The Vampire Slayer

Chapter 11

Maeve was furious, felt highly exposed, and frustratingly incited.
"Let me be." She whispered, holding her gaze, and he looked at her for a second. He then let her wrist slowly, holding his posture without moving.
           Maeve leaned, picked up her book, and put it inside her bag. She then locked her eyes with him. Their deep eye contact narrated all the untold feelings; much wanted, although not done, actions. Then, finally, Maeve was struck; he saved her from drowning.
"Iason, thank you for saving my life." She said sweetly and daringly enough to call him by his real name. At this point, Maeve was ready to pour her whole soul out, put all the cards to the table and admit her affections.
          "Maeve..." He whispered, almost like he knew what she was about to say or even do. But instead, she put one hand on his naked wet chest and stepped closer to him, gazing up. She's 5'4 feet, and him looking down at her made her feel safe like he's her guardian.
           Both parted their lips simultaneously; both wanted the same thing and were craving each other; this time, though, was the right moment; they weren't near the college. Mr. Jason wasn't her professor outside here, he was only Iason, and she wasn't his student. Nobody was around; nobody would judge them, and no one would know. It would be their secret, dirty little secret.
           Simultaneously, they were staring at each other's lips, waiting for one of them to take the first step. Though no one did anything, their parted lips didn't move; only air was coming from their mouths. Air that Maeve wanted to pass through his mouth. Anticipating the seconds that went by and nothing happening, she looked up at him and caught him giving her a seductive look. His eyes were dark with desire, lust, and passion.
           He raised his right hand and placed it behind her neck; his left hand was on her waist, holding her tight. Iason pulled her closer to his face; Maeve gasped and wrapped her arms around his waist. Maeve shut her eyes; their lips didn't yet touch when they got suddenly interrupted by Iason's phone ringing.
           "Fuck." He whispered, taking his hands away from Maeve's body. She stood there trying to cope with what happened; Iason picked the phone up.
Maeve didn't seem to listen nor care; she was in a trance, enchanted by his nearly touched lips on hers. It was too good to be true or good to be a dream.
            "Maeve, I'm sorry." He said sternly; his passionate self was long gone.
"We shouldn't do this. It's wrong. I don't know what's got into me. All of this was highly inappropriate." He said impassively. She didn't answer; she stared blankly at him. She then picked up her stuff and turned around, leaving him behind.
             "Maeve, please. Try to understand." He said, worried. She stopped and turned around to face him. "Sure." She said coolly.
"No hard feelings?" Iason asked desperately. "Can we leave this behind us? Start over. On a professional level, just friends." He continued, looking beat up as if this was slowly killing him.
"Yeah, no problem." She stated, leaving him there and heading outside.
              The car ride back to the college was quiet; Maeve felt her fury closing in, although not expanding nor bursting. She wasn't upset, even though uncontrollable tears were falling from her eyes; she wasn't crying, nor was Maeve devasted; more likely, she felt tricked, like a fool.
              Questions were swirling around her head. Why would this happen to her? How could she be so naive, stupid, and, worst of all, weak? Weakness is for the powerlessness, those who can't embrace themselves. Maeve knew she wasn't near that; she's a strong independent woman, no mistress in distress kind of woman. No prince, Greek God, or king would ever break her, bring her down on her knees, humiliate her, or take control over her. It should be the other way around, them begging, chasing her for her attention and affection.
              She was driving fast, not caring about what could happen; at this point, all she ever wanted was to scream, run, or beat the crap out of something. All these emotions and violent thoughts blurred her mind. Inside her head, a cloud of smoke circled, poisoning her. The poisoning was infecting every blood cell, every vein in her system, becoming a disease of vengeance. The disease progressed into wickedness, sudden darkness, and a cry for help before the very own core of her soul would shut down. Instead of shutting down, it evolved into madness and, in seconds, switched into sorrow.
               She built a fence around her heart, never letting any man ever trick her again. Creating protection from those who want to explore her, use her, or play with her emotions. Then, common sense finally returned, and that dark cloud disappeared. Deep inside her, though, a little scar was formed, reminding her to be careful of the next mistake that would harm her, that could be unforeseen.
              Maeve put her big girl pants on, shook all the toxic thoughts away, sighed, and put on a carefree mask. That mask would help her recover from her mistakes and heal the deep scar created in her core. She pledged not to tolerate and fall for a man that possessed her; she would instead manipulate them.