“Absolutely,” the woman remarks and walks away, never so much as glancing at me in the process. I can feel Cate’s eyes on me, my face twisted with contempt. Pricilla Thynn is a 2nd tier scout, tall and muscular, jet black hair reaching past her shoulders, and a scar inching across her collarbone, one that she wears as a badge, so proud that she faced one of us and lived to tell the tale. I know why she is here. It is not by coincidence that she decided on this moment to make a brief appearance into Cate’s life, that she stood 3 feet away from me, so brazen in this public location.
“Abel?” Cate whispers, reaching her hand across and rests it upon my leg. “Is everything alright? What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s fine.” My even tone clearly stating that everything is not fine. She picks up on my tension and stands then grabs my hand and asks, “Can we go back to your house?”
Thoughts race through my mind; they have made a statement. Regardless of how subtle it may have seemed, it was forceful to me. They are here. They are coming for her, and I promise that the next time Pricilla Thynn enters my view she will not walk away with a scar and a story.
I look back at Cate and hold onto her hand so tightly, as if to keep anyone from separating us. “Absolutely.”
Chapter 7 — Cate
“What was that about? Do you know her or something?” I hold onto to Abel’s hand and lean against him.
“No, I thought she looked like someone I used to know, but it wasn’t her.” His voice is firm, and though I can tell how hard he’s trying to hide it, something is very wrong. It seems so obvious that he must have known her, but how? He just moved here, it’s a little soon to start making enemies.
We walk in silence for most of the way back to his house, the sun is warm against my skin and if it weren’t for Abel’s sudden mood swing, this day would be perfect. I find myself constantly holding onto him. I cannot describe the feeling when he is near, all I know is that it is something I never want to lose. As we round the corner to his street he stops suddenly. I turn and look back at him, his face has shifted into so much sadness.
“Abel, what is it?” I ask, pleading with him to tell me. Closing the gap between us he pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms around me. I feel safe and wrap my arms around his sides.
“I just…I don’t want to lose you. I can’t…” His voice trails off and his thoughts become his own again. I squeeze tighter.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say and he pulls away so that his eyes meet mine and smiles; whatever was on his mind seems to have been remedied by my reassurance, and for that smile I would reassure him a million times.
Abel scans the streets, crowded with citizens leaving their daily work assignments.
“Do you like it here?” I ask and though the thought spills into words before I can decide whether or not I’m ready for a response that is anything but positive I need to ask it. “I mean, are you glad you’re here?” I clarify. He turns the words in his mind and I am grateful that Abel doesn’t match my ability to speak without thinking. I know that whatever his response is, it will always be what he genuinely means.
“Yeah, it’s stuffier than the other places I’ve lived, but I like it,” he says as he scans the bustling main street.
“Stuffier,” I say under muffled breath. It’s the only semi-negative part to his statement and the fact that it’s only that stands out in my mind and makes me wonder if I’m really difficult to please.
He sees my eyes following his taking in the road ahead of us, lampposts stand on either side of a street that is only used by pedestrians. It’s beautiful in a quaint way. I remember when I was younger and the City Counsel decided to block off these four square blocks. Quiet stores surrounding the First Sector Bank and a few unmarked buildings that are commonly referred to as The Government Clubs—not that they’re clubs in any real sense of the word, only that they are exclusive to high ranking officials. I assumed it was to encourage citizens to walk through the shops without the nuisance of car engines and angry drivers. Now that I’m older, I realize that it was to prevent car bombings and that tiny detail immensely diminishes from the picturesque world of my youth.
“Don't you ever want to just yell?” Abel’s voice ricochets in my mind and I snap back to the present.
“Yell?” I mutter, wondering if in my reminiscing I missed some major outrage.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yell because all of these people funneling around us are suffocating in their complacency? Yell so that people stop and take notice?” Abel lays down in the middle of the sidewalk and pulls my hand toward the earth, toward him.
“Abel!” I half whisper, half shout. Quiet citizens shuffle by us trying desperately to ignore the fact that their walkway is being impeded upon by two reckless children.
“Abel, stop!” I laugh. “I don't think we're suppose to be doing this.” I nervously scan for officers but the only people out at this time are those trying to get home for dinner.
He shifts his shoulders onto the pavement, adjusting his body weight in attempt to make himself comfortable. “Why not?” he smirks, sitting up hunching over in false nervousness and looking around. “Is there a law against laying down on a sidewalk?” he smiles and lays back down.
I laugh. I laugh because it should be common sense that one does not take up residence on a sidewalk, but my body finds refuge beside him as confused and irritated people click their heels around us.
“Sometimes it’s good to break the unwritten rules of society, to remember that you're capable of independent thought. To be more than another figure in a grey abyss; that’s all anyone wants anyway, isn’t it?” he asks.
