Walking into the kitchen, I nearly do an about-face. Jenna is standing in line at the counter, laughing hilariously at something The Hulk has said. How is it that I’ve met this creepy guy twice in one day? Potent unease slithers through me. Neve and I join the line at the end, and I try to telepathically communicate a silent message to Jenna.
Considering I’ve never demonstrated an ounce of telepathic ability before, the chance of success is slim to zero. When that clearly fails, I try sending dagger looks at the back of her head, hoping she might pick up on the hostile vibes swarming around her. But that tactic is a miserable failure, too.
“You’re going to draw blood,” Neve says.
“What?” I stare at her in confusion.
“Your lip.” She gestures toward my mouth. “If you keep biting, you’ll rip the skin.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t realized I was gnawing on it. It’s a bad habit I unconsciously adopt anytime I feel anxious.
“What’s wrong? Did you and Jenna have a fight?”
She’s way too perceptive. “Nope. I don’t have an issue with her. Do you know that guy she’s talking to?”
“No.” She doesn’t even look in his direction. She pins me with a bizarre look. “What’s the problem exactly?”
“It’s hard to explain. I ran into him at the gym earlier, and he gave me the creeps. I don’t think he’s a good guy.”
She stares at me as if I’ve confessed to seeing ghosts or admitted to an alien encounter. I’m struggling to contemplate the look, and the reason for it, when she bends down and whispers, “I agree. You should stay away from him.”
“Don’t worry, I intend to. And I’m damn well going to ensure that Jen does the same.”
As I survey her body language, I’m wondering how on earth I’m going to achieve that. Jenna is curled against him and it’s borderline obscene. As I watch, he runs his hand seductively up and down her arm, and I practically hurl on the spot.
A tall figure stalks forward, and Odie winds his arm possessively around Jenna’s waist. Oh, oh, I sniff a fight.
I step forward but Neve sets a cautionary hand on my arm. “Don’t get involved.”
From my location, I’m perfectly positioned to watch as Odie’s facial expression switches from dark to light, his flare of anger evaporating as quickly as it appeared. He smiles at The Hulk and walks back to his seat, without so much as a further glance in Jenna’s direction.
“What the hell happened there?”
My sense of unease has magnified one-thousand fold. At that precise moment, Jenna looks down the line at me, similar confusion reflected on her features. Without pausing to think about it, I duck around Neve and move to Jenna’s side. “Go sit with Odie,” I hiss. “I’ll bring you a tray.”
Jenna starts to move and then falters.
“Go!” I shove her forward as Odie rises to meet her halfway.
“Eliminating the competition? I like your style,” an amused voice says low to my ear.
I swallow nervously and twist around. The Hulk’s penetrating eyes glisten with devilment and undisguised interest.
“What? No! Ugh.” I fail to hide my disgust.
“Admit it. You want this”—he gestures toward himself—“all to yourself.”
He takes a step toward me, and I shiver under my clothes. Unsettled, I stumble backward into the line and fall, kick-starting a comical chain of tumbling, which ends with the entire line behind me spread-eagled on the ground. He roars with laughter, his sultry tone bouncing off the walls. Extreme mortification mixes with passionate loathing inside me.
Neve extends a hand to help me up. “I’ve got you.” She glares at The Hulk, and they trade dark looks before he stomps out of the kitchen.
I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “You know him?”
“No.” She is emphatic. “I already explained that.”
Nothing in her face indicates a lie, but my instinct is sending razor sharp fissures of warning in all directions. For now, I decide to let the subject drop.
Thankfully, the rest of dinner passes by uneventfully. There’s no opportunity to talk to Jenna about what happened. Odie has plastered himself to her side, and I can’t get her alone. Neve is uncharacteristically quiet, not that I’m one to criticize her for that.
Making my excuses, I head back to my dorm alone and switch on my digipad, hoping there’s a message from Logan. The screen pings and I smile like a goober.
