Seduced by Lies (4 page)

Sam half stumbled, half fell through the swinging double doors and into the dead silence of the library, throwing an apologetic glance towards the startled, disgruntled librarian as
he adjusted the speed of his eager feet. He tiptoed past the main desk, ignoring the scowl of the scrawny old woman who stood behind it, and began making his way mutely through the stacks, eyes peeled for any sign of bleach blonde hair or a checkered bag. His heart thumped harder and harder in his chest as he proceeded further and further into the depths of the musky library. He breathed in deeply, trying to steady his erratic breathing, and couldn’t help but be reminded of his father's office. The heady smell of thousands of thick, old books, laden with dust and crusty with age, transported Sam back to his childhood - to sneaking into his father’s office when he’d work late at night (like he often had), and indulging in the rare treat of being able to pore over the thick, parchment like pages of some of his father's largest, oldest and most precious volumes, reveling in the vast amounts of knowledge hidden within their papery folds. Sam couldn’t help but think that his Dad would have been utterly in his element in this room. As always, any recollection of his absent father brought unavoidable feelings of anger and painful betrayal along with it, and Sam had to physically shake the thoughts from his mind before he could continue on through the library - now was not the time to be dwelling on the past.

             
After a few minutes of silent searching, the back wall of the library came into view, and Sam felt the grim tentacles of defeat begin to worm their way into his psyche once more. He was almost ready to start cursing the universe again, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted the strap of a checkered backpack, emerging discreetly from behind the furthermost bookshelf, which had been labeled ‘R-T’.

             
It was at that moment that he realized he had absolutely no clue how to approach this girl - what should he say? How should he act? He couldn’t simply dive straight in with his darkest secrets and true feelings of remoteness - despite his certainty that she would understand him completely, that wouldn’t make such a great first impression. Luckily, Sam was still just out of range of the girls sight, and so ducked behind the opposite side of the bookshelf to buy himself just a little more time.

             
He leaned his forehead gently against the dusty tomes, marring their spines with his nervous sweat and breathing as quietly as he could while his heart refused to slow its thunderous beating. Raising his eyes, he could just about see one side of the girls pale face through a gap in the shelf, her wide eyes glazed as she chewed monotonously on her sandwich, looking considerably more comfortable than she had done in the busy, bustling College world upstairs. She was still completely oblivious to Sam's presence, and so he continued to gaze at her through his tiny window of view behind the books, basking in the exquisitely sad beauty that emanated from her individual features. His eager eyes drank in her features, trying to place exactly what it was that drew him so insistently towards her. She wasn’t conventionally attractive by any means - her prominent, high cheekbones and the sharp, straight line of her nose and thin, red lips gave her face a slightly acuminous, angled appearance, and she was a milky-white shade of pale that would never be considered fashionable. But it was the deep anguish and longing that emanated from those heavily-framed, intelligent eyes, and the proud, determined set to her shoulders that truly drew Sam towards this enigma of a woman. In those eyes he saw a reflection of the anguish and longing that he himself had become so familiar with, and in her pride and determination he felt a sense of deep intellect, and a strength of being that he so wished he could posses in himself. Here was a person he wouldn’t have to hide from or lie to - here was a person who maybe, just maybe, could help him out of the dismal rut his life had become. So why did his courage have to fail him now?

             
Sooner than he’d hoped, the girl finished her lunch, and Sam knew he had to act now or never. He took a deep breath, silently telling himself to stop being such a coward, and stepped boldly from behind the safety of the bookshelf, cheesy grin automatically in place and his sweaty hands clenching and unclenching nervously behind his back. He was just about ready to begin introducing himself when he noticed that the girls eyes were closed, half her face basking in the glorious sunshine that had managed to pierce through the grime of the library windows, and a small, wistful smile playing around those beautiful red lips, as if recalling some joyous memory from some previous, happier life.

