Gabriel's Inferno

taste, touch…as she transformed from maiden to matron through loss of maidenhead, all because of him. All because of him.

Maidenhead? There would be blood. For the price of sin was always blood. And a little death.

Gabriel’s heart stopped. It lay silent for half a beat then thudded double time as a new awareness crashed over him. Metaphysical poetry, long forgotten from his days at Magdalen College, sprang to his lips. For in that instant, he saw very clearly that he, Professor Gabriel O. Emerson, would-be seducer of the lovely and innocent Julianne, was a flea.

The words of John Donne echoed in his ears: Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which thou deniest me is; It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be Thou know’st that this cannot be said

A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead; Yet this enjoys before it woo,

And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two; And this, alas! is more than we would do.

He knew why his subconscious mind chose that moment to foist Donne’s poetry upon him; the poem was an argument for seduction. Donne spoke to his prospective lover, a virgin, and argued that her loss of virginity was less consequential than the swatting of a flea. She should give herself to him quickly, without a second thought. Without hesitation. Without regret.

As soon as the words presented themselves, Gabriel knew that they were perfect for him. Perfect for what he was contemplating doing to her.

Perfect for his own self-justification.

Tasting. Taking. Sucking. Sinning. Draining. Abandoning.

She was pure. She was innocent. He wanted her.

Facilis descensus Averni.

But he would not be the one to make her bleed. He could not, would not, make another girl bleed for the rest of his life. All thoughts of seduction and mad, passionate fucking on desks and chairs, against walls and bookshelves and windows, immediately gave way. He would not take her.

He would not mark her and claim what he had no right to claim.

Gabriel Emerson was a trite and only semi-repentant sinner. Preoccupied with the fairer sex and his own physical pleasure, he knew he was governed by lust. Never did that thirst give way to something more, something approximating love. Nevertheless, despite these and other moral failings, despite his constant inability to resist temptation, Gabriel still had one last moral principle that governed his behavior. One line he would not cross.

Professor Emerson did not seduce virgins. He did not take virginity, ever, even if it was freely offered. He did not slake his thirst with innocence; he fed only on those who had already tasted and who in tasting, wanted more. And he was not about to violate his last and only moral principle for an hour or two of salacious satisfaction with a delectable graduate student in his study carrel. Even a fallen angel had his principles.

Gabriel would leave her virtue intact. He would leave her as he found her, the blushing brown-eyed angel, surrounded by bunnies, curled up like a kitten in her little chair. She would sleep unruffled, unkissed, untouched, and unmolested. His hand tightened on the doorknob, and just as he was about to unlock the door, he heard the sounds of stirring behind him.

He sighed and hung his head. He wasn’t foregoing a night of pleasure with her out of hatred but out of love — for the goodness he craved and wished his life had been. And perhaps out of love for the memory of his former self, before all the sin and vice took root and grew, like a patch of thorns turning and twisting and choking out his virtues. Gabriel’s hand left the doorknob, and he drew in a very deep breath. He straightened his shoulders and closed his eyes, wondering what he would say to her.

He slowly turned around and saw Miss Mitchell groan slightly and stretch. Her eyelids fluttered, and she stifled a yawn with the fan of her hand.

But her eyes flew open when she saw Professor Emerson standing by the door. Startled, she let out a yelp and flew backward out of her chair and against the wall. She cowered in confusion, and it almost broke Gabriel’s heart. (Which would have at least proven that he had one.)

“Ssssshhhhh. Julianne, it’s just me.” He held his hands aloft in complete surrender. He tried to smile disarmingly.

Julia was stunned. She’d been dreaming of him moments before. And now he was here. She rubbed her eyes. He was still there, staring. She pinched the skin on her arm between her fingers. He was still there.

Holy shit. He caught me.

“It’s just me, Julianne. Are you all right?”

She blinked rapidly and began rubbing her eyes again. “I…don’t know.”

“How long have you been here?” He lowered his hands.

“Um…I…don’t know.” She was trying to wake up and remember all at the same time.

“Is Paul with you?”

“No.”

Somehow, Gabriel felt relieved. “How did you get in? This is my carrel.”

Julia’s eyes flew to his, measuring his reaction. I am in so much trouble.

And so is Paul. Emerson will evict him now.

She moved forward rapidly, knocking the chair over in the process and tipping over a stack of books that had been resting near her hands. A ream of loose notebook paper was thrown aloft by the general upheaval and began falling about her like massive, pinstriped snowflakes. Gabriel thought that she looked like an angel — an angel in a child’s snow globe, with whiteness fluttering all around her.

Beautiful, he thought.

She began to scramble, trying to put everything back in order. She was repeating an apology over and over again like a decade of the Rosary, mumbling something about borrowing Paul’s key. She was sorry. So very, very sorry.

In one stride, Gabriel was next to her, his hand gently but firmly on her shoulder. “It’s all right. You are welcome to be here. Be still.”

Julia closed her eyes and willed herself and her heartbeat to slow. It was very difficult to do; she was so afraid he would lose his temper and banish Paul from his precious carrel. Forever.

Gabriel inhaled sharply, and her eyes flew open, glazing over at his touch.

He brought his head close to her face and peered down at her. “Julianne? You’ve gone pale. Are you unwell?”

He didn’t know what to do. Why was she acting so strangely? Perhaps she was weak from hunger or not quite awake. The room was very warm.

Too warm. She’d left the heater on. He caught her just as she swooned, wrapping her tightly and pulling her into his chest. She was not unconscious, at least, not yet.

“Julianne?” He pushed the hair out of her eyes and brushed the back of his hand across her cheek.

She murmured something, and he realized she hadn’t fainted, but was leaning against him as if she didn’t have the strength to stand. He held her to keep her from hitting the upturned chair or the floor.

“Are you okay?”

He began to move her so that she could sit down, but she clung to him, wrapping her arms about his neck without hesitation. He liked the feel of her pressed against him, so he hugged her tightly and leaned down to sniff her hair, somewhat surreptitiously. Vanilla. Her little body pressed against his perfectly, as if their shapes were ideal complements. It was astonishing.

“What happened?” she mumbled against his sweater, which was a brilliant green calculated to contrast with the blue of his eyes.

“I’m not sure. I think you grew light-headed because you stood up too quickly. And it’s hot in here.”

She smiled weakly, a smile that melted his heart.

Julia desperately wanted to kiss him. He was close. So very, very close.

Two inches and those lips would be hers…again. And his eyes were soft and warm…and he was being sweet with her…