Velvet

by Temple West

  “Can you help her inside?”

  “Sure.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t ask any more questions, just slung my arm over her shoulders and helped me walk through the door. After she deposited me in my seat, the bell rang, and I knew Adrian would be long gone.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Trish whispered, leaning close before Mr. Warren took roll.

  “I’m tired,” I replied bluntly. My cheek was stuck to the desk and my eyes were cemented shut.

  “You look like you haven’t slept for a week.”

  “Mphm,” I replied. More like two weeks, but whatever.

  “What’s wrong with Duchess de la Mara?” Meghan asked. I’d made the mistake of looking at her face; she wore lipstick so bright it seemed to pierce my eyes.

  Mr. Warren saved the day. “Rise for the Pledge of Allegiance, please. You, too, Ms. Holte.”

  Trish grabbed my arm and all but dragged me up. I mumbled the pledge and fell back down into my seat when we were done, dragging my sweatshirt hood over my face and propping my chin on my fist to appear awake. It seemed to work; Mr. Warren didn’t bother me the rest of the class, and Trish raised her hand to answer whenever he looked in our direction.

  As the bell rang and we headed to math (a class I had trouble staying awake in anyway), Trish glowered at me. “Mystic, something is seriously not right with you.”

  I laughed, a little hysterically, because it was funny.

  “See?” she demanded. “This is weird!” We took a seat as far back in the old brick classroom as we could. “Not to mention that you and Adrian have been acting funny since New Year’s.” She looked at me suggestively, and I wasn’t exactly sure why.

  Leaning my face on my arm, I closed my eyes. “As far as me acting weird, it’s honestly just because I’m tired.” To make lying to her simpler, I decided to tell her the truth. Part of it, anyway. “I’ve been having these nightmares a lot, and they keep me awake. If I’m with Adrian, I can usually get back to sleep.” I yawned hugely. “But my aunt and uncle grounded me”—Trish had already heard this story, and found it equal parts hilarious and awful—“and Adrian’s been acting weird, so I don’t want to bug him right now. Family stuff, I think.” I opened my eyes blearily to gauge her reaction.

  She was frowning, obviously displeased. “De la Dumbass is not taking care of you. And he should have stood up for you in front of your aunt and uncle.” A mischievous smile spread over her face. “I’m gonna have to have a little chat with the stud muffin.”

  I thought about telling her no, she shouldn’t, because he did take care of me (just not in the way she might think). But I didn’t. Because maybe she could figure out why he was ignoring me and being so weird. Trish had a way of getting information out of people.

  Second, third, and fourth periods passed slowly. When lunch rolled around, Adrian was waiting for me outside the art room, as usual. Before he could say anything, I reached into his jeans’ pocket and snatched his keys.

  “I’m gonna take a nap in the truck.”

  Trish walked up as I walked away. I could hear her exclaim, “Adrian! By golly, what on earth are you doing here? Y’know what? I was just thinking about you…”

  I smiled as I opened the door to the truck and climbed in. I really shouldn’t let Trish interrogate him. But she deserved to have a little fun, and he deserved to be uncomfortable for twenty minutes. I set the alarm on my cell phone, laid my head down on the seat, and immediately passed out.

  * * *

  “I got to hand it to you, Mystic, that boy is not easy to read,” Trish said, plunking her book on her desk after lunch. “I mean, I never really knew Adrian, but I’ve had more animated conversations with brick walls.”

  Thank God, I wasn’t crazy then.

  “What’d you talk about?” I asked, feeling weirdly excited, or maybe nervous, or maybe afraid. Probably all three.

  “Trish?” Mr. Warren called out, looking up from his roll sheet.

  “Here,” she answered, looking up at him. She turned back to me briefly. “Sixth, ’kay?”

  I nodded, and tried to stay awake. Mr. Warren was an interesting teacher, but even the most violent, bloody Civil War lecture wasn’t going to keep my brain functioning on the amount of sleep I’d been getting.