             
Sam was once again thrown off course - he’d psyched himself up and had been so sure of himself as he’d stepped around the corner, but was now again unsure of how to approach the situation. He tried clearing his throat, to announce his presence, but all he could muster was a pitiful, barely audible squeak that held no hope of drawing this girl from her reverie. He took a few steps forward instead, his footsteps somehow silent on the antique-style, varnished wooden floor boards, but still the girl failed to stir from her day dreams. He could feel his blood rushing like tidal waves through his veins, the mocking voices of his friends laughing at him as he made one last-ditch attempt at interaction and reached for the empty chair next to the girl. That did the trick alright - as the bare, metal legs of the chair squealed across the floorboards, the girl jerked sharply, and Sam found himself once again confronted with her beautiful, tumultuous, orb-like eyes, except now they were scowling with displeasure - a displeasure that was aimed directly towards him.

             
“Sorry.” Sam blurted instinctively, causing both himself and the girl to flinch violently as his outburst echoed around the otherwise reverently soundless room. He suddenly became very aware of his surroundings, and darted quick, nervous looks over both his shoulders, paranoid that his mates may have sneakily followed him down here - it would do no good for them to see him like this. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he repeated his apology, this time in a dramatic whisper complete with his ever-present grin. The girl continued to stare at him, silent and unresponsive, her eyebrows raised and her face a mask of questioning disdain. But as usual, Sam's auto-pilot kicked in and did not falter (well, not much). He watched himself robotically and idiotically introduce himself, while the voice in his head hysterically repeated the words - “Shit! Shit! Shit!” - over and over, growing more and more panicked as it became increasingly clear that this girl was simply not impressed. He felt his trademark crimson blush begin creeping up from under the collar of his t-shirt, and he began fiddling nervously with his cap. It took him a few moments to realize that the girl now had her back to him, and was picking up her bag as if to leave. He mumbled to himself dejectedly, unsure of what he was saying, but it was apparently enough to make the girl stop and turn back around with what was (if Sam wasn’t mistaken) an edge of pity and understanding creeping into the corners of her otherwise cold eyes. Sam leapt at this opportunity, his mind demanding him to “Be cool!” while his face reformed into its jovial mask and his lips formed the words -

“Welcome!”

The girl remained stood on the spot, but continued to look frostily at Sam, somewhat baffled and insulted by the insistence of his intrusion. She tilted her head sharply, questioningly.

"You...you're new here, right?" He finished uncertainly, recalling the conversation between the two oompa-loompas in the corridor.

              “Yes.” She replied shortly. Sam's grin widened to a proud beam as he said -

"Well, I hope you enjoy it here." Sure that the girl would appreciate the gesture and his act of kindness - he knew he would have in her position. But apparently this girl was far more complicated than he first imagined - something an intelligent lad like himself should of picked up on the supposed, and what he had intended to be kind, comforting words, instead made the girl huff and continue to storm off.

              But Sam wasn’t ready to give up - he couldn’t give up. His brain was clutching at straws while his eyes darted around him, searching for inspiration. They landed on one of his favorite Stephen King novels, on the shelf just next to his right ear, and once again his mouth blurted out the words without his brain being involved in the process -

“Stephen King!” He shouted to the girls retreating back. She spun around once more, eyes now narrow slits of indignation at his careless disruption of the libraries natural, reverent silence. She practically hissed at him as he slid the ‘The Stand’ off the shelf and held it towards her in his shaking hands, praying this would strike some chord with her intelligence and intellect.

“Stephen King.” He repeated quietly, his head bowed ridiculously, like a chastised child's.

             
He mumbled some nonsense about it being a ‘good’ book - something any old fool could have told you, and prayed for the floorboards to swallow him whole. But when the girl replied, her voice and stance had dramatically changed -

"Yes, I've read it." Her tone now soft and agreeable, the set of her shoulders relaxing in surprise. "It is very good." She finished.

              As simple and unassuming as her response was, Sam’s heart immediately lifted, and he raised his eyes hopefully to meet hers. There was a moment - a brief split second of recognition and compassion - a momentary connection and mutual understanding that rocked Sam to his very core and left him slack-jawed and breath taken. But it was only a moment, and then the girls defenses shot straight back up again, and she dismissed his offering with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders, before marching proudly out of the room without a backwards glance.

