Made to Love

by DL Kopp

  “Wow,” Octavius said. “I love it!”

  He jumped forward to the nearest tree and shimmied up the trunk. I watched in amazement as he climbed onto a sturdy branch and sat on it. He closed his eyes and breathed in, then sighed the air back out.

  “You've got a sweet setup here,” he gushed.

  I stared up at him. “You like orchards?”

  “I like this orchard. It feels...like home.”

  Suddenly, I shivered. Octavius looked down at me. “You okay?”

  “This place is a lot creepier when I'm alone.” I could almost hear the weeping again. I pictured my father's angered face, my mom's terrified look from earlier. What was with this place?

  Octavius jumped down and landed in front of me. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, it's nothing.”

  “Yeah. Because looking as white as a ghost and shaking like an earthquake is nothing.”

  I looked up into his eyes. I felt like I could be lost in them forever. “I've only known you two days.”

  “Ever heard of love at first sight?”

  Love. He said love. I didn't know what to think, but my heart...it seemed to know.

  I leaned up, and he leaned down. It was like forces stronger than gravity were pulling us together, forces as elemental and basic as life itself. I had never felt so alive in my entire life.

  Just before our lips touched, light filled the orchard, and I squeezed my eyes shut to keep it from blinding me.

  “Calliope Crepe Crestone!”

  “Crap,” I whispered. I turned my head and did my best to open my eyes.

  Dad stood in the doorway. The light came from floodlights on the side of the house and illuminated the orchard with its cold, unnatural light.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Dad had something to say first. “You,” he hissed. He wasn't looking at me.

  Octavius had a hand shielding his eyes. “Hello, sir. I'm Octavius. I go to school with--”

  “You shut your filthy mouth.”

  “Dad!” I gasped.

  “I've told you before that your kind isn't welcome here!” My dad's accent seemed thicker than ever. “I see one of you out here again, I'm getting the big guns.”

  “Dad!” I yelled. “What is your problem?”

  He stepped out of the house. “Get your hands off my daughter!”

  Octavius started to pull away, but I grabbed his sleeve. “Don't leave me.”

  “Calliope, I don't think--”

  “Please,” I begged.

  Octavius looked up at my approaching dad, then back at me. “Come with me.”

  “What?”

  “Come with me,” he repeated. “Your dad...he’s crazy.”

  I nodded. “Let's go.”

  Octavius grabbed my hand, and a shot of electricity ran through me. I felt like I could follow him anywhere.

  He began to run, and I followed.

  “Hey!” Dad yelled. “Let go of her! HEY!”

  We ran to the motorcycle. I couldn't hear if my dad was following, since my heart was pounding so loud I could feel it in my teeth. But when we climbed on, I turned and saw that my dad was still next to the house. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The bike roared to life, and we drove into the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  The night air blew through my hair, sending it flowing behind me underneath the helmet. I clutched Octavius hard, trying not to be thrown free as we wound through the twisting roads of the Oregon back country.

  Surely the passing forest was beautiful, but I had no idea. We were going too fast. We blew past harbors, stretches of forest, the occasional little house. Where we were going, I didn’t know, nor did I care. I didn’t want to let go of Octavius, and I especially never wanted to see my dad again.

  What could have been hours later, Octavius pulled up to a boardwalk, stopping with a jolt. After such a long time seeing everything rushing past me, the world was spinning.

  I jumped off the bike and pulled off the helmet, letting my hair swing free. Tears stung my eyes, but I couldn’t let Octavius see me like that, so I turned my back on him. Hugging the helmet to my chest, I looked at the place he had taken me.

  The white beach stretched in both directions. Beyond it, black ocean churned under a waxing moon.

  Just like my dream.

  It was beautiful, but it disturbed me in some deep way. The water looked cold, hostile, alien.

  I almost forgot about Octavius behind me until I heard him set the kick stand on the bike and the creak of leather as he came up to my back. “Calliope,” he murmured, rubbing my shoulders with his hands.

  “What did my dad mean?” I asked without looking at him.

  He rested his chin atop my head. “Hmm?”

  “He said your kind isn’t welcome here. What’s your kind?”

  “I have no idea,” Octavius said.

  I turned in his arms to look at him. His face was so close, so pale in the light. The bangs over his right eye shadowed his face from the moonlight. The faintest hint of sparkles touched his eyelids. “It sounded like he knows you,” I said.

  He gave a low chuckle. “I don’t think so. You guys just moved here, didn’t you? And I’ve only been here for the school year.”

  I gazed at him. Octavius had such an honest face. He would never lie to me—that was my dad’s job. “You’re right,” I said, leaning my head on his chest. He hugged me tight.

  “You want to swim?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his melodic voice.

  “Seriously? It’s maybe sixty-five degrees.”

  Octavius pulled back with an impish grin. “Not afraid, are you?”

  “No,” I said stubbornly. “But… I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  He winked at me. I was growing to adore his winks.

  Octavius leaned on his bike to remove one boot, and then the second. He dropped them, and then unzipped his jacket.

  I stared.

  “Are you…?”