From: LChandler
To: SOwen
Hi Sadie,
Wow. You’re even prettier up close. I wish we were in the same unit so I could meet you in person. I guess we’ll have plenty of time for that once we hit Thalassic City, or am I being too presumptuous?
I can’t believe you’ve never seen the ocean! That’s tragic. How ironic that once we’ll be in Thalassic City, you’ll be surrounded by the sea, yet it’ll still be beyond your reach.
I love your honesty, it’s endearing, though I hate to say it, but I predict plenty of yielding in your future (Or perhaps I’m being presumptuous again?!)
What books do you like to read? And what’s this tarot card obsession?
So, Will Smith. Yeah, okay, it’s a weird fetish but I’m addicted to old movies, especially sci-fi ones, and Will has acted in some awesome films—Men In Black, Independence Day, Hancock, After Earth… Honestly, you haven’t lived if you haven’t watched a Will Smith movie. Just saying …
Bring your D-pad tonight so we can live chat.
Later, Logan.
I’m hyperventilating and full of nervous anticipation. I can’t believe this is happening because stuff like this doesn’t happen to me. He doesn’t think I’m a dork. He thinks I’m pretty—gah!—and he wants to meet me when we’re in Thalassic City—coronary right there—and he was blatantly flirting with me. Me!
My head flops back on the pillow as my mind conjures up all sorts of images of Logan and me, and I let my thoughts wander into dangerous, unchartered territory. I imagine scorching hot days at the beach, messing about in the water, and our sand-coated skin as we roll around, legs, arms, and mouths entangled in desperate need for one another. Powerful longing whips my body and mind into a wild frenzy, and a yawning ache wraps around my heart, yearning to transform imagination into reality.
Reality check, my cruel inner-taunter crows, and my happy bubble wobbles perilously. After years of denying myself any suggestion of romantic relationships, it’s hard to fully believe in my dream. Or to understand whether it’s the notion of a loving relationship that’s driving my bizarre yearning for a boy who’s a virtual stranger or the emotions I feel are genuinely for him.
It’s not that it’s inconceivable.
My parents met and fell in love straightaway, or so I’ve been told. Mom never shared the story with me directly, but my sister, Ella, used to enthrall me with romantic stories of their courtship at bedtime. Apparently, they were engaged within three weeks and married in less than a year.
It’s what every girl dreams about—that all-encompassing type of love that sucks you in instantly, a love that surpasses your wildest imagination, where everything begins and ends with him. I sigh.
Of course, those were different times, before the ban, when people were free to marry and have children, irrespective of social status. I wish I could say my parents love had lasted, but that would be a lie. Years of suffering and pain, and lack of money and hope, has ripped their epic love apart and taken its toll on their marriage. By the time I was of school age, their love was nothing but a distant memory. I can’t ever recall any knowing looks, any sneaky caresses, or any stolen kisses.
For the first time in forever, I feel sympathy for Mom.
Surely, there can be nothing worse than losing a precious love that’s so rare few ever truly experience it.
CHAPTER 7
I wake up with a jolt. I’m lying fully clothed on the outside of my comforter. All around me, the sounds of heavy breathing and gentle snoring aler
t me that it’s late. Oh my God! I never messaged Logan back!
I silently curse when I spot the time. It’s 3:55 a.m. on the button. Grabbing my D-pad, I tiptoe out of the room and run quietly to the library.
The door closes softly behind me, and I walk toward the window as a mad swarm of butterflies flutter to life in my chest. You’d swear this was an actual date. Virtual or not, the sensations flooding my body are as real as if it was a proper date.
I’m beyond panicked. I’m terrified.
Logan is already there sprawled casually on the window seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a D-pad suspended on his lap. He waves and I return the gesture. A giddy laugh escapes my lips, and I’m glad this isn’t a real date because I’m certain I’d only embarrass myself.
Logan flips open his digipad and gestures for me to do the same. I log into the live chat room using the private link he’s supplied.