             
Sam was electrified. He’d made a twat out of himself, no doubt about it, but he’d managed to save it right at the very last moment. While from an outsiders perspective it may have seemed like a total train wreck, nobody else could possibly understand the feeling they’d shared in that moment. While the girl appeared to leave the library just as cold and aloof as she’d arrived, Sam knew that somehow, his bumbling words had managed to crack through her hard outer shell. This was the beginning of something beautiful, he knew it. He just had to be patient, to keep at it and force her to see the common ground between them, to make her realize just how much they both needed each other.

             
For the first time in a long time he felt like a human being again - that girl had actually made him
feel
, had even made him blush! And he luxuriated at the idea of more encounters like this one. Ecstatic at his tiny accomplishment, Sam whooped and danced around the back of the library, congratulating himself and cheering loudly until he was forcibly asked to vacate the library.

CHAPTER 3 - I JUST CAN’T GET YOU OUT OF MY HEAD

             
Sienna arrived home to a hastily scribbled note from her mother on the dining room table -

S -

Louise called - gotta work late tonight. Pizza’s in the freezer.

Try not to cause any trouble.

M x

             
Sienna silently thanked the Gods (“If you actually exist.” She added as a snide afterthought), and immediately made a beeline towards the fridge and her mother’s ‘secret’ bottle of vodka that she kept hidden at the back of the vegetable drawer. Plunking down on one of the uncomfortable, flat, solid oak chairs with a bone-weary sigh, she poured herself a generous measure into a large tumbler glass. She held the glass up close to her face, observing the crystal clear liquid as it swirled around the bottom, as if it were a fine wine she was about to sample and dissect. She toyed with the idea of downing the half-full tumbler in one go - no point in pussy footing around - before glancing at the clock and realizing it was only 4:30 pm. Her sensibilities got the better of her, and so she rose from her seat with another exasperated sigh and reached for the Coca-Cola in the cupboard. The liquid hit the back of her throat, sending a pleasant, warm, burning sensation down her larynx and into her chest, and causing the back of her eyeballs to prickle with the threat of tears. A slight smile curled around Sienna’s lips as she poured herself another, and another, each slightly stronger than the one before, until at last she felt prepared to once again attempt to analyze the day's events.

             
Sam. That’s what he’d said his name was. But why did she remember that inconsequential little bit of information? Why had she listened to a single word that Jock had said? It was clear from his ridiculous choice of attire and his cheesy, ‘I’m so cool’ smirk, that he was just like the rest of them, and couldn’t possibly contribute anything worthwhile towards Sienna’s life. So why had she let him stop her? Why had she turned around, time and time again, and continued to listen to his drivel? And moreover, what could a Jock boy possibly want with her? They had nothing at all in common - in fact he was simply a copy of those other lower beings that had whispered and laughed at her in the corridors that day. So why on earth would he take the time to seek her out and make an attempt at conversation? And why had he seemed so crushed when she’d rejected his attempt?

             
The first thing that sprang to mind was that it was a ruse - some kind of bet between Sam and his Jock pals that involved her. Maybe something like - ‘Let’s see who can bed the weirdo first - winner gets a pint.’, or some other childish, demeaning prank. Sienna’s blood boiled at the very thought, and her fingers clenched tightly around her empty tumbler, until her knuckles turned white and the glass began shaking in her hands. A string of swear words and violent insults raced around Sienna’s mind, and she had to bite her lip to stop from screaming them at the kitchen walls. But another, much quieter thought lurked at back of her mind, a thought that took another vodka and coke for Sienna to confront.

             
She slammed the empty tumbler a little too hard onto the soft surface of the pine table, causing it to dent slightly, and took a deep, steadying breath, closing her eyes and enjoying the slight spinning sensation in her head. The alcohol had helped loosen her thoughts, and Sienna could no longer deny the tiny seed of a notion that she had been flatly ignoring since the incident in the library - There had been something about that Jock boy. There had been that look in the deep pits of his eyes, and odd edge to the way he held himself. That flash of recognition in his eyes each time he looked at her, that deep yearning that seemed to seep from his very pores each time she looked at him. Not a sexual yearning or desire, but more of a need for...companionship. He seemed to be under the impression that they understood each other somehow, that they were on the same level. Maybe he too had a secret, a dark anguish that nobody would understand. Perhaps his life had thrown him in the deep end, just like Sienna’s, forcing him to mature before his time and now he too had to fight and struggle through each day.

