34. Back then
Back then
“How was prom with Marianne?” Helena asked.
“Fine,” Bertram said, shortly.
“Not very convincing,” Helena said.
Bertram huffed. “I didn’t say it was amazing or great; I just said it was fine, and it was, it was fine.”
“So, what?” Helena asked, her heart thundering in her chest. “She wouldn’t sleep with you or something?”
“That wasn’t the problem. At all,” Bertram said. “Sort of the opposite. She wanted to . . . do things I didn’t. And then got all pissy when I wouldn’t do it.”
Helena blushed but turned her face so Bertram wouldn’t notice.
“I think—I think she was hoping I would get her pregnant.” Bertram shook his head. “Sorry. That’s probably not appropriate for me to tell you.”
“I’m sixteen, Bertram. I’m not a little kid.”
“I know. It just doesn’t . . . I don’t know. Did you end up not going, Helena? I looked for you.”
For a moment, Helena considered lying, saying that she had been at prom, but Bertram was too observant for that, and Helena was a terrible liar.
“I had a stomachache,” Helena said.
Bertram raised an eyebrow.
“I did!” Helena insisted.
It wasn’t the reason she didn’t go, but she did, in fact, give herself a stomachache lying at home on her bed, weeping hysterically into her pillow at the thought of Marianne and Bertram together.
The worst part is how much work she had done planning the stupid prom that she didn’t even attend.
Helena had joined student council the previous year so she could run a “Creature Care” segment in the newsletter about how to live harmoniously with urban wildlife, but it ultimately put her on prom-planning duty as well.
She had worked tirelessly on decorations for “Prom and Prejudice,” a theme she herself had pitched, but Helena couldn’t bring herself to go.
“I hadn’t thought about it in years,” Bertram said, “but Marianne had a crush on me, didn’t she? Back when she was friends with you?”
“She was never my friend,” Helena said. “But yes. She always wanted you. She said she wanted to be countess one day.”
Bertram shook his head. “I really thought she might actually like me. Fucking stupid of me, huh?”
“No!” Helena’s mouth was agape in horror. “No, Bertram, not at all! How could anyone not like you?! You’re so kind and smart and handsome—”
“Handsome?” Bertram snorted.
“Very! Every-everyone thinks so!” Helena blushed again.
“Marianne is human, remember? They like 6’4 guys with six packs or whatever. Not 5’9 half-orcs with weird teeth.”
“I like your teeth,” Helena said.
“Yeah, well, you’re not Marianne.”
“No, I’m not,” Helena said, and tried not to be hurt that he said it like it was a bad thing. “Not all humans care about stupid height or whatever, Bertram. And if you’re so worried, then I guess you should date someone shorter than you.”
Helena subtly straightened, hoping that maybe Bertram would notice that even when she corrected her posture, her 5’5 frame was still shorter than his.
“Yeah, whatever,” Bertram said, and Helena got the feeling that he had not, in fact, noticed.
“I’m confused,” Helena said. “Are you upset because Marianne wanted you too much or not enough?”
“Yes,” Bertram responded.
“Yes?” Helena echoed.
“She wants to be Countess of Roussillon too much and wants Bertram not at all.”
“We don’t even know that that’s true!” Helena said. “And if it is, then she’s an absolute moron and not worth your time.”
“Well. Maybe one day someone will be,” Bertram said, grumpily.
Before Helena could stop herself, she grabbed Bertram’s face in both hands and kissed him passionately on the mouth.
Bertram put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back. “Hel. What are you doing?”
Helena felt her heart race in her chest. “I—”
“You don’t have to feel bad for me,” Bertram said. “My ego may be a little bruised, but I’ll be fine.”
A small gasp escaped Helena. It was impossible to her that Bertram still couldn’t see what she saw in him, or at the very least see that she was seeing it. And so, she took a deep breath and laid it out as plainly as she could:
“I’m in love with you.”
Bertram chuckled and shook his head.
“I mean it,” Helena said. “I’ve loved you for years.
It’s okay if you don’t love me like that.
I haven’t been pretending to be your friend hoping that one day you’d like me the same way.
You’re my best friend, and you’ll always be my best friend.
I just . . . I want you to know that I would want more, if it were offered. ”
Bertram shook his head again, but this time he didn’t meet her eyes. “Even if that were true, you’re sixteen.”
“You’re seventeen—”
“Yes, but I’ll be eighteen soon, and then it would be weird.”
“You realize that there are sixteen-year-olds dating vampires or fae who are a hundred years old, five hundred years old, a thousand years old?”
“Yeah, and those guys are creepy as fuck,” Bertram said. “A five hundred-year-old man has no business dating a sixteen-year-old.”
“And therefore, a seventeen-year-old has no business dating a sixteen-year-old?” Helena asked.
“It’s just—it’s just weird.”
“Because I’m weird?” Helena asked.
“Stop,” Bertram said. “Don’t make this about what I think about you—”
“This whole conversation is about what you think about me!” Helena said.
“This conversation was supposed to be about prom and then it was about Marianne, and then you made it something else!”
