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Interest [ɪn.trest], noun
the feeling of wanting to give your attention to something or of wanting to be involved with and to discover more about something
Emmett is different to everyone else Elle has ever been friends with. So much in fact, that trying to understand him often feels like learning a completely new language. At times, she’s floundering, not really knowing her way around the vocabulary and grammar yet - other times she is introduced to an expression that perfectly captures a feeling she, up until then, thought incapable of being put into words.
“And that just doesn’t work, you know? You can’t just combine pink and orange in one outfit,” she complains, perhaps a bit too emotionally, considering the subject matter.
Emmett sits at her table, eyes fixed on his laptop but listening attentively. She can tell by the way he glances up at her from time to time. He’s very good at that, she’s learned over the weeks. Probably one of the reasons he’s such a good lawyer. He laughs at her words, which makes her pause, suddenly a little self-conscious about her excitement.
Unfortunately, she has always had this tendency to hyper-focus. Warner’s patience would usually wane after around fifteen minutes, when he would openly start rolling his eyes at her, especially if the topic didn't interest him in the slightest. She has learned to temper her outbursts over the years, but sometimes her emotions still manage to get the better of her.
The last couple of weeks have been especially hard on her. She’s never really lived on her own before and she misses the friendly buzz of her sorority sister. The possibility to just go next door and talk to someone about…well, anything. Exchanging words that are friendly and not full of poorly disguised disgust. She would even settle for a little gossip.
Instead, she’s stuck in hours of solitary studying, while listening to her peers’ pejorative whispering in her back. And now here she is, throwing herself at the first person who can stand listening to her for even a minute.
Emmett doesn’t seem annoyed though. In fact, he’s watching her like she’s doing the most groundbreaking lecture on law he’s ever seen, head balanced on his hands, concentrated frown on his forehead. “Well, I’m glad you managed to talk her out of it,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah, me too,” she agrees, falling onto the chair beside him with a huff. After being reminded of Warner’s absence, all energy has suddenly left her. “Otherwise…urg,” she grimaces, before throwing him an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” she chuckles, “I get a little carried away sometimes.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, frowning. “I like it when you talk.” Their eyes meet. There is a weird twinkle in his, that she can’t quite place.
I like it when you talk – Elle halts, suddenly reminded of her first date with Warner all those years ago. He had stared at her the entire evening, stars in his eyes, and when she had talked a little too long about the new Valentino collection, he had simply poured her another champagne. “I like it when you’re passionate about something,” he had said. Later that night they had been passionate about something else entirely.
All her life, men have sought her for only one thing. There was her first boyfriend in high school, who asked her outright, as he took her to the beach in his father’s sleekest convertible. Then there was Warner, who was always very gentleman about it, having the courtesy to take her to dinner first. And then there were all the men in between - poorly hidden glances in hallways, a whistle, sometimes even a bold hand that she needed to slap away.
Emmett is different. Sometimes she wonders if he isn’t. Fleeing thoughts that she wasn’t even aware of thinking and feels a little embarrassed to admit to. That evening when he first followed her into her room, she wondered if he was going to offer her better grades if only she gave him something in return. And even later, when they started studying together, she couldn’t help but think that he might be playing a long game, wearing her down before finally asking the inevitable question.
But then they relaxed into a rhythm so comfortable and easy that those thoughts quickly moved to the back of her head. So far, that she couldn’t even remember having them until now. It’s been weeks. Surely, he would have mentioned it by now if that was what he wanted.
But recognising that look in his eyes now - the way he listens just like Warner used to do - these thoughts come back to her. And this time they’re here to stay. Is he listening to her because he’s genuinely interested, or is he just pretending to be? And if so, is he just being polite, or is he hoping to gain something from it?
They stare at each other, caught in a weird moment, where none of them quite remembers how to move. His eyes trail to her lips for the smallest of seconds – or maybe she simply imagined it? – and she waits for him to lean forwards and press their lips together, to suggest they should move this to the bed.
A weird feeling boils up inside her – something between fear and anticipation. On the one hand, she wants him to be different. To be her friend, when that’s the only thing she can currently emotionally afford. To be respectful of her purpose and attachment to Warner. Another part wouldn’t mind a bit of fun and attention. Feeling familiarly valued in a time where nothing else seems to make sense. That value which has been missing since Warner turned his attention to someone else.
