Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(123)
“When I was an undergraduate at St. Mike’s, I took a course on the Philosophy of Sex, Love, and Friendship. We talked about consent. You know how everyone says that as long as an activity is between two consent-ing adults, it’s okay? Our professor asked us if we thought a human being could consent to an injustice, such as selling himself into slavery.”
“No one wants to be a slave.”
“They do in Professor Pain’s world. Some people sell themselves into sexual slavery — voluntarily. So is slavery okay if the slave wants to be a slave? Can someone who is in their right mind consent to slavery, or are they simply irrational because they want to be a slave?”
Julia began to feel more than slightly uncomfortable having this particular conversation so close to Professor Pain and Gabriel, so she tipped back the last of her sangria and swiftly changed the subject.
“What’s your dissertation topic, Paul? I don’t think you ever told me.”
He chuckled. “Pleasure and the beatific vision. It’s a comparison between the deadly sins associated with pleasure — lust, gluttony, and greed — and the pleasure of the beatific vision in Paradise. Emerson is a great dissertation advisor, but like I said, I stay out of his personal life.
Even though he’d probably be a hell of a case study for the Second Circle of the Inferno.”
“I can’t understand why everyone just doesn’t want kindness,” Julia mused, more to herself than to Paul. “Life is painful enough.”
“That’s the world we live in.” He offered her a sincere smile. “I hope your boyfriend is kind to you. Just be grateful you found someone who isn’t into the sick shit.”
At that moment they were interrupted by the waiter, so Paul didn’t see the color drain out of Julia’s cheeks and lips. She involuntarily peeked over at Gabriel and saw Singer whispering in his ear again.
Gabriel’s eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the table in front of him, teeth clenched and jaw set. He picked up his glass of wine, sipped it, and set it down again, all while Julia stared.
Look at me, Gabriel. Roll your eyes, rub your face, scowl…something, anything. Show me this is all a misunderstanding. Show me Paul is wrong.
“Julia?” Paul’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Do you want to share the paella Valenciana with me? They only make it for two. It’s very good.”
Now he noticed Julia’s paleness and the fact that her fingers were trembling.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. The paella is fine.”
“Maybe you should go easy on the sangria. You haven’t had much to eat, and you’re starting to look sick.”
He was worried that he’d shocked her with his salacious revelations, revelations that he had no right to offer to a fellow graduate student. So he changed the subject by telling her stories of his last trip to Spain and his fascination with Gaudi’s architecture. She nodded as if on cue and even asked questions from time to time, but her mind was far away, trying to sort out who exactly she’d shared a bed with a week ago — the fallen angel who still had goodness in him or someone much, much darker.
She noticed that Professor Singer’s left hand was suddenly hidden from view. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Gabriel’s eyes. But that didn’t stop Professor Singer from noticing Julia. Their eyes met just as Gabriel appeared to push her hand away under the table. Embarrassed, Julia turned to Paul, while Singer wore a look of inquisitive amusement that slowly morphed into an unblinking, fascinated stare.
Eager to escape the sordid spectacle she thought she’d witnessed, Julia made a feeble excuse to Paul about not feeling well and left the table. She climbed the staircase to the second floor and quickly located the restroom.
Examining her features in the mirror, she tried to process what he’d told her. Her thoughts were a sordid jumble of words and dark images, while her heart bled.
Why would anyone want to be hit? Gabriel and Ann…pain…control…
Ann’s fingers in Gabriel’s lap…Ann hitting Gabriel…Gabriel hitting Ann.
Julia found herself leaning against the counter as she fought a wave of nausea. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, eyes closed, before someone pushed through the door.
“Hello there.” Professor Singer smiled widely, showing rows of shiny teeth.
Julia marveled at how the light glinting off the professor’s glasses tricked the brain into thinking that her green eyes were glowing red.
“I’m Professor Singer. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand, and Julia took it reluctantly, mumbling a response.
The professor’s hand was cold but far from lifeless. She gripped Julia firmly and for far too long. When she released her, she trailed a finger down Julia’s lifeline as if she were intentionally measuring her. The act made Julia shiver.
Ann cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were expecting me. Do I make you nervous?”
Julia frowned. “No, I came up here to wash my hands. I think I’m getting the flu.”
“That’s a pity.” The professor smiled more widely and took a step closer.
“You seem healthy enough. You have lovely skin.”
“Thank you.” Julia’s eyes darted toward the door, eager to make an escape.