“Because you were being an idiot,” Helena snapped. “Because it sucks to sit here listening to you mope about how no pretty girl will ever want you, when I’m right here, and I want you more than anything.”
Bertram chuckled softly.
Helena’s heart ached. “You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you; I’m just . . . laughing. At myself, really. I’ve had two perfectly beautiful girls throwing themselves at me within two days, and I still feel like shit.”
“You don’t get to be down on your looks and then act like you think I’m anywhere near as beautiful as Marianne—”
“You’re every bit as beautiful as Marianne,” Bertram said, with a sudden ferocity.
“Then what is it?” Helena asked.
Bertram sighed. “You’re not in love with me, Hel. You would have been in love with Doctor Roussillon’s son, whoever he was. You only think you love me because you worship my mom so much.”
“No! I can love your mom’s work and love you!”
“I’m used to People only wanting me for my money or my title, so at least someone wanting me for proximity to my mother’s research is different.”
“Bertram, do you really think that People only want you because of those things?”
Bertram shrugged. “Even my mom’s made it pretty clear that that’s the deal.”
Helena shook her head. “I—I think she wants you to be aware that not everyone has good intentions. But I don’t think she ever meant for you to feel bad about yourself or doubt that you’re good enough as you are. You’re misunderstanding—”
“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t talk to me the way she does to you,” Bertram said. “So. I guess you’ll just have to be her translator.”
“Are you mad at me?” Helena asked.
“No, I’m just generally mad.” Bertram picked up a rock and threw it down the hill.
“I’ve been in love with you for years, Bertram. I really have. I think you like me. And if you’re not lying, if you really do think I’m pretty—”
“I think you’re gorgeous, Hel. It’s just, it’s too messy. You work with my mom, you like her too much, and I met you when you were just a little kid.”
“Ah yes, and you were an elderly fourteen-year-old.” Helena rolled her eyes.
“Have you ever even, you know, done things with a guy?” Bertram asked. “Anything?”
“I’ve done many things with many guys,” Helena said, with as much dignity as she could muster, which was admittedly not very much.
“Sexually, I mean.”
“I know what you meant!” Helena said, blushing deeply. “Why does that matter? Are you worried I’ll be bad at it?”
“It’s too complicated. Especially if it’s your first time, and I don’t want to undermine our friendship or blow things up.”
“Oh, yes, please save my poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up,” Helena snapped. “Just because I haven’t had sex yet doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want in life.”
“It’s a childhood crush. You’ll find a nice boy at college. Or girl! Whoever makes you happy.”
“You would make me happy,” Helena said, her voice quiet and unsteady.
Bertram just shook his head. “Find someone else, Helena.”
So, when Helena got to college, that was the first thing she did.
She found a human, named Khris Something-Or-Other and he was . . . fine.
He was fine as a student. He was a fine Person. He was fine in bed.
It turned out that neither Khris nor Helena particularly wanted to be having sex together, which explained a lot about how lackluster and disaffected their sex was.
Khris, she would later learn, was using Helena as practice so he would “be good” when he slept with this sorority wood nymph cheerleader he was into.
It made Helena feel ugly and childish and like she was right back in high school.
Yes, Helena was mostly sleeping with Khris so that she could tell Bertram she wasn’t a virgin anymore, but at least Bertram wasn’t right there.
Khris successfully wooed his cheerleader and stopped talking to Helena completely.
Helena cried for days, not because she had wanted Khris that badly, but because it still hurt to be tossed aside for someone else.
Helena knew it would be worth it, though. When she went home for the holidays, she would subtly hint to Bertram that she was no longer a virgin, and he didn’t need to worry about her forming an emotional attachment to him if they had sex.
They were alone at a park together when Helena subtly dropped the hint by saying “I’m not a virgin anymore” in the middle of a conversation about statistics.
“Okay,” said Bertram.
Then he continued on as if this information changed nothing.
Helena was devastated, although she didn’t know what reaction she was expecting. Did she think that the moment this pivotal information was revealed, Bertram would immediately jump on her, shove his tongue down her throat, and begin ripping off her clothes?
Well. That’s what she was hoping for.
Instead, he just took a sip of his apple cider and continued their conversation as if Helena hadn’t just dropped an earth-shattering revelation. “How’re the rest of your classes?”
“Good. I’ve slept with two men and one woman.”
Bertram raised an eyebrow. “In class? At the same time?”
“No and no!” Helena snapped, blushed. “I just meant generally!”
“As long as you’re being safe,” said Bertram, and continued to ask questions about her schoolwork.
They spent that summer with Dr. J in South Asia on a study about unicorns.
At no point did Bertram wake up in the night, remember that Helena wasn’t a virgin, and burst into her tent to make vigorous love to her.
This was disappointing, but it was still nice to be with Dr. J and with Bertram and with unicorns.
And Helena supposed it was good that they kept things professional, so as to not distract from the study.
Although Helena felt she really could have used some distracting, especially if it was at Bertram’s large and highly skilled hands. Every time she watched him carefully undo a snare or bandage a unicorn’s leg, she wondered if he would have that much care and dexterity in handling her own body.
She wouldn’t find out until the end of sophomore year of college.