             
“Impossible.” Sienna spat, arguing with her own mind. “He’s clearly still an idiotic adolescent! Why would a mature, experienced adult willingly wear such ridiculous clothes and act in such a ridiculous manner?! He was a gibbering fool for Christ’s sake!”

The voice in her head had its retort ready and waiting -

“He did pick Stephen King. Out of all the other possible books in that bookshelf, he picked Stephen King.”

Sienna huffed and crossed her arms. “Lucky guess.” She mumbled unconvincingly.

“But what about the way he held himself?” Her mind continued to nudge her. “That definitely wasn’t the confident stance of a cocky Jock.”

Sienna couldn’t deny this, and was forced to admit she was stumped. There had definitely been a certain awkwardness to Sam that wasn’t usually associated with his Jock types. He’d seemed somewhat...embarrassed of himself, as if he knew what a twat he looked like in his ridiculous baggy shorts and cap, and was apologizing for it through his body language.

              Sienna could feel the other half of herself riling up once more, ready to argue back again. With some effort, she forced herself to stop, foreseeing the vicious circle the night was heading towards and realizing that no good would come of it.

She rubbed hard at her tiring eyes with the heels of her hands, not giving a second thought to large, black smudges of eyeliner that were now smeared across her face. Through her blurred vision she could gauge that there was about two thirds of a
tumblers worth of precious liquid left in the bottom of the vodka bottle, which she proceeded to turn upside down above her glass and pour messily into it. She was at that pleasant level of drunk where she could no longer taste the burn of the alcohol, and so the remainder of it slipped down her throat as smoothly as water, followed by a lip-smacking sigh of appreciation.

Sienna rose shakily from her chair, one hand leaning heavily on the table for assistance, and flipped her mother's note over, scrawling messily across the back -

Dearest Mother -

Thanks ever so much for your loving and heartfelt note - never has there been a daughter as lucky or as loved as I!

As for the pizza, I kindly saved it for you, choosing instead to fill my belly with that bottle of voddy you think I don’t know about. Rest safe in the knowledge that I enjoyed every last drop!

Best Regards

Your daughter

S

              And with that she sauntered, somewhat lopsidedly, out of the kitchen and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her out of habit. The dark, isolated familiarity of her room was like the embrace of a dearly missed friend, one which Sienna fell eagerly into. Surrounded by her belongings and the items that made up her little world - the seemingly insignificant possessions that held all of her dearest memories and moments, that essentially made-up the very person she was, she felt instantly more comfortable and at ease. In her private little bubble, Sienna could mostly forget and ignore the troubling events of the day, as if they were no more than the fading feelings and images of a half-remembered dream.

             
She gently and lovingly unsheathed her laptop from her backpack and placed it gently on her bed, waiting for it load up. While the machine came to life, buzzing a whirring softly, Sienna reached under her bed, hands scrabbling along the carpet until they came across the item she desired - an innocent looking, if slightly tatty, shoe box. Her face split into a rare smile as she placed the shoe box in her lap and flipped open the lid, revealing a mass of loose king size rizlas and empty baggies. She rummaged through the disorganized contents until she came upon the one full baggie left in the box, and proceeded to roll a well-filled joint. Somehow her drunk fingers managed to roll much more masterfully than her sober ones had done that morning, and within a few minutes her lungs and mouth were filled with the sweet taste of THC. She took a few more deep drags, letting the smoke and cannabinoids take effect before turning back to her laptop.

She clicked straight onto her favorite page - ‘The British Poetry Centre’ and their Facebook page - pretty much the only thing she used her laptop for these days. Not a day went by when Sienna didn’t check the pages updates or add some of her own, considering the dismal lack of mature company that was on offer to her these days, she substituted friends the faceless words and posts of the other intellectuals on the site, gleaning comfort from the insights they shared through their computer screens. This was her last, tenuous connection to the life she had loved and so cruelly lost, to the girl she had once been.

