Personal Demons

by Lisa Desrochers

  “Guys, please. You’re making total fools out of yourselves. Stop.”

  “Fine. We’ll listen from Maggie and Grace’s room,” Kate says and turns on her heel.

  I stand there for a second, realizing it’s not just my emotions that went berserk when Luc and Gabe showed up. The whole universe is out of whack. Not only have all my sisters gone insane, but Kate never does what anyone asks her to.

  I hesitate before pushing the door open, ’cause at the thought of Luc a desperate little knot forms in my stomach.

  He’s out with Taylor. Right now. And, if I know Taylor—which I do—they’re not just talking.

  You don’t want her.

  I feel guilty for thinking it, and I’m not really sure where that thought came from, but as soon as it’s out there, I know it’s true. I don’t want him to want her.

  Don’t kiss her. Please don’t kiss her.

  I slip back through my door and press my iPod onto the speakers on my way back to Gabe. Kicking my shoes off, I spread out next to him on the floor and listen to The Fray’s “You Found Me” rip God a new one for not being there when everything was falling apart.

  Gabe looks up from his book and, for the first time, I see a scowl darken his face. “This song sucks.”

  I look him in the eye. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause it asks some valid questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why God just sits around letting shit happen to good people.”

  Gabe’s posture stiffens. “He’s doing a little more than just sitting around.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I just know. There are miracles every day.”

  “Right. Heaven, God … it’s all a bunch of crap anyway. A bill of goods that organized religion made up to keep themselves in business.”

  His scowl deepens, “You might be right about organized religion, but you’re wrong about God.”

  “I thought you were smarter than that. You can’t possibly believe there’s a God. Not with all the really nasty stuff happening out there.”

  He looks me hard in the eye. “There is a God, Frannie.”

  “Who just comes along and snatches children from their families,” I spit without thinking.

  He looks at me and I can’t hold his gaze. My eyes drop and watch his hand slide across the top of his physics book. Our fingers weave together. “People die. That’s just how it works.”

  Glancing up at my brother’s picture on the dresser, I feel suddenly exhausted. Too tired to fight. A puff of air escapes my throat and a tear courses down my cheek. “You don’t think I know that?”

  I want to scream. I want to push him away. But I don’t have the energy to do anything except lean my forehead on his shoulder and close my eyes.

  LUC

  This is perfect. Taylor’s ginger is nearly choking me. I’d be hard-pressed to think of a single part of my body that she hasn’t touched or brushed against. Everything is going just how I intended.

  She and Riley eat their pizza, and I fish for information. So far, I’ve learned Frannie dates around but doesn’t sleep around; that she drinks at parties but doesn’t smoke; that, despite the whole religion thing, her parents are pretty laid back; and that I’m not her type. This last according to Taylor.

  Truthfully, I’m not being a very good listener because I’m a little preoccupied. Unless Gabriel made the same first impression on Frannie’s parents that I did—which is unlikely, slimy angel that he is—he’s in her room right now. And, even though the bigger threat is that he’ll tag her soul, all I can see is him doing to Frannie what I want to do to her. The irony is that if he did what I’m imagining and took her flesh, it would work to my advantage. Lust is lust, no matter who you’re lusting with.

  But it would also kill me.

  There are myriad emotions whirling through me, some I recognize and others I don’t. But the one that’s winning out, trumping all the others, is jealousy.

  I force a smile. “How long have you all known each other?” I ask.

  Taylor grins. “Frannie moved in down the street from me the summer before fourth grade. When she crashed her bike into my dad’s car, I knew from the word I heard come out of her mouth …” she traces the letters S-H-I-T in pizza grease on the faux marble tabletop, “… that she and I were gonna be best friends. Even though she went to Catholic school up till tenth grade, we’ve always hung out. Then Riley,” she kicks Riley under the table, “moved in during junior high.”

  “Yeah. And I had real friends before who didn’t get me in trouble all the time,” Riley sneers.

