24
I’ve got the awful impression that Vadim and I now have “Wanted” stamped on both our foreheads, forcing us to keep our relationship on the down low.
The dean of the university has had his eye on us ever since the graffiti incident.
Basile has been keeping tabs on me around campus since he received the anonymous photo.
My parents are still monitoring who I hang out with, and Mr. Abrams has split up our partnership.
Since Vadim came back to class, our moody professor doesn’t just glare at him; he also studies me intently, trying to figure out if I’ve fallen back into old habits, and he often hounds me about the short film project meant to portray my heartbreak.
I play along, for his sake. I don’t speak to Vadim when Abrams is around, and I make sure to keep up the appearance of being completely heartbroken.
Vadim pushes back at first, insisting that we’re free to love each other and that no one should be able to control us…
but he’s quickly reminded of his obligations: checking in with Keith every night, accepting unannounced visits from him at his place, and most importantly, keeping his nose clean so that he doesn’t have to deal with the police again.
I still don’t know what they accused him of, and that unanswered question is eating away at me.
But if that’s the price I need to pay to live our story in secret, I accept it.
We have even developed a routine that we follow at the end of every day.
Once the last class is over, Vadim goes on ahead while I pretend to hang out with Clem for a little while.
Then, I secretly join him at one of our clandestine meeting spots: a bench at the back of an out-of-the-way park, the three little steps on a square where hurried passersby don’t give us a second glance, or an empty café only frequented by a couple of anonymous regulars.
But there is nothing sad or depressing about these places.
They are worlds where we exist, moments suspended in time, blank pages we never stop filling—with our heated debates, our comfortable silences, our loving glances, our stolen kisses, and our sighs that say so much.
Together, we reinvent the world, stop time, and savor the present, even if it’s just for an hour.
Sometimes, we invent lives for the people we observe, the ones who walk too fast, talk too loudly, drink too much, or who simply stare into the distance.
Vadim imagines a past for them—often a disastrous one—while I try to build a slightly better future for them.
We give them voices, making them say everything and anything.
We interpret their gestures and direct them like nameless actors in films we’ll never make.
We act like kids, we think what we say matters, we laugh and get carried away, and we can’t stop.
Until it’s time to go home. Then we keep going a little longer, just one last passerby…
“See that woman over there, in the black coat? She’s Abrams’s ex-wife,” Vadim says, staring at a stylishly dressed fifty-something woman.
“She truly loved him, but she got sick of the way he preferred to ogle the actresses on TV rather than look her in the eyes during dinner. So one night, she told him she was leaving him, just to see if he would spare her a glance.”
“Did it work?”
My heart is already caught up in this beautifully told story.
“Yes. He looked at her with those squinty, dark, tired eyes. But he didn’t try to stop her, because he didn’t want to miss the end of the movie.”
“The bastard! So, she left, bought herself a beautiful coat, carried herself with dignity, and realized that other men were actually checking her out!”
“Yeah, mostly desperate drunks and homeless guys hoping for some spare change.”
“Your movie sucks!” I declare, smacking him on the shoulder.
“Alright, go ahead, come up with one of those feel-good endings you’re so crazy about,” he teases.
“Look, she’s taking out her phone. It’s Abrams calling her: ‘It’s impossible for me to watch TV anymore without you sitting across from me. Come back, my darling. We’ll go out for dinner, and I’ll only have eyes for you,’” I say, putting on the voice of a distressed middle-aged man.
“‘I’ll quit making movies, I promise!’” Vadim continues, imitating our professor’s gravelly voice.
“‘I’ll get a job teaching at the university, where I’ll earn enough to buy you all the new coats you want.
And I’ll be able to take out my frustration on my students, who will have done nothing to deserve it.
I’ll feel miserable, but at least you’ll always be there to pity me as I offload all my misery onto you—’”
“Oh, come on! Why do you always ruin everything?” I interject with a laugh.
“Because love always ends badly, Alma. That’s just how it is.” Vadim’s voice has taken on a serious, almost resigned tone.
“Does that mean you’ll stay with me as long as you aren’t successful, but you’ll leave me when you’ve become a great director surrounded by gorgeous actresses?”
“Yes. If that includes Zendaya or Kate Winslet, I’ll have no other choice,” he says with a smirk.
“I get it. I’d leave you for them too!”
“Maybe we can work something out. I really don’t mind sharing…”
“In your dreams, Arcadi. ‘You + Me + Her + Her’—forget it!”
After flashing me the face of a little boy who’s disappointed because he’s been denied the thing he most wanted, he goes back to being the wild, fiery Vadim again, the one who kisses me better than anyone else could.
“What do you want for your birthday?” he suddenly asks, changing the subject.
“How do you know my birthday is coming up?”
“I know everything, Lancaster. I see everything, and I hear everything!”
“Okay, so Clémentine broadcast it to everyone.”
“I don’t think there’s a single student at college who doesn’t know it’s November 9th,” he confirms with a grin. “So, what would you like? I’m really bad at picking out gifts!”
“Hmm… I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Why you got arrested, why you were released, what you did, what you didn’t do, and everything you haven’t told me.”
“Okay. But tomorrow. It’ll be your day, your Saturday. Do you think you can sneak out of your house?”
“Yes, after our family lunch. But I’m supposed to be spending the afternoon with Clem. I don’t know what she has planned for me.”
“When you’re done with her, call me. I’ll tell you everything. But you have to promise to try to understand and not to judge me.”
Vadim looks away, lost in thought.
This sudden promise of sincerity scares me a little.
“Is it normal that I’m scared?”
“Is there anything that doesn’t scare you, Alma Lancaster?” he replies, teasing me once again.
“Alright, it’s time to get going. I don’t know about you, but I have a big day tomorrow.”