But then Emmett clears his throat and the magic between them breaks. “We should get onto that Barker case again,” he says, nodding towards her notes.
Elle smiles, a little unsteadily. “Oh sure, yes.”
Even though she loathes herself for it, she can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Most of all, she is highly confused though. She doesn’t know what he is trying to tell her. His sudden attention feels like arriving at a foreign airport and not understanding any of the words on the signs around. She will probably find her way around, but it still leaves her with an anxious bubbling in her stomach.
She shakes her head. What is she even thinking? For all she knows, this is simply about him being a TA and not being comfortable sleeping around with his students. And she’s not even stopping at this airport. Harvard has always just been a layover until she can get Warner back.
Why then does the sunshine outside the windows look so tempting?
gift [ɡɪft], noun
a present or something that is given
“I-I know it’s not as good as going home for Christmas but-” Emmett chuckles weakly, running a hand through his already tousled hair. His fingers are cold from the brisk winter air, his body wrapped up in several layers of jacket.
Despite the arctic temperatures, she feels only warmth, looking down at the honestly awful wrapping.
All her life, showing love and appreciation has been connected to grand gestures and gifts. When Warner celebrated another big success, he would always take her to some fancy restaurant, where they would drink bottles of champagne so expensive, that she couldn’t even taste the difference anymore. For her birthday, he once gifted her a life-sized bear plush and a trip to Paris. And when he fucked up, he would apologize by means of a gigantic custom-made bouquet and handmade chocolates.
The same can be said about her sisters at Delta Nu. For all birthdays they would throw a party, which’s cost would eat up most of that month’s budget. If one of them was sad, the problem would be solved with stacks of magazines, chocolates and ice cream. Bonding time was going to first league football games or maxing their credit card at the mall.
It’s like, all her life, while showing how much she was worth to them, that worth also came with a price tag attached.
Being friends with Emmet is different. It takes her a while to understand he actually likes her. It’s not that he doesn’t show it. He just shows it differently. There are no grand gestures, no single moments that make her so sure. It’s the little things in between.
What Emmett doesn’t have in money, he gives in time. He spends so much of it in Elle’s dorm room, that, after a while, he practically becomes part of the furniture. He is always patient, always trying to help, even when it takes longer for an explanation to click. And the fact that he is already struggling to juggle his teaching position and job at Callahan’s firm, makes the time he spends with her only feel so much more valuable.
Elle didn’t actually expect him to get her anything for Christmas. She didn’t even think it a possibility, which is why, embarrassingly, she doesn’t have anything to give to him in return. His present is objectively not very good. It’s neither expensive, nor is it something she’s ever going to use. But the mere thought that he tried to ease her loneliness by getting her something, he knows she loves, warms her heart so much that it takes her breath away. For a moment, she feels close to tears.
“It’s so adorable of you to think of me,” she says, automatically pulling him in for a hug. At first, he stiffens against her, before carefully draping his arms around her shoulders.
The loneliness has been getting to her these last couple of weeks. She misses her friends, and somehow the festive season only manages to amplify the feeling of isolation. It seems that while everyone is having a good time, she’s stuck here in this hell of her own making, too stubborn to admit defeat but being all the more miserable for it.
Sometimes she wonders if her friends are going to forget about her. She hears their voices only as a tinny echo over her phone speaker. And as Margot tells her about her wedding plans, which sound so much like something a happier Elle would have fantasized about, the distance between them has never felt bigger.
In all of this, Emmett’s hug feels like a haven, a steady rock in the sea of uncertainty. Someone she slowly learns is willing to stick with her no matter what. She clings to him, breathing in his comforting warmth, and feels her shoulders loosen. Part of her wants to borrow deeper against his chest, be engulfed by him completely, until the cold of real world can’t get to her any longer.
Then his hand shifts to rest on her lower back instead, and the feeling inside her changes. If she’s being honest, the thought has been nagging in the back of her head since that last awkward moment during their study session, compulsively pointing out moments, whispering in her ear whenever he looks at her just a little too long.
She waits with bated breath for him to move his hand even further. Maybe grab her arse or turn his head to sniff her neck like Warner used to do. God, she misses the exciting feeling that used to give her. She immediately wants to berate herself afterwards. Emmett wouldn’t do something like that. Not without asking her first.