LC: You didn’t reply! I assumed you’d stood me up.
SO: I fell asleep. Sorry! All the nighttime disruption is catching up to me.
LC: That’s totally my fault, isn’t it?
He looks up from his screen and stares at me. The cord extends and strengthens, and I marvel at our ability to form such a forceful connection despite the things that separate us. He types without losing eye contact with me.
LC: Do you want to switch to video chat?
My blood pressure accelerates so fast I half-expect some warning siren to emit from the medical chip on my wrist. A customary knot of tension rips through my gut. My hair falls forward into my face as I type.
SO: Definitely not!!
LC: Why?
Sensing his penetrating gaze across the divide, I ignore the near-compulsive urge to stare back. Desperately grappling for a witty comeback that will get me out of this, nothing springs to mind, so I reply truthfully.
SO: I’m not good with the spoken word.
LC: ???
I pause, unsure how much of myself I’m willing to share.
I look out the window across the divide. Raising his hand to his mouth, he blows me a kiss.
Be still my heart.
I lift my hand and curl my fingers around as if I’ve captured his kiss.
Here goes nothing.
SO: I’ve spent years purposely sealing my mouth. It’s a hard habit to break.
I give him the once over. Gracing me with a dazzling smile that would melt the hardest of hearts, he stares straight into my eyes with jaw-dropping intensity.
I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
This can’t be real. Although I tell myself that, there’s nothing about this moment that feels fake.
My digipad pings. I didn’t even notice his fingers flying over the keypad.
LC: I want to kiss you for real.
I very nearly drop the D-pad on the ground. My heart is banging frantically around my chest, craving an outlet. I think I’m having a coronary. Honestly, I do. Logan’s eyes dance vibrantly, and he gestures with his hands. He wants to know my response. Drawing a long, deep, brave breath, I type with quivering fingers.
SO: I want you to kiss me for real, too.
Ping, I send it away before I chicken out.
LC: Ugh, why can’t I be there with you right now?!
SO: I’m kinda glad you’re not.
LC: What?! Why?!
SO: I just scrambled out of bed and I’m a mess.
Truthfully? I’m not scrounging for compliments. I’m being honest, because I’m sure I’m rocking a messy bedhead sleepy-eyed look right about now that does nothing to increase my chances with the hottie across the way.
LC: You do not!! You look beautiful.
My insides melt into a gooey pile of mushy lovey-doveyness.
In that moment, I know I’m done.
I’m a goner. Hook, line, and sinker.
Logan’s already captured my heart and we haven’t even spoken face to face.
Give that boy an award.
LC: Say something!
SO: I think I’ve lost the ability to form a coherent thought.
LC: Is that a bad thing?
SO: Yes and no.
LC: I’m confused. Most girls love to be told they’re beautiful. I’ve certainly never heard any complaints.
I come crashing back to reality with a bang. Tears prick the back of my eyes at the sudden acknowledgement that I’m being played. I slam my palm into my forehead and criticize myself for being such a gullible fool. Of course, he didn’t mean it, you idiot. You only need to look in the mirror to verify that.
A caustic pain fragments my heart, and the desire to flee consumes me. Ignoring the almost-physical ache to look at him, I cradle my D-pad to my chest and dash from the room.
There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep, so I sneak to the living room and curl up on one of the couches.
Several shrill beeps emanate from my D-pad in quick succession, but I ignore him. Burying my head in a cushion, I stifle my cries. I refuse to cry over a boy. I’m better than this, and I know all too well how to harden my heart.
I don’t know why I’m so upset. I should know better. Guys like him have all the lines down pat. He knew the right words to say, the right buttons to push. I’m a gullible fool to have fallen for such a well-orchestrated trap.
And isn’t this what Mom has told me time and time again? That I’m nothing special, a total freak, and more than a little foolish. Perhaps moms do know best.
Sometime later, the tread of quiet footsteps approach, and I wish I possessed the power to disappear.
