Break Away (Away, Book 1)

by Tatiana Vila

  I gazed at our hands, together in a tender, overlapping hold. The last time they'd been like this and he'd said those words to me, my reaction hadn't been so…gentle.

  It was on my second day at high school in Berryford, after I'd seen him kissing, or for better words eating that girl's face in the cafeteria. I was struggling to open my locker, pulling and rattling the door that didn't seem to obey, when out of nowhere, someone placed his hand over my tight one and said, “Let me help you.”

  I turned my head and was surprised to find Ian smiling at me. One corner of his mouth was pulled into what I came to know a couple of weeks later as his lady-killer smile.

  “This one is a pain,” he said, moving his eyes to the locker. “I had it last year and—” He trailed off, staring into my eyes with fascination. “Your eyes…they're kind of purple. I've never seen anything like it.”

  For a second, I plunged into the bright satisfaction of his compliment, but then, I remembered the scene in the cafeteria and glared at his hand—the same hand that'd grabbed a girl's butt the day before. “I don't need your help, thanks,” I told him bitterly, yanking my hand free from his touch.

  “Oh, but you do,” he said, amused by my reaction. “You'll never be able to open it.”

  “I already opened it yesterday,” I said, giving him an irritated, smug look.

  He bent forward and put his face a few inches from mine. “That's because you found it on a good day. On bad days though...” He pressed his lips together, as if pitying me.

  “What's your point?” I urged, irked at having him so close to me.

  “You need the trick,” he whispered, like it was a matter of crucial importance.

  “I don't have time for this, just give it to me.”

  “Nothing is free in this life.”

  “Say it, then. What do you want?”

  He leaned against the stubborn locker with his arms crossed. “Your company. Friday. Eight o'clock.”

  I snickered. “You're so out of your league, lover-boy. I don't date womanizers. Ever.”

  “Meaning me?” he asked, feigning innocence.

  “Yes, you, who, if I remember well, was a step away from having sexual intercourse in the middle of the cafeteria yesterday.” I shrugged, throwing him a sweet smile. “I'm not into that. Sorry.”

  He looked down, as if pondering the situation. “What if I tell you it's not like that with you?”

  “I would say you're full of crap and that I don't want to waste my precious time with a player like you.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “A strong opinion for someone who doesn't know me.”

  “I don't need to know you to see what you're planning. Being part of your 'flings anthology' doesn't interest me at all. Not now, not ever.”

  He’d stared at me in silence for a few heartbeats, whether upset or tickled, I didn't know. His face was as blank as a fish. As if he'd made a choice, he straightened and gave a short nod. “Nice to meet you, then,” he said and was about to leave when he turned around. “Oh, and,” he punched the locker door lightly in the middle and opened it. “Welcome to Berryford.”

  I watched him walk away.

  I'd always wondered how things would've been if I'd said yes to him that day, if we would've ended up as friends, or something more than friends, and not enemies. Looking at our entwined hands under the quiet light of the library, I thought about it and agreed to the possibility of the first option. Because the second one would've never been in the cards for us—too many differences that would've led to way too many clashes.

  I looked at him. He was watching me, curiosity flapping in his green eyes like a hummingbird in a meadow, certainly wondering what the thoughts swirling in my mind were about.

  I let out a deep sigh. “Why do you insist on helping me when I've treated you so badly all this time?” I asked him, the question that'd floated above all the other doubts waiting to be solved.

  He paused, looking down at our laced fingers. “I know you've seen me as an asshole since day one. Your opinion of me has always been…obvious,” he said with a glum smile. “But I'm not like that. At least, I'm not like that since that day I spoke to you in the hallway, in front of the locker. Remember?”

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling at the fact that we'd both been thinking of that moment.

  “Well, that day you made me realize some things.” He brought up his eyes to mine and locked them there. “That if I didn't change, all the good girls were going to pass me by.” The words like you hung in the air.