But what if he wants to? A little voice in the back of her head sings. What if he’s just holding back until one day he won’t? What if the temptation will become too strong? It’s a thought so slippery she has no real way of fighting it. How can she find any proof to the contrary after all? She can’t look inside his head. So, she’s left agonizing over details, waiting for something that might not ever happen.
But then Emmett pulls back, soft smile on his lips and he’s just her Emmett again. Awkward, thoughtful and kind Emmett.
Instead of feeling reassured, the situation leaves her unbalanced. What if one day he just turned into a completely different person? Does she really know him well enough to say he won’t? And why is it that, despite his constant praise of her skills as a lawyer, she still feels like she would know his true appreciation only if he leaned in and kissed her?
Even when he breaks their hug to reach for his laptop, she wonders if he could. She just doesn’t know what any of it is supposed to mean. Instead of learning, she obsessively watches his every motion, trying to analyse his behaviour as if searching for clues.
It’s like she wants him to prove her right. And maybe she does. Because being disappointed in him would still be better than this state of limbo. Because, while she loves him as her friend, she would still feel safer if her assessment of men proved to be correct.
It’s like flying to a different country, but instead of getting time off to relax, she’s overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of smells and words she doesn’t understand. And in all that chaos she can’t help but long for the dull simplicity of routine.
Cuddle [ˈkʌd.əl], verb
to put your arms around someone and hold them in a loving way, or (of two people) to hold each other close to show love or for comfort
The observation game becomes somewhat of a drug to her afterwards. She knows it’ not good for her mental health, but she just can’t stop herself. She doesn’t even want anything from him - at least she thinks she doesn’t? The feelings inside of her don’t really make any sense. How is she supposed to distinguish between her true feelings and her mere desire for admiration?
It’s not fair to him either, she knows that. Even if he were interested in her, the only thing that should matter is how he treats her. And if he isn’t – well - then all her staring is going to drive him away, making her no better than the man she accused him of being.
They’ve somehow ended up on the bed together, Emmett balancing his laptop on one knee, biting his lower lip, while she is supposed to go through her notes, sprawled out on her back, head rested on her pillow. Instead, she watches him work - the way his fingers jump, and his eyes scurry back and forth. His body radiates a comforting warmth.
It’s that warmth which calls her in, moving closer until her cheek rests on his leg instead. He startles, looking down at her, before shifting slightly. Only then does she realise how close they really are. Right now, she’s facing sideways, to where her cards are lying, but if she were to turn her head, she would be nosing straight at his crotch instead. For a second, she freezes, waiting for him to start moving uncomfortably, for a familiar hardness to materialize next to her.
Nothing happens though, and, after a while, he goes back to typing, trying to keep both his computer and her head in his lap.
The relief, she though would come, doesn’t. She frows at her cards suddenly feeling…irritated? She can’t really explain it.
She knows that her worth as a person isn’t linked to how attractive people think she is. It’s the whole reason she came to Havard in the first place – to show Warner she could be more than just a pretty face. But Emmett’s disinterest makes her feel invisible, like she’s losing her touch. Why isn’t he noticing her, when she kind of wants him to? And does she want him to, because he is the only one who refuses to see her like that, or would she want him to either way?
All her life, touch has been a declaration of belonging. When Warner touched her, it was to steer her in the direction, he wanted her to go - a hand offered so she could get out of the car, positioned on the small of her back or on her arm to fend off an overly interested waiter. In the bedroom, he would touch her like he worshipped her, like she was precious. And the bruises, he sucked into her neck, said more about his devotion than words ever could. A colourful claim, unmistakable to her and the people who eyed them with poorly disguised jealousy the next day.
The same can be said about her sisters at Delta Nu. Sure, they touched all the time - fleeting gestures in the hallway to get someone’s attention, a supportive hand on a friend’s shoulder, a hug to greet a sister who’d been away for a long time. But these touches always felt like a performance more than anything else. A symbol to solidify the sisterly bond between them. Something that was learned just like everything else about the way they carried themselves.
