3. Three
3
THREE
MILA
" P ride and Prejudice by Jane Austen is considered one of the most iconic works of English literature and was first published in 1813. Since it was published, and for many years to follow, it was considered to be well ahead of its time. To some, it was a satire of the social norms and customs at the time, exploring controversial themes of love, marriage, class, and reputation. The female lead, Elizabeth Bennet, is witty and sarcastic, and she explores her personal views on social status, her ability to make a good match in marriage, and her love story with Mr. Darcy. After reading this timeless classic, I want to hear your thoughts and interpretation of the story. What do you feel Jane Austen was trying to articulate in this work? What are the conflicts presented?" Professor Hazel asked, peering through the crowd and looking for someone to answer.
Professor Hazel was my English and American Literature professor. Today was the start of our focus on English literature. His thick, black-framed glasses glinted with a certain intensity as he settled on me. He was middle-aged, with brown hair and blue eyes, and commanded the room. He exuded a self-assured air that made him seem older, wiser, and more powerful. I hung onto his every word as he spoke about societal norms and conformity throughout history in literature. His class was one of my favorites, and though I would never admit it, I had a crush on him. He was easily ten years my senior, but there was just something about his passion for literature and the ease with which he carried himself. There was this effortlessness and intelligence that I found endearing and sexy.
He loomed at the front of the auditorium, his sharp gaze scanning over every student. My heart raced as I raised my hand like a mouse caught in a hawk's sight.
He gave me a warm smile. "Yes, Mila."
I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at the deep timbre of his voice when he said my name.
Despite the palpable silence in the air, I spoke up timidly, "The story follows the protagonist, Elizabeth Bennett, and the conflict surrounding her struggle to find a compatible husband despite the obstacles presented by her social conventions and her lack of self-awareness. Throughout the book, she encounters multiple characters who play the role of antagonist by creating obstacles between her and the marriage that she desires."
"And who did you identify as the antagonists? And why?" Professor Hazel moved to the front of his desk and sat on the edge, his arms crossed, his blue eyes penetrating me.
"I think the first antagonist was her father, Mr. Bennett, who thought that Elizabeth should’ve lowered her standards. I don't believe he understood why Elizabeth required those standards to be met by her future husband. The second was Mr. Collins, who tried to convince her that she should have accepted his marriage proposal, a marriage that would never have satisfied her."
"That's a good analysis. Did you identify any more antagonists?"
"I believe that Elizabeth functions as her own antagonist."
"That's an interesting perspective. Why do you believe that?"
"Her stubbornness and inability to understand that Mr. Darcy would meet her standards and be a good match for her, so she moves away from being happy, instead of toward it. "
"Good job, Miss Grey. I appreciate your perspective. Does anyone else have anything to add?"
Professor Hazel nodded approvingly before glancing up into the top row of the auditorium. "Yes, Mr. King?"
"I think that Jane Austen's writing is archaic and dry."
My stomach dropped as I recognized the voice. I slowly turned around, and my eyes scanned the rows until I found the source.
Archer.
Since when was he in my lit class? I couldn’t recall seeing him in there before. How could I have missed him? There was no ignoring his presence. He was all-consuming in every room.
The air seemed to stand still as his eyes shifted toward me, meeting my shocked and confused gaze.
"Care to elaborate on why?" Professor Hazel challenged.
"How can you look past her pointless ramblings? She took three pages to describe familial relations and matters of estate." His words were careless, his tone patronizing.
"Hm. Does anyone share Mr. King's sentiment?"
"I think Mr. King's perspective is sexist and lacks maturity," I spat out, not intending to say it as aggressively as I did, but once the words left my mouth, my face burned in embarrassment. I wanted to sink into my chair and disappear into the floor. I forced my gaze away from Archer's beautiful face, noting the amusement that lingered there.
"Care to explain?" Professor Hazel inquired.
I paused, inhaling a deep breath before continuing. “If Mr. King were able to adapt to a less superficial perspective on Austen's literary works, he would see that there is deep character development, gorgeous prose, and humorous remarks. I find Austen's balance of omniscient perspective exemplary. She created smooth transitions from character to character while filling the story with wit, sarcasm, and dark British humor."
"Ha. Humor and wit." Archer's laugh echoed through the room, beautiful and melodic.
Exactly what I imagined it to be .
It sent shivers down my spine and spurred a sudden ache between my legs—one which I attempted to quell by pressing them together tightly, but that only made it worse.