  Forty tired and uncomfortable minutes later the bell rang and we headed off to choir where we could pretty much talk as much as we wanted. As long as some kids had some sound coming out of their mouths, Mrs. Leckenby was satisfied.

  “So?” I prompted once we’d sat down in the back.

  Trish frowned. “He said you’ve been dealing with a lot and haven’t been able to sleep well.”

  She paused, and I asked, “Is that it?”

  “I also mentioned that you two had seemed kind of distant, and asked if everything was okay, and he said something like ‘every relationship has its ups and downs’ and that it was none of my damn business.”

  I stared at her, shocked. “He told you it was none of your damn business?”

  “I know!” she whispered as Mrs. Leckenby looked in our direction. “I’ve never seen him so riled up before. It’s like all this time he’s been pretending to be a really attractive teddy bear but he’s actually a porcupine I poked in the eye with a stick.”

  “Well, what’d you say?”

  She looked pleased with herself. “I told him you were my friend first and it was sure as hell my business to see that you were happy and being taken care of and if you weren’t, there’d be some answering to do and I had three brothers and a boyfriend who’d be happy to take care of the questioning.”

  I stared at her in shock again, this time because I wasn’t sure Adrian had ever been talked to like that before, outside of Julian or me.

  “Well, wow,” I stuttered, “thanks, Trish. For sticking up for me, I mean.”

  She shrugged. “You’d do the same if Ben were neglecting me.”

  Actually, Ben kind of intimidated me. He was, as Trish had once put it, a sweetheart, but he was a massively built sweetheart with arms the size of fire hydrants. I still couldn’t believe Trish had gone up against Adrian. Adrian was slimmer than Ben, but just as tall and, well, ripped. And he was a vampire. She didn’t know that, but still.

  It suddenly struck me that Trish was really my friend. Not just the girl that had treated me nicely when I’d shown up as an orphan, but a real friend; somebody I’d think about fondly ten years from now; somebody I’d try and keep in contact with if either or both of us went off to college; somebody that was there for me without my asking her to be.

  “You okay, Mystic?”

  I broke out of my reverie. “Yeah.”

  “You tell me if he needs to be slapped around a little. I’ll take care of it.”

  The great thing was she was totally serious.

  I grinned at her. “I might just take you up on that.”

  * * *

  “Mystic!” Trish called to me happily as I sat down next to her in first period.

  “Morning,” I mumbled. I felt glued to my chair. I was so tired my arms and legs didn’t even want to work.

  “Trish Fields,” Mr. Warren called out in a voice that did not belong to Mr. Warren.

  My hackles rose.

  I looked up. He was wearing his loafers, his khaki pants, his collared shirt, and sweater vest. But he had dark, wavy hair and piercing silver eyes.

  “Present,” Trish responded, smiling.

  He took a few steps toward her, returning the smile. “I just received word that Oxford is willing to offer you a scholarship, on one condition.”

  Trish looked ecstatic. I tried to warn her, but I was so tired, so heavy, I could barely move.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing much.” He shrugged. “Just a little blood.”

  I managed to let out a mangled curse. Mr. Warren/Adrian glared at me. “This is none of your damn business.”

  He took another step toward Trish, who tilted her neck to the side h
appily. He grabbed her by the jaw with both hands and twisted sharply. I heard the sickening crack of her spine splintering. Unbalanced by her head, attached only by limp folds of skin and muscle, her body fell over sideways, the mangled bones crunching as they hit the floor.

  I screamed, mutedly, in outrage, unable to move. He turned to me again and leaned down, looking me in the eyes with a sick smile. Then his mouth crashed against mine. He pulled back a long time later.

  “Consider her a down payment,” he murmured intimately. “Your cousin is up next.”

  I tried to punch him, but I couldn’t move. He kissed the tip of my nose and smiled.

  As usual, it was a relief to wake up.

  My right shoulder ached oddly, and I realized that I had, in real life, been trying to punch the nonexistent Mr. Warren/Adrian hybrid, but had prevented myself from doing so by the simple fact that I had been asleep. I rubbed my shoulder and looked at my phone. It was three a.m.

