September 2007
Worcester, MA, USA

No matter what, I must stand my ground. 

I must not give in to temptation. It doesn't matter how intelligent, how chivalrous, or how compassionate and warm-hearted Ian acts toward me and his friends. I must stick to my guns and refuse to allow anyone to distract me from my ultimate goal: having a fresh start in Europe.

Otherwise, someone will get hurt. And I don't want that to happen.

But damn it to hell! Ian makes it almost impossible to stick to the plan. 

After six months of playing D&D with his group, during which we have secretly tested the waters to gauge our feelings for one another, I can't ignore my growing attraction to him. Now that we're back in college, my feelings have grown even stronger.

And right now? Beneath this starry night sky? Strolling beside him?

Good God, give me strength!

My attraction has little to do with his physicality, although it does light a little spark inside me. How could it not? Square face. Strong jawline. Prominent cheekbones. His tall yet slender physique gets me going. I love how he towers over most people in the room both in terms of height and intellect.

His dark yet tender gaze counterbalances his sharp masculine features. It makes him approachable. And it gives him the aura of a kind gentleman. Because Ian is a gentleman in every sense of the word. Even when we're arguing.

"Don't you think there might be the teensiest, tiniest chance God might exist?" I ask. "In a universe this huge with all the vast possibilities?"

"Unlikely," he replies in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Are humans all that there is?"

His lip ticks upward.

"How depressing would that be?" I insist. "Do you honestly believe the entirety of space exists simply for our benefit?"

"Life might exist on other planets," he says, "Possibly even life very different from us. But a deity?"

He shakes his head.

"That's fair."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he says with a thoughtful expression, "but it sounds like you think there's some sort of design behind the universe."

"I believe in evolution," I say defensively. "Not creationism."

"No doubt. You're an intelligent woman," he says. "But your wording implies you think evolution has some kind of plan or intention."

I sigh. "I'm simply saying that I sincerely hope another form of life exists out there beyond foolish, violent, crappy-ass human beings."

"Do you think God is this...other form of life you've suggested?"

"I don't know."

He nods. "Neither do I, which is why I call myself agnostic. If someone shows me proof, I will believe. Until then, I won't chain myself to dogma."

Personally, I wouldn't call it chaining myself, but I agree to disagree. And we walk in companionable silence.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything, Sylvia."

"What do you think the purpose of life is?"

"In general?" he asks. "Or my own life in particular?"

"Either?"

"Life doesn't have an objective purpose," he replies, "which means you can choose to accept nihilistic defeat or bring your own meaning to it."

"What meaning do you bring? As an agnostic, I mean."

He chuckles. "I have goals, values, principles like any other man."

"Like what?"

"I want to excel, both personally and professionally, so that I can provide my future family with a happy and fulfilling life."

"Family life?" My shoulders slump. "You want kids?"

"Not necessarily. I'd be content with a wife and a pet or two."

"Cat or dog?"

"Either." He shrugs. "But I prefer cats."

"Same, actually. I couldn't be without a furry friend."

"Animal lover?" he asks with a hopeful lilt.

"Totally, especially black cats because they're weird and eccentric like me."

A smile illuminates Ian from the inside out, which is very rare indeed.

"Allow me to ask you the same question." When he halts, so do I. "What meaning do you bring to life, Ms. O'Shea?"

"I have goals, values, principles like any other woman."

Somehow his smile broadens.

Ha! He noticed.

"Your goals are so important you've rejected any thought of romance." He extends the crook of his arm, and I gladly accept before we continue our stroll. "My curiosity has conquered my patience, I'm afraid, and I must insist you tell me."

One of the super flipping attractive things about Ian? As a kid, he read more classical literature than he socialized with friends, which means he speaks like a gentleman from the nineteenth century.

Ariana says it's weird.

I say it's sexy as fuck. Who doesn't want to date a slightly warmer and more charismatic version of Fitzwilliam Darcy?

"My goals aren't as amazing as you think."

"Try me," he whispers in my ear.

I resist for a few moments. When Ian raises a quizzical brow, refusing to change the subject, I surrender with a heavy sigh.