I refused to back down.
"Mrs. Bennett says, ‘You have no compassion for my poor nerves.’ Then Mr. Bennett, in response, says, ‘You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least.’" My voice grew louder with every word of my argument, slamming against the walls like a gavel.
The class chuckled in response.
"I think the story was romantic," a grinning girl from the front row interjected.
Archer scoffed, drawing the attention of the class back to him. "Romantic? Charlotte wants to be wed to whatever poor schmuck is financially stable enough to support her. Lydia runs away and opens her legs to every man in the royal army. Charlotte is too meek to pursue true happiness, and Elizabeth is looking for a man of reputation. This story has little to do with love or desire and everything to do with money and betrothals. It's unrealistic and lacks substance."
"Austen did not write romance in the conventional sense of today's norms. She didn't fill her pages with dramatic pining, gushing declarations of love, or heated kiss scenes." Burning fervor rushed through my veins. "Her stories portray societal issues and human nature. While you may not find the pages saturated with midnight rendezvous, you will find deep and thoughtful character arcs and a problematic but genuine love story. As Mr. Darcy said to Elizabeth, ‘In vain, I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ How's that for romance, Mr. King?" I snorted, crossing my arms and leaning back into my seat.
I refused to look at Archer as I finished my speech, keeping my gaze trained on Professor Hazel instead. His lips curled up into a small smile, satisfaction coursing through me as he nodded in approval .
The bell rang, and the class started gathering their belongings to leave. As I stood to leave, Professor Hazel gestured for me to come down to his desk.
"Mila, can I have a word with you for a moment?"
I nodded, feeling a sudden sense of dread. By the time I reached the aisle, the rest of the class had already filed out—Archer included. I was nervous that I had said something wrong or was in trouble for my argument in the middle of his class. I followed him to his desk, biting my lip anxiously.
"I was impressed with your analysis today, Mila. You have a real talent for literature, and it's important that you continue to cultivate that talent. Have you thought about applying to be my teaching assistant this year? Applications close next week, and I think you would be an asset to my classes."
My heart beat faster at the suggestion. "I thought you had to be a senior to apply?"
"Typically, yes. However, if a student like yourself exceeds the expectations of their undergraduate courses, exceptions could be made, but it would require you to take on an additional senior literature course."
"I would love to apply, Professor. Thank you for considering me," I beamed, my heart pounding as I felt a flush creeping up my neck.
"Excellent. I'll send you the details on how to apply to your email." He smiled at me before turning back to his desk.
I turned to walk up the stairs to the exit.
"Oh, and Mila, don't let Mr. King's opinions discourage you. Austen's works are a treasure in English literature, and your perspective on them is valid and valuable."
"Thank you, Professor." I smiled gratefully.
As I left the room, my eyes lingered on Archer's empty seat, wondering what he really thought about our argument. I made my way across the quad, the sun beating down on me. I tried to shake the feeling of Archer under my skin. I reached the library and headed inside, seeking refuge in the stacks. The faint smell of old, musty books enveloped me as I walked through the aisles. I trailed my fingers along the spines, searching for something to occupy my mind and calm my racing heart—anything to take my mind off Archer. I picked up a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from the shelf and flipped through the pages, pausing on a passage that caught my eye.
"Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again." She wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin? I can comprehend your going on charmingly when you had once made a beginning, but what could set you off in the first place? I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."
I smiled to myself, feeling my cheeks flush as I read the words. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over me, and I gasped when a voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"I didn't know you had it in you, Grey."
I turned to find Archer leaning against one of the bookshelves, his arms crossed.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice laced with annoyance.
His eyes flickered to the book in my hand, and he smirked. "Ah, Austen's masterpiece. After our little debate today, I see you're finding some solace in literature." He grinned, taking a step closer to me.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore how his voice made my skin tingle. "I don't need to justify my reading choices to you, Archer," I replied, stepping back.
"Of course not," he drawled, his eyes never leaving mine, and he took another step closer. "But I have to admit, I'm intrigued. Do you find yourself relating more to Elizabeth or Mr. Darcy?"
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I fought to keep my composure. "Why do you care?" I retorted, feeling my heart rate pick up.
"Because I'm curious," he said, closing the distance between us.
The last time he was this close to me was in the alley outside my townhouse. "Come on, little rabbit. Indulge me. Do you see yourself as the sharp-tongued, independent Elizabeth or the brooding, misunderstood Mr. Darcy?" His eyes were now dark with amusement .