She misses it, the familiarity, the feeling of other people around her. It’s like they say – she only realised how much it all meant to her, when she was confronted with its absence. Sometimes she watches the other students in the hallway elbowing each other amicably, and all that she can feel is a deep sadness inside of her.
Being friends with Emmet is different. It takes them a while to start touching but when they do it’s like two magnets snapping together. It’s not that Emmett doesn’t touch. He just does it differently. There are no grand gestures, no single moments that make her so sure. It’s the little things and all the time in between.
His touch is warm, slow and gentle. He touches rarely, but when he does, it feels like time is standing still. When she first embraced him after successfully living through a five-hour learning session, she was surprised by how natural it felt. It’s like she was made to fit into that space just below his chin. Emmett’s hugs are all soft sweater and steady chest. His smell of detergent and aftershave makes her want to never let go.
Carefully, she rolls onto her side, stretching her legs luxuriously. As intended, he looks up again, seeing her in what she can only describe as a sexy cat pose. Instead of a hungry glimmer in his eyes, he only gives her a warm smile though, before turning back to his work.
Her frown deepens, irritation flaring. She nudges even closer to him, draping her arm over his legs in what she knows is probably a borderline obtrusive way. This time he doesn’t react at all.
Unhappily she remains in her position, turning the thoughts back and forth in her head. Maybe he is…gay? Some part of her brain suggests. She shakes her head, quickly dismissing the thought. Not all men have to be attracted to her, isn’t that what she is trying to prove? There is such a thing as taste and preferences and, no matter what her experiences might want to imply, her sex-appeal is definitely not universal. Why then does she want to be proven wrong so badly?
In the end, she just goes back to her cards, too emotionally confused to make sense of the whole situation right now. And it does work for some time. That is until his hand finds its way to her head. His fingers are careful, almost hesitant as they start tracing lines between her hair.
Her breath catches, and immediately, the movement stops. “I-is this okay?” he asks, sounding uncertain.
She hums, her scalp weirdly tingly where his fingers sit. “It’s nice.” And it is. The sensation is foreign, relaxing and kind of exhilarating at the same time.
In a way, these touches remind her of the way Warner used to touch her - as if she’s precious. But instead of being pushed into the spotlight, Emmett touches feel like being sheltered. Like a secret just between the two of them. Something so special no one else could ever know.
He doesn’t say anything else, but the motion of his fingers continues. She closes her eyes and lets it consume her thoughts until all that is left is a content buzz. It doesn’t stop until the light beyond her window dims, and Emmett has to pack his things to move back to his own flat. And even then, its warmth remains.
He smiles when he hugs her goodbye and she inhales his comforting smell once again.
Somehow, the evening leaves her feeling more cherished than the alternative could ever have. She still doesn’t know what his weird behaviour is all about, but she’s also certain that, if this is what his friendship is like, she doesn’t need him to see her as anything else. Not when he makes her feel so valued either way.
It's like flying to another country and, after feeling terribly homesick, suddenly seeing all the wonders around her. Instead of anxiety, she is finally consumed by the exotic smells, the warmth of the sun, and the soothing melody of a new language.
Proposition [prɒp.əˈzɪʃ.ən], noun
an offer or suggestion, usually in business; or to ask someone who you are not in a relationship with if they would like to have sex with you
After that, Elle tries her best to forget about the observation game. For a while, it’s easy. She’s happy. Things in school seem to be looking up and she feels herself caring less and less about Warner and, by extend, about what other people think of her. And so, instead of being miserable about tiny details, she decides to be happy with the whole of Emmett’s and her friendship.
Then she takes him on that shopping trip and all of it comes crashing back. His looks, that have been shy and reclusive before, become lengthy and longing. And when she sees him dressed in that perfectly fitted suit, she can’t help but share his sentiment. Suddenly, he isn’t just her best friend Emmett anymore.
She had always thought him kind of cute - the way his hair never quite stays in its desired position, the small dimple in his cheek that becomes visible every time he smiles, the bright blue of his eyes - but now these things suddenly seem to be amplified a thousandfold, and all she can do is keep breathing.
“But it’s just me,” he says, smiling that dorky smile, she’s become so used to over the weeks. And she can’t help but think why he would only be himself when there is already more than enough about him.
