by Rae, Nikki
I sigh now. “I guess. But—”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, holding my face in his hand again so I look at him. “We don’t need to do this.”
“But I want to,” I say. I really, really, do.
Myles grins. “Then we’ll try.”
I snort. “What does that even mean?”
He shrugs. “I guess we need to practice,” he says. “I need to practice learning when to stop—before you get uncomfortable without being able to feel what you feel—and you need to practice facing your fears.”
“It sounds simple when you put it that way.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
“It could be simple.” He smiles back.
We’re quiet, but not uncomfortably so.
Then suddenly, Myles moves. I back away, letting go of him when I’m sure he’s about to get up and convince me to do something else like watch a movie to get my mind off of it. To get both of our minds off of it.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he moves closer. Instead, he lifts me by the waist so fast that I barely feel his fingers through my dress against my ribcage. I’m not even aware of the jump in my stomach when I’m kneeling between his legs and he’s underneath me.
That’s bullshit. I’m aware of everything.
From the lightheadedness to the butterflies, to the nausea that I was waiting for arriving right on time, I’m painfully and dreadfully aware of everything, but I focus most of it on not being sure where to put my hands. First they hover mid-air, then one is on the back of the couch, the other still locked in place at my side. Then both of them seat themselves on his chest, which is either a really good or really bad decision as far as my anxiety goes.
“Don’t freak out,” he says, his fingers interlocking in mine. “Your heart’s going crazy.”
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but it shakes a little at first.
“I’m making you the one in control,” he says like it’s obvious. “You are the one who can initiate things,” he says. “Or not.” He shrugs. “You can get up right now and we can go listen to music or something. It’s completely up to you.”
I go for a joke. Lame, I know, but I’ve got nothing. “Those seem like some pretty different choices.”
Myles raises his eyebrows, joining in to put me at ease. “It appears that way.”
My eyes are glued to his hands on top of mine, my pale skin sticking out against the dark blue of his Led Zeppelin T-shirt.
So what will it be: move away and practice later? Listen to music and try to pretend that I don’t want to be near him, touch him, kiss him?
Nah.
In the end, my body knows what it wants. It always does.
I lean in and brush my lips against his, letting time swallow us up for a few hours.
***
“I think we should probably eat,” I say when we’re sitting side by side once again. I don’t want to stop, but it’s one PM and I’m starving.
Myles pushes hair from my face. His cheeks are flushed and I bet mine are too. “It’s still hot outside.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll deal.”
As Myles drives around the block to park the car, I go inside the Chinese restaurant Myles picked out, where a nice brunette sits me down at a booth in the back of the all red room with cherry furniture. The mere smell of the food as it sits on other peoples’ tables makes my stomach jump.
I tell the waitress that I’ m waiting for someone, but I order a coke for myself.
My phone buzzes on the table next to me.
Myles’ name flashes on the screen. “Found parking,” his text reads. “Be in soon.”
I smile, place my phone in my bag, and start to unbutton my trench coat. I hear the whoosh of the seat across from me as someone sits and it captures my attention.
“That was fast,” I say before looking up.
I almost wish I hadn’t looked ahead of me at all.
His eyes are what I see first: grey, cold. His dirty blond hair falls into his eyes and he brushes it back. That was a move that once brought me to my girlish knees, but not now. Not by a long shot. He scratches his five o’clock shadow, not speaking.
I’m not about to give him the chance.
I stand up, begin to re-button my coat, but my hands are shaking and my knees are buckling.
“Wait,” Jack, my nightmare says.
This isn’t real. I’m just tired, I tell myself. Hallucinating. Dreaming.
My stomach lurches forward like I’ve made a fast stop in a car and my body is preparing itself for impact.
“Look,” he says. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I know I have no right.”
I glare at him. A brave move on my part.
He looks away briefly.
I swallow. “What do you want?” My voice comes out small and choked. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t call the cops right now,” I say, maybe to threaten him, maybe to scare him. I doubt either of those things happens.
“I need to talk to you,” Jack says. His voice isn’t exactly calm, but more even than mine.
I stare at my hands, still on the buttons of my coat. I don’t think I can look at him. “Talk.”
“I’m sorry.”
My heads whips back up in his direction.
“What I did…” He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t myself.”
I blink. My eyelids are the only things that are able to move right now.
“Something’s been happening to me,” he continues. “Last December, I checked into a hospital…you know, like, a mental one.”
I notice my waitress turning the corner with my coke in her hand, but I think she can sense something—a couple having an argument—so she spins back around and heads back into the kitchen. “They can’t help me,” Jack says. “But they made me—uncover things.”
Now my eyes dart right to him. Through him. Does he want me to be a part of his twelve-step program for rapists? Step 1: apologize to the people you fucked up beyond repair?
“I’m not asking for forgiveness.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.