"Ever since I was a little kid," I admit, "I've been dying to live and work in Europe. But I have no money, no connections, no nothing. So I need to study very hard in order to get a scholarship and make it happen."

"Why Europe?"

"My mom met my dad in Fürth." My heart clenches. "They had so many guidebooks. Happy memories. Pictures where they looked truly happy."

"Army?"

"Yes..."

We halt under the lamplight while Ian listens with that tender gaze. So focused. So intelligent. Yet so warm like a hearth in the depth of winter.

"Your words sound happy," he says, "but your expression tells a different story. Did something happen?"

"It isn't exactly polite chitchat."

"I don't wish to pry," he says, "but if you want to talk, I'll listen."

God, it feels so good to talk about real stuff, but I don't want to scare him.

Oh, who cares? Just tell him!

"Forgive me if I upset you," he says in a concerned tone, "I didn't mean to make you feel--"

"Life wasn't easy."

He falls silent.

"My mom struggled with her mental health, and my father coped with it by drinking." I look away. "We were very poor. Hungry. They fought a lot."

When Ian extends his hands to me, I grasp them like a lifeline.

"My mother hated me." I purse my lips. "All those years, I never knew why until I found out that Dad wasn't my dad. Something...happened to her in the army. Whenever my mother saw me, she raged like a storm."

He squeezes my hands but doesn't say a word.

"It made life very hard for all of us." Tears burn in my eyes but refuse to fall. "In the worst of it, I'd get out the guidebooks and tell Bun-Bun stories. Alone in my room, hiding, ya know? Adventures. We traveled to those castles."

"Bun-Bun?"

"Oh, this bunny I've had since I was tiny." My cheeks flush crimson. Silence falls before I have the courage to admit the truth. "It got so bad that my grandma adopted me, or else I'd probably be dead right now."

"Your grandma saved you?" asks Ian. "She gave you a way out?"

"She helped me heal through faith," I whisper. "That's why it matters."

Silence falls, confirming my worst fears. 

Yep, well done! Ya scared him away. You should just hide your head in the sand and never open your stupid mouth.

He nods. "Yes, I understand, and I apologize if I offended you earlier."

"I made a promise to myself," I say with the full force of my conviction. "A sacred vow. I'd visit those places for real. It gave me the will to survive, no matter how much I struggled with my own mental health in the aftermath."

"Sylvia, I admire you." Raising my hands to his lips, he kisses the air above my knuckles. "Of course you must go to Germany. Perhaps we can visit these places together once we graduate? You can share them with me."

"Yes, I'd love to," I say in a wary tone, "but my plans go beyond a mere visit."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never really belonged in this country." I scoff. "This is going to sound crazy, but I feel like I should have been born in Europe. Not the States."

"What makes you say that?" he asks.

"The endless extraversion," I reply. "Work and family life aren't separate here. The endless rat race. Scurrying up the piles of dead corpses to claim your victory. The fakeness. The dishonesty. The games you have to play."

"Is it different in Europe?"

"Depends on where you are. Europe's a big place," I admit. "But you can enjoy more privacy. The government takes care of people, so there isn't as much suffering or anxiety. There's less forced socializing and having to do charity because you work hard and pay your bit with higher taxes."

"I'm afraid our politics are very different indeed."

"I'll trounce you later," I say with a dismissive wave. "The point is that the cultures I've studied are more direct, bolder, and honest."

"And you admire these traits?"

"Yes!" I insist. "Don't you?"

"Of course, but it's rare to find someone who genuinely agrees."

"Exactly my point." I exhale a sigh of relief. "So you do understand?"

"Yes," he breathes. "Since you admire honesty, allow me to say I know what it's like to feel lonely, ostracized, and isolated from others."

I draw a step nearer and hope my expression can contain even a fraction of the warmth he has shown me. "You know what it's like?"

Please, God! Don't let him know what it's like! It sucks. And it's painful.

"I'm an orphan, Sylvia."

A gasp escapes my lips. "Oh, Ian—"

He gazes up at the heavens, possibly to avoid my gaze. "I know what it's like to fight through the pain by setting yourself unreasonably high targets."

"But you've reached them," I insist in an awestruck tone. "Every time...you're like a—a machine."

