Torn Souls (Soul Ties Book 2)

by LJ Swallow

Kyle clicks his fingers at me. “Ha! You're totally into her, aren't you? Who is she?” His voice is too loud so I shove him.

  “Don't know.”

  “What's her name?”

  “Don't know.”

  Kyle laughs. “This why you came today? Where'd you meet her?”

  I ignore him and watch her walk away. Should I go after her?

  DAHLIA

  I hear one of them coming up behind. I should've expected this; didn't I practically tell him to come to class today?

  “Hey!”

  The guy Jack was with calls out to me. I could pretend not to hear him, keep walking, but I hesitate. He catches up. Scruffy guy who smells a bit like pizza. He makes Jack's mop of dark hair and less than tidy clothes look like the model of perfect grooming. And he's checking me out, green eyes sweeping my figure. I raise an eyebrow, challenging him. Yeah, I'm super hot in my jeans and jumper.

  I cross my arms. If he has something to say, he can speak first.

  I considered talking to Jack earlier but if he's in the habit of sending friends in to do the work for him, I'm not sure anymore. I look over. Jack's still hovering outside the room and deliberately not looking at me. What is he? Twelve years old?

  “Hey,” says Jack’s friend, uncertainly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Um.”

  “Yeah?” Are all the guys here incapable of conversation?

  “How's it going?”

  “Good, thanks.” I move away, don't want to talk to him. I have a rule: don’t to talk to people. A rule I've already broken with Jack and probably will again.

  “You busy later?” he calls.

  I pause and turn slowly. The guy grins back and his T-shirt catches my eye. “What's that?” I ask, pointing at the print.

  “Uh...” He smoothes his T-shirt down and looks as if he's forgotten what he’s wearing. “It's a band T-shirt. Black Sabbath. Know them?”

  “No, what's the picture?”

  The black T-shirt is faded but the demon printed on it looks familiar—bestial with three pairs of horns. I eye him cautiously. Maybe rumours about demon cults are true.

  My behaviour flusters him into silence and he fumbles for more words. I can't be bothered and hitch my messenger bag onto my shoulder. “Next time, tell Jack if he wants to talk to me to just do it.”

  I shake my head as I walk away, wondering if Jack is watching. I hear voices and a scuffle behind and smile. Maybe Jack had wanted to talk to me.

  JACK

  I am bloody furious. Kyle thinks it's hilarious. I think he's an immature dick. He saunters back over, grinning, and I want to smack the grin off his face.

  “What the fuck, Kyle?”

  “Hey, man. She was leaving. I was stalling her.”

  I have no idea why Kyle thinks he can talk to chicks. There are a few girls at school we'd hang with, the kind of chicks who aren't normal girls, if that makes sense. The kind it’s acceptable to be mates with ’cause you like the same stuff. Kyle always had this deluded belief a couple of them were into him. I don't think he ever understood his flirtation was one sided, and they were actually taking the piss. The fact he never hooked up with one of them should've made it obvious. Anyway, it's given him the confidence to talk to girls since he thinks they find his clownish behaviour amusing. He only tries this with girls in his league, not ones who'd leave him shaking in his boots.

  “Did you find out her name?” I ask him.

  “Nope.” He pauses. “She's weird.”

  “And you base that theory on what?”

  Kyle shrugs. He always shrugs. I never know if the gesture means yes, no, or maybe.

  But I'm still pissed off with him. He followed her before I even had a chance to open my mouth, and now he makes me seem like some stupid school kid sending his mate in to do his dirty work.

  The whole situation is embarrassing. I can't leave things with the girl like this, so I throw Kyle a look and walk in the direction she went.

  The thing is… she blends in. There're so many students thronging the corridors, rushing from class to class. Jeez. High school has finished, why the hurry? They cram together, a sea of brown-and-black-clothed noise. I huff and lean against a wall, flyers on the noticeboard attacking my head. Pulling at them, one comes away in my hand, and I turn to pin the paper back up. Books for sale. Sporting clubs. Social clubs. Even job ads. I smile wryly. There's a whole world here I just can't be bothered with. Slipping back into the flow of people doesn't appeal right now, so I stand and look through the notices. Gradually the crowds ebb, and a few stragglers remain. It occurs to me I might have another class to go to, but a check of my timetable indicates I've four hours to wait.