She’s been feeling lonely again these last couple of days, with the rest of the group practically excluding her for refusing to give up the alibi. Emmett on the other hand, even after being openly angry at her, has decided to stick with her. That thought makes something hot flare inside her chest. His support means so much to her that it seems all the more infuriating that she doesn't know how to express it. It makes her want to lean forward and kiss him, hold him close and never let go.
Her heart is still beating loudly when Emmett is back in his old clothes, waiting for the staff to pack up his suit. The sweat on her palms remains even when she accepts the bag from a happy shop assistant. And then – for a second – she thinks he is going to lean in and kiss her. Instead, they end up hugging, and all she can taste is the lingering mist of some new expensive perfume on his neck.
She has to pull back to stop herself from doing anything embarrassing. Her stomach swoops as if riding a rollercoaster. Just a few weeks ago she had convinced herself that they were better of as friends, but now the fire inside of her burns with renewed ferocity. Part of her wants to pull him back in, smash their lips together in a desperate attempt to relieve the tension between them. If his shaky smile is anything to go by, he might even allow her to do it this time.
They stroll home, their fingers intertwined in wordless agreement. Static runs all over her skin. They stop, finally, in front of her dorm and she hesitates. The night is quiet and his look seems almost sad. “I- thank you for today,” she says, righting his shirt. “I had fun.”
He smiles, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mee too.”
All her life, she’s felt like nothing more than a passive participant to desire. She’s wanted people, sure, but more often it was about people wanting her. She sent her first boyfriend coy looks from across the hallway until he finally asked her out. She can’t even remember what about him she liked exactly. She was the cheerleader captain, he was the football star - everyone knew they would end up together eventually. And when, after one practice, he pressed her against a row of lockers for the first time, lifting her up with ease, she felt breathlessly, amazingly wanted.
When Warner asked her out in college, the attention of such a handsome man, made her feel dizzy. Nothing felt as right as when she was sitting on the passenger seat of his expensive convertible, him with a possessive hand on her thigh. And when he first slept with her in the silky sheets of his holiday home, she never felt more cherished.
Being at Harvard is different. It’s all about what she wants and learning how to take it - the internship that she has to study for to get in, the approval of teachers, who could pave the way for her success. Funny then, how the one thing she came here to win back - the one thing she thought she wanted, she needed to feel wanted - turns out to matter the least.
Emmett is different. He always asks her opinion, careful and unusually shy, considering the first conversation they ever had. He doesn’t take, only gives. Elle thinks that even if he wanted to, he might never ask her out, too aware of the circumstances. But after everything he’s taught her, she finally feels brave.
She looks over at the door. “You could come upstairs if you want,” she suggests, feeling as if in freefall. “Only if you want to of course,” she is quick to add. God, does she want him to. Her insides feel as if on fire, and every of his touches is only fuelling the flames.
Under her fingers she can feel him stiffen. Carefully, he extracts his hand from hers. “Elle-” he takes a deep breath, and she can feel herself holding hers in return, “I- I should go,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
She wants to protest, but he’s already turned around, hurrying away without another word.
She stares after him, still feeling the space where his warmth used to be. She doesn’t really understand what happened. She was so sure that- but perhaps she had been mistaken. She thought that, by now, she knew him well enough to understand the signs. Turns out she might have been reading them wrong the entire time. Might she have been wrong about other things too then? Maybe she simply isn’t what he’s looking for. Maybe she isn’t smart enough, not serious enough- She just doesn’t know what any of it is supposed to mean.
She hates to see him so uncomfortable. She shouldn’t have been so pushy. Maybe asked a little less outright or waited a bit longer to solidify her assumptions. It makes her feel bad. Dirty. Like the men she so regularly condemns.
It's like speaking a foreign language and knowing all the words, but not understanding their true meaning. She needs to, desperately so, but she fears she might never possess the skills to learn them. And now her carelessness caused her to say something she shouldn't have, because she didn't know what her words would really mean. She wishes she could take them back.
love [lʌv], verb
to like another adult very much and be romantically and sexually attracted to them, or to have strong feelings of liking a friend or person in your family
Their kiss is like fireworks. Like a promise long made but only now kept. Tender like everything else about Emmmett, kind of awkward just like him, and perfect like him too. She sighs into his lips, and he melts at the sound, their hands almost automatically finding each other.
