Behind Your Back

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “Dad was here,” I say. Even my voice hurts.

  “What did he say?” He picks me up in his arms and carries me to the couch, cradling me like a child. I feel like a child right now. A scared little child that just lost her daddy.

  “He picked the job and I said I didn’t want him in my life anymore. And he left.” My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn’t me. I don’t understand what my life is anymore. How in the hell did I get here?

  “Oh, Saige, I’m so sorry. I never thought he would do something like that to you. I can’t believe it.” Me neither.

  “It hurts so much, Sylas,” I say. I can’t even stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

  “Shhh, you don’t have to talk about it right now.” I let myself hold onto him as he tells me about his day with Lizzy and strokes my hair.

  “How about we take a bath?” he asks and I nod. He carries me into the bathroom and sits me on the toilet while he draws a bath and pours in some bubbles. When the bath is full, he helps me get undressed. I think he’s going to leave me in the tub by myself, but then he strips and joins me, moving so I’m lying against his chest.

  “Just relax and think about something nice.” I close my eyes and think of that night when Sylas and I walked along the beach. I was so enthralled with him. I think that was one of the first times when I knew that I loved him.

  “That’s my girl,” he says and his voice rumbles against my back. The water swirls as he strokes my arm up and down. The bubble bath smells like roses and I feel myself getting drowsy.

  Sylas starts humming and I know exactly what song it is. “Take Me to Church” again. I definitely think that it’s our song now. Odd song for a couple, but we’re not the traditional couple.

  He finishes the song and I feel him messing with my hair.

  “Are you braiding my hair?” I ask, opening my eyes and looking over my shoulder at him.

  “Maybe. I learned how to do Lizzy’s. My mother always did it and I had to learn after she was gone. I used to cut her hair for her as well. I learned how to do a lot of things.” I look and he has braided my hair. Very well.

  “I should enlist you to help me get ready in the morning. Why have you been hiding this skill from me for this long?” I say.

  “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t think about it.” He lays the finished braid over my shoulder. The ends float in the water, swirling around.

  “Do you want to move in with me?” I say and he just starts laughing.

  “Aren’t we already living together? Isn’t that what this is?” Technically, yes.

  “We are, but I want to make it official. And I know you still have things at your other place. We don’t have to live here. We could get a place together.” I hadn’t thought of that before. I really like my apartment, but it’s not really a couple’s apartment. There’s no space for Sylas to put any of his things, not that he’s asked.

  He puts his hand under my chin and turns my head. I move around so I’m facing him, propping myself up on his stomach.

  “You want to move?” he asks.

  “Not really, but this is my apartment, not ours.” He studies my face.

  “It’s okay. I don’t have that much stuff.”

  “What about your coffee table? And the pictures of your mother?” He stiffens.

  “How do you know about my coffee table?”

  I bite my lip.

  “Because I broke into your apartment a few times?” I say tentatively. Instead of him being angry, he just gives me a wry smile and rolls his eyes.

  “Of course you did. I shouldn’t be surprised at all.”

  “Just as I’m not surprised you’ve broken in here,” I say. He leans down and plants a kiss on my lips.

  “I would love to move in with you, Saige. We don’t have to decide where right now. Let’s just get through this next week and see where we stand, okay?” I agree and go back to lying on his chest on my back.

  “I think I want to go to school,” he says.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking about it and I want to do something else. Like you are. This is all I’ve known for six years and I don’t have the passion that I used to. I thought that when I was working on you, that the passion was back, but I mistook passion for you for desire to work again. Now that things have changed, I want to try something else.” He’s smart as a whip and I know he can do whatever he wants.

  “Do you know what kind of classes you want to take?” I ask. He shifts so he’s leaning back farther, bring me with him. Some of the water sloshes over the edge of the tub.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe you could help me pick?”

  “I’d love to. This is the perfect time because you could sign up now and then go for the fall semester.” This is making me excited. I imagine the two of us going to campus together, studying together. I really like the idea.

  “Maybe. I’m still not sure yet.” I don’t know why he’s going back on it when he just seemed so excited, but I’m far too exhausted to worry about it.

  The water starts to get cold and I tell Sylas I want to get out. He gets up first and then helps me. I get wrapped in a towel and then he lays me in bed.

  I hope I’m not going to have nightmares tonight, but I probably will. It seems inevitable at this point.

  “Good dreams. You’re only going to have good dreams,” he whispers in my ear as I try to relax and go to sleep. “Only good dreams.”

  Sylas doesn’t have magical good dream giving powers and I wake a few hours later. My hair is still wet.

  “Blood,” I gasp. “There’s blood.”

  “Whose blood?” Sylas says.

  “I don’t know,” I sob. I feel sick and have to run to the bathroom to throw up. Sylas rushes after me and holds my hair back. My stomach finally stops heaving and I sit back, resting against him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.” He moves me until I’m resting up against the wall as he goes to get a cool washcloth for my face.

  “Thanks,” I say. I’m embarrassed, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to go back to bed?” he asks.