  I turned on my bedside lamp and waited for morning, knowing that if I closed my eyes, I’d see him breaking Trish’s neck over and over again. Even if I did manage to fall asleep, I’d simply have another nightmare. Most nights I woke up and started crying because I was so tired. Lately, I’d gotten so tired I couldn’t even cry.

  When my alarm went off, I got up and took a hot shower, wishing the steam would refresh me somehow, but it didn’t. When I got out and looked in the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself. I looked old. Purple bags hung under my eyes and my cheeks were downright gaunt. My sweater hung off me like it had been made for my uncle. I hadn’t even realized that I’d started wearing belts to keep my jeans up.

  This was getting ridiculous.

  I pulled my makeup bag out and actually took the time to put on foundation and blush to hide the fact that I looked like I had an eating disorder. It did a fairly good job of masking the signs of exhaustion, but there wasn’t much I could do about the fact that I looked thin to the point of anorexic.

  I blinked rapidly as tears threatened. My emotions were on such a tightrope and the smallest things set me off. I was tired of being tired; tired of worrying; tired of living like this.

  At lunch, Trish looked at the full two feet of space between Adrian and I, then stared at him pointedly. In response, Adrian scooted marginally closer and kissed me briefly. Without even thinking, I stiffened. He frowned as he pulled back.

  “You could look a little happier,” he muttered in my ear.

  I wanted to hit him.

  “Sorry,” I said quietly, and dragged a smile out of somewhere, pasting it on my face.

  He stared at me and flinched.

  I sat through my classes with all the muscles in my body clenched to keep from exploding. I had to keep my atoms together by force of will so they wouldn’t float off. I had to keep myself together.

  Trish asked me if I was okay. I smiled. I said I was great, just tired.

  Eventually, inevitably, the bell rang again, and I had to go to the library for study hall. When I arrived, Adrian was already sitting, working on homework. At least I didn’t have to make eye contact with him.

  Five minutes before the end of class, he looked up. “I’ve arranged to have you spend the night at Trish’s. I’ll pick you up as soon as you get there. You can stay in the same room as last time.”

  He looked down at his homework again. I looked down at mine.

  End of discussion.

  Never before had it been driven home so bluntly that what we had was a business arrangement. What I had to remember, what I absolutely had to hold on to, was the knowledge that it hadn’t always been like that, and it didn’t always have to be. Whatever the hell was going on with Adrian, I’d figure it out. I’d get him back.

  I had to.

  * * *

  Trish and I had a few hours to kill before I snuck over to the mansion. I was staring blankly at an essay I was supposed to be writing while Trish was on Pinterest browsing for winter formal dresses.

  “Are you and Adrian even going?”

  I blinked, snapping out of my daze. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  Trish shook her head, irritated. “I don’t get him. I mean, I’ve never really gotten him, but I especially don’t get him now.”

  “Me, either.”

  Trish stared at me for a moment. “Y’know, Mystic, if you’re unhappy, you could dump him.”

  I laughed, suddenly—because the truth was, I couldn’t. Not when the mysterious Council decreed that we should still be dating. I wasn’t just worried about what they’d do to me if I refused—I was really worried about what they’d do to Adrian. What had he said? “The consequences for disobedience are high”?

  “I love him,” I deflected. “But it feels like he’s lost interest in me, and I have no idea why.”

  Trish frowned. “That sounds like a very good reason to no longer be dating someone.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to break up with him. I just want him back, the way it used to be.”

  Trish nodded, looking thoughtful. “Well, then, you can call me fairy godmother from now on, because I’ve got an idea.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not having sex with Adrian to get him to like me again.”

  “Um, duh, that would be dumb. I’m talking about visual stimulation.”

  I stared at her, confused, and automatically lifted the can of soda to my lips again. Caffeine was having less and less effect on me, but it helped some.

  “What you need,” she continued, “is a Cinderella moment.”