When they break apart, she feels something sweet as cotton candy blooming in her chest, and she can’t help but grin. “I wanted to do that for a really long time,” she admits, biting her lip.
His eyes sparkle. “Me too.”
For the first time in months, she doesn’t feel lonely. The presence of her friends and family during the trail has left her with a pleasant buzz all over her skin. And, knowing that Paulette and even Vivianne can now be counted among them, feels even greater. And, of course, there is Emmett, who makes her feel more complete than she could have ever imagined. She wonders distantly if this is what a crush is supposed to be like – so all-encompassing. Somewhere along the way she went from wanting to be loved by him to loving him, and now she can’t really tell the difference anymore. All she can feel is that weakness in her knees, that hasn’t left her since he breathed those words into her ear inside the court room.
Did you actually think I was going to let you get away?
She dives in for a second time. This time, she’s hungrier, pulling him close while opening her mouth further as if to breathe in everything about him. He meets her only hesitantly, his fingers gripping at her arms in a way that doesn’t quite feel natural. She climbs into his lap, pushing as close as she can, but his motions still become more reluctant the longer the kiss continues. She too can feel her confidence waning, when her actions aren’t received with the proper excitement.
Finally, she breaks away, giving a strained smile. The familiar hole inside her chest, which their first kiss managed to fill, re-opens with a terrifying woosh.
She thinks he must feel it too, because he doesn’t say anything, instead taking her hands in his and studying them with exaggerated interest.
She hesitates. “Emmett,” she starts, not really knowing how to even ask what she is about to. “This might sound a little weird but – do you think I’m attractive?”
He looks up, his eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “I-um,” he stammers.
“It’s just,” she sighs, intertwining their fingers, “I-I’ve been trying to…flirt with you over the weeks-” She chuckles at his wary look. “Oh, don’t start.” She shakes her head. “And I just- I just got the feeling you were never really that…interested?”
“I-” He swallows, looking for a moment utterly terrified. Then, as if flicking a switch, his expression changes. He takes a deep breath, stapling, what she thinks is a bad imitation of his usual smile, onto his face. “I was just thinking of Warner the entire time, you know? How he only valued you for this one thing. And-” he stares up at the ceiling. “I wanted to be better than him. To not just see you as…that.” He chuckles dryly. “Good all that did me.”
She frowns, slowly shifting off his lap. Even if, for months, she had been following a very similar reasoning, his words strike an uncomfortable chord inside her. She cannot deny that part of her did think him better than Warner simply because he didn't show any interest in her. Was he better than Warner though? Just because he happened not to be attracted to her, a fact he didn’t even have any control over?
She feels a little ashamed to admit, that the thought has crossed her mind before- yesterday when he hissed ‘I don’t have to hit on interns, professor’ into Callahan’s ear. But he did, part of her wanted to scream. He confessed his love to her, when she didn’t ask him to, when the rest of her life was already confusing enough. Where’s the difference in asking for sex, when his actions were just as emotionally scarring? Does he think himself better than other men just because his sex drive is lower? Does he think himself more rational, even when he clearly let his emotions get the better of him? Does he not understand that it was never about the act itself but the truth of the feelings behind it?
“Emmett,” she starts, “y-you do know there is nothing moral about wanting sex, right? You don’t have to be feel bad about that.” She thinks he does. He’s smart. Still, there is something very unsettling about the tension that has struck his facial features.
“What? Of course I know that,” Emmett chuckles, a little too nervously.
“Good,” she nods. “Because, you should know, it was never about the wanting, but how you act and I-” she squeezes his shoulders, “have never ever felt unsafe around you, okay?”
“I know,” he seems to relax a little, his shoulders slumping. “It’s just-” he sighs, “after everything I didn’t want to pressure you into anything. I-” he takes her hands into his, looking deep into her eyes. “I wanted you to have the choice. To make the first step.”
Despite the churning inside her stomach, his words make her blush furiously. She lets herself image a world in which this is all it took - where he waited and they sail off into the sunset together. The temptation is almost strong enough to make his lies believable. But, by now, she’s spent enough time around him to notice the smallest details – the tightness of his jaw, the nervous twitch of his eyelid. And while his words might explain his reluctance to propose, it does not explain, excuse her crudeness, the lack of any sort of natural reaction. At this point, most of his arguments feel more like a desperate struggle to keep them from having sex than anything else. She just doesn’t get why.