  “I want to brush my teeth and go back to bed. I have a final tomorrow.” God, I am so unprepared. It’s a good thing I at least got some studying done on Saturday and earlier today.

  “Are you sure you want to go? I could forge you a doctor’s note and get you out of it.” I’m sure he could, but I really just want to get it over with.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m fine now.”

  Blood. Pooling on a scratched linoleum floor.

  I shut my eyes and try to picture something else. Anything else. Another wave of nausea rolls through me, but I swallow it down and breathe through my nose. It passes and I use Sylas’ body to help get me off the floor.

  I don’t tell him about the details. The floor, the way the blood makes a bright puddle. I just tell him I saw blood. For some reason I don’t want to share anything else about the nightmares with him.

  “I’m okay. I’m going to brush my teeth and I’ll be right there,” I say, shuffling to the sink and grabbing my toothbrush. He holds his hands out, as if he’s waiting for me to fall.

  “I’ll be right there,” I say, giving him as strong a smile as I can muster.

  “Okay,” he says and shuts the door, leaving me alone.

  I lean against the sink and take a few deep breaths before picking up my toothbrush and getting rid of the awful taste in my mouth.

  Every muscle aches, even though I took that bath with Sylas.

  I just feel… wrong and I have no idea what to do about it.

  Sylas is the one who gets me up the next morning for school. I feel like I haven’t gotten any sleep at all and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open as I brush my hair.

  “Want me to braid it for you?” he asks, coming to stand behind me.


  “Sure, that would be great.” He does a quick French braid for me and then ties it off. I check it out in the mirror and it looks good.

  “Thanks, babe,” I say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Babe?” he says, following me out of the bathroom and toward the front door. He’s actually dressed today, in jeans and a t-shirt that shows off his arms so well it hurts to leave him.

  “I don’t know, it just came out. I have to go, I’m going to be late.” I give him another kiss and he waves goodbye.

  “See you later, Redhead.”

  I have absolutely no idea how I make it through Monday, but it’s pretty much a miracle. I finish up my finals and actually don’t feel horrible about how I did. Granted, I have several more the rest of the week, but at least I’ve gotten through some of them.

  Dad calls me again, but I delete his voicemail without even listening to it. How dare he? I can’t even let myself think about it. I put it in a box and shove it to the back of my mind.

  Sylas isn’t home when I get there, but he left me a note taped to the skull where I keep my keys saying that he had some errands to run and he’ll bring back by dinner.

  Hm. I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad that he’s getting out of the house. That’s good. I’m proud of him. It sucks that I’m here alone, but I’m going to have to learn how to suck it up and deal with it. Before I was with Sylas, I was alone a lot. I can go back to that, no problem.

  To keep my mind from thinking about the awful things I placed in the mental box, I get out my books and start studying again. I still have that stupid drawing to do.

  Draw something I love. Well, the obvious answer is Sylas. But I’m so terrible at drawing I don’t want to do a shitty job and then force him to pretend he likes it. But I don’t have to draw his whole body…

  Bam. There’s an idea. I just need to wait until he gets back.

  I’m not sure when Sylas is going to be back and I don’t want to be too needy, so I go ahead and start making some dinner. I rarely cook, but I feel like doing something nice for him tonight. I’m not that great of a cook, but I can do spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread and salad.

  I’m just stirring the sauce into the noodles when the door opens.

  “Wow, you’re cooking?” Sylas asks.

  “Hey now. I can cook things other than popcorn,” I say, pointing my wooden spoon at him. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a smile on his face. He looks good. Really good. Good enough to say “forget dinner” and take him back to my bedroom.

  “I know you can,” he says, coming into the kitchen to give me a kiss. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” I say, running my hands down his back to squeeze his ass. I love the way it looks in these jeans.

  “How were your finals?” he asks, stepping away and leaning on the counter.

  “I think I did okay. Or at least as good as I was going to do, given the circumstances.” He nods and fiddles with one of the plates I got out.

  “Well, I’m proud of you for going in and doing your best.” I look up from the pot of pasta.

  “You are?” He gives me a look like I’m crazy.

  “Of course I am.”

  Huh. What do you know?

  “You’re blushing,” he says, brushing one finger along my cheek.

  “Shut up,” I say, stepping away from him. He smiles and just follows me.

  “I love making you blush. It’s one of my favorites.” I roll my eyes at him. He once told me he was going to use every line in the book on me. He’s still got a lot to go, but he’s ticked quite a few off.

  “Take the plates and go sit down,” I say, trying to hide my face.

  “Yes, Redhead,” he says before he bows and does as I asked. He’s in a really good mood, but I wait until we’re sitting down on the couch and I have a glass of wine in my hand before asking about it.

  “Well,” he says, picking up his fork and twirling some spaghetti onto it with impeccable skill, “I went and saw a therapist today. I didn’t tell you I was going to do it, because I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, or if it was going to be the right fit.” I’m distracted from the food by his admission.