I felt a shiver run through my body as I looked at him. I gritted my teeth, feeling a mixture of anger and attraction coursing through me. "I don't see myself as either of them. They are fictional characters, not real people." I tried to step away from him, but he blocked my path, his hand resting on the bookshelf behind me.
"Of course, but that doesn't mean we can't draw parallels between ourselves and them," he said, his voice low and tempting.
I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling his hot breath on my face. "How is that relevant to anything?"
He chuckled, his eyes dancing with mischief. "You're such a good girl, Grey. Always following the rules and staying within the lines."
"I don't see how that's a bad thing," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
His breath was hot against my neck. "Oh, I see. You're the independent, stubborn type, then?" He leaned in closer, his lips just inches from mine. "I like that."
My heart raced as I pushed him away. "I'm not some feat for you to conquer, King."
His lips curved into a smirk as he stepped back, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Who said anything about conquering?" he replied, flipping a strand of hair off his forehead. "I simply enjoy a good challenge, little rabbit."
"Stop calling me a little rabbit." I rolled my eyes, my irritation growing.
"You're not a little rabbit. You're my little rabbit," he crooned.
"I don't have time for games, Archer. I have to focus on my classes."
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flickering over my face. "Is that so?" he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Because I seem to recall a certain night when you didn't seem to have a problem letting loose and having a little fun with Zach in the cornfields."
My cheeks burned as I remembered that night—the night I had let my guard down and ended up assaulted by that douchebag. A douchebag that I hadn't seen since that night. A douchebag that I thought had gotten his throat slit. I fought the wave of nausea that washed over me, trying to push the memory away.
"Wait…how did you know I was with him in the cornfield?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Archer stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. "He won't hurt you again."
My heart plummeted to my stomach. But no, I couldn't have watched him die in front of me. I was drugged and hallucinating. Right?
"You were there," I gasped, my voice shaking.
He didn't respond. There was no emotion behind his eyes.
My mind raced with questions, confusion, and a tinge of fear. Was Archer there when Zach was assaulting me? What did he mean, he won't hurt you again ?
I stepped backward, my eyes never leaving him, and reached out to the bookshelf for support. "What did you do?" I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest.
His face was inscrutable as he watched me. "I took care of it," he finally said, his voice low.
I pushed past him. My skin was sweaty, and my lungs felt like they would burst. I turned the corner and slammed into someone, papers flying through the air and falling to the ground.
"Jesus, watch where you're going!" the girl said, her brown eyes narrowed angrily at me.
"I-I'm so sorry," I apologized and bent to the ground to help her pick up her papers. I turned them over to face them right side up and read:
MISSING: Have you seen me?
The face in the picture stared back at me, sending me stumbling backward and fighting to keep from screaming.
It was Zach.
Douchebag Zach, who had drugged me and tried to rape me in the cornfield. The girl looked at me like I was a freak, but I turned around and headed back into the maze of bookshelves, looking for somewhere to hide and catch my breath. I ran through the shelves until the voices of other students were faint, and the silence was comforting. I held onto the bookshelves, feeling a panic attack coming on. The air in my lungs seized, and my chest felt like it was on fire.
"Breathe, Mila."
I felt his presence before I heard him.
"Slow down your breathing." His hand was on my back.
"I-I-can't," I gasped.
My vision was beginning to fade in and out, and in a few more seconds, I would pass out.
His hands pulled me upright, pushing my back against the bookshelf, and slammed his lips against mine. I gasped when his tongue slipped into my mouth, and air flooded my lungs. His hands slid down to my waist, yanking me flush against him. I closed my eyes, my mind on fire as my body went numb. My head swam as his kiss deepened, and I was forced to breathe through my nose. I felt everything at once—his hot breath pushing against my mouth, the hard length pressing against my stomach, the wetness quickly gathering between my legs—and at the same time, I felt nothing at all.
He broke away from my lips but kept his face close to mine. I panted, clinging to him, and felt my face flush. My body was still frozen in shock. I had never been kissed like that in my life.
"You kissed me."
"Yeah, I did." His voice was low and full of amusement.
"Why?" I whispered, feeling my jaw tremble.
"You took a breath, didn't you?" he teased.
I pushed him away, my cheeks burning. "I need to go." I slid past him and all but ran home to take a freezing shower.