              Usually she would spend hours trawling through the pages, carefully reading and dissecting each new piece of poetry or literature. She liked to play out conversations in her head, imagining what
he
would say about the words on her screen, the beautiful opinions and insightful knowledge that only
he
possessed and that only she could understand and appreciate. But tonight her mind was too fuzzy and raw, a million thoughts buzzing around her mind like an angry hive of bees. And so she simply re-posted a short section from one of her favorite poems -

“Lovely joy left blank, perhaps you are

the center of all my labors and my loves.

If I've wept for you so much, it's because

I preferred you among so many outlined joys.”

              She read over the text once and, satisfied with her input, closed the tab, only to be unexpectedly confronted with a tab she had forgotten she’d left open - an image she’d been looking at just before College that morning. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at an image of herself - long brown hair framing a happy face, eyes sparkling, her smooth, smiling cheek pressed against
his
rough, stubble face, so close together that her previously wild mane mingled with his distinguished, graying locks. A wave of mixed emotion crashed over her, intensified by the alcohol, bringing the stabbing sting of tears along with it. Her breath came in shuddering gasps as she swiped at the offending droplets that fell from her eye-lids, not wanting to tear her gaze from the image despite the pain it brought - the pain just meant that it had all been real. She traced her finger along the pixels of his face, stroking his strong jaw and smoothing out the lines of his crow's feet, just like she had so loved to do in real life. She drank in the sight of them together - how well they had meshed, despite the age gap and the so-called ‘taboo’ of their relationship (though how love could be taboo Sienna would never know). As her eyes roamed over the picture, they fell onto his eyes staring out from the screen, and Sienna felt a sharp and overwhelming jolt of recognition.

             
“Sam!” She gasped, caught off guard. Though that pathetic Jock could never compare to the divine, virtually Godlike man on her screen and from her memories, there was a fathomless, penetrating depth in his eyes, visible even through the pixels, that Sienna (no matter how hard she tried to deny it) had seen briefly in Sam’s.

Sienna screamed in rage and confusion and sorrow, howling her pain to the bedroom ceiling and slamming shut the lid of her laptop. Not only had that Jock confused and annoyed her, he was now even marring the few good memories she had left.

              She fell back onto her bed, emotionally and physically exhausted, slapping herself in between bouts of tears to try and regain some sense. After about half an hour the slapping seemed to be working - the tears stopped and her breathing became steady once more. She convinced herself that the similarities and signs she’d thought she’d seen were nothing more than the product of a long, hard day and a little too much to drink, and that Sam was nothing more than an idiotic Jock (if a slightly unusual one at that). It was the simplest and most logical conclusion she could come to, and she forced her argumentative mind to admit that it was a satisfactory one.

             
Satisfied that she’d solved the mystery, and confident that she would not let Sam fool or confuse her again, Sienna rolled over and picked up her half-smoked doobie. Her eyes were already beginning to droop and close of their own accord, but she had to finish her smoke - it would do no good to leave any evidence lying around for her mother's prying eyes.

             
Sam chose to drive the slightly longer, scenic route home that day, dodging the rush hour traffic that clogged the main road and enjoying the extra ten minutes of blissful solitude. His afternoon lecture had been a breeze - he’d barely even needed to act as he’d laughed and joked with his classmates, his head filled with thoughts of that enigmatic blonde girl. Not that he was getting ahead of himself - he knew she was hurt and damaged, he could recognize and understand that better than anyone, and he knew it would take a long time for her to begin to trust or reveal herself to anybody. But he was more than prepared to invest that time and patience, to gain her trust and understanding and to make her see that, despite outside appearances and put-on attitudes, they weren’t so dissimilar after all. No matter what it took, Sam would follow this light at the end of the tunnel, right to its source, because whatever lay ahead for him and this nameless girl, he felt certain it would be better than anything he had right now.