by Jessica Park
When I can’t wait anymore, when my urge to hear him and feel him go over the edge are too much, I increase my pace.
Sam moans. “Stella…” He moves to push me away. “You need to stop, or I’m going to come.”
I love that he’s said this because it shows how cautious and watchful he is over me, but I keep going because this is exactly what I want. And when he does come, he is perfect in how he moves and sounds and tastes. I’m not sure which one of us is more fulfilled by what we’ve done together, but he reaches under my arm and pulls me to lay on his chest.
“I have to hold you.”
His heartbeat pounds into me, and it’s the best sound I could hear. It is life and love.
The door to his apartment bangs open. “Who wants tequila?”
Fuck.
Costa is back.
SAM IS STILL SHIMMYING BACK INTO HIS PANTS as Costa slams a bottle onto the kitchen counter.
“Remember, we don’t need to be scared of him,” Sam reminds me. Then, he snaps at Costa, “There’s such a thing as knocking, asshole.”
“Jesus, you two are like rabbits, huh? Every time I come by, there’s all kinds of sex going on.”
Sam glares at him. “Then, stop coming by.”
“Aw, don’t be so salty, Sammy. Look!” Costa waves his hands around. “No gun this time!”
I scramble to make sure that my dress is pulled down all the way—and to control the fear that is taking over. I can’t help it. Sam stands, and I put a hand on his leg. He looks down, and I see that his face is relaxed.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Sam strides from the living room, pulls a fist back, and slams it squarely into Costa’s jaw.
Costa reels back and catches himself on the small dining room table. “Fuck, Sammy. That hurt.”
“Probably not enough.” Sam takes a second swing, hitting the exact same spot.
This time, Costa hits the floor. It takes him a minute to sit up, and he wipes his bloody mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Glad I wore red.”
Neither of them moves for a bit. Eventually, Costa looks up at Sam, and I see something in his eyes that makes me think he might be more than just a murderous prick. Apparently, Sam does, too, because he lets out a loud sigh and reaches a hand down to Costa. He hesitates but then claps his hand into Sam’s. They stand face-to-face, and I’m afraid they’re going to erupt into a full-out brawl.
Instead, they both start laughing and throw their arms around each other.
Sam messes up Costa’s perfect black hair while holding him in a bear hug. “You haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you. But, dude, get a haircut.”
“So that I can be all pretty boy like you? I don’t think so.”
They are both smiling—and not killing each other—so I stand up and wait awkwardly until they separate. Costa looks shyly my way. He covers his mouth and clears his throat. Then, he walks toward me. I instinctively take a step back when he’s close, and he stops in his tracks.
“Sorry. Really. I didn’t introduce myself properly last time. Costa Jorden.” He drops down on one knee and extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
His eyes are the darkest blue I’ve seen, and his skin is fair and smooth with barely a hint of stubble showing. I don’t care how handsome or charming he is.
I’m still pissed, and it’s all I can do not to snarl. “Your apology needs work.”
He cracks a smile. “Agreed. Sorry I shot and killed your boyfriend with no warning. It was horribly rude.”
I can’t help but smile back. “Better. Pour me some of that tequila, and you might be halfway there.”
Costa looks back to Sam. “I like her.”
“Not sure she likes you yet.”
He hops to a stand. “She will. Everybody does.”
Sam pulls down shot glasses from an open shelf. “It’s goddamn true.” He sits down in a chair at the table. “Are you pouring or what?” Then, he nods at me, giving the signal that all is safe.
I slip past Costa and stand in the embrace of Sam’s outstretched arm. “If that’s cheap tequila, you’re going back to the liquor store for something high-end.”
“Oh, she is not going to be easy to win over, is she?” Costa flips a chair backward and straddles it.
I glare at him. “No, she is not. But if you brought limes, you’ll help your cause,” I say as I sit down in Sam’s lap.
Costa taps the side of his head and raises his eyebrows. “I’m no dummy.” Then, he pulls a lime from each pocket of his red hoodie and proudly holds them up.
