by Rae, Nikki
I lean away from him so I can see his face, and he's smiling. Slowly, I press my ear against his chest. The same way I did when he told me all of these secrets.
I’m not expecting this, but I can hear it.
It isn't like mine. It's a small, almost mechanical sound. If I breathe too hard, I’ll miss it completely. But I hear the faint, wheezing bumps of it. Too slow, too weak. Unnatural, but there.
“It doesn't change anything,” Myles whispers into my hair. “It's the same thing as evolving to eat food. My heart can beat, but it serves my body no purpose.”
I pull my head away and cup his head with my hand so he'll look at me. His turquoise eyes meet mine. “Hearts don't have to beat in order to feel something, fortunately,” he says softly.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I ask.
Myles shrugs. “It’s relatively new.”
“It seems like a big deal.”
He smiles, the crescent moon shape appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
I can't help kissing him.
My heartbeat speeds up again as we shift our weight so we're more comfortable. He’s not exactly on top of me, but when we’re side by side on the couch, his head is above mine. His hand that was resting on my neck is now at the back of my head, the one that was on my knee inches up to my thigh, skimming the hem of my dress. I let it all happen without feeling like I should stop him.
Myles only kisses me once before his body tenses up and he leans his head away from my face, burying it in my neck.
“Are you okay?” I ask, out of breath for no reason.
He nods. “Fangs,” he mumbles under his breath. After a few seconds, he lifts his head. “I'm alright.” And when he smiles, I see a flash of his slightly sharper canines before they disappear.
Myles kisses me again, and we keep kissing.
My skin gets hot, my hands intertwining in his hair as one of his comes to rest at my ribcage. His mouth leaves mine only to kiss my cheek, my throat, my collarbone, then back to my neck, shooting hot waves of uneasiness, then contentment through me.
And what’s supposed to be a passing thought turns into a very real, lingering impulse. I think for the first time, what would it be like, his mouth on my throat, his teeth—fangs—embedded in my skin?
“Go ahead.” It leaves my mouth before I have a chance to think about it.
Myles stops, and I'm sure he's about to ask me if I'm crazy when he pulls away so he can look at me. But instead he asks, “Are you sure?”
I lean into him, his lips against my cheek. “Does it hurt?”
I feel him smile against my skin. “No.”
“Will it leave a scar?”
He kisses me on the lips. “No.”
“Okay.” I stick out my neck and close my eyes.
I hear him laugh softly. “No, not like that,” he whispers in my ear as his hand cups the side of my face.
I relax as Myles kisses me again. His hand doesn't leave my temple, but his lips trail to my cheek, then to a spot below my right ear, down the side of my neck. I'm vaguely aware that his free hand reaches around to rest on the small of my back.
My heart was beating fast before, but it's nothing compared to this.
This time, it's not fear that has me breathing too hard, not some part of me telling myself no. This is something new.
My arms wrap around his waist, where I can feel all the muscles of his abdomen and his ribcage expanding and contracting, matching my own breathing almost exactly. Our bodies are so close, and I want them to be closer.
When I feel it, it's not what I was expecting.
My brain becomes slightly fuzzy and it’s like he's just kissing my chest at first. A really intense, deep kiss centered at my left collarbone.
There's an unmistakable piercing of the skin. That same pressure and then release that comes just before a needle goes through your ear or nose, but the pain doesn't follow.
I wait for it. My head becomes light, my limbs start to go limp. Instead of pain, my entire body tingles, from my lips to my hips to my thighs. I don't hate it.
Myles' hand slowly travels from my face to the back of my head, cradling me as he shifts over me and we sink deeper into the couch. His thumb smoothes my hair back and forth, over and over again.
My hands clutch onto his shoulders from underneath his arms, grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt as his shoulder blades flex and he tries to keep his weight off of me. Having him on top of me doesn't bother me the way it had before; it only intensifies my wanting him to be closer, so much closer.
My heart beating drowns out all other sounds. My breathing against his becomes the most important thing on the planet.
It feels like an eternity slips between our bodies, but as soon as I'm aware of the time that passes, it's over.
Myles slowly pulls his head away, and immediately I'm left feeling bereft, like he's been torn from me. My head follows like we're attached in some way. Gently, the hand that he has behind my head guides me to a pillow. My eyes open, but everything spins and I can't focus on anything.
“Keep your eyes closed for a minute, okay?” Myles' hoarse voice whispers into my ear.
I don't argue with that. A tingly sensation floats over my body and my head. It's like there's sparklers lighting up and fizzing, playing with every nerve ending.
I try to calm my breathing back to normal as my head sinks into the fabric of the couch pillow. Myles moves my hands away from his shoulders, lying them on my stomach. I sense him get up, and my fingers clamp around his wrist.
“I'll be right back,” he says gently. “Okay?”
My neck feels stiff, but I nod anyway as I let go.
I hear him walk down the hall and into the bathroom. Water running. He's only gone a minute or two, but my body aches for him to come back.
Before I can give this a second thought, Myles has returned, the weight of his body dipping in the couch near my legs when he sits. The feeling that he's too far away fades immediately when a hand grazes my cheek. My eyelids flutter open to Myles' smiling face. His eyes shine in the dim light, his fangs are put away.
