider how architecture serves as a canvas for a society's values. What does the shift from Romanesque to Gothic tell us about the changing priorities of the medieval world?”
The bell rings, signaling the end of the lecture, but the conversation buzzes on, students clustering in small groups to debate Johan's last point. As they file out, still discussing spiritedly, I linger behind under the pretense of gathering my books. The room empties slowly, and soon, it’s just Johan and me.
He’s packing up his notes, and I seize the moment.
My heart pounds as I approach him, each step heavy with the weight of what I'm about to do. “Professor, could I have a word in your office? I’m struggling with some of the material,” I say, trying to sound genuinely concerned about the class.
Johan closes his briefcase, his expression unreadable. “Miss Hannah, I'm sure you have everything under control. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go.” His formality feels like a wall going up between us, cold and impenetrable.
But I can't just let him leave—not yet. Stepping in front of him, I lower my voice, desperate to break through his professional facade. “I need to ask you something,” I insist, locking eyes with him. The air between us crackles with unspoken tension, each second stretching longer than the last.
He sighs, a slight frown creasing his brow, but he nods. “Go ahead.”
My heart skips a beat as I blurt out the question that’s been burning inside me since he announced his engagement. “Are you having sex with Astrid while this charade of engagement continues?” My words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous, as if the room itself is holding its breath.
For a moment, Johan looks stunned, his usually composed face betraying a flicker of shock.
His eyes dart around the now-empty room, seeking refuge or perhaps confirmation that no one else has heard my blunt query.
He steps closer, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of the room.
His voice drops to a whisper meant only for me.
“The only woman I intend to have sex with is you,” he says, his breath warm against my cheek.
The intimacy of the moment sends shivers down my spine, reigniting the fire that last night's secrecy had stoked.
My mind races, grappling with the implications of his words. “That doesn't answer my question,” I counter, my tone edged with skepticism yet softened by the lingering heat between us.
Johan’s eyes lock onto mine, a mix of frustration and earnestness swirling in their depths. “You won’t like the answer,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of desperation and sincerity.
“Try me,” I challenge, leaning in closer, my heart pounding in my chest like a wild drum.
He hesitates, then exhales deeply. “I always use condoms,” he confesses, the words heavy with unspoken emotions. “And shut my eyes… thinking of you.”
His admission takes me aback. “Why?”
Johan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. “You know why,” he insists, his voice tinged with a plea for understanding.
“Tell me.” I cross my arms, a defensive barrier against the confusion and doubt swirling inside me.
He presses his lips tight for a moment before finally fessing up, “Because I want you, and only you.”
“I don’t believe you,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. But whatever the truth, a part of me yearns to focus on us, on the connection that defies logic and boundaries.