Shadows Of The Past

The city’s light shone through the window blinds in thin bright lines, painting Elias’s bare back as he slept.

His breathing was slow and heavy, with one of his arms thrown over my waist, which was too heavy to move.

 I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, counting the spaces between his breaths while Alaric’s words kept replaying in my head, over and over again.

Fifteen years ago. You were twenty-one. I funded it. I remember your voice. Your voice was shaking. You are brilliant.

At twenty one, I had been a junior at NYU, I was broke, nervous and desperate for something to go right. The internship had been a miracle to me.

Paid, prestigious, with a line on my resume that paved the way for me. The kind of thing that could change everything. And it did. 

Then, I never thought twice about the anonymous donor. I just signed the papers, whispered a thank you to no one, and cried quietly in a library bathroom.

But now the donor had a name. A face.

And that face had been inches from mine, and inside me a week ago.

I slowly and carefully removed Elias's arm from my body, inch by inch. He mumbled something in his sleep then rolled away. The mattress gave a soft sigh.

Ta-dah, mission one accomplished. I murmured to myself.

I slipped out of the bed and to the cold floor. The floor is cold under my bare foot. I made my way to the desk in the living room.

The apartment was dark and quiet, except for the faint blue glow of my laptop.

I opened the old G***l account I haven't touched in years. Buried somewhere in the archive of 2013. My hands shook a little as I scrolled.

Subject lines blurred past: Welcome to the Stone Medical Innovation Fellowship.

Orientation Schedule.

Final Presentation RSVP 

There was a folder labeled Internship Final Night.

I clicked it, my stomach twisting.

The photos loaded slowly, one by one; me on a small stage, holding a clicker like it was the only thing keeping me steady. My face was red from nerves, with a nervous smile.

Behind me, the screen read: Patient Retention Through Digital Empathy.

God, I remembered how proud I’d been.

The girl on the screen barely looked like me. Twenty one year old Isola looked small, wearing a blazer which was twice my size, smiling wide enough to show off my gap teeth.

I kept on scrolling.

And then I saw him.

On the third row center.

There was Alaric Stone, years younger, his hair fully black with no trace of gray. But the same sharp jaw, the same calm steady gaze.

He was clapping, not politely but with a kind of focused energy, like he actually meant it.

His eyes were on me, on the girl that was on stage. Like I was the only person in the room.

My breath hitched when I saw the timestamp, June 14, 2013. 7:42 p.m.

I zoomed in, his mouth was curved, not really a smile, but proud, maybe even possessive, even then.

I clicked to the next photo: Me shaking hands with the program director, smiling like I had already made it.

Alaric stood in the background, watching me.

The third photo: It was from a reception afterward. I was holding a flimsy plastic cup of champagne, laughing at something I can't even remember.

Alaric stood about three feet away, he had a glass of water in his hand, staring at me. His stare was intense.

And that look in his eyes, God, it was the same look he had given me in the exam room. 

Like he had been waiting for fifteen years to finish what started that night.

I sat back relaxed on the chair feeling dizzy already. The internship had been my origin story. And he had written the first line.

The bedroom door creaked open behind me.

“Isola?”

Elias's voice was rough, deep and heavy with sleep and suspicion.

I quickly shut the laptop, my heart beating fast.

“It’s just work,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Client emergency. Go back to sleep.”

Elias leaned on the doorway, his hair messy, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The bandage on his forehead looked even whiter in the dark.

“It’s four in the morning,” he said, his voice still rough.

“Deadlines don’t sleep,” I murmured, stepping in front of the desk before he could see the screen. “I’ll be quick.”

He watched me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed like he was trying to read between my words.

“You’ve been off since the accident,” he said.

“Concussion paranoia,” I joked weakly. “Guess it’s contagious.” The smile I gave him felt thin, and fake.

He moved closer, his fingers touching my cheek. “You’re pale,” he murmured. “Come back to bed. I’ll help you forget about work for a while.”

His thumb touched my bottom lip, slowly. I let him kiss me, gentle at first, coaxing, but it tasted like control. I pulled away sooner than he wanted.

“Five minutes,” I promised.

He waited a while with his eyes on mine, then he sighed. “Don't make me come get you.”

Immediately he left, I reopened the laptop.

There was one more photo of me, standing on stage, smiling and accepting a certificate.

And in the corner of the photo stood Alaric, his hands in his pocket and his eyes on me.

He was watching me like a man who had already made up his mind.

I shut the laptop and sat there for a second. My phone vibrated on the desk.

Unknown number: He funded more than your career.

The screen of my phone went black again as I stared at it, the beating of my heart drowned everything.

And it vibrated again.

Unknown: Ask him about the fellowship retreat. Cabin 7. August 2013.

I froze. My mind went back straight to August 2013. I had gone to the retreat. Played team building games, bonfires and had too much wine.

I remembered waking up in Cabin 7 the next morning, my head pounding, my mouth dry, with no memory of how I had gotten there.

I just had the uneasy feeling like someone had been watching me. 

Back then, I had laughed it off, it's just college kids with too many drinks, nothing serious, I thought.

Now the laughter echoed in my head. I deleted the messages, turned off my phone and stood there in the dark.

The pendant Alaric gave me rested cool on my chest. I touched it for sometime then left it.

From the bedroom I heard Elias stir. “Isola?”

“I’m coming.” I replied.

I walked back to the bed and let him pull me towards him. He placed his hand on my stomach, a seal of ownership.

I stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster with my eyes and waited for morning to come.