Page 181 of Merciless Desires

His mouth ticked up at one corner and small creases appeared at the edges of his eyes. “I don’t like people who don’t have depth.”

“And what, to you, constitutes depth?”

“Most people these days like everything to be handed to them on a platter. They don’t want to have to look for the good stuff or wait a second longer than they have to. They want to be able to binge it now, have it delivered the next day. They want everything they own to be on show, to air their private lives in public. They want to be in the spotlight. Just like Andy Warhol predicted, everyone will get their five minutes of fame, and boy do they want it.”

“What’s so wrong about being in the spotlight?”

“It makes shadows seem shameful.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Shadows aren’t something to hide, or to be ashamed of. It’s not the light that makes things beautiful, it’s the dark. We seem to have forgotten that.”

I flipped the book over, finding it suddenly captivating. Haunting and enlightening. I wanted to devour it, not only to become impressive to a modern-day beatnik like him, but to acquire all the knowledge he had. To consume the same words and phrases, adopt the same thoughts and philosophies. It would be a few more years before I defiantly followed my own pursuit of the truth. Right then, I wanted his.

“We find beauty not in the thing itself but in the patterns of shadows, the light and the darkness that one thing against another creates.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. He looked so nonchalant, as though profound statements left his lips effortlessly every minute of every day.

“It’s a quote from the book,” he said.

My voice was a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”

He leaned towards me, bringing his warmth into my orbit. He smelled of smoke and caramel, a dizzying combination. He patted his hand on the top of the book, his fingertips lightly brushing mine. “That’s why you have to read it.”

“I will,” I replied, my voice cracking with dryness.

He stilled over me and his gaze burned holes in my skin. “In fact, you can start now.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you trust me?”

I did. I trusted this complete stranger. I nodded.

He slid to the floor and leaned his back against my chair, his left shoulder knocking gently against my right leg, making my breath stutter in my lungs.

“Turn to page thirty-two. Start there.”

I read the whole chapter to him, and another, lowering my voice whenever customers ventured nearby. Each time they became aware of our presence they moved away as if sensing our unspoken need for privacy.

I was about to begin a third chapter when my mum appeared around a bookshelf.

“There you are, Rose. Minnie said you were back here.”

It was the first time in my life I wasn’t pleased to see my own mother.

Mum’s gaze darted between me and the boy, narrowing as she took in his obvious height and width and probably assuming he was way too old for me. Although, in her eyes, everyone was way too old for me. I was still her baby.

“Come on,” she said, hurriedly. “I said we’d meet Jeff for a coffee.”

Ah, Jeff. The new boyfriend. I nodded obligingly. I would go and see Jeff to appease Mum, but I wasn’t planning to get to know him. Most often, the moment they heard she had a teenage daughter, they ran a mile.

I stood, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of his arm. I felt his hot eyes follow me as I placed the books back on the shelves. I paused with my hand still attached to the one I’d been reading to him. I didn’t have much in the way of my own money but the way this boy had made me feel, I would spend my entire life savings on a book that might just help me relive this moment again and again.

I turned, holding the book to my chest. His expression had darkened.

“See you around, Rose.”

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