  Taylor cracks a smile. “Hey, no one’s ever twisted your arm. You’re responsible for your own actions.”

  “Yeah, right.” She looks at me. “Why is it just occurring to me now that I need better friends?”

  I shrug. “I’d say you could hang out with me, but I can’t guarantee any less trouble.”

  Taylor looks at me and then glowers at Riley. “Choices, Ry. We all have choices,” she says, clearly warning her friend off.

  I slide my foot over and press the side of it into Taylor’s. “Yes, we do,” I say, my words full of innuendo.

  A lascivious smile barely curls the corner of her lips, and I’m overwhelmed by her ginger.

  Riley glares at Taylor. “So we should all probably be heading home soon …” Riley has vehemently defended Frannie all night, dragging her into the conversation frequently as if to remind me of my choices. I know exactly what my choices are, and right now my choice is to use Taylor to drive Frannie over the edge. But first I have to lose the chaperone.

  “No problem. I’ll drop you guys back home.” But as I say it, I press my foot harder into Taylor’s.

  She gets my message and plays along. Standing, she slings her purse over her shoulder and feigns a yawn. “Let’s go. I’m beat.” But that lascivious smile never leaves her lips.

  After I drop Riley off, Taylor eases her hand off the armrest between us and onto my thigh, then pulls back abruptly. “Whoa! I knew you were hot, but Jesus!” she says, and I wonder why she thinks He has anything to do with it. She leans back onto the armrest. “So there’s a place up near this old quarry … it’s pretty quiet. We could go up there if you want.” She eases her hand back onto my leg.

  I unwrap a hand from the steering wheel and lay my arm across the back of her seat. This is what I want—need, really. The surest way I can think of to send Frannie into a rage would be to mess around with Taylor. I lean toward her, feeding off her ginger—letting it take control of me. She shifts in her seat, settling into my side, and I pull her to me. She turns her face into my neck and I feel her hot breath as she nips at my earlobe. Her hand explores my chest and starts to move lower.

  I suddenly feel sick.

  I can’t make myself do it. My brimstone heart feels like it weighs a ton in my chest, dragging me down. What a sorry excuse for a demon I am. Taylor’s serving herself up on a silver platter, and I can’t follow through.

  I can’t have Taylor as an enemy, though, so I shift away, putting my hand back on the steering wheel, and purr with the smallest power push, “As appealing as that sounds, I have some things I need to handle tonight.” Like a cocky angel moving in on my territory. “Maybe some other time?”

  Her eyes cloud over a little. “Okay, yeah … sure.”

  We pass Frannie’s on the way to Taylor’s house, and that bastard’s shiny white Dodge Charger is still in her driveway. I look at the clock. Eleven. How long could a physics lab write-up possibly take?

  I pull into Taylor’s driveway. “Thanks, Taylor. This was fun.”

  She’s recovered, though she still seems a little shaky. “It could have been much more fun. You don’t know what you’re missing,” she says, a suggestive pout on her red lips.

  “Hmm … see you tomorrow.” I lean back against my door, out of temptation’s reach, and smile as she opens the door and steps out.
/>   I watch her go into the house then drive up the street to Frannie’s, where I pull over.

  As bad of an idea as I know it is, I can’t help myself. I slide out of the car and phase into the oak tree next to the driveway, just outside her window. I don’t make a sound as I perch on a branch near the house and listen. It’s quiet in her room except for music. This is bad.

  The urge to phase in there—just pop into her room and interrupt whatever’s going on—is overwhelming. And after what feels like a small eternity I can’t stand it anymore. I close my eyes and focus. Gabriel will know I’m there, but, if I’m careful, Frannie won’t.

  Then I do it. I phase into her room.

  But as I’m shifting through planes, I feel like the wind is knocked out of me, like a bird smashing into a window, and suddenly I’m back on the tree limb. A little stunned, I try again. Same thing.

  What the Hell?