Sam tosses him a pocketknife, and Costa catches it with one hand. He pours a shot and skims it across the table to me.
I shoot it straight with no salt or lime. I send it back to him, and with the knife, he stops it from flying off the table. I nod, and he pours another.
It’s three shots in before I’ve gotten over wanting to strangle Costa myself, not that it would do any good. The whole death-tripping thing is rather problematic. Sam keeps rubbing my back, reminding me that he’s here, that things are okay.
“So, man, what’s up with the lights?” Costa jabs a finger at the living room ceiling. “Tell me that’s not what you came back with.”
“I was happy with the limited rain power, but…”
“Dude.” Costa leans over the table and whispers, “It’s kinda lame.”
“Lame?” I throw a lime wedge at him. “Sam, show him.”
“He’ll still think it’s lame.”
I grab Sam’s hand and hold it out. “Costa, pick a color.”
He leans back and grins. “Tequila sunrise.”
I squint at him. “Okay, smart-ass.” I smack my hand back against Sam’s chest. “Easy. Do your thing, Bishop.”
Sam groans. “Okay, fine. Here.” He shakes out his hand and then holds it steady.
The lights on the ceiling black out, and a small colored droplet begins to form in his hand, soon growing to be nearly a foot in diameter.
“You made a pretty ball.” Costa claps slowly. “I worship you.”
Sam stares at him with irritation and hurls the globe over Costa’s head. Just before it lands, it explodes, and the entirety of Sam’s apartment is coated in thick tiers of red, orange, and yellow.
“Holy fuck, Sam.” Costa rises from his chair and grins. He spins on his heels, his dark eyes electric with fascination. “Okay, show-off, I’m definitely impressed. You’ve gotten stronger. You never could have done that before. Interesting.”
“You asked for tequila sunrise. I gave you tequila sunrise.” Sam hugs both arms around me.
Costa sets his hands on his hips, and his face softens as he studies Sam—and then, Sam and me. “I really, really missed you. I shouldn’t have left.”
I can feel Sam’s anxiety. “You had to. I get it.”
“I think it was a mistake. I just…” Costa takes a seat again, the orange light covering his skin and somehow making him more striking. “I couldn’t look at you. It hurt too much.”
I slide from Sam’s lap and move back to my chair, but I take his hand in mine.
“I didn’t want to look at me either.”
Costa pours himself another shot and licks the side of his hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Sam.” Slowly, he sprinkles salt and pauses before he takes the salt and tequila. “We were both in a whole shitstorm, and it wasn’t your fault. Everything was fucked up.” He bites a lime wedge and winces. “You were my best friend, and nothing will ever change that.”
“No,” Sam says. “Losing Toby changed that.”
At the sound of Toby’s name, Costa visibly tenses. “No, he didn’t. Even with everything that happened, I needed you. Leaving was a mistake, and I want to be back. I want us to be back.”
“You’re my brother, Costa. You can come home anytime you want.”
Costa puts his hands behind his head. He flashes a cocky grin that I’m already familiar with. “I’m too fuckin’ sexy to be your b
rother.”
Sam laughs and shakes his head. “So, we’re back to normal, I see.”
“If normal is disco lights and overpriced tequila, then yes.”
“These are not disco lights, moron. But since you asked…”
Sam claps his hands, and the room goes black. He grows six silver drops in his hand, and he tosses them to the ceiling. Within seconds, glittery balls spin overhead and send white light patterns across our faces.
“God, you’re such a prick,” Costa says, not able to hide the amused tone in his voice. “How do you put up with this guy, Stella?”
“Simple.” Now, it’s my turn to grab the bottle. “Best sex of my life.”
Costa winks at me. “So far.”
“Hey, hey, watch it there.” Sam claps his hands on the table. “You and I just made up and all.”
“I’m just kidding. Seriously, you two look very happy together. And, Stella, you’re much better than those skanks he went after when he was surging.”
I can’t keep from laughing, but Sam groans.
“Costa! Seriously?”