  Something inside of me squeezed at those silent words, cutting the air flow in my throat for a few seconds. I'd never wanted to accept the truth: that Ian had changed. Weeks later, after the scene with the locker, no more girls had been spotted following his tail or smashed against his face in a liplock. I'd believed Buffy had been the true reason behind that—which had been the true reason behind my hatred towards him. Deep down, I'd always resented the fact that he hadn't pursued me, that he hadn't fought for me, that he'd ignored that deep connection we'd both felt, and that he'd passed on so quickly to someone else. The fact that my sister was that someone else had been a sharp, ringing blow. But now, knowing it was me who'd stirred that change in him made me feel…flattered and…

  I don't know who closed the distance between our faces first, but suddenly we were there, kissing and merging our breaths into one symphony of low, deep sighs. It'd started out slow, lips stroking each other languidly, even a little hesitant. Then, the small flame that'd been sparked the moment our mouths had touched turned hot and fierce, spreading a wildfire throughout my body. I knew Ian was feeling the same unrelenting inferno because his kisses became desperate, so desperate that the feel of our lips was no longer enough.

  He released my hand and pulled me to him. I turned around and followed his motion, sitting on his lap and straddling his waist snugly. He clutched my waist with both hands, as if not wanting to let go, and pushed his mouth onto mine as I wrapped my arms around his neck. This was no chaste kiss. My whole body was a live wire. It was as if our lips were closing a high voltage circuit. I'd lost control of everything—qualms, doubts, judgments, and fears long forgotten.

  I fisted my hands in his hair and pressed my face tightly against his, deepening our kiss. A groan broke past his mouth and I caught it, letting it roll down my tongue. He tilted his head to the side and opened my mouth further, burying his nose in my cheek. In that moment, all I could think of was how a tongue that'd seemed so offensive and rude for so long could taste this good. My body tingled every time his tongue found mine and locked it in a sensual dance of power.

  He lowered one of his hands to the small of my back and slipped it past safe limits, down on my rear. Realizing this, he pulled his hand back and with great effort stopped kissing me. “I'm sorry,” he breathed, resting his forehead on mine, and waited for his jagged breath to calm down.

  I sighed, unwrapping my arms from his neck.

  Him stopping shouldn't have bothered me so much. In fact, I should've taken the chance to back off and bring this to an end. I should've slapped away his hand when it'd settled down on my behind. I should've done exactly the opposite to everything I'd done. But a drowsy fog had fallen down on me, pinning my focus on a single thing: him.

  Tearing myself away from the warmth of his body was the last thing in my mind. His kiss and touch had soothed an ache deep down inside me, had filled, if just for a moment, the gaping hole that my parent's death had left in my chest. I knew that the lightning of remorse would strike with thundering strength later, but in that speck of time, in that pinprick of eternity, being next to his body and inside his arms felt...right.

  As if sensing a change in me, he cupped one side of my face and pulled back to meet my eyes. The smouldering intensity of his stare burned with resolve, and I felt myself nose-diving into that emerald green fire. I placed my hands on his chest, feeling the need to make contact with some part of his body, and looked at him once again. He dropped his
gaze to my lips, which were red and swollen from our previous kiss, and narrowed the space between our faces. I closed my eyes, knowing his lips would be kissing mine soon, but nothing ever came. Confused, I opened them and found him staring at me with an adoring smile, as if he'd been trying to brand an image of me like this in his mind. He fixed his eyes on my mouth again, pushed his face closer, and finally sealed our lips together.

  My insides melted into a pool of warmth. This wasn't anything like the other fiery kiss we'd had. Passion still bordered its edges with need, but its soft and gentle core was what took my breath away and what turned my bones to jelly. This kiss was a caress, a very deep and slow brushing of lips. Instead of reckless and unruly desire sharpening our motions, meticulous and careful longing laced them. We were savoring every sensation, sucking every breath, tasting every curve, and studying every hollow.