I’m not sure where his pointed words are leading, whether I should feel offended or inspired, but before I have the chance to dwell further, he lifts his arms, reaching his hands towards the sky and shouts, "I'm alive!" over and over. He yells into the space above us, he yells into the crowd, into the trees, he yells into the sky and I swear, someone up there can hear him.
I look at him, and I am enamored with everything he is, everything that makes up who he is and all of those things that I can not get enough of. I turn onto my side and wrap my arm across his waist, pulling my head to his chest so that I can hear the calming beat of his heart. I feel his arms come down as his shouting quiets and he rests his hand on my side, holding me closer to him. I close my eyes and for a moment I allow myself to be here with him, in this moment. I ignore the angry and confused scowls that I’m certain pass us as we lay here on this crowded sidewalk. He is magic and he is mine; he and I and the world.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” My eyes spring alive as a short stout man hovers over us, pointing his baton at us. “You can’t lay there like that?” His words mirror his confusion making it clear that he feels the same way I do, the same way I did. That though there certainly isn’t a rule against such action it simply falls under a ‘humans should no behave this way’ ordinance.
Abel meets the officers stare. “She’s absolutely a terrible influence on me.” He says and the officer’s stern manner begins to ease. “I should have listened to my parents and courted Chelsea Morris instead.”
My eyes narrow at him but I manage to bite my tongue.
“Yeah, well I won’t scan your ID chips into the the ordinance offender list this time, but I’ll remember your faces and you better not let her convince you to do something like this against.” He says.
“Of course, sir,” Abel agrees. “Won’t happen again.” He stands and, with my hand in his, pulls me to my feet. “Let’s let this officer get back to more important manners. Also,” he looks at me, “You’re grounded Miss Quill.” And with that he takes off running south.
I grit my teeth and desperately battle a smile as I chase after him.
“Very clever.” I shout and follow him in the direction of the Cohen residence.
Abel’s parents are sitting in the living room when we walk through the door and I can’t help but think his family i
s like something out of a catalogue. They seem so polished, so flawless and for a moment I wonder what life is like inside this household. If there ever were a home where there are never any dirty dishes, where laundry is always freshly pressed and folded, where no babies cry or dogs bark, this would be that home.
“Cate…” Shoshanna smiles, they always seem so genuinely happy to see me and it constantly catches me off guard. “How was the bookstore? Get anything I’ll have to steal from you?”
“It was great! It’s such a beautiful day today, you guys should—”
“Mom, Dad, can I talk to you for a moment?” Abel interrupts my attempt at small talk and turns and walks down the hallway. Eliath and Shoshanna start to follow.
“We’ll be right back Cate. Make yourself at home,” Eliath says, gesturing towards a chair.
Hearing faint whispers down the hall, I scan the room. The dark, rustic, wooden beams above me make me feel as though I’ve been transported to a time before cars and computers. On each wall there are photographs, some newer looking, some older, all in black and white, except for one that sits on the mantle. Its edges are yellowed and greyed from time and exposure. A man and a woman stand to each side of a young girl at the back of an old brick mansion, green hedges shoot up on either side of them, almost looking like some sort of a maze. The faces are blurry, but they feel familiar. I lift up the frame and try to make out the fuzzy angles. Squinting I see a metal triangle hung upon the home in the background. It looks exactly like the one that adorns Shoshanna’s neck. My eyes narrow and the small success registers as a smile. I have a time period. Maybe I can use this for a reference. I pull my cell phone from my jeans and snap a picture. It’s even blurrier on my tiny digital screen, but it’s better than nothing. Placing the frame back on the mantle, I realize the whispers have stopped and turn around to see Eliath and Shoshanna behind me.
“I was just admiring some of your photos,” I offer as an excuse, hoping they’ll take my touching their belongings as faint curiosity rather than light snooping.
“That photograph has been in our family for a long, long time,” Eliath says and smiles.
“Are they relatives?” I ask.
“No, they were friends of our family, close friends.” He sits back down and brings a notepad to his lap.
“Abel said to tell you to head up to his room, he’ll be up in a minute. He’s grabbing something from the shed.”
Even though it’s the middle of the day, I find myself practically tiptoeing up the steps to his room as each stair groans and creaks under my weight. I turn the brass knob and open his door, a cool breeze greets me and I walk over and sit on his bed. I never thought to ask what his favorite color was, but if I had to guess by the objects in his room, I’d say green. The walls are the color of morning surf and, compared to my pale yellow walls, his room is much more relaxing. A dark brown desk sits in the far right corner and hundreds of books line floating shelves. Everything perfectly in its place except for a notebook which sits on the middle of an area rug in front of his bed.
