Part 19 (2/2)
”Really.”
The gate was down, his past worries forgotten. All that mattered was Brynn, right now. She looked up at him expectantly.
”I'm staying because I love you.”
Brynn's mouth dropped open slightly, her pink lips parted in disbelief.
”I'll get you that notebook,” Eliot said. He stood and left before she could say a word.
He loved me.
It wasn't a dream anymore, not another fantasy I had imagined in my head. He said that he loved me, and meant it. Air stopped moving through my chest; I had forgotten how to breathe.
He came back with a notebook I took carefully in my hand. His eyes were kind, and despite the horror of the past day I trusted him to keep me safe. He looked at me as though he expected me to say something, but I turned my head down to the mathematics. I did not want to break the delicate bond that had stretched out between us by talking about it too much. In any case, I did not know what to say.
We worked for an hour, and then he fixed me breakfast. As I waited for him to return, my chest tightened with fright and did not relax until he came back into the room. I could not eat very much, only a bit of bread and honey. The honey tasted sickeningly sweet in my mouth, and I gulped down water to relieve the stickiness of it.
Tucked under Eliot's arm was a record; he placed it on the old-fas.h.i.+oned player in the corner of the room.
”I thought we could use some inspiration,” Eliot said. I closed my eyes and heard the familiar strains of the Gymnopedie amplified in the air.
”Do you want to take a break?” Eliot sat next to me, moving my half-eaten plate to the nightstand.
”No,” I said. ”I mean, maybe just for a minute.” I put my hand over his, praying that I was not too presumptuous. My heart soared when his fingers twined themselves into mine. We rested, listening to the dissonant chords, the elongated coda, the resolution in the last few phrases.
”Brynn.”
”I love you too,” I said, turning my eyes down to my notebook. My heart twisted inside my chest. I had never allowed myself to hope, but Eliot was here and real and not at all a fantasy.
”Are you reading that out of your notes?”
”Sure am,” I said, chuckling lightly. ”Right under the section on equivalence relations.”
”Is love an equivalence relation?” Eliot put on his serious lecturer's voice, and I could not help but laugh.
”You tell me.”
”What does it mean to be an equivalence relation?” Eliot asked me, leading me on.
”It must be symmetric, transitive, and reflexive.”
”Let's take the first one. If love has the symmetric property...” His silence hung purposefully, and I swallowed at his meaning.
”If I love you, then you love me.”
Eliot's lips turned up into a sly smile.
”Not always true, but it is in this case. Carry on. The transitive property.”
I only had to think for a second to find an example. ”If I love you, and you love Satie, then I love Satie.”
Eliot laughed appreciatively. ”And don't you love him?”
”Yes.”
”Excellent. Two of three already. And now?”
”Now...”
”The reflexive property.”
I swallowed. My voice was softer than before. There was only one example possible here, and I did not know if I could bring myself to say it until I opened my mouth, turning my head back to the notes.
”I love myself.”
”Yes?” Eliot took my hands in his; his blood pumped fast through his veins and his skin was hot on mine.
”Yes,” I said, and for the first time in a long, long time, I really did.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
”Perfect numbers, like perfect men, are very rare.” - Descartes Eliot insisted that Brynn take her time before getting up and about, and while she protested, he could tell that she was glad for the forced rest that day. He made her a hot tomato bisque for lunch and stayed by her side when she napped. Her dreams were fitful, and she woke up with a scream.
”Where is he?”
”Who?”
”The hunter! Where is he? Where is he?” Her eyes were wild.
”Shh, Brynn, it's alright. He's gone, remember?” Eliot smoothed her hair with his hand and kissed her forehead.
”He's gone?”
”Gone far away. You're safe now.”
Brynn swallowed water from the gla.s.s at her bedside table, her eyes still troubled and distant.
”Can I do anything?” Eliot asked. Brynn shook her head and lay silent for a moment, her breathing returning to normal.
”That book,” Brynn said finally. ”The one you're reading. It has an English t.i.tle.”
”It's poetry,” Eliot said. She was so attentive. ”It's one of the first books I was able to read in English.”
”Will you read me something?”
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