  He pulled his shirt over his head and jumped off the boardwalk onto the beach. He dropped his tee onto the sand, baring a broad expanse of muscular back. My mouth dried out. No way. Allison would never believe this.

  “Aren’t you coming?” he called over his shoulder, unbuttoning his pants even as he ran.

  I followed him more slowly, watching as he dropped his jeans. He wore black briefs. Why was I surprised?

  Octavius dove into the surf and disappeared under the surface. Hesitantly, I removed my shirt – leaving on my lacy bra. My breasts weren’t great—way too big for my petite figure. But it had never been a problem before, because there had never been a guy to look at them.

  What if he didn’t like my body? What if he laughed me out of the ocean? Horror of horrors. “Maybe I’ll stay out here,” I called feebly, folding my arms over my chest.

  Octavius surfaced and flicked something onto the sand. It took me a minute to realize it was his underwear, and I felt myself blush so hard I could have spontaneously combusted.

  “If you don’t come in, I’ll come out and get you!” he sang.

  Even worse.

  “Please, dear Lord, save me,” I whispered to the sky, and then I unbuttoned my skinny jeans and wiggled them down my hips.

  I had to remove my Keds to get them off, leaving me in nothing but black boy shorts with a red star and a bra from the sale bin at Victoria’s Secret. I grimaced.

  Turning my head to the sky, I muttered a quick prayer. “Just don’t let my eyeliner run. The bottle said waterproof and I’ve been a really good girl this year.” I watched Octavius paddle through the water – naked – and added quietly, “So far.”

  Waddling toward the water with my hands still strategically placed to cover my body, I stood at the edge. The water lapped at my toes. It wasn’t as cold as it looked.

  Octavius bobbed up not too far away. He must have been kneeling on the sand to keep his bits underwater and protect my modesty. With his hair plastered to his face and neck, he looked even s
exier than usual—if that was possible.

  “You are afraid,” he said.

  “No I’m not,” I said, but I didn’t do anything to prove it.

  “Come on, I want to show you something. But you have to swim to see it.” Octavius eyed me. “You can swim, can’t you?”

  Doggy-paddle, maybe. “Of course. Yeah. Who can’t?”

  “Then come on,” he said, grinning.

  Squeezing my eyes shut and muttering one more terse prayer, I stepped into the water up to my hips. It was a lot colder like that. “Holy crap,” I hissed, going up to my chest.

  And then Octavius was standing right in front of me. He moved faster than a dolphin, like he was born into the water. Sheer proximity made the water feel a lot warmer. “Hey,” he murmured in a low voice.

  “Hey,” I shivered. My teeth were chattering.

  “Come on. I’ll help you swim.”

  He caught my hand and pulled me out into the water. I struggled valiantly to keep my head above the water and preserve my makeup, but I ended up getting splashed. The salt in my mouth was gross, but I didn’t embarrass myself swimming – much – and he led me to a little cove not far away.

  It was absolutely private, backed right up against a small cliff and ringed by rocks. The water within was shallow, only waist-height, and no waves made it in.

  Octavius hauled himself onto a rock smoothly, sitting up, and I tried not to look at his nakedness.

  “Isn’t this beautiful?” he asked.

  I stared fixedly at the moon. “Yeah. Really, really beautiful.”

  He began to sing. If anything, he was singing even more beautifully than he had in front of his band—his voice was the ocean, and the beach, and the wind through the rocks.

  It took me a minute to realize just what he was singing. “The only color in my bleak existence is the red leeching from my arm. My soul is so charred it frays, burning in the flame of my discontent.” He shot me a look over his shoulder. “Why? Why can’t I cry?”

  I found myself moving closer to his rock, drawn inexorably toward Octavius. It didn’t even occur to me to wonder how he could know that poem when it had never left my bookshelf at home.

  The only thing I knew was his song, his voice, and that I wanted to be with him very, very badly.

  He dropped off the rock and took me by the shoulders, pushing me against the boulder. Octavius towered over me, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I think I asked you if you believed in love at first sight,” he said.

  I couldn’t find the words to respond. All I could manage was a nod.

  Octavius bent and brushed his lips against mine. A gentle touch, nothing more. And then I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his neck, and I kissed him back.

  In that moment, my life was perfect. I wanted nothing more than the soft brush of Octavius’s lips, and the feel of his fingers caressing the side of my face. I loved the crush of his body against mine. I loved his smell, his taste.

  But it wouldn’t last long.

  Distantly, someone screamed the scream of lost hopes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I awakened in a bed.

  With a start, I pushed into a sitting position and looked around. The room was unfamiliar at first, but my memory gradually returned, and I recognized the nooks and crannies of my new Coos Bay room.

  Groaning, I sank into the covers. My mom must have set up my bed while I was at school the day before. But what about last night? Had all the adventures with Octavius been a dream?

  I caught the scent of my hair. It smelled of sea salt.

  What happened? I remember Octavius, and the beach, and... nothing.

  I must have fainted. It was the only explanation. Everything was so beautiful and perfect that I had passed out, and Octavius was kind enough to bring me home. After all, I only felt a little sore from fighting the surf and a headache, probably from the fainting.

