Emotional pull

"What can I do?"

These were words offering help, but Henry's body distanced itself. The contradictory actions etched pain and struggle into his brows. Beneath his calm exterior, a tumultuous sea roared, making even the sunlight streaming through the window seem colder.

Meredith stared blankly at Henry, her desperation clinging to her like a shadow, dragging her deeper into the abyss of despair. Before giving up, she shouted from the depths of her heart, "It's like you said, we're... There is nothing left. Nothing but to realize how f*cked up things are..."

Meredith desperately searched for Henry's gaze, hoping to find the slightest hint of resonance and the warmth she was familiar with in those eyes. However, Henry's eyes remained eerily calm, like millennia-old ice, wrapping all his emotions securely. This sense of urgency pushed Meredith to take another small step forward, trying to see more clearly, just a bit clearer.

"It's not enough. I won't last," Meredith felt herself tearing apart into fragments. She took a deep breath, wanting to say more, but her emotions were blocking her throat, and no words could come out. She could only shake her head repeatedly, and her emotions started to shatter into free fall.

Seeing Meredith so fragile, a flicker of restrained pain crossed Henry's brow. He gathered his strength and tried to approach her. However, when he lifted his left hand, extending it toward her, he hesitated on where to place it. Meredith was a minor, and he was her teacher. Any form of physical contact with an underage student was not allowed.

In the end, Henry's left hand remained suspended in the air and he spoke with great seriousness, "Listen to me. Just listen." The face before him was so young, not yet matured or opened, but already beginning to wither. Henry's brows furrowed slightly, as he weighed his words carefully, "We're all the same. We all feel pain..." His deep and magnetic voice flowed like a murmuring river, stirring up the pain hidden in Meredith's eyes.

"We all have chaos in our lives. Life is very, very confusing, I know," Henry's voice was so light yet heavy. His words jumped and rolled between his lips and teeth. All the bitterness, struggle, and torment inside him were suppressed, leaving only a calm, dead calm. Before Meredith realized it, her eyes were welling up with tears again, and she looked at Henry, stunned and unresponsive.

"I don't have the answers," Henry cruelly pronounced. If he couldn't even save himself, how could he save others? After his words, Henry paused for a moment, his deep eyes shimmering. He tried to maintain his indifference, but the broken Meredith in front of him made it difficult for him to bear. Her struggle brought back countless memories: his mother he couldn't save, his grandfather he couldn't save, Erica he couldn't save, and himself he couldn't save.

Perhaps he couldn't save Meredith either, but at least he could fulfill his duty as a teacher.

"But I know if you write it out, It'll all be okay." He was an English teacher; words were his medium. He hoped Meredith could find redemption in them. But he had forgotten that for Meredith, photography was her medium. Yet now, he was preoccupied, unable to pay attention to these details. The muscles in his back tensed up again, and that elusive sense of detachment remained ever-present, like the agonizing heat of a bonfire searing into the night.

He persisted, he tried, he gave it his all. He refused to avert his gaze, instead, he stared at Meredith earnestly, with concentration, and devotion. He hoped she could feel the sincerity in his eyes, find the strength to persevere. He genuinely wished she could find redemption.

Meredith was immersed in the moonlight-like depths of his eyes. She could capture the hint of bitterness between his brows, reflecting her own face. It was as if she stood before a clear mirror, and within that tormented soul, she saw her most familiar state—just like him. Her scalding tears flowed freely.

Meredith didn't wipe away her tears; she just gazed at Henry through the hazy teardrops, looking desperate and fragile. "Mr. Barthes, do you like me?" Her choked voice came out fragmented, fragile, and on the brink of falling apart.

A hint of helplessness curved at the corner of Henry's mouth. "Of course I do," he replied in the way a teacher might like a student.

But this simple statement shattered Meredith's last defense and strength. Sobs bubbled up from deep within her, and her tears flowed continuously. Gratitude, shame, joy, madness, pain, sorrow—all her emotions surged forth. For the first time in her life, someone had said to her: liked. It was the first time.

She let her tears flow freely, like a three-year-old child who had been lost for a long time and finally found a warm harbor. She took tentative small steps, timid yet hopeful, fearful yet longing. Finally, she flung herself into Henry's arms, cautiously resting her head on his shoulder, and her tears burst uncontrollably.