  I stared at her. “You want me to talk to mice and scrub pots?”

  “No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Look, if you don’t want to break up with him—which I think you should still strongly consider—you need to remind him why he waited all those years of not-dating until you came along. You changed something for him. I saw it, everyone saw it. He just needs to remember.” She glanced at her Pinterest board, grinning. “You need a dress.”

  “For … the dance?” I asked, slowly.

  “Yes. A Cinderella dress. The kind of dress where you walk into the room and everyone stops and stares at you like you’re the heroine in a Disney movie.”

  I considered it a moment, then shook my head, defeated. “I’m so broke right now it’s not even funny.” I threw back the last sip of soda and burped halfheartedly. “I’d still like to come help you guys pick stuff out in Queensbury, though.” But then my brain, sluggish though it was, started churning. “Trish, wait—” I began, staring off into space. “I could make a dress.”

  She raised a brow. “Out of what, bedsheets?”

  I shook my head. “No—Adrian bought me a ton of fabric, and set up a sewing studio for me in his house. I haven’t had a chance to use any of it because of the craziness with the Shirtless Encounter.”

  A gleeful smile began to take over her face. “Can you make it in time? Winter formal’s in three weeks.”

  I chewed my lip, thinking. “I can—but I need your help. Rachel and Joe won’t let me go over to Adrian’s anymore. Could you cover for me so I could use the studio?”

  “Dude,” Trish said, grinning at me. “Yes. I am so down with this. Do you have a design in mind? How does that even work?”

  I thought through all my sketches, the books full of ideas, scanning through them mentally. I quickly decided they wouldn’t work, because I hadn’t designed them for me. I needed something brand-new. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my sketch pad and rubber-banded bunch of watercolor pencils.

  “I don’t know,” I said, smiling. “Let’s find out.”

  * * *

  I shut the door to Trish’s truck and walked over to where Adrian had parked on the side of the road. My family once again believed I was spending the night at Trish’s. The next day was Saturday, so whenever I woke up he would drop me back here, and she would take me home.

  As soon as we walked through the front door, Lucian ran to meet us, sliding breathlessly to a halt. He looked u
p with a smile that slowly faded as he looked first at Adrian, then at me, then back at Adrian, then again at me.

  He didn’t know who to hug first.

  Adrian made the decision easy—he walked into the hall leading to the east wing, leaving us behind. Lucian stared after him.

  “Wanna come help me?” I asked, to distract him.

  He turned and half smiled at me. I gave him a quick squeeze and ruffled his hair like Adrian always did and we headed upstairs to my studio. Pulling out the sketch I’d designed (and Trish had approved), I ran my hands over the bolts of fabric until I found the one I was looking for. It would be insanely hard to make, mostly because the fabric was difficult to work with. If you messed up, you had to cut it off and start all over. That’s just how velvet was.

  I pulled the bolt and laid it on the cutting table, envisioning the pieces in my head. If I was careful, I would have just enough material to pull this off. Nervous, I set the velvet aside and pulled out the dollar-a-yard muslin instead, planning to create the pattern with it first in case I messed up. Usually I had my mom at my side, harping about aligning the grains and offering alternative stitches and little tricks she’d made up over the years. All of that was tucked away safely in my head, and I could recall her voice perfectly from the hundreds of times we’d done this together. It felt right to be working on something again. It felt, almost, like she was with me.

  A few hours later, Lucian and I headed downstairs to have dinner with Mariana and Dominic and, of course, Adrian. A sumptuous meal was laid out, but simply being in this house made me lose my appetite. I picked at my food while everyone else cleaned the supersize portions off their plate.

  “Are you feeling all right, Caitlin?” Mariana asked as she was finishing up.

  “What?” I asked, looking up. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not eating very much,” she persisted. I wasn’t sure if she was concerned about me or irritated because I was dissing her cooking abilities.

  “I’m fine,” I said tightly.

  Mariana didn’t look convinced. I stood up to clear my plate. As I was leaving the kitchen, I could hear Mariana speaking to Adrian.