  I could feel the rapid beats of Ian's heart under my hands, drumming his chest harder each time he glided his hand through my hair, or each time I lingered on his bottom lip, reluctant to leave its fullness. At one time, he stopped the delicious, lazy movements and kept our faces pressed against each other, his lips holding mine between them tightly. It was as if he was feeling me, basking in the warmth of my skin against his, and brushing my cheek with his thumb to make sure it was me who was there next to him. No one had ever kissed me this way, like they couldn’t get enough and were afraid of this coming to an end. Like if I was some goddess who'd been found by his unconditional love.

  The intensity was overwhelming. My senses reeled. Ian cocked his head to the side and retook the languid kisses, parting my lips wide with every stroke. I slipped up my hands to both arcs where his neck and shoulders joined, and held him close to me. So this was what being kissed by Ian felt like.

  In all those weeks of seeing him plastered to other girl's faces, locked on a rushed lip-action, as if he couldn't wait to get them into bed, I'd never imagined he could give such slow and sweet kisses. Even with Buffy he'd seemed to be in a hurry, not because he'd been thinking of shaking the sheets with her all the time—it was obviously different with her—but because of something I couldn't quite put my finger on. She'd always loved that about him anyways, saying he was a passionate kisser. But weren't slow and deliberate kisses meant to give pleasure to the other person, meant to tell that you cared, deeply so, for the other person?

  I pulled back with a frown, unlocking my lips from his. What were we doing? He wasn't supposed to kiss me that way. We weren't supposed to be kissing this way, in any way for that matter.

  Noticing the dark turmoil in my eyes and the sudden stiffness of my body, he opened his mouth to say something but was quickly interrupted with the loud bang of a door.

  “My dear fledglings, I have come to…” Comus cut off his announcement, his eyes widening when he found me straddling Ian in the loveseat. He whirled around in a flash and cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  I couldn't have been slapped away from the drowsy haze any more efficiently. I bounded off Ian's lap and backed up from him as far as I could. “No, it's—it's not what you think it is. We were…I was feeling bad and…”

  And what, Dafne? I thought to myself with an inward sneer. Ian took advantage of poor little you and kissed you against your will? Or are you such a bad person that you have to go kissing people's boyfriends to lessen your pain? Your sister's boyfriend to be exact.

  I shook my head, trying to ease the pressure in my skull. “It was nothing,” I said sharply and felt the need to repeat it once more. “Just…nothing.” I didn't dare to look at Ian and see his reaction. Actually, I wasn't planning on looking at him for the rest of the night, or tomorrow, or…ever.

  Comus turned around, his pale face flushed pink. “Are you certain?” he asked, with an embarrassed grimace.

  “Yes,” I insisted, uncomfortable, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “Please tell us what you were going to say.”

  Comus looked at where Ian stood and swallowed, as if what he'd found hadn't been a friendly sight. “You clearly have some things to talk. I better—”

  “No!” I said before he turned away. “The, uh, night is short and we've already lost a lot of time.”

  He shot a quick glimpse in Ian's direction and, finally, decided to stay. “If you insist, she-fledgling.” He walked up to the bronze globe, sat down next to it on the floor and patted the spot across from him. “Come here and join me,” he told me, placing his feet on the opposite thighs. A lotus position I think it was called.

  I didn't have to think twice. I rushed to where he'd signaled me to sit and dropped my bottom on the rug.

  I heard Ian somewhere to my right, settling down with a grunt. “Why can't we use chairs? Are they so offensive to you?” he asked Comus a bit sullenly, and then, he must’ve turned to look at me because I felt the weight of his full stare drilling a hole in my face.

  “What we're about to do requires a straight spine, he-fledgling, and…”

  “Ian. Just call me Ian,” he cut Comus off, exasperated.

  “…chairs don't provide a solid base for that.”

  I opted to pay no heed to Ian's strong presence and asked, “What do we need a straight spine for? What are we going to do?”