  I remember Frannie’s father—how he was immune to my magic. It appears that Mr. Cavanaugh is better connected upstairs than the pope. I can visit the papal palace whenever I like, no problem. Frannie’s house, on the other hand, is apparently off-limits.

  FRANNIE

  Gabe is so close. He smells like snow and summer and it tickles my nose. His touch on my hand is cool and soft. It’s how I imagine a cloud would feel. I close my eyes as he leans closer and nestles his face into my neck. His cool breath in my ear makes me shudder as he says, “Everything happens for a reason.”

  I pull my head off him and look up into his eyes, hating myself for crying. “I don’t believe you.”

  He smoothes a tear away with his fingertips and gazes down into my eyes. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck, cradling my head, and brings me to his shoulder, burying his face in my hair. I let him hold me for a long time, feeding off his energy. I’ve never felt anything like it, but it makes me warm all over. If you asked me right now, I’d have to say I believe in love, ’cause that’s what this feels like: pure love.

  Could I love him? Is it possible?

  Finally, I pull myself out of his shirt and scrub the tears and snot off my face with my sleeve. When I look up into his eyes, they’re unsure. He starts to lean toward me, and I tip my face up to meet his, but then his eyes widen and he pulls away abruptly.

  “I should probably go,” he says with a shake in his voice.

  My heart pounding, I shake my head a little and try to focus, but I can’t stop the aching deep inside. My emotions are totally out of control ’cause, at this moment, I want nothing more than to forget everything and lose myself in him. I would give him anything.

  On his way out, my parents gush all over him. Mom is beaming, hearing wedding bells, no doubt. “It was wonderful to have you over, Gabe. I hope you won’t be a stranger.”

  “No chance of that, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” he says. His eyes flit to mine, deep and tender.

  “Well, good,” Dad says. “So we’ll see you soon?”

  Gabe smiles, blinding me with the glare. “Absolutely,” he says as he backs out the door onto the porch.

  We meander down my front steps to his car. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for … everything.”

  He smiles softly. “Anytime.” He links his fingers in mine, and I feel my heart skip a little at his touch.

  When we get to his car, he glances back at the house, at my window, and cracks an amused smile. My heart takes off again when he wraps me in a hug and kisses the top of my head. The curve of his body, hard against mine, is almost more than I can handle. My whole body’s buzzing and my breathing is a little ragged as I run my hands over his chest then snake them around his waist and pull him closer. I feel his body tense, but he doesn’t pull back. All of a sudden I’m wishing we were back upstairs in my room.

  I press my face into him, and he holds me for a really long time then kisses the top of my head again. “Lock up after I leave,” he says into my hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He lets me go and an unexpected wave of despair washes over me, making me want to reach out for him again. But I don’t. “Yeah, okay.”

  He climbs into his car and the engine hums to life. “I’m serious, Frannie. Lock up.”

  “Whatever.” I walk up my front steps and wave over my shoulder. But each step is harder than the last, as if Gabe is the sun and I’m trying to escape his orbit. I fight the urge to run after him as he backs out of the driveway. I keep moving, without looking back, and just as I open the door, I hear rustling in the tree near the driveway. I look up. Nothing. Maybe just a cat.

  I glance back at the driveway, and for a split second I’m sure I see a boy my age with blue eyes and sandy-blond curls standing there.

  Matt?

  I gasp and do a double take, but he’s gone … if he was ever really there. I tuck quickly inside, my heart hammering in my chest, and lock the door behind me. I run to my room and lock that door too. Once I catch my breath I walk to the window, lift the blind, and peer cautiously out at the driveway. No one there. I back away toward the bed and reach under the mattress. When I pull Matt’s journal out, I notice my hand is trembling.

  Get it together.

  I feel the familiar tightening in my throat as I write.

  So, Matt. I’m pretty sure I’m going crazy because I thought I saw you in the driveway just now. It had to be my imagination, I know. I’m not that far gone. But you looked just how I picture you in my head … how I think you’d look now.