  Four hours between classes? Yeah, organisational skills fail again. The day I needed to sign up for class, I forgot. By the time, I climbed out of bed and logged onto the sign-up system, the classes at the best times were full. A lesson learnt for next semester.

  I haven't orientated myself around campus much past the Student Union, even then mostly in the dark, stumbling downstairs on drunken adventures with my newfound friends. Most of these friends I have nothing to do with just three weeks later.

  My stomach rumbles. The Student Union has great nachos. Why go elsewhere?

  I remember the place as a maze and thought the confusion came from being drunk. But the place is a maze. In my search for the cafeteria, I end up wandering past a bookshop and an optician, neither of which hold any interest. I pause at a vending machine weighing up between a chocolate or crisps fix. No. The nacho selling spot can't be far away.

  “More chocolate?”

  I recognise the voice. The girl stands near the vending machine, smiling at me with that smile; the one that transforms her face from plain to beautiful as the smile spreads to her eyes.

  My pulse rate spikes and perspiration starts on the back of my neck. “I was looking for nachos.”

  The girl frowns and a cute crease forms between her brows. “I don't think they sell nachos in vending machines.” She says the words like she's not sure.

  “No, I can't remember where they sell them in the Union. There's, like, three places selling food.”

  The girl looks at me oddly, as if she's studying me. For some reason, I shiver and we stand for what seems like forever trying to figure each other out. Well, I stare into her eyes mostly, and wonder what her cheeks feel like. They've turned pink and it suits her. Some girls look better without make-up.

  She's waiting for me to say something. Oh, shit.

  “Um.” I cringe. Not again. I might as well start shrugging if this is the limit of my communication with her.

  “Um?” Her eyes dance. Is that even a thing? I read it somewhere once.

  The girl chose to stop. She spoke to me. I didn't accost her as she passed; she wants to talk to me.

  “Do you like nachos? I mean coffee. Do you want a coffee? With me?” The words stumble out, and I know my cheeks must be red because I can feel them burning.

  The girl tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. “Sure. If you know where to find some.”

  The small corridor between the optician and the vending machine constricts and so does my chest. This time she gives me a half smile and tips her head, indicating we should find the coffee. Oh yeah, I need to move.

  3

  DAHLIA

  Jack fiddles with his wallet as he waits in line to pay for the coffees. And nachos. Jack hasn't looked back over here the whole time he's waited in the queue.

  Jack's taller than most of the guys around him, long limbs and broad shoulders hidden beneath his blue hoodie and scruffy jeans. He bends over the counter to pay and his hoodie rides up, revealing a muscled back. I instantly picture myself touching him and close my eyes, but the image stays.

  I'm annoyed at myself for stopping and speaking to him. I almost didn't, but seeing Jack by the vending machine seemed a coincidence. Crossing paths at the right time; the same as the other night in the snow.

  This part
of the Student Union doesn't have any natural light; neon strip lights illuminate the room in place of windows. I think the area is used as a bar at night, since there's a group of girls sitting and eating chips on what looks like a dance floor. I prefer hanging in places that are dark and quiet, anyway. I wait for Jack on one of the round metal stools, trying not to put my elbows in the sticky mess on the table. Wrinkling my nose, I push plates of half-eaten meals into a corner.

  “I hope that's okay?” Jack sets a cup in front of me.

  The plastic container is warm and smells good. I cup it in my hands and blow into the top. “Thanks, Jack.”

  Jack hesitates and gives me the strange look he gave by the vending machine. His eyes are a rich, dark brown, and I want to push his fringe from his face so I can see them properly. As if he heard my thought, Jack shakes his head, but the thick hair settles back into his eyes. He plays with the edge of his plate of nachos, and I think he's chewing the inside of his lip.

  “Sure you're not hungry?” Jack asks.

  “I’m good.” I sip my coffee. Jack doesn't eat; maybe he's one of those people who doesn't like eating in front of others. Ducking my head, I rummage around on the floor for my bag.