“Why didn’t you say yes when I asked you then?”
He opens his mouth, only to hesitate. She can almost see him recalculating in real time. “I-” he sighs, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how I looked like Warner. And- and-”
“And you thought I only wanted to sleep with you because you looked like him?” she finishes for him, the realisation settling over her like a wave of cold water.
He nods tiredly. “Yeah.”
She sighs, squeezing his hand. “Well, this is me telling you that it was never about Warner. It was always about you.” She hesitates before adding. “And my offer still stands, if you want to.” She doesn’t push, instead keeping a careful distance between them, hoping to convey what words clearly weren’t able to. He’s waited long enough, maybe it’s her time to.
He looks at her for a really long time. Behind his eyes, a war seems to rage. His face stays frighteningly empty of emotion. Then, finally, finally, his mask slips. His shoulder sack, as if all energy has been drained from him. “Elle,” he starts, and his tone of voice makes her stomach plummet to the ground, “I-I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“What?” The words have left her lips before she can really stop them.
Even though she had expected something to be the problem, she still feels the world crumbling around her. It doesn’t really make sense. A moment ago, she was so sure that he loved her. The movement of his lips felt truer than words could ever say. She doesn't know exactly what she had expected, but it certainly wasn't…this. It’s like all her worst suspicious have come to life right before her eyes. The ghost of his kiss suddenly tastes only like stale betrayal.
She thinks back to the last evening and how he asked her to stay. How he only brought up his love for her when he thought he had no other options left. Could it be that he was being just as manipulative? She just doesn’t know why-
Emmett sighs, sounding, for all purposes, like a man with a fate already sealed. What fate exactly that is supposed to be, she can’t really say. He stares at the ceiling, as if looking for some divine intervention to get him out of this conversation.
“I- it’s not about you, okay?” He massages his forehead. “I just don’t like…it. The way it feels, the sounds, the-the fluids.” His face falls into a grimace. “It just weirds me out.” He takes a deep breath. “And, before you say it, I know there is nothing wrong with not wanting to do it, but I’m still sorry, because I-I know how much this means to you and I wish I could give it to you. And it’s okay, if that is never going to be enough for you. I just-”
Elle stares at him dumbstruck. Some part of her brain is still lagging several sentences behind his almost delirious rambling. She doesn’t know whether she should feel relieved or horrified.
All her life, men have sought her for only one thing. There was her first boyfriend in high school, who asked her outright, as he took her to the beach in his father’s sleekest convertible. Then there was Warner, who was always very gentleman about it, having the courtesy to take her to dinner first. And then there was Callahan, who seemed to be the first to see her for who she really is, but turned out to be just as bad. And, of course, she’s always known that her value as a person isn’t really connected to the effectiveness of her sex-appeal. But maybe…she didn’t really know it. Maybe being exposed to to the rhetoric and meaningless justifications of other people for years, still has a way of creeping into your head.
But looking at Emmett now, seeing him struggle with the same fight, somehow manages to put everything into perspective. Emmett, who was never defined by other people’s wants, but by his own. Who considered his value as a person only through his sexuality, just like she did.
Seeing it happening to someone else, she suddenly realises how absurd the idea is.
“Emmett,” she says, taking his hands, which are nervously plucking at his skin, into hers. “I don’t value you less for the things you can’t give me. I value you for the things you can give me. I value you for yourself. Every way that may be.”
Emmett lets out a deep breath. Their eyes meet and she can see a suspiciously wet glimmer in them. “I know.”
And she thinks he does. Maybe he just needs to be reminded of that fact from time to time. The same way she does. He closes his eyes with a tired sigh, and, almost automatically, they both tilt forwards until their foreheads meet somewhere in the middle.
“I love you,” Emmett mumbles, the word’s reverberating inside her skull. He’s warm and steady against her, and – finally, finally – the language barrier breaks.
It's like coming home after a long journey and knowing exactly where everything is. It’s feeling the familiar and comforting warmth of her own bed and hearing the birds sing outside her window. It’s that and so much more.
She smiles. “I know.”
And she thinks she does. Maybe she just needs to be reminded of that fact from time to time.