Contracts of the Heart

Chapter 1: In a Corner

The campus café was loud and busy

The professor stood by the counter, holding his cup of coffee like a prop, scanning the room.

He found a girl sitting in a corner.

She was staring into the middle distance, eyes fixed on nothing. She clutched her notebooks tightly to her chest.

Grafton waved. A small, subtle motion.

She caught his eye. She froze. She looked away, averting her gaze like she'd been caught stealing. Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

He walked over. He stopped at her table and reached out, tapping the cover of the top notebook in her arms with a finger.

-Whatchu studying, he asked quietly.

She jumped. The proximity startled her. She took a breath, shaky and shallow, before looking up through thick bangs.

-I-I'm just... jotting down some ideas, she whispered.

She hugged the notebooks a little tighter.

-Are you a student here? he asked, but he knew.

She nodded. She wouldn't look him in the eye.

-Y-yes, I am, she said. I study literature and creative writing.

Grafton watched her fidget. She picked at the edge of the notebook.

-Coincidence, he said. I teach creative writing. Literature. Mostly feminist works of the latter 20th century.

That stopped the fidgeting. Her eyes widened. The fear receded, replaced by a spark of something else.

-O-oh really? she asked.

-I'm Professor Grafton.

She blinked. The name landed heavy.

-That sounds fascinating, she murmured.

She finally looked at him. Directly. It was fleeting, but it was there.

-How's the campus experience been? he asked.

She took a deep breath. The grip on the notebooks loosened.

-It's been... okay, I guess, she let out quietly.

-What year are you?

She smoothed the hem of her short skirt.

-Third-year student, sir, she said. Just turning twenty-one next month.

She peeked up at him.

-Why do you ask?

-Trying to get an idea of your student profile, Grafton said..If that's ok.

Chapter 2: Quiet

The name did the work.

-Professor Grafton, she repeated. I had no idea.

She ducked her head.

-I blend into the background rather easily, she said.

-Not everyone notices the quiet ones, he replied.

He moved his hand. He let it hover gently over the small of her back. She inhaled sharply. The contact was barely there, but she froze.

-Join me for a cup, he said.

They moved to the counter. He watched her profile. He watched the way she bit her lip.

-Skinny vanilla latte, please, she told the barista.

Grafton ordered an espresso. And two macaroons.

He led her to a table in another corner, away from the door.

-So, Grafton said. What have you been reading?

She took a sip of the latte. Her hands trembled against the cup.

-The lush world of Lady Chatterley's Lover, she said.

Grafton raised an eyebrow.

-D.H. Lawrence.

-A controversial choice, I know, she murmured. It's raw, she said. The unbridled passion. The forbidden love affair.

Grafton leaned back.

-Are you living vicariously through the text? he asked.

She nearly choked on her drink. She coughed into a napkin, eyes wide.

-There's no shame in it, he said. Literature is a gateway.

She recovered. She looked at him from beneath thick lashes.

-My parents were strict, she said. Traditional. Anything outside of academics was frivolous.

-And now?

-Now I explore themes of female agency, she whispered. Desire. Taboo.

-And what is the shape of your desire? he asked.

She squirmed in her seat.

-That's a personal line of inquiry.

-Creation is intimate, Grafton said. We stand there naked.

She reached for a macaron.

Grafton watched her hand. He watched the way her fingers held the shell.

She brought it to her mouth. She took a bite.

He watched her lips.

She chewed slowly. She set the half-eaten treat back on the saucer.

-May I? he asked.

He reached for the remnant she had left.

Her eyes went to his hand, then his face.

-P-please, she stammered. Go ahead.

Grafton picked it up. He placed his lips where hers had been.

He took a bite.

She watched him. Her pupils were wide.

-Raspberry, he said. Dark chocolate.

He finished it. He wiped his fingers.

-A hint of something else.

She shifted in her chair. She crossed her legs.

-Have mine, he said.

He slid the plate toward her. There was a green one left.

She hesitated. She picked it up. She ate it.

-Salty, she murmured.

-Stimulating, he said.

He leaned forward. There was a speck of pastry on the corner of her mouth.

He took his napkin, reached out and brushed the crumb from her lip.

-Pardon me, he said as she leaned in.

He withdrew his hand.

-I... I didn't mind, she whispered.

Chapter 3: Smoking

They left the shop and walked to the park, one of those really green and really manicured ones that was too clean.

Grafton reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a silver case.

-Do you mind? he asked, waving the case

Yuki stopped. She looked at the metal case.