  “You never told me your name,” he blurts and I look up in surprise.

  “Oh? Didn't I?” Because I chose not to.

  “No.” I meet an expectant look.

  “It's Dahlia.”

  “Dahlia.” Jack says my name slowly, each syllable rolling off his tongue. I laugh, because he sounds funny, and his cheeks flare red. “Like a flower?”

  “Like a flower.”

  He grins. “A delicate flower.”

  My coffee spurts across the table; the mouthful I've taken showers his nachos. “Oh crap, I'm sorry.”

  “It's okay. I cringed myself as soon as I said it,” he mumbles.

  “No, the coffee was hot,” I lie.

  We lapse into silence, and Jack pokes around at his food.

  “Sorry about spitting on your lunch.”

  Shoving a mouthful of food into his mouth, Jack shakes his head as he chews. He swallows. “It's all good.”

  The tables around fill; the chatter from those nearby occupies the silence between us. The plasma screen in the corner broadcasts a music video clip, and I watch curiously. A guy playing guitar on the screen could easily pass for a few of the guys around the room. The world suddenly feels more alien than before; I don't fit in here. I don't know what to say to Jack. I have no experience of this stuff. Apparently, neither does he.

  “Where you from?” he asks.

  “Nowhere really. Well, obviously somewhere originally, but I moved around a lot. So nowhere really.”

  Jack nods and returns to his meal. I mentally kick myself for closing the conversation right down. I can hardly tell him the truth though, can I?

  “How about you?” I ask.

  “Chester.”

  I make a noise of agreement, but I have no a clue where that is. “Nice place?”

  “Yeah. Quiet. Lived there all my life.”

  We catch each other’s looks, and I instantly drop my eyes. This was such a bad idea. I glance around, wondering how long I need to stay to be polite.

  “Why did you choose Leeds?” he asks.

  “Choose?”

  “For uni.”

  “Oh.” I rub my nose. “It was kind of chosen for me.”

  “Ah. Interfering parents. I have those. No offer for my course at Manchester, and at least I'm a bit further from them in Leeds.”

  Interfering parents aren't a problem for me, but I nod in agreement, and he rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. I giggle. He's cute, childish. Not the man he appears.

  Jack pushes back his plate and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Instantly, a look of horror crosses his face, and he puts his arms under the table. I pretend I don't notice.

  Dredging my mind, I come up with some conversational pieces. “What do you do?”

  “Do?”

  “When you're not studying. What are you into?”

  He shrugs. “Not much.”

  “Oh? Interesting not much or boring not much?”

  Jack plays with his plastic fork, twirling it on the plate with his long fingers. “Unimpressive stuff.”

  “So? You don't need to impress me.”

  As I say it, his eyes move to my mouth momentarily, unfathomable eyes darker in this dim light. My heart skips.

  JACK

  This is going badly. The nachos I craved are sticking in my throat when I try to eat, and I can't wash them down because the coffee's too damn hot. By now Dahlia must think I have the conversation skills of a two-year-old. When I tell her what I spend my spare time doing, she’ll think I'm a complete waste of space.

  Dahlia. A weird name but kind of pretty and delicate like her, and, omigod, I can't believe I said that.

  She's close enough now to smell her hair. Fresh and lemony, like sweets. Dahlia wears it loose, and I'm itching to know how her hair feels. I'm sure I've never seen any as long and shiny. An image of burying my face in her hair flickers across my mind.

  This is weird shit.

  Dahlia pulls her jumper off and her scent engulfs me. The lemony smell is mixed with flowers—roses, I think. Or maybe the scent of dahlias. Ha ha. I try not to inhale, which isn't too hard when I can't breathe. She wears a black vest top underneath, and her breasts swell beneath the thin material. I can see the top of them where the neck is scooped, the lacy pattern from her bra imprinted on the material. I shift closer to the table; don't want her to notice the semi she's giving me. Jeez, Jack.

  And of course, she’s spotted me checking her out. A pendant hangs between the top of her breasts, an oval cameo with a blue stone, nestling where I'd love to rest my head.

