Anissa's Redemption Read online

  I saw Michael again yesterday and was left in tears. But not because of him – he was an angel. Michael asked to see me because he had some important news that he preferred to share in person.

  Anxious to hear what he had to say, I waited for him on the steps of Low Library, where he said he would meet me, by the Alma Mater statue. A few minutes later, he showed up with his book bag slung over one of his broad shoulders. We hugged briefly and then we sat down on the steps, in a secluded spot nearby, and he told me the terrible news: one of his rebel contacts told him that he thinks my sister was kidnapped after she and the rest of my family in Syria were assaulted while fleeing the Islamist onslaught on Kessab.

  “My source isn’t completely sure and needs to look into it more. But I wanted to tell you as soon as I heard, because it’s really not something that you’d be able to find out very easily on your own, and I can’t even imagine how much you’ve been thinking about your relatives.”

  I put my head on his shoulder and started to cry. “I try to call them on Skype or their cell at least twice a day. And there’s never an answer.” He wrapped his arm around my back to comfort me.

  “Inās, look at me,” he said, cupping my cheek gently with his palm and turning me towards his eyes. “I promise you, I will get you whatever information I can, as fast as I can. And if Maria has indeed been kidnapped, then I will do everything in my power to secure her release. Even if I have to go get her myself.”

  Some more tears flowed from my eyes, both at Maria’s possible plight and at Michael’s beautifully selfless heroism. “Thank you, Michael,” I said, wiping some tears away.

  He kissed my forehead and held me for a while on the steps as I cried. With so many emotions stirring me, I ended up speaking far more freely and openly than I would have otherwise planned to, but he was very kind and understanding, so I didn’t have any regrets in the end.

  “Michael, I can’t hide things from you anymore. You mean too much to me, and you deserve to know before anything more happens between us, so you can decide what you think is best. But the truth is that I gave myself to Professor Morales, and – believe it or not – I did it largely to secure a big donation, both to impress you and to help the cause. I was really torn about it because I wasn’t sure if you’d ever forgive me, even though we agreed to keep things casual and light. I still had feelings for you and felt torn about the whole thing. But we also really needed the money for MCA and I wanted to do whatever I could to help.”

  “I know, Inās,” he said gently, running his fingers through my hair. “I pushed you in that direction, out of desperation for the cause, so I can hardly blame you for going there, even if it tore me apart to think about it.”

  “And there’s something else that you should know. I lied to you about my past. There was no car accident. My parents were massacred by a group of Islamists who nearly murdered me too. I got away only because one of them raped me, and that slowed down their slaughter long enough for my older brother to arrive with an armed guard. I escaped in the gun battle that followed. But the next day I saw – in a horrific YouTube video – that they were all beheaded,” I burst into tears. “So all that’s left of my family in Syria is what you can manage to find.”

  Michael held me tighter. “Oh God, Inās. I’m so sorry. So terribly sorry to hear what you and your family have been through.”

  “It’s a trauma that I’ve been struggling to live with for the last two years. I’ve tried lying to myself and to everyone else, including you. But I ended up finally coming to terms with it, and – as someone I feel so close to – you deserve to have the truth, so I finally had to tell you.”

  It was excruciating to recount all of those details, but I had to tell him, and a great weight felt as if it had been lifted, now that I no longer had to lie to him about my past or try to hide that I had slept with Professor Morales. And I was so relieved that Michael still accepted me.

  Despite my confession, I felt some lingering guilt for having made Professor Morales “first” on the biggest steps of trust and intimacy: I shared my body and my personal story with him before Michael. But so much of that happened when I was swept up in countless emotions, a student-professor crush, and the desire to help as much, and as fast, as I could.

  By the end of that hour-long chat on the steps, Michael and I ended up in a really long and passionate kiss. As our lips were pressed together, and our tongues endlessly explored each other’s mouths, it felt as if we were both relieved and happy finally to be “home” – as if we had each realized the folly of trying to date outside of our community and were grateful for this second chance to be together.

  Then, today, at my request, Michael showed up at Hamilton Hall to pick me up from my Psychology and Markets class. I asked him to pick me up there for a few reasons: I wanted to feel more comfortable in an intrinsically uncomfortable situation, I intended to show Michael that I was very much choosing him over my professor now, and I hoped to deter Professor Morales from even trying to talk to me after his lecture while also showing him that I was proud, strong, attractive, and had already successfully moved on from him. This was my first time seeing Professor Morales since breaking things off with him, so it felt tense and awkward for me, and I avoided his gaze for the entire time that I was in the room with him. But I’m pretty sure he saw Michael standing just outside the entrance, as other students were leaving after the class adjourned, and my professor probably also noticed me moving excitedly towards Michael and taking his hand as we both left the area together.

  Chapter 14: Julien

  Sunday, 5/4/14 at 23:46.

