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I could see his labored breathing and knew his heart was beating as quickly as mine. And he
wasn't pulling away. I knew this was wrong—knew all the logical reasons for us staying apart.
But right then, I didn't care. I didn't want to control myself. I didn't want to be good.
Before he realized what was happening, I kissed him. Our lips met, and when I felt him kiss me
back, I knew I was right. He pressed himself closer, trapping me between him and the wall. He
kept holding my hand, but his other one snaked behind my head, sliding into my hair. The kiss
was filled with so much intensity; it held anger, passion, release….
He was the one who broke it. He jerked away from me and took several steps back, looking
shaken.
"Do not do that again," he said stiffly.
"Don't kiss me back then," I retorted.
He stared at me for what seemed like forever. "I don't give 'Zen lessons' to hear myself talk. I
don't give them because you're another student. I'm doing this to teach you control."
"You're doing a great job," I said bitterly.
He closed his eyes for half a second, exhaled, and muttered something in Russian. Without
another glance at me, he turned and left the room.