I’m starting to feel it. That itch I must scratch. The millions of tiny spiders crawling around in my brain and under my skin. I didn’t think I would feel it ever again, but that was really dumb. Monsters never truly go away. They claw their way to the surface eventually.
“I could never ask you for that.” Jack looks like he’s going to say more, but there’s a cool squeeze of my hand. I know who it is.
Jack stands up, but he stops talking.
“You should go now.” Myles’ voice sounds crystal clear as he positions himself between Jack and me, gently pushing my stiff body behind him.
Though Myles’ shoulder blocks most of my view of this ass-backwards situation, I see Jack’s grey eyes bulge slightly. They dart from our entwined hands, to my face, and back before finally settling on Myles.
I’m not sure why Jack is so scared. He’s bigger than Myles, taller. He should be thinking that he can take him, not that he’s going to wet his pants.
Call me crazy for liking that look on him.
“She can talk to whoever she wants,” Jack’s voice falters.
“You’re right,” Myles shoots back, his voice disturbingly calm. “But as far as I can tell, she does not want to talk to you.” He glances at me, his face concerned. I nod in agreement because it’s the only thing I can do at this point. I feel so helpless, not being able to say these things to him myself.
“I know what you are.”
My eyes snap back up to Jack as he declares this quietly.
Myles doesn’t have a reaction besides anger and annoyance. His hand leaves mine. He takes a step toward Jack. My pulse jumps into my throat as I look around for any signs of our waitress or anyone else. There’s a couple laughing and talking a few booths down, a group of four at table in the corner. A few of those people glance at us, but only for a secon
d. At least they see it too. I’m not dreaming.
Myles’ hands are at his sides now, his knuckles a scary white in his clenched fists. The blue of his eyes is electrified as he takes yet another step closer to Jack.
This is no trick of light; Myles’ eyes are glowing.
“And I know what you are, little boy,” Myles’ voice is still calm as he practically whispers it, but the sound has changed into something I don’t recognize. It’s like there are multiple people talking at once but in different keys.
Now Jack is shaking. His legs start to wobble and he crosses his arms over his chest to keep from trembling. This should make me feel good. This guy—this monster that has caused me so much pain—is getting scared shitless and all I can do is cross my arms the same way in order to keep my body from convulsing. I’m not sure what scares me more: Jack being here at all, or whatever is going on with Myles.
“I,” Jack starts again before I have a chance to think about it further. “I really know what you are.” He sounds like a child mid-tantrum, still trying to get his way and failing.
Myles’ body and expression do not shift.
“Good.” His voice is a little louder now, but still not audible to anyone but us three. Not that anyone has come to our table since the waitress disappeared with my drink. “I’m glad.” Myles takes yet another step forward and Jack takes one back, bumping his hip into the table behind him. “So you know what I will do to you if you do not leave. Right. Now.”
My eyes slowly rise to assess the situation. Jack glances at me like he wants to tell me something, but I dart my eyes back to the dark green carpet below my boots.
“Fine,” I hear Jack say.
I’m not sure if he left or if Myles and him are still squaring off until I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump without meaning to and Myles is in front of me.
“He’s gone,” he informs me. I don’t move. Myles backs away, stares me in the eyes. Mine fix themselves to the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to go home?” he asks.
I nod.
When we’re back at the apartment, Myles hangs in the living room, and for good reason.
I didn’t say a word to him on the way home, and he didn’t offer any conversation either. I couldn’t even look at him. Maybe he was talking to me, now that I think about it, but I wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he was.
All I heard were cars passing by ours and my heart trying to tear its way out of my ribcage, along with the bile gurgling in my stomach and beginning to take hold of the back of my throat.
I go straight to the bathroom with a pile of baggy pajamas. I concentrate on washing my face. If I make sure I get every spec of eye shadow, liner, and mascara off, I don’t have to think about what I just experienced.
That only happens when I’m changing out of the nice dress and into my raggedy pajamas.
***
I picked him up in my powder blue Oldsmobile and we parked at one of his favorite places: the back of the Wawa parking lot. Jack always started out innocent, only turning into the wolf when he knew no one was going to barge in with an axe and save the day. His hand was on my jaw, too rough. He was leaning over the center counsel, pinning me to my seat.
“Stop,” I said when his stubble started to cause a rash on the skin around my mouth.
“It’s fine,” he said, not bothering to pull away.
Flash.
The driver’s side seat got reclined somehow, and he was holding my wrists above my head, pinching the skin. “You’re hurting me,” I said.
“You’re fine,” he replied.
***
Everything I’ve eaten in the past twenty four hours—which isn’t much besides coffee—is in the toilet. My eyes are tearing. My nose is running. My insides are raw.
When I’m done, I wash my face again, this time with cold water. Then I brush my teeth. Three times.
Myles is standing in the doorway to my room when I shuffle my way across the hall. The light is on, and he’s made my bed for me. “I figured you’d be tired,” he explains. He almost looks casual, but I know better.