Abel walks in, closes the door behind him and walks over and takes my hand in his without a word. At first he seems so serious but then a smile effortlessly creeps across his face and my heart melts. We stand there for a moment, hand in hand, his eyes looking into mine until I can’t stand it anymore and I lean in to kiss him. He wraps me up in his arms and I can feel the definition of his body against mine. My mind is racing and all I can think about is how I need him closer. We fall back onto the bed and it occurs to me that I’m not sure where this is going and I begin to panic, but then his lips touch my neck and every fear I’ve ever had disappears. I find my hands reaching down to the hem of his shirt and pulling it towards me, my hands graze what feels like raised lines. He pulls away and reaches his hands over his shoulders to his back and pulls the cloth over his head, tossing it into the corner of his room. I pull him back to me, my hands touching his bare skin, his chest smooth and defined. His hands reach under me and as he moves onto his back, he pulls me on top of him. Our lips meet again and I can feel him start to smile. I open my eyes, “What?” I laugh, not fully understanding why he’s laughing, half annoyed that the mood is shifting, half wondering if I’m doing something wrong.
“Nothing, we’ve just, well we’ve never done this before.” He grins.
“Well what can I say…” I say, rolling over onto my back. “I like you.”
He turns to his side and faces me. “I like you back…” he pauses. “I love you.” My heart simultaneously speeds up and stops at once, the seconds seem to creep by and he inches closer, his arm making its way across my stomach. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back. I just thought you should know.”
What is wrong with me? Why does my body feel utterly paralyzed? Am I wrong for not saying anything? Say something! An electric line of fear pierces me and I tremble at the thought of what will be said next. But then I feel it happen, as most things in life do, the crescendo of thoughts and fears dissipate, and my heart kicks in, giving my mind a break.
“No one’s ever told me that before…” I trail off, partially replying, and partially attempting to process the words he just spoke.
His eyes study me in a way that feels as though he can sense every single thing I’m feeling, that he sees my insecurity and knows that I will scrutinize every detail of what he says next and for whatever reason, he cares about me regardless. His hand caresses my face, pushing back a misplaced hair and he breathes deeply, taking a piece of me with him.
“That seems strange to me, I bet someone has and maybe you just never knew.” He pauses, smiling, “ You’re easy to love.” There’s that word again and the cycle of my panic begins all over. At least I think what I’m feeling is panic. If I could just hold onto an emotion for more than a millisecond I could try to figure out a proper response. I turn to my side and face him, burrowing into his chest and he kisses my forehead. I suddenly feel so tired, exhausted really, and though I want to say more, the right words escape me and I begin to feel myself drift off.
Rain beats down against my face, soaking through my clothes; they cling to my body and a fierce force holds me in place. Hands clutch into my arms, holding them behind my back. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that even though rain is streaming down my face and arms, tears and blood are as well. I somehow know that any attempt at escape is futile. I am not strong enough to overcome whoever has a grasp on me. A cold blade slowly moves up my spine and I hear a guttural laugh as it begins to pierce the skin under my shoulder blade. The expected rush of blood follows and as I sink to my knees, I fall upon a body laid in front of me. My face hits his back hard and the second it does, I know he has already met the fate that I’m about to. My fingers move against his cold skin as if trying to fight their way to survival. Beneath them I feel raised skin and trace the pattern over and over, struggling to remain alive, any movement I can muster is thrown into the motion. My eyes close and a chill comes over me; the pattern beneath my fingers is of two horizontal lines, encompassed by a triangle.
My eyes shoot open and I jump out of Abel’s bed. I remember every moment of what I just dreamt as if I had actually lived it. He’s startled by my sudden physical outburst and, panicked, shouts, “What’s wrong Cate? What happened?” He’s disoriented and clearly had fallen asleep alongside me. I jump over to the opposite side of the bed to where he’s standing looking around the room for whatever could have triggered my outburst. Reaching around to his back I pull at his shirt but he grabs my hand before I make any progress, “What are you doing?” his face searches mine in complete confusion.
“Turn around!” I yell. His face is blank then puzzled. I take a deep breath. “Turn around, Abel.” The voice that escapes my mouth sounds nothing like me, its even toned and rid of any of the compassion that existed only hours ago.
His deep blue eyes stare into mine and as he swallows hard, he obliges my request and turns. Lifting up the back of his t-shirt, I hold my breath.
Inch by inch I raise the cloth and just as I think I may have begun to lose my mind, I feel it. The raised skin, there on his back staring back at me is the symbol that has haunted my thoughts for months. The lines appear deep red upon his fair skin as if he were branded. Sadness starts to pour into my heart at what that must have felt like but it’s instantly replaced with anger, frustration and betrayal.
Altruist (The Altruist Series Book 1) Page 6