And I have never felt so high in my entire life.
Everything around him shimmers and sways, his pale face is practically glowing.
Myles turns my head to the side to inspect the mark he's created. From the feeling of a slight wetness, it's just above my left collar bone, but it doesn't hurt. My eyes close again as I hear the sound of plastic crinkling. He smoothes a large, square Band-Aid onto my skin.
“Are you alright, Sophie?” he asks, voice soft and echoing all around me.
I can't help the dopey smile that spreads across my face. “Uh huh.”
The fabric of my dress is pulled back over my knees. I wasn't aware that it had gotten as far as my upper right thigh until Myles adjusts it to where it’s supposed to be. Honestly, I don't even care.
“Dizzy?” he asks at the same time my eyes crack open.
I nod, the smile sticking to where it is.
I turn on my side, pressing my back into the sofa as far as it will go so Myles can lie with me, wrapping his arms around my waist as I do the same to him. A slight chill passes through me as he pushes the hair from my face, and he takes the blanket hanging over the back of the couch and covers me with it, tucking it around my shoulders.
“Cold too?” Myles asks.
I nod again, snuggling into his chest. I can hear the mechanical beating of his heart whispering to me through his shirt.
“You feel warmer,” I say.
One hand strokes my hair. “The blood,” he says quietly.
“I'm tired.” Apparently my brain can't keep to one subject right now.
Myles shifts his weight and kisses my forehead. I feel a little wash of heat spread from where his lips meet with skin. I smile again.
“You're going to be for a little bit,” he says. “A side effect.”
My hand finds his. “Any other. . .” It t
akes a few seconds to think of the word, even though Myles just said it. “Side effects?”
He laughs softly again. “Don't worry. The drugged feeling will be gone by tomorrow.”
I find myself oddly disappointed by that.
“You might feel closer to me,” he whispers. “Want to be around me more. And I might feel the same way too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It's all in the blood,” he says. “And you'll have a mark for a few days. It might get sore.”
I nod against him; his t-shirt feels like the softest material against my face.
“You might be a little more drowsy than usual until it fades,” Myles continues. “It would help if you ate a little healthier. You know, until it heals.”
I snort. “I bet I taste like Pop-Tarts and Red Bull.”
Silence.
Good job, Sophie. Zero to awkward in less than two seconds.
“Sorry,” I say into his chest. “I have no control over my motor functions right now.”
“No,” Myles says. “It's alright. I was only thinking.” He sighs, resting his chin on top of my head as his finger traces one edge of the bandage. “I guess you're not far off,” he finally says.
I laugh a little. “Really?”
“It's kind of like sugar. Sweet.” His voice sounds far away. “I. . .” he pauses, sounding unsure of whether or not he should go on.
“You can tell me.” I lightly poke him in the side.
“I've only had blood from the blood bank. I haven't taken it from a person in a very long time.”
I nod so he'll continue.
“It always tastes like chemicals. This was. . .different.” His hand strokes my arm now; up down, up, down. “It didn't hurt, did it?”
Recalling it only makes me smile again. “No. Not at all. It was. . .crazy. Like…” Come on, brain, work with me. “Just amazing.” Good enough.
Myles kisses my forehead again.
Time passes. Minutes, hours, I have no clue. I hover between sleep and waking, my heart beating against my chest and Myles' beating out of time in his.
“Would you like to stay here tonight?” He whispers, breaking through the fuzzy cloud that's surrounding me.
It’s still too early to go to bed, but I can’t imagine doing anything else right now so I nod.
“I'm going to pick you up, okay?”
I nod again.
I don't notice that I’m in his arms and being carried until we stop moving. My body meets cool sheets; my head, a soft marshmallow pillow. Myles covers me with a blanket, and I open my eyes to see where he's taken me.
There are plain, light tan walls with dark wooden furniture sitting against them: a bookshelf, a dresser, an end table on either side of his bed. The bed itself is a king, framed in the same dark wood, the head and footboard a straight, modern edge. The comforter is plain white and fluffy. Underneath that, a dark blue sheet peeks out, which matches the color of the pillow cases. Hung on the far wall are three blown up, black and white photographs of trees. Ansell Adams, if I remember my art appreciation class correctly.
“I like your room,” I say as Myles sits next to me, one of his arms leaning over me so he's closer. His free hand smoothes some hair out of my face.
He smiles. “Thank you.”
My eyes close again and I feel him shift like he's about to get up.
I wrap my hand around his wrist. “Where are you going?”
“You want me to stay here tonight?”
I nod, opening my eyes a little so I can look at him. Myles motions with his head in the general direction of the bed. “Get comfortable.”
I move over a little, lying the right side of my head on the pillow next to me and closing my eyes again.
I hear the light flick off.
“Do you want me over or under the covers?” Myles' voice comes from behind me.
“Under,” I say without hesitation.
The blanket lifts and then falls. I expect Myles to keep his distance, but he wraps an arm around my waist over the comforter, his head is right behind mine so my back is against his chest.
“Am I too close?” he murmurs into my hair.