Henry raised both his hands, feeling helpless. He tried to pull away, but there was no escape behind him. Then Meredith held onto him tightly and cried aloud. Her fragmented vulnerability left Henry at a loss. He raised his hands high, attempting to pat Meredith on the back, but the gesture didn't seem quite right. So, his hands remained suspended in the air, not knowing what to do.

He couldn't act like this, not only because of the teacher-student relationship, not only because of the adult-minor distinction, but also because he no longer had the capacity to save another person. Perhaps this embrace wasn't salvation, but a path leading to another abyss. He was trapped at the bottom of a pit of despair, numbly and apathetically living like a walking corpse, but he couldn't drag Meredith along into oblivion.

"Meredith, please don't." Henry's voice was so difficult to maintain, and the pain between his brows was nearly impossible to hide; it was about to overflow. Even his words became strained.

"Please," Meredith's sobbing voice came from deep within her chest, muffled and plaintive.

Henry knew this was cruel, but he had no choice. He placed his hands on Meredith's shoulders and gently pushed her away, keeping a cautious distance between them. He couldn't exert too much force, so he kept his arms half-bent and neither extended nor folded them. He then tried to lower his head, looking into Meredith's eyes. However, Meredith was already in chaos, covering her mouth, shaking her head, and desperately trying to return to Henry's embrace, searching for that hint of warmth and the reassurance of dryness in his arms.

"I can't help you," Henry closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and said firmly, drawing a line between them.

Meredith raised her head, screaming in despair, "Please, please." But she was disappointed because she couldn't see Henry's eyes anymore, nor the familiar tenderness. Even the softness and vulnerability in her memory had turned into cold indifference and firmness. This unleashed an astonishing energy within her, and she completely ignored Henry's refusal and threw herself into his arms as if it were her lifebuoy, her last glimmer of hope.

"You said you liked me. Please." Meredith had completely collapsed, repeating the same sentence continuously, incessantly, and desperately, letting go of all her pride and reservation, abandoning all defense and protection. It was as if she had fallen into the dust, crying out repeatedly, "Please, please don't leave me."

Each tearful plea stabbed at Henry's heart. Deep within his eyes, a faint light began to flicker. He quickly turned his head, took a deep breath, and concealed that fleeting moment of vulnerability. However, the sorrow and pain between his brows were so dense that they seemed impossible to dissipate, as if he were trapped in a purgatory, suffering.

He tried to speak but couldn't find his voice. He used force to push Meredith away, which was undoubtedly too cruel and rough. It was as if his hands were covered in blood, choking the life out of her.

"Please, just hold on to me, and tell me that everything's gonna be O.K.," Meredith cried desperately, her voice increasingly broken and fragmented.

"Everything is..." Henry said hoarsely as if he were trying to convince both Meredith and himself. "Everything will be okay."

Meredith could feel the strength on her shoulders resisting her approach and rejecting her plea, even though the words had lost their warmth. She pushed forward, burying her head in his embrace, drawing in the last bit of warmth. She knew she was pitiful and tragic, but she no longer had the capacity to think. This was her last thread of hope for survival.

The classroom door was pushed open, and Sarah stood in the doorway, watching the two tightly embraced figures, and observing the tearful Meredith. Thoughts raced through her mind, and she displayed a mix of astonishment and fear.

Meredith heard the sound, turned her head, and saw Sarah with a judgmental gaze. This drained her of the last vestiges of strength. She cried out in despair, venting her anger at herself, at Henry, at Sarah. But in the end, shame and despair overwhelmed all her defenses. She fled in disarray, quickly leaving the classroom.

"Meredith, wait a second," Henry chased after her, but Meredith's footsteps didn't stop. She ran away, stumbling, and Sarah, standing nearby, watched Henry in disbelief. "What's going on?"

However, at this moment, Henry didn't have time to address Sarah. He just watched Meredith, who was sobbing and shattered, her retreating figure, and called out, "Meredith, Meredith!" His voice scattered like loose sand, and he stood still, sorrow descending upon his shoulders like the dark night. His eyes were filled with pain.