  Comus twisted his mouth into a secret smile. “Not we, she-fledgling, you. You are the one who is going to need it.”

  I puckered my brows in confusion.

  “After my meditation,” Comus began to explain, “Smooch paid me a visit. I told him about you and your sleeping sister, and asked him if I could teach you how to drift into Chimera. He said yes!” he yelled, eyes wide with excitement. “But that's only because he thinks you won't be able to. For my part, I like to believe in possibilities, and right now, you are an exciting possibility.” I was expecting him to shake his hands like maracas again, but he only remained there, staring at me with bugged out eyes, waiting for an answer.

  “Are you going with me?” I said, even if I didn't know what “going” truly meant.

  He fished out a strawberry lollipop from the pocket of his frock coat and unwrapped it. He caught my questioning gaze and offered me the other one he was carrying in his pant pocket. I shook my head and he shoved it back again with a shrug.

  How many lollipops did this man eat per day?

  “I've never been able to go into Chimera consciously,” he said, after he'd stuffed his mouth with strawberry candy and licked it. “Despite all my preparation and knowledge and savoir-faire, I haven’t been able to reach that dimensional veil and get past through it.”

  “You’ve never been to Chimera?” I asked, taken aback. By the way he’d talked about this place, as if he was familiar with everything that enclosed it, anyone would’ve said he drifted over there constantly. “If it’s so difficult to get through that veil you say, then why do you think I would be able to do it when I don’t know anything about Chimera? I don’t even know if it truly exists…”

  He bent forward and slapped his thigh. “You must believe, she-fledgling, or else it won’t work,” he said fervently. “If you trust my words and believe…you will have your sister back with you in no time.”

  “Comus,” I told him with a look. “You certainly believe Chimera is real and you haven’t been able to reach it.”

  He sighed. “Dimensional travel is more complicated when you are conscious of what you’re doing. It takes a lot of practice.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t even know there were other dimensions in our world until now. I clearly don’t have the knowledge to do this, much less the practice. You’re the best option to go in there and try to get my sister back—if that’s the only way.” And if all this is true, I wanted to say but kept the words floating in my mouth.

  “You’re wrong,” Comus said softly. “Your sister won’t recognize my soul but she may possibly recognize yours. If you both have a strong bond, it will make finding her in the garden easy.”

  “What if she doesn’t recognize my soul?” I a
sked. “What if I don’t recognize hers?”

  “Then you could spend years looking for her. Centuries even.”

  Ian stepped out of his silent bubble and said, “So you’re saying she could die searching for her sister?”

  “Seeing as time flows in Chimera as it does here on earth, yes. If she doesn’t come back and stays there a long time, our she-fledgling could die in the trying.” Comus wrapped his thin lips around the lollipop and turned it inside his mouth. “But this has never been done so I don’t really know how things might turn out,” he mumbled around the strawberry ball. “These are only theories based on what Smooch tells me.”

  “All bullcrap if you ask me,” Ian said bluntly. Now that his humor had darkened and turned bitter, his mouth didn’t seem to know barriers of civility.

  I struggled not to turn my head and cast him a scolding look. “You said Smooch doesn’t think I’ll be able to break away into Chimera,” I said, focusing on the conversation. “Why do you think I have a shot?”

  “If I remember well, she-fledgling, you were the one who told me that you knew in your gut—I think that’s the word you used—that all these coma cases weren’t mere medical situations. Well, now is my turn to say that I know in my gut that you will be able to get through that dimensional veil.”

  I let out a deep breath. Whatever this was, I had to carry on with it. I hadn’t travelled more than three hundred miles for nothing. What hurt could it do to try, even if all this sounded like sci-fi bull? The worst that could happen was me losing a couple of minutes, or hours, of time I could’ve spent investigating for a “cure” to Buffy’s comatose state. Anyway, until now, this was the best thing I had.