  The last week has been psychologically challenging for me, as the rupture in relations with Anissa became increasingly complete and final. Not only has neither of us tried to contact the other, but at the end of class last Tuesday, she showed up with Michael, the man to whom I’ve apparently been sending all of my disposable income (mostly to please her, even if it is for a good cause). Seeing her excitedly run up to him after class and take his hand as they left together was a low blow that only added insult to injury. I feel completely played – as if everything that happened with Anissa was just part of some elaborate scheme of theirs to suck me dry. Of course, if I’m honest with myself, I know that my personal issues are the main cause for my breakup with her, but the way she so quickly moved on to another man makes me second-guess my impressions of her – especially because his organization was the main beneficiary of the generosity that Anissa inspired in me... Maybe she’s not quite the angel I thought she was.

  On the other hand, perhaps this is actually an indication of how much she still feels for me. There is no quick cure for heartbreak – only the cruel but palliative satisfaction of knowing that the other suffers too. Indeed, wounded love can make for fierce vengeance. And, from what I know of Anissa, it does seem a bit out of character for her to behave so spitefully, so I’d like to think that she really is just deeply hurt, angry, and looking for some way to injure me back... I hope she knows how well she’s succeeded.

  Last Thursday, our interactions mirrored those of Tuesday: cold indifference between us during class, with Michael picking her up at the end of my lecture. But Thursday’s slights felt particularly painful because that was the last day of the course, marking the final time that I would definitely see her again without some kind of conscious effort by both of us to meet. Any spontaneity made possible by the college environment officially ended with that lecture, unless I happen to see her at another campus demonstration – but that obviously wouldn’t involve the same feeling or dynamic as having her as a student in my class. Of course, if she were to work at JMAT, as an intern, then it could continue to some extent. But she already feels like a stranger and has started dating Michael again, so having her around the office would only frustrate me – I’d rather just try to forget Anissa than regularly see her and recall how I lost her to another man.

  In my attempt to forget – or at least not obsess about – Anissa,
I’ve been burying my head in work. The fund on the whole is doing well again, and the JMAT research division uncovered an exciting opportunity: a small portfolio of distressed real estate assets that an all-cash buyer can pick up for about $300 million, and probably flip for a quick profit of $200-400 million. So I’ve been spending most of my time analyzing the fundamentals of the deal and confirming that this trade makes sense for JMAT’s overall strategy and risk profile.

  But yesterday, after the market closed, I returned to my doldrums as I went back to Columbia for my last office hours of the semester, and found myself pathetically hoping that Anissa might show up for some reason. But she didn’t. Nor was she anywhere near my car when I was about to head home. As I sat back against the passenger seat of my sedan, leaving the university, my throat hardened and it felt as if a mason were methodically etching the words “you lost her” into my stone heart.

  I felt myself getting increasingly depressed about the whole thing, and realized that I shouldn’t go back home to an empty apartment on a Friday night, where I would just brood in my bedroom next to Icarus. I had to do something randomly different – if only to distract my mind, and knock it off its otherwise certain collision course with melancholy. When I saw that we were approaching the Gramercy area, I asked my driver to keep heading downtown, past my residence, to the nearest movie theater.

  When we arrived at the movie theater, I went up to the cashier and bought a ticket to whatever movie was starting next; it turned out to be a new release titled Walk of Shame. I didn’t even know what the film was about, but was glad to hear that it was a comedy, which seemed like the most appropriate genre to escape my current gloominess. The previews had just started when I bought the ticket, so I got some popcorn and went into the theater to find an empty seat. There weren’t many spots available but I noticed, about one-third of the way towards the back, that there were three empty seats in a row. I picked the middle seat and sat down. About ten minutes later, just as the last preview was ending, an unaccompanied woman sat next to me. At first, I didn’t really notice her because it was dark. But something about her smell – especially her perfume – was strangely familiar. At the risk of oddly and blatantly staring at a total stranger, I turned to face her and – to my delighted and amused surprise – it was my therapist!

  “Lily!” I exclaimed, my face lighting up. The trailer beaming onto the screen beyond us illuminated her face just enough for me to see how pleasantly surprised she looked.

  “Julien! What – how random! What are you doing here?”

  For a moment I just shrugged in speechless disbelief at the curious serendipity of it all. “I could ask the same of you! And of all the seats in the theater, how did you happen to pick the one right next to me?”

  “Well, there actually weren’t that many options – that’s what happens when you arrive just as the trailers are ending for a new release,” she noted in amusement.

  “Shhhhh!!” Some annoyed moviegoers nearby reminded us that they could hear us just as the movie was about to start.

  We ended up sharing my popcorn and napkins, and plenty of laughs at the movie (which was a comedy of misadventures about a news anchor who finds herself in the wrong part of LA following a night of partying). After one particularly funny scene, my hands came together as if to clap, and then as I went to put them down, my right hand gradually came down over Lily’s side of the armrest between us, and gently and subtly found her hand. We both kept watching the screen, almost as if to deny that anything was happening, even as our hands began to caress each other.

  The fact that we were meeting for the first time in a totally different context – as two single people in a dark theater that brings them together in laughter – apparently made us forget for a moment that we had any sort of professional relationship. We were clearly eager to experience each other in a different setting, but proposing that we do so had always been a line that no one had ever tried to cross. However, now that happenstance had thrown us into those circumstances, neither of us seemed too intent on resisting the charms of chance.