Grafton popped the latch and offered the open case of Gauloises to her.

She bit her lip again

-I... I don't usually, she said.

She took one.

He flicked his lighter and held it out for her.

She leaned in. The tobacco caught. She inhaled.

She coughed. Once, then twice. Delicate sounds she tried to swallow.

She exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

Then Grafton lit his own. He took a drag. He watched the smoke curl from her lips.

-Have you ever had tobacco before? he asked. I suppose your generation sticks to vaping.

She shook her head.

-Vaping, yes, she said. This is different.

-Vaping is a horrid business, Grafton said.

He looked at the trees.

-You know, Yuki, he said. I'm likely older than your father.

She took another drag. She held the smoke in her lungs this time. She didn't cough.

She got a little bit of a nicotine buzz.

She looked at him.

-I had a professor at your age, Grafton said. She taught me a lot.

Yuki dropped the cigarette. She crushed it under her heel.

She met his gaze.

-That sounds intriguing, she said.

-Intriguing?

-And rather exciting, she whispered.

Chapter 4: Library

They walked toward the library. The path was lined with old oaks.

-Where were you headed before I interrupted? Grafton asked.

-To lose myself, she said. In a book.

-Which one?

She hesitated. She clutched her bag strap.

-Victorian, she said. Something with spicier undertones.

Grafton smirked.

-Fanny Hill was a favorite of my father's.

She stopped walking. She blinked rapidly.

-That's... scandalous, she said.

-It's history, he said. And feminism.

He watched her walk. He watched the sway of her hips. She caught him looking.

-Professor, she scolded softly. We shouldn't look at things like that.

-I'm an admirer of beauty, he said.

-Beauty is subjective.

-Not always.

They reached the stone steps.

-Jane Austen or Brontë? he asked.

-Brontë, she said. The passion. The taboo.

-I always preferred Emma, he said. Repressed. But a firecracker.

He didn't go in. He sat on a bench outside.

He waited two hours.

She emerged. She carried a stack of books. She looked surprised to see him.

-You waited, she said.

-I had time.

She balanced the books. She pulled a leather-bound tome from the stack.

-This one caught my eye, she said. Provocative essays.

Grafton stood up. He stepped close.

-I have a confession, he said.

She looked up. Her eyes were wide.

-I want to explore the human condition with you.

-Professor... that's...

-Not here, he whispered. Midnight.

-Midnight?

-Leave your window open.

The books slipped. They hit the grass with a thud.

-I'll be waiting, she whispered.

Chapter 5: Trespass

The campus got quiet at night. It was not a party school.

Grafton stood in the shadows of the dorm. He looked up.

Third floor.

He found the fire escape. He climbed.

He reached the window. He peered through the glass.

She was there. She was curled in bed, facing the wall.

He tapped the pane. Gently. A rhythm they hadn't agreed on, but one she would know.

It was unlatched. It slid up easily under his hand.

Grafton stepped over the sill and into the room.

He went to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight.

She turned. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark. Her lips trembled.

-You actually came, she whispered. I thought I might have dreamed this.

Her hand reached out. Her fingers found his shirt. She clung to the fabric, checking the solidity of him.

-Shh, he said.

He placed a finger on her lips and began to undo the buttons of her pajamas.

He pulled the silk apart. Her skin was pale in the dark.

She shivered.

He stood up. He undid his belt.

The buckle clinked and he slid into the bed.

He covered her body with his.

-You feel so real, she whispered. Better than the fantasies.

He kissed her, he entered her. She gasped.

A sharp intake of breath against his neck.

-Professor, she said. He didn't correct her.

-You're tight, he groaned. He began to move.

The bed creaked. She arched her back.

Her nails dug into his shoulders.

-Don't stop, she breathed.

He didn't. He drove into her. She fell apart first. A choked sob. He followed her.

He buried his face in her hair and let go.

Grafton lay still.

She melted against him. Her skin was slick.

They smelled.

The window was still open.

-That was intense, she murmured.

She tilted her head. She exposed her throat.

He leaned in. He grazed his teeth against her ear.

-The beauty of risk, he said.

His hand moved. It trailed over the sheets and the dampness.

He covered her hand with his. He guided her fingers to the wet spot.

She inhaled. Her hips moved. A small, involuntary roll against the mattress.

-You're making me feel things again, she whispered. So soon.

Grafton looked at the ceiling.

She nodded against his shoulder.

-I'd risk it all again, she said.

He closed his eyes.

-We will, he said.