  “Nice necklace,” I say, trying to clear the hoarseness from my throat.

  “You like jewellery?” The knowing smile at the corner of her mouth is better than a slap, I suppose.

  And again I haven't any clue what to say to her.

  Fine. I'll tell her about my geek existence.

  “You like computers, right?” I ask her.

  The little crease appears between her brows. “Computers?”

  “Yeah, you're studying computer science. Are you a gamer?”

  Why does she look like I'm speaking a foreign language? Everyone knows what gaming is, even if they think a bunch of losers do it.

  “Gamer?” she asks, rubbing her hand along her naked arm. “Are you?”

  “Big time.” I'm a mix between embarrassed and proud. But I'm nineteen, not like I'm some forty-year-old virgin hiding in his mum's basement with no life.

  “And what do you game?”

  Dahlia's words sound odd. I'd think she was taking the piss, but she looks confused.

  “Different ones. WoW mainly but a few of my mates are big into LoL.” That crease between her eyes is now halfway between a frown and a scowl. I spread my hands out on the table and look down. “I fight and kill stuff. With friends. Dragons, demons. That shit.”

  Dahlia's eyebrows shoot up and her chocolate brown eyes widen. “Demons?” Her voice is a whisper.

  Now I'm not sure what to think. Dahlia doesn't look like one of those weird chicks who believe in fairies and magic and crap. But it's like she thinks I'm for real. Uh oh, maybe she's some kind of religious nutter. Next, she’ll be telling me all about guardian angels.

  “Online. In the game.”

  Dahlia puts her head in her hands and laughs, a soft sound low in her chest. Her hair catches the light, and I'm so close to touching it.

  “Computer games!”

  “Yeah.” I want to ask her what the hell she thought I meant, but I don't want her to leave.

  “Cool.”

  No, not really, and I can see that's what she's thinking by the way her eyes shift around the room. Dahlia sucks on her bottom lip, and in response, my breath comes out in shorter bursts. The combination of the spilling over breasts and the l
ip sucking isn't doing anything to help the situation. Shit. I shift in the seat and drag my eyes away. Not cool.

  “Demons, huh?” she says, after a silence too long to be comfortable.

  I slide my look back to the half-empty plate before I fixate on her mouth again, or any other part of her. Yep, she thinks I'm lame.

  “How about you?” I ask.

  “Do I kill demons?” She chews a nail and frowns again.

  I try not to laugh at her, but I can't stop the smile. “No, I mean what do you like to do?”

  Something about this girl isn't right. I'm used to chicks taking the piss out of me, but I don't understand her. I want to know who she is, why I've dreamt about her, but what can I say? Hey, Dahlia, I dream about you every night. Yeah, even Kyle wouldn't try a line as lousy. But every tiny part of me screams to be near Dahlia, as if something was missing from my life before I saw her. This is pathetic. Seriously. Get a grip, Jack.

  Dahlia hastily finishes her coffee and pulls out her diary. “You have class?”

  “Not for three hours.”

  “Oh, bad luck, I’m in the two o'clock.”

  I pull my phone out and swipe a thumb across the screen, 1:35. Already.

  Diary tucked away, she stands and slings her large bag across her body. Dahlia half looks at me, and it occurs she could be as awkward as I am. Maybe we can be socially inept together.

  “So... yeah. I need to go.” She points towards the door and hesitates.

  I stand up. Not to leave but because for some bizarre reason I think I should. “Yeah.”

  Ahh. Now I think Dahlia's waiting because she doesn't know if I'm going with her. I rub my palms on my jeans. “Nice to um… meet you, Dahlia.”

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Dipping her head, she scoots away. As she manoeuvres her way through the students on the stairs, I take my last look at her hair spilling down her back and her cute, round, perfect ass.

  4

  DAHLIA

  Jack hasn't attended class for over a week. I glance at the clock. I’m ten minutes into the lesson, and I don't think Jack's coming today either. His dumb friend sits alone, hunched over his computer in the lab, occasionally checking his phone and texting. Why didn't I give Jack my number?