  Carefully, I dressed in the bathroom, and I headed down to breakfast. I had no idea what I would find, but my growling stomach drove me onward. Not that I'd need much – a piece of toast was probably enough to keep me the rest of the day – but I'd have to face the music eventually, and better now than at a time I could be with Octavius.

  My mom was the only one at the dining room table.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she said through a mouthful of egg. “Dad's going to be working for the next few days, so he won't be around much.”

  That happened quite a lot, but even so, I was suspicious. Maybe it was just me, but the timing seemed...off. Either way, I needed food, so I slipped into my seat and started to fill my plate with the offerings from the middle of the table.

  Mom squinted at me. “You're not looking so good.”

  “I didn't sleep much last night,” I grunted.

  She reached her hand across to touch my forehead, and she clucked disapprovingly. “You're burning up.”

  “I'm fine.”

  But she was already up getting her thermometer. I knew I was fighting a lost cause – if Mom decided I was sick, I was sick – but it made me feel two years old. Ugh. Couldn't I choose if I wanted to go to school?

  Sure enough, my mom stuck the thermometer in my ear, and the number on the display read over 100. There was no way she would let me step foot out of the house.

  Despite my protestations, she pushed me upstairs, into my room, and into the layers of cushy sheets. I wouldn't deny that I wanted a little more shut-eye, but I had more important concerns.

  “Mom, I just started school. I can't just--”

  “Yes, you can,” she said. “It's only for a day or two.”

  “But Mom--”

  She hurried out of the room and closed the door. I heard the lock click.

  Lock?

  I jumped out of bed and ran to the door. A lock had indeed been placed on my door, but on the wrong side. I couldn't choose when to bar entry to my room, but whoever had the key could prevent my exit.

  I was a prisoner in my own bedroom.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I shook the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Mom?” I asked, but her footsteps receded on the other side. “Mom! You can’t do this to me!” I threw all my weight into trying to open the door, but the fever got the better of me. My head spun, and I had to sit down on the bed.

  My parents had always been overprotective, but this… this was new.

  Last night’s exchange swam to the forefront of my memories once more—almost kissing Octavius in the apple orchard, and then a bright light, and my dad yelling at us. I’ve told you before your kind isn’t welcome here.

  Was I locked up because I was sick and they didn’t want me to get out, or because they didn’t want someone to get in?

  “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, pulling open my bedside drawer and removing the jewelry box. I didn’t wear much jewelry, so I mostly kept junk in my jewelry box—including bobby pins. I’d never picked a lock before, but I’d seen it on TV enough to know the theory.

  One pin goes on top of the other to move the tumblers, the other is for leverage. It never took longer than a couple seconds on TV. Easy, right?

  A half hour later, I flung the bobby pins back in the drawer and sat on my bed. “Okay, not so easy,” I muttered. Especially not when I still felt so sick.

  Someone rapped a knuckle on the door.

  “Breakfast, Calliope,” Mom said from the other side. Keys jingled, and I hurried to get under the covers. The door unlocked and she came in bearing a tray of food and an apologetic smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I said. “Why don’t I go to school now? I’ll only miss my first class.”

  “Oh, hush. You know that’s not a good idea.” She sat on the side of the bed, placing the tray on my lap. The food looked entirely unappetizing.

  “Why?”

  She gave me a stern look. “You know, most kids are happy to stay home from school.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore. I want to go to
school. I want to learn.”

  “Cal,” she sighed, setting the ring of keys on the bed beside her. I tried not to eye them too obviously. Most of the keys I recognized—they went to my parents’ variety of cars and the front door. But one was unlike the others: large, silver, antique. It kind of looked like it might match the lock on my door. “We’re just trying to protect you?”

  I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. “Yeah. Okay. But can I go to school tomorrow?”

  She leaned over and hugged me, and I slipped my hand around to tug the silver key off the ring. Too big for the loop to hold it, the ring was on a separate clip. “Maybe,” Mom said, and then she ruffled my hair. “We’ll see tomorrow. I’m going to go to your father’s office at the university for awhile—try to relax and enjoy your breakfast.”

  Mom left, shutting the door and locking it behind her. I nearly drowned in my disappointment. I had grabbed the wrong key.

  I took a second look at the one I had snatched, turning it over in my hands. It was heavier than it looked, and ornate. Definitely not a normal house key. Maybe it went to the basement door—not that it did me any good, since I couldn’t get down to the basement anyway.

  Sullenly, I forced myself to eat some of the horrible food. “If Octavius was here, he could get me out,” I muttered around a mouthful of fried egg.

  When I finally put aside my food, I put in a few more half-hearted attempts at picking the lock. The house was empty now, so I could make all the noise I wanted, but banging and rattling at the lock didn’t improve anything.

  Standing in the middle of the room, I shivered and rubbed my arms. Stupid drafty old house.

  Wait… drafty?

  My door and windows were shut, but air was getting in somewhere. Holding my hand out to feel the faint breeze, I followed it up to the bottom of the tower. There was a crack in the stone wall from which the air was blowing. It was a little too warm to be coming from outside.

  I leaned close to the wall, inspecting the stones. There was a hole in the corner of one of them, and I wiggled my finger into it to feel around.