“No,” I say. “This is fine.”
Myles' hand trails slowly up to my neck, down to the Band-Aid where the mark is starting to throb a little. “Does it hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head, but I feel a dull tingle for a second, then it's gone, taking the throbbing with it.
“Sophie,” it comes softly in the dark, just as I'm beginning to drift into sleep.
“Hmmm?”
“Why did you let me do it?”
I shrug. “I just wanted to know what it was like.”
His arm wraps tighter around my middle as he buries his face against the back of my neck. Something in the embrace makes me feel uneasy.
“What's wrong?” I ask, suddenly a little more awake than I was a few minutes ago.
Myles breathes in, lets it out, but there's no verbal response.
I turn slightly, his grip loosening as I do. I place a hand on his smooth face so he'll look at me, and when he does, there is sadness behind his eyes.
“Hey,” I say.
Myles shakes his head, closing his eyes so I can't see what I've already seen.
“What is it?”
He opens his eyes but stares at my arm instead of me. “I've thought about this,” he says quietly. “I've thought about how I would feel if we ever did this.” He takes in another breath, as if to steady himself. “I always thought I would feel guilty. Like I shouldn't have done it.”
“Do you?” I can’t stop my thumb from tracing the soft outer corner of his bottom lip.
He finally looks at me, his eyes a pool of blue. “No,” his voice wavers. “I don't.”
My head leans into his chest and I wrap my arms around him now. “Well that's okay. That's good, right?”
His cheek finds the top of my head. “I don't know.”
I fight back sleep so I can stay here with him longer. “Myles, I wanted to do it.”
“I know.”
“And. . .” I say, though I have to close my eyes so I don’t get dizzy. “I liked it.”
“So did I,” he whispers.
“So what's the problem?”
Myles shrugs. “I guess I just thought you would never want this. I was prepared for that.”
“Well, I did,” I say. “But if you don't want to do it again, that's okay.”
He smiles a little. “No. I think I might want to.” And I smile back, “But not for a while.”
I nod in agreement. “See? Problem solved.” I yawn as I turn around again.
“I don't want you to think I want you as a donor, Sophie.”
“I don't think that.” Plus, I don't think I could deal with feeling like this all the time, no matter how awesome it may feel right now. “I just wanted. . .to be closer to you.”
He moves in, his arm around my waist again. “Well, now we definitely are.”
We both laugh .
“Are you going to sleep now?” I tease.
“No,” he says. “But you can. I'll be awake for a while.”
“You're just going to lie here while I sleep?”
Myles kisses my cheek. “I can stay until you fall asleep, or I can stay until you wake up. It's up to you.”
“I probably won't sleep that long anyway. What is it, three in the afternoon?”
“You will,” Myles says. “And you won't have any nightmares. I promise.”
With that, my mind drifts, and as promised, I find peaceful, nightmare-free rest that holds onto me as tight as he does.
Cracks in the Pavement
Chapter 8
“I’m not calling you a liar, just don’t lie to me.”—Florence and the Machine
I wake up to the smell of coffee, strong and demanding in my nostrils. I try to sit up right away, but that doesn’t happen so I open my eyes instead, the room momentarily spinning and then steadying itself. My n
eck is only a little stiff; I don’t feel that dizzy until I sit up, so I wait a minute or two before stretching and finally situating my feet on the floor. Slowly, I stand and start walking toward the kitchen where I assume Myles—and more importantly, the coffee—is.
He’s standing in front of the stove when I walk into the room, dressed in dark blue jeans and a t-shirt that I realize is for The Black Keys when he turns around.
“Hey,” he says, smiling. “Sit down.”
I do as I’m asked, taking a stool at the counter. Moments later, a mug filled with black coffee is set down in front of me. Myles kisses my head.
“What time is it?” I ask, my throat scratchy.
“It’s seven AM.” Myles walks back to the stove. From the smell of it, he’s making bacon.
“Holy crap.”
Myles sets down a plate in front of me with scrambled eggs and bacon on it, then does the same for himself as he sits on the stool next to me.
“How did you sleep?” he asks.
I can’t seem to shovel the food into my mouth fast enough, but I say, “Awesome,” between bites.
We eat in comfortable quiet for a few seconds. “And do you feel okay?” He takes a sip of coffee.
I pause to take a gulp of my own coffee before returning my attention back to my eggs. “Yeah.”
After a few more minutes of just eating, Myles asks, “Do you have any plans today?”
“I’m rehearsing with Honus later,” I say. “But other than that, I’ve got nothing.”
“Want to come to Evan’s house with me?”
The question catches me so off guard that I have to stare at him for a good time before I say, “Okay. . .”
“I figured I could bring Malakhi,” Myles continues. “Ava hasn’t seen him in a while.”
With my breakfast finished, I smooth my hair into a ponytail. “They live together?” I try for small talk.
He shrugs. “About an hour from here.”
“So. . .we’re all going to hang out?”
“Well,” Myles says, clearing our dishes and walking around the counter to put them in the sink. “Evan and I have some club stuff to go over, so I thought you and Ava could hang out.”
“Right.” Call me crazy for not being excited about this idea.
