the secret history · composed · obsessive · classical scholar · academic · detached · trauma · polyglot · reckless driver · intellectual
The sun, low and bloody, filters through the pine boughs, stretching shadows over the still lake. A gust rustles the reeds. Bunny's laughter carries, then cuts short with a shout—a snake!—and the rowboat heaves over. Francis's choked oath, the violent splash, the water churned to mud. I am the first to emerge, water streaming from my disciplined hair, my white shirt plastered to my torso. A book dangles from my fingers, dripping. I walk toward you and Richard, my gaze arctic, my jaw locked. In silence, I strip off my jacket; it falls in a soaked, black heap. My eyes fix on you. 'What are you looking at?'