“Sadie?” Vin asks softly. “Are you okay?”
Oh, God. Why does he have to be awake at the butt crack of dawn? Hauling myself into a seated position, I gather my knees into my chest. “Don’t mind me. I’m okay. Just feeling a little sorry for myself.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He perches on the edge of the couch. Compassion wafts from him in waves.
“I … not really.” I send an apologetic smile his way.
“This whole experience is overwhelming. It’s completely normal to feel out of your depth.” Cautiously, he places his hand gently on my arm.
“It is?” While that’s not the reason for my current melancholy, what harm to let him believe so?
“Sure.” He pats my arm. “You’re young. It’s bound to be difficult to manage so far away from the things you know and love. It’s perfectly normal to miss your life.”
“Except I don’t.” The words slip out without thinking, and I wish I could reclaim them. He waits patiently for me to resume. Oh, crap.
Then I do something most unexpected. I open up and let him in.
“I hate my life,” I admit quietly. Peeping at him, I anticipate disgust, shock, or anger, but there’s only empathy, and that encourages me to continue. “I’ve been invisible my entire life and I’m sick of it. I wanted this, Vin”—I wave my hands around—“so badly. Because I need a fresh start. I desperately need to find out if there’s something else out there for me, because I cannot go back to the life I left. I hate my job, and the idea of working for the next sixty years and being forced to live without love—” I momentarily falter as Logan’s image swims in front of my eyes and a fresh dart of pain flogs me. Perhaps he was just the physical manifestation of all that I crave from life and that’s why I feel such crushing devastation now.
Because this feels like more than a boy toying with my emotions.
It’s like all my dreams have come crashing down around me, and I realize how little I control my future, irrespective of what this opportunity might throw my way.
I’ve never been in control, and nothing about that has changed.
The enormity of my light-bulb moment hits me with full force, and I’m instantly aggrieved.
I sigh. “I’ve pinned all my hopes on Thalassic City, but it’s only now I realize that it’s not going to be the saving grace I hoped it would be. It’s like my mom said, ‘I’ll be back to my nonexistent existence before I
know it.’”
Numbly, I stare at him. The whole time he’s rubbing my arm soothingly, and it’s amazingly comforting. He’s the human equivalent of a large, fluffy blanket, and I wish I could wrap myself around him and snuggle down. The concept jars me. I’ve always shied away from physical contact of any type. Allowing myself to get close to someone will only end up in pain, so I’ve always shielded myself from intimacy in any form.
But there’s something so wonderfully nurturing about Vin, and I organically gravitate toward him without any of my usual fear. As if to prove my point, he opens his arms and offers his embrace. He won’t force it if I don’t want it. I sink into him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Vin holds me in his strong arms and continually strokes my hair. Gradually, I feel my strength returning.
Mild embarrassment accosts me. Gingerly, I extract myself from Vin’s arms and push my hair out of my face. “I’m sorry …”
“Don’t be. You have every right to feel angry and betrayed at the world we live in.” He takes my hands in his. “But you can’t stop fighting for control of your life. You might not achieve it in the ways you wish, but there is always hope for the future. Believe in that. It pains me to hear a young girl speaking in such a defeatist way. Who knows what the next six months might bring? Don’t lose hope.”
***
I sleep right through breakfast, and I only wake up because a very annoying redhead throws a cup of water over my face. Shrieking like a banshee, I hop up, water dripping down my face and over my tank top. “Jen! What the hell?”
“Your D-pad is driving me mad. It’s pinging non-stop. Lover boy is keen.” She winks and thrusts my digipad at me.
Last night’s events soar to the forefront of my mind. “Ugh. Get that thing away from me.” I all but throw it at her. “Delete them, please.”
“What’s going on?”
I give her a rapid-fire summary of last night.
“Show me.” She thrusts my D-pad into my lap.
Groaning, I log on. There are forty-two messages waiting. Holy crap. He’s very persistent. Or stubborn. Or both.
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