  “Oh yeah? Did it go well?” It’s clear that it went well just from looking at him and sitting next to him. His whole energy has changed for the better. Kind of makes me want to go and see if therapy would work for me.

  “It did. She’s really nice and the first session was no pressure. Just asking me about my life and so forth. I edited a little, but told as much truth as I could. I didn’t want to take any chances.” I don’t blame him at all.

  “That’s smart. So, are you going to go back?” He chews and swallows. I wonder if his mother was the one who taught him how to eat with such lovely manners. I’m sure she did. It’s hard to imagine Sylas as a child. As a little boy missing a tooth or two with scraped knees and knobby elbows. No, I can’t picture it. I assume most of the pictures of him as a child were lost in the fire. It’s not fair that he’s seen me in my awkward years, but I don’t get a chance to see him.

  “Next week. It’s really not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was so afraid I was going to cry. I really hate crying.” Ditto. We continue eating and he tells me more about his therapy appointment. He seems to really be moving in the right direction. I just hope it will continue.

  “So, I have something to ask you. A favor, if you will,” I say. He puts down his fork.

  “I’m intrigued. I hope it involves both of us being naked.” I snort.

  “Sort of. Um, so I have to do a final drawing for my class and I should have started it ages ago. It’s due on Thursday and I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. We’re supposed to draw something we love. And, well, I love you, but I don’t want to fuck it up, so I was wondering if I could just draw a portion of you. Like, maybe your back? With all your tattoos?” I feel like a total dork asking him. He just smiles and bumps my shoulder with his.

  “You’re adorable when you need something from me.” I try not to blush and fail.

  “Stop it. Will you do it or not?”

  “Absolutely. How do you want me?” Now I’m the one shoving his shoulder.

  “You’re the worst.”

  “I try.”

  Sylas decides that he wants to “pose” for me right after dinner. I was hoping to put it off until the very last minute, but he’s eager to be my model for some reason.

  “You don’t have to get completely naked,” I say as he strips down and lays on the bed as I try to get the lighting right and find the best angle to put my chair.

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. This is so that the next time you have a male model, you think of me instead.” I move one of the lamps and snort.

  “Well, the class is over and I’m not taking another one anytime soon.” He props himself up, resting his chin in his hands and batting his eyelashes at me.

  “Good. That means that I’m your last subject and the last is the most important.” He’s so full of himself.

  “Yes, yes,” I say, sitting in my chair and trying to figure out how I want him to lie down.

  “Okay, can you get on your stomach, but more up toward the pillows?” He does as I ask and then it takes a few more adjustments to get him just right. It’s a sexy pose that shows his entire back, including the dimples above his ass and all his beautiful tattoos. His face is out of the picture, but his back is breathtaking enough as is.

  I sit down in my chair and grab my charcoal pencil and start a rough sketch.

  “Am I allowed to talk to you while you do this?” he asks. I glance up from my sketch.

  “As long as you don’t move,” I say.

  “I’ll do my best. I’ve never been a model before.” I narrow my eyes and give him a look.

  “Stay. Still.”

  “Yes, Redhead.” He closes his eyes and relaxes as I finish the rough outline. It’s going to take forever to do the intricate designs of his tattoos, so I’m going to need hi
m to sit again for me tomorrow night. But as long as I get the basics, that should be good for now.

  “You look beautiful when you concentrate,” he says and I realize he’s staring at me. I stick my tongue out at him.

  “And you’re annoying when you’re talking. I think I’m going to revise my rule to no talking while I’m working.” He heaves a heavy sigh, as if I’m being difficult.

  “Fine. Then I’ll sing.”

  He hums a few bars and then starts singing low. I recognize the song immediately. It’s one he told me was his favorite. “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor. I wonder if his mother used to sing it to him when he was young.

  Sylas’ voice so unbelievable, I’m distracted completely from drawing. It simultaneously gives me chills and warms me inside. By the time he gets to the end, I’ve completely forgotten what I’m supposed to be doing.

  “Saige?” he says. I blink and remember I’m supposed to be drawing him. Oops.

  “Sorry. Just… got lost for a moment. You’re a very good singer, you know.”

  He shrugs one shoulder and then apologizes for moving.

  “I’m nothing special. My mother had the magical voice. She could have been a star if she wanted to.”

  “I bet,” I say. He’s silent for a little while as I start adding the outlines to some of his bigger tattoos.

  “You can keep singing. If you want,” I say and he looks up again.

  “Okay.”

  He sings for the next hour as I sketch. I think he’s going to get tired of it, but as soon as one song fades, he launches into another. He definitely needs to sing more. As in, all the time. Every day. I might use some of my recording equipment so I can have it with me always. That would mean going back to my parents’ house to get it. No, I’m not going to do that.

  My eyes start to itch and I’m not focusing anymore.

  “That’s enough, I think,” I say, blowing off the excess charcoal and then putting a protective sheet over it so it won’t get smudged before I close my sketchbook.