  We held hands for almost the rest of the movie, and our fingers took turns caressing the other’s palm in a suggestive, affectionate, or sensual way. It was exactly the escape that I needed – far more effective than even the movie itself, which was also entertaining. In fact, towards the end of the film, I began to worry a bit about what to do once the lights came on. Invite her for dinner and drinks somewhere? Suggest a neighborhood stroll that leads to my apartment? The glare of the theater lights turning back on would produce a rude and abrupt reminder that we had just ventured into new and unknown territory with our hands and now had to decide whether to move deeper into that foreign land or retreat back to our comfort zones, as if nothing had just happened.

  As I wrestled with these questions in my head, dreading the moment that the lights returned, I was actually relieved when I felt my phone vibrate with a new message, just as the film credits started rolling. It was the lead manager on the distressed real estate deal that JMAT was considering, informing me that the lawyers for the seller had just notified us that a competitive bid had come in, and that we had to act fast if we wanted to secure the deal. I would need to get on my laptop at home as soon as possible and analyze some documents for discussion with my deal team, so that we could reach a decision in the coming hours. The potential risk and awkwardness of encouraging Lily to breach her professional duties had been narrowly avoided thanks to my own professional duties.

  As the lights finally came on, Lily took her time standing up, stretching, straightening out her clothes, and gathering her things, as if to extend for as long as possible the time available for someone to propose what we do next. Her face had that flexible but expectant look, like someone who had time on her hands and was waiting for direction.

  “It was great to see you again... Outside of your office for a change,” I said, making it clear that we were about to say goodbye.

  “Yes, it was,” she agreed reluctantly, with an affectionate smile. “A pleasant surprise indeed.” She seemed almost frozen in place, awkwardly standing by her seat, as if she still hadn’t decided what to do next, or was wrestling with the idea of proposing that we extend the evening together somehow.

  I held up my phone with a frown. “Unfortunately, work calls, so I have to run back home to take care of this deal that just went into overdrive.” I nodded with my head to indicate that I was going to walk towards the end of the aisle, and Lily finally took the hint and started to walk in that direction ahead of me. “How’d you like the movie?” I asked, as we made our way to the theater lobby.

  “It was very funny.”

  “I thought so too,” I agreed, as we approached the exit. “Well, sorry I have to run like this, but I’ll see you in two days – not in the theater unfortunately,” I added with a smile.

  “Right,” she chuckled. “Good luck with your deal, and see you on Sunday.”

  When I got home, I spent the next four hours focused on the potential acquisition, and we decided to make a bid. The next morning, the lawyers for the seller informed us that our offer had been accepted, and I was excited about the deal, knowing that it would improve the fund’s overall returns with a quick infusion of cash.

  By this morning, my head was back to women – but fortunately I was focused more on Lily than on Anissa. I wasn’t sure how I would relate to Lily when I saw her again in the therapy context. I wondered whether she also had struggled with that question, and whether she might even abruptly cancel our session. Luckily, she didn’t.

  In the end, amusingly enough, we spent most of our time together analyzing the very situation in which we had found ourselves just a few days earlier. There was something a bit surreal about how clinically we could dissect a moment that we had both shared, as we went from subjectively experiencing it to dispassionately observing it.

  “Why do you think you chose not to take things any further?” she asked me at one point, playing wit
h a lock of her hair.

  My eyebrow rose in interest. Was she asking this as my therapist, or as a woman who wanted me to take her back to my place and fuck her? “Would you have been willing to follow me down that road?”

  She leaned back in her chair a little, crossing her legs. “Maybe. I was clearly lost in that experience and susceptible to you on some very basic level. But for me it was also a major, threshold moment, as it may have been for you – albeit for very different reasons.”

  “Yes. For you, it was a threshold moment because you hadn’t yet embarked on actions that would produce an insurmountable internal conflict, in terms of your professional duties. A little hand touching might cause you some brief qualms but can ultimately be dismissed as trivially minor, or rationalized away as casual contact. You were well on the safe side of the spectrum of sexual contact. But the moment when our mouths might have met for a kiss, or I would have fondled your breast, or you would have come back to my place, you would have more clearly crossed that line. And – even if you trusted me never to report you – it would still be a technical violation that your conscience would forever have to live with.”

  Lily nodded her head slightly in reluctant agreement, her eyebrows raised with an impressed look. “Very good, Julien. And now tell me why it was still a threshold moment for you, even though you had no professional ethics at risk.”

  “Well, there’s a funny parallel in our reasons for holding back. My reluctance also stemmed from the desire to avoid a technical violation that my conscience would forever have to live with.”

  She scrunched her eyebrows a bit in confusion. “How so?”

  “I realized that I’m still so attached to Anissa that I worried about a technical violation of my fidelity to her. While I wasn’t perfectly faithful to her at the very beginning of our relationship, once we had sex for the first time, I didn’t go on any more dates or sleep with anyone else – perhaps out of some idyllic fantasy that maybe Anissa was the one. And if she was indeed my soul mate and future life partner, then I wanted to have a perfect record of fidelity with her, so that I’d have nothing to hide or later confess to her.”