"Exactly, but machines exist...they don't live."

"Don't all these achievements make you happy?" I ask. "You were the valedictorian at a prestigious school. For heaven's sake, you're at MIT!"

"That's the worst of it," he says with a wry chuckle. "You wonder what's left to fight for. You ask yourself why you're doing it. And if that's all there is. Target after meaningless target ad infinitum."

My heart swells until it's large enough to hold us both.

No, you can't. You can't fall for him.

You know the Holy Spirit is leading you where he can't follow.

But my heart and soul almost ache for him. So...damn...badly.

It's almost as though Ian can read my mind. He takes a step closer. Close enough that I could hug him. Close enough that I could melt into him.

Close enough that I could kiss him. God, do I want to kiss him!

"A wise man once told me you can choose to accept nihilistic defeat." My eyes dart toward his lips. "Or you can bring your own meaning to life."

He returns the gesture. "That guy sounds like an arrogant know-it-all."

I chuckle. "Beauty can be found beyond the chains that bind us."

"Where, Sylvia?" asks Ian, almost breathless as he bends down even closer to me. "Tell me where you find that beauty. How do you believe?"

"Sometimes..." I rise on my tiptoes until we're only inches apart. "The beauty of life lies right in front of us."

No, don't kiss him. You can't kiss him! Think of your—

I close the gap between us.

Holy Mary, Mother of God!

Every synapse in my brain ignites at once. Firing in different directions. Tingles trail across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Ian cradles my face in both palms before wrapping me in a warm embrace. My heart envelops us both, transporting us to a safe world deep inside my fantasy, far away from our pain, where we can take care of each other.

"Sylvia..." He pulls back and brushes back a stray tendril, searching my expression as though he's hoping to find the answer to an ancient riddle. "What are you doing to me?"

"The same thing you're doing to me." I cradle his neck with both hands. "Kiss me, Ian."

That's when he kisses me back like a man starved of affection his whole life. It feels like he's pouring his soul into me and it's pooling inside a chamber of my heart. So warm. So tender. So kind. Nestling close.

This is fucking dangerous. If we don't stop now, I'll never stop.

And I refuse to give up my dreams—even for him.

"We should stop." He whispers in my ear. "I don't want you to break the rules of your faith and regret it later."

My heart swells. Even though he doesn't understand, he respects me.

"Okay, I suppose we should stop."

But our lips don't.

God...yes! Don't ever let me go!

They crash again as electric power surges through my veins. I run my hands frantically over his neat buzz cut as he cradles my face. When we break apart, he gazes down upon me with such trust and kindness that I never knew a man could show a woman.

Damn it! You shouldn't have done that! You can't start a relationship now.

God, I want him so much!

No... No. NO!

Pressing my fingers to my lips, I whisper, "I shouldn't have done that."

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean--"

"Don't apologize."

"But–"

"If anything, I should apologize for kissing you first." God, what have you done?! "What was I thinking? We aren't even together, for heaven's sake."

Before I can continue, he blurts out, "What if we change that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Give me a chance," says Ian in a firm tone. "Let me prove to you that I can court you according to the rules of your faith."

"You're not a traditionalist Catholic," I say. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Why not?"

"We couldn't be...physical."

"That doesn't matter to me, Sylvia." He sighs. "I don't want your body. I want you. Your mind, your heart, your soul. That's enough for me."

I gasp. "It is?"

"Yes! Just give me one chance to prove it." He pauses. "If God wants us to be together, He will find a way for us, won't He?"

My lips part in surprise. Even though Ian doesn't believe in my faith, he's speaking to me with words that resonate in my heart.

"Yes, He will."

"You don't have to decide right away," he says. "Give me a year. A year to prove to you that I'm worthy to court you as your faith requires."

"A year?"

"Yes..."

"No physicality?"

"None," he insists. "At all. Ever."

"You would do that?"

"I swear it to you," he whispers. "I will never touch you unless you ask or initiate first. And the moment you ask me to stop, I will."

It takes all my strength not to kiss him right then and there. But I don't. Instead we hold hands while Ian escorts me back to my dorm room. 

___

Word count: 2,404
Total word count: 5,239/40,000