“Kidding, kidding. You were an altar boy, no matter how great the surge.” Costa looks at me and not so subtly shakes his head.
“Can we change the subject, please?” Sam begs.
“Fine. But, dear God, do you remember that horrid girl with the crow tattoo across her neck? Some tourist from Michigan. You’re much hotter, Stella.”
I try not to snort. “Thank you, Costa. I’m flattered.”
“Let’s toast to starting over.” Costa pours three more shots, and we each take one. “To old friends and new. I think we’re going to make a damn good trio.”
Sam nods and raises his shot glass. “Here’s to that.”
While I’m sucking on a lime, Costa hops up and turns on Sam’s stereo. “And since we have disco lights, I think we must dance, yes?”
He holds his hand out to me, and I’m drunk enough to agree. When “Stayin’ Alive” starts playing, I crack up. Costa’s charm really is hard to resist. I let him spin me around, and I giggle when he pulls out a few good moves from the ’70s. I catch sight of Sam watching us dance, and he looks so happy. After what he went through with Costa—and with Toby—it’s good to see these old friends finding peace with each other. We spend hours listening to music, thankfully ditching the disco hits early on, and talking.
By one in the morning, we’re all impressively drunk and sprawled out in the living room. Sam made another light-orb fire in the fireplace, this one turquoise and gold. I stopped drinking a while ago, but tequila has a way of sticking around, keeping me warm and awake. The boys are reminiscing about death tripping, and it’s a good thing I’m not sober, or the stories about the various ways they used to die might be too much. But maybe I’ve had enough time to incorporate Sam’s reality into mine because I’m not entirely freaked anymore. Maybe I’m still a bit concerned but curious to know more.
I’m on the floor, and I lean back on my arms and look between Sam and Costa, now both on the couch. “So, you went skydiving and just didn’t pull your chutes? Didn’t you feel bad for that skydiving company? I mean, that poor instructor! And the pilot!”
They both start laughing, and Sam lightly smacks Costa’s arm.
“That was totally your idea, and it was awesome.” Sam apologetically looks at me. “I know, I know. It was wrong. But our packs and chutes disappeared with our bodies, so…it was like it never happened, right? Okay, fine. It was mean.”
“But also awesome!” Costa screams. “Come on, Stella, say it was awesome.”
“I’ll admit…it might be just a teeny bit amusing. In a totally sick, awful way.”
Costa hangs upside down off the couch. “You do have yourself a bit of a bad boy, Stella. Get used to it.”
“Ah, my bad-boy days are over,” Sam says. He gives Costa’s feet a good hard push, sending him toppling to the floor.
“Sammy, for real? You’re gonna…what?” He scrambles to a teetering stand by the fireplace and waves at the colored display Sam conjured up. “Make pretty lights forever?”
“Death tripping doesn’t lead to anything we need, Costa. You know that.” Sam gets up and stands near me.
My hand automatically lifts to stroke his leg. He wiggles his fingers at the lights, making them flare up and singe Costa’s pants.
“Hey! Not funny!”
Sam shrugs. “A little bit.”
“Ah, really? You could do with a much better power.” Costa’s tone moves from playful to more serious. “You deserve better than this. Don’t you agree, Stella?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Costa shrugs. “You know, your boyfriend never would have been able to do something like this before. He’s different now. What if he could fly?”
“Oh, shut up, Costa,” Sam says. “That’s ridiculous.”
“We could make you some sort of cape or whatnot.” Costa opens his arms and beckons to Sam. “Come here, my favorite superhero. Give me some love!”
Sam dramatically rolls his eyes, but he reluctantly steps into the hug and puts his arms around Costa’s neck. “You’re crazy.”
“And you’re strong.” His arm moves a bit.
Then, I hear a sound that I can’t place.
Costa’s voice turns serious. “You can do anything, Sam.”
“Goddamn it, Costa,” Sam whispers, but I can hear the emotion. “Again?”
Costa moves his arm, and I see the pocketknife in his hand while it is now sticking into Sam’s stomach.
“No, no, no…” I repeat softly, unable to move, aware that I can’t stop this.