  I wish I could really talk to you. I have so many questions I need answers to. Gabe insists God is real. Part of me really wants to believe him. If you could just tell me where you are… . Is there a Heaven? God? I’m so confused.

  Two tears, big and round, hit the paper like raindrops. I drop my pen and bury my face in my hands. I’m unraveling from the inside, going crazy little by little. I’m seeing things that aren’t there. And the guilt sits like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

  ’Cause it should have been me.

  I tuck Matt’s journal under my mattress and curl up on my bed, staring at the wall and trying to make sense of everything—of anything. But the only thing that becomes sharper in my mind is my raging headache, so I put on some music and think of nothing.

  10

  My Own Personal Hell

  FRANNIE

  The sight of Gabe, leaning against the building with his hands in his pockets, stops my heart. God, he’s amazing.

  Dad moves slowly with the line of cars and drops me at the curb in front of the school. Gabe pushes away from the wall and saunters over as I climb out of the car.

  Dad looks past me at Gabe, beaming. “Good to see you.”

  Gabe bends down and peers into the car, hands still in pockets. “You too, sir. Thanks again for dinner last night.”

  “Our pleasure.” Dad waves and pulls away, still smiling, and Gabe wraps me in his arms.

  “How are you?”

  “All right.” Other than not being able to breathe, or eat, or think.

  He links his fingers in mine and we walk in silence into the building, where he stands, watching me root through my locker. When I glance up at him he smiles and knocks all the air out of me. He’s so beautiful. Like my own personal angel.

  And I’m such a shit.

  “You good?” he says, gesturing to the book in my hand.

  No. “Yeah.”

  He places a hand on my back to walk me across the hall, but instead, I turn and bury myself in his chest, pressing him back into the lockers. This is what I want. Right? To hell with Luc. But when I look up into Gabe’s eyes, what I see there terrifies me. He’s so open and trusting—and I don’t deserve anyone’s trust.

  I ignore Angelique’s smirk as Gabe guides me across the hall to English. When he leaves I drop my head onto my desk, feeling the cold, hard surface press into my skin, grounding me.

  Gabe and Luc. They couldn’t be more different. So how can I want them both? But I do, in completely different ways. And, after last night, Gabe scares m
e more than Luc. I don’t believe in love, but that’s what I felt. I felt it coming from him, and I felt it in me.

  I pull my head off the desk and examine my shaking hands—and jump when Luc is there, sitting at his desk next to me. Where Gabe is peace and love, Luc is everything else: lust, passion, with this seductive energy that makes me want him in all the wrong ways. And I’m obviously not the only one he has that effect on. I look up to see Angelique hovering in the door, trying and failing to look all casual, like she’s just hanging out.

  A sly smile slides across his face as he leans toward me onto his elbows and, for a second, rage burns through me, making me want to wipe that smile off his face with my fist. He stares into my eyes. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  But you do frighten me. Both of you. You scare the hell out of me.

  “Just tired,” I say, and it’s true. I couldn’t sleep last night, ’cause every time I closed my eyes it was either Gabe or Luc on the back of my eyelids. And I didn’t want to see where those dreams would go. I rub my eyes so he won’t look into them anymore.

  I spend the rest of English trying to ignore the building static electricity between us as we work on our outline. But I’m having a really hard time focusing. When the bell rings, Luc and I aren’t done. And it’s due tomorrow.

  Luc leans back and laces his hands behind his head. “Do you want to get together after school or take the zero?”

  “What do you think?” I say. My tone betrays my frustration. I slide stiffly out of my chair and make my way to the door.

  “Okay, your house or mine?” he says, following me.

  So the thing is, Mom and Dad love Gabe. They couldn’t stop talking about him this morning. They think he, like, walks on water. Luc, on the other hand, not so much. “Yours, I guess.”

  “Great,” he says as we step out into the hall. He sounds pleased with himself. And makes me suddenly furious.

  The lid explodes off my emotional black pit, and I feel my mouth start to move without fully connecting to my brain. I struggle to keep up as words come spilling out.