I’m probably not going to sleep. I think we both know that much.
But he’s right, I am tired. I slip past him and lie on the cool, smooth blanket, deciding my back is the best way. On my side, I only feel like I’m going to blow chunks again. Myles sits in the computer chair across the room.
“You don’t have to do that.” My voice is hoarse.
Myles’ face twitches, maybe not sure of which expression to give me: concerned or okay, but he stands and sits on the edge of the bed.
He takes my hand, slowly, not sure if I’ll allow it.
“Sophie,” he says after a long time. My eyes have closed because my head is spinning and my stomach is flipping around.
“Hmm?” I ask.
“I know you probably don’t want me to ask,” he says softly. “But are you okay?”
My eyes crack open. “Yeah.” I sit up a little, propping myself on an elbow.
“You…” he says, glancing at me. “Got sick.”
“You heard that, didn’t you.”
He nods.
“Yeah. My stomach hurts. I’m fine.”
Myles moves closer and I don’t object to this either. The crawling in my head and palms has finally stopped. All I want is to be closer. He wraps an arm around me, with his hand resting on my shoulder as we lean back together against the headboard.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says.
I think I can take this. Just a little bit so I don’t drive myself insane thinking about it. “What happened?”
His muscles tense a little, but then they relax. “I got upset. Angry. I’m sorry.”
Myles could be saying more but he isn’t. I can tell. “I’ve never seen you like that before,” I say. “I mean, your voice got all weird and your eyes were like…” I can’t really describe to him how they looked. “I thought you were just angry, but…I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like that before.” I shrug, giving up.
He strokes my arm. “I know,” he says. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Didn’t mean to what?” I lean my head down on top of his shoulder for two reasons: so he doesn’t have to look at me as he explains it, and because I can’t keep it upright any longer.
“Sometimes,” he takes in a breath. “I think there are two sides to me. This one—the one I try to be—and the one you got a glimpse of today.” He pauses to think. “The hunter in me. The anger in me. Sometimes, it escapes to the surface. And I…I can’t help it.” Now he shrugs.
“So,” I say. “When you get really angry that happens?”
He nods. “I’m so sorry I scared you like that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just…seeing him after knowing everything he’s done to you. It drove me crazy.”
I guess it’s nice to have a person that cares that much about me, but I’m not eager to see that side of him again anytime soon. “Oh,” is all I can say back.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats for about the twentieth time. “I know it must have been hard seeing him. Then I did what I did and made it worse.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You were just sticking up for me, making sure he would leave me alone the way you knew how. I’m okay now.”
We’re quiet for a long time. “How does he know?” Myles asks, but it sounds like a question that isn’t meant for me.
I had hoped we could put off that part for a little longer, but I’d be lying if I said that very same thought wasn’t nagging at me too. “Yeah,” I say, turning toward him. “How did that happen?”
Myles shrugs casually, and this time, he doesn’t seem concerned. “Any number of ways, I guess.”
“Aren’t you worried?” I ask. “That he’ll tell other people?”
He laughs, a short, cut off, and almost bitter sound. “If you told Boo today that your boyfriend is a vampire, would he believe you?”
I can’t help the snort that leaves me when I try to imag
ine telling him such an insane sounding thing. “Okay, I get it,” I say. “But how does he know?”
He shrugs. “I’ll have to look into it, I guess.”
“Aren’t there, like, rules?” I ask.
“Rules?”
“Yeah. Like, you’re not supposed to tell people about your secrets and junk?”
This question earns me yet another shrug. “Not really,” he says. “But who knows how he got the information. Or from whom. Or how much he knows.”
I try to be more at ease about this. “Yeah…”
“Don’t worry about it.” He waves a dismissive hand. “He’s nothing.”
Myles leans me back against his chest again, and my head feels light and warm and I don’t want to move ever again.
“You’re okay with this?” he asks after a while, slightly moving our clasped hands to indicate what he means.
“Yeah,” I say. “Why?” Like it’s not obvious.
He rests his chin on the crown of my head. “I just thought…” He shifts a little, probably thinking I don’t notice when his free hand clenches into a fist. “You wouldn’t want me touching you.”
I can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. Last time I saw Jack as Jack, I didn’t really take it too well.
“I…” I start out. “I don’t want to go back.” My voice folds in on itself like a napkin, but I have to keep going. I close my eyes and when they open they’re a tiny bit moist. Damn it. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”
He doesn’t need me to explain. He knows. He knows everything.
Myles lowers his head to mine. “So don’t.” His lips move in my hair when he speaks. ”You don’t have to think about him anymore. You don’t have to go back.” A small kiss on my forehead, then, “You can stay here with me. You can move forward. You can be whoever you want now.”
I close my eyes again. It can’t be past three in the afternoon, but feel myself drifting, falling asleep. And I’m not even scared.
Because no matter what dreams and memories await me in sleep, I know that when I wake Myles will be there to help me chase the monsters away.