“You have to knock this shit off.” Sam grabs on to Costa.
Costa lowers Sam to the floor and against the couch.
He looks at me over Costa’s shoulder. “Stay with me, Stella. Remember, it’s going to be fine.”
Even though blood is once again pouring from the person I love, this time, I try my best not to panic, and I listen to his words.
Costa runs a hand through Sam’s hair and then lifts his chin to look into his eyes. “And it feels good, Sam, doesn’t it?”
Sam smiles at him, virtually drugged, clearly euphoric. “Yes.”
“Tell her you’ll be right back,” Costa purrs.
Sam shifts his eyes to mine. “Listen to me. Listen, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.” He’s not lying to me. He wouldn’t.
Costa kisses his forehead. “Good boy. Enjoy your trip.” Then, he digs the knife in deeper and lifts it upward.
Sam lets out a groan that sounds all too much the way he did earlier while we were alone and half naked. And I can’t stop staring at him. I hold his eye contact as he takes a few shallow breaths.
“Stella, tell him that you hear him,” Costa says, “that you’re all right. You’ll give him a good surge if he knows you’re not freaking out.”
It takes everything I have to control my trembling when I go to him and take his hand. I even force a smile. “I hear you, Sam. I hear you. I’m all right.”
Sam slightly nods.
And then, he dies.
Costa pulls the knife from Sam’s gut and leans against the couch, leaving one arm draped over his friend’s shoulder.
Now that I don’t have to control myself, I straddle Sam’s body in order to lunge at Costa and slap my hand across his face as hard as I can. “You’re a fucking asshole! You’re a fucking asshole!”
Costa grabs my arm with one hand as I remain kneeling over Sam, panting and shaking, while his blood colors my dress.
“Settle down,” Costa says firmly. “He’s fine.”
“He didn’t want to trip again, you fucker!”
“Yes, he did.” Costa is inappropriately calm. He wipes Sam’s blood off on his jeans as though it’s nothing. “We always do.”
I yank my hand away and slap him again. At least he winces, and I shake off the sting.
“That wasn’t for you to decide. Just like turning him wasn’
t for you to decide. It was selfish!”
But what I hate most right now is that I think he might be right, that Sam did want to trip.
“Stella,” Costa says evenly, “Sam is not in any trouble. He’ll have a good trip, and he’ll be back.”
I try to control my breathing. Sam’s body is still slumped against Costa, and I can hardly stand to look with all the life sucked out of him, but still, I curl up against him and take him in my arms.
“He’ll be gone in a minute.”
I cling to Sam. “How does it happen? That he…disappears?”
“Wait.”
Knowing his death is temporary, that he will return to me, does little to lessen the searing pain caused by seeing him like this. I drop down and rest my weight on Sam’s legs, hoping that maybe my heartache will ease once his body is gone.
“Nothing’s happening.”
“There. Look at his hands,” Costa says gently.
The tips of Sam’s fingers are becoming sheer, like a gel. There’s light movement though, like water swirling in the current of a stream. It moves to his hands, up his arms, to his chest, and down his torso. I touch my fingertips to him. He’s still solid, but the man beneath me quickly becomes a blur of deep colors. Then, like sand falling through a sieve, he disintegrates, and I drop fully to the floor.
“Oh God, you’re not going to cry again, are you?” Costa is busy examining the knife.
I look down and see that my dress is clear of blood, and so are Costa’s pants.
It’s just like last time, I assure myself. It all vanishes, and then he’ll return.
“Tell me again that Sam is coming back to me.”
“He’s coming back to us,” Costa says. “Got that? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Sam. Come on, Stella. You have to know that, right?”
“I don’t know anything,” I spit out.
He puts down the knife and turns to me. “I was just fucking around. Really. Look, Sam’s a death tripper. That’s not changing, okay? It’s not. This is who he is, and if you love him the way I think you do, then you’re going to have to accept that. Death trippers, we want certain things. We need them the way you need food and water. We need to die. We need the rush of death and the rush of the surge.”
