Velvet

by Temple West

  I almost let him go. But the thought of being alone again after everything that had just happened, even for a moment, was out of the question. He turned to leave and I caught his hand. He stared down at it for a long moment before looking at me. I wasn’t really thinking, just moving on instinct. I pulled him with me into the shower, turning it on without letting go of his hand. His face was a question mark even as I closed the glass door behind us. It was big enough to fit six people, but with just the two of us, it somehow felt impossible small. It must have looked kind of funny, both of us standing fully clothed in a giant marble shower, covered in blood. I kicked my shoes into the corner. Already the steaming water was running in little red whirls toward the drain.

  I let go of his hand to reach for the hem of my blood-drenched shirt, but I was so weak I got it halfway off and it got stuck. After a moment, I felt Adrian’s fingers brush my skin as he pulled it the rest of the way off. For the second time that day, I was glad I’d worn my cute bra.

  A long moment passed. Adrian’s lips were parted, his eyes dark and silver. Beads of water clung to the ends of his hair, building and falling, building and falling. I reached for his shirt, but before I could do more than touch it, he put his hand over mine. I flinched, waiting for the inevitable rejection. Instead, he ran his hands lightly up my arm, a pained look crossing his face as his fingers slid over the black-and-blue bruises that littered my skin. After a moment, he grabbed the shirt himself and tugged it slowly over his head, tossing it in the corner with my shoes.

  Even in the clearing, I hadn’t been this terrified.

  He kicked his shoes into the corner with the rest of our things. I looked slowly up from the waistband of his jeans, up, past the dozens of raw scars on his stomach and chest and the field of purple-green bruises, up to his eyes. He was staring somewhere past my shoulder, and he was perfectly still, as if trying to hold himself together by force of will.

  Blood was caked in his hair, on his neck, his chest, his hands. I reached up and dragged my thumb lightly across his jaw, rolling away a gunky strip of blood. He closed his eyes and turned his cheek into my palm. I wasn’t thinking, really. I just wanted to wash everything away. I wanted to start over.

  “You’re too tall,” I murmured.

  He looked at me a moment, then sank slowly to his knees, arms hanging limply at his sides as he looked down at the blood-tinted water swirling down the drain between us.

  I washed his hair, the bubbles turning bright red, then pink, then fading, finally, to white. He winced, once, when my fingers went over the bump on the back of his head—I’d forgotten he’d cracked his skull, too. Even when there were no more bubbles to rinse, I slid my fingers through his hair a few more times. He looked up at me when my hands finally went still.

  His eyes were burning a low silver, swirling in lazy circles. He stood slowly, too close to me, and reached for the button on his jeans, pausing to see if I’d follow his cue. I reached for the button on my own jeans, which were irreparably stained with a mixture of muddy snow and vampire blood. We slid our jeans off and added them to the pile. He was wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, and nothing else—I’d seen him this unclothed once before, after the Halloween party, but it had been dark, and I’d been drunk, and my memory did not do him justice. I swallowed, heart hammering.

  It was the wrong thing to say, but before anything happened, if anything was even going to happen, I had to tell him.

  I looked at him, eyes already watering. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He flinched.

  Like that, the mood was gone, and I felt lost and disgusted and ashamed. I turned away from him, wanting suddenly to be anywhere but here because everything was messed up and I couldn’t fix it and he wouldn’t talk to me. And then his hand was on my shoulder, lightly, as if afraid I’d shrug it off. He pulled my hair to the side, running his knuckles down my spine in an echo of the dance we’d shared only a week before. And then he was scrubbing the blood off my arms and neck while I stood there shaking. When we were both finally clean, he picked me up, nudged open the shower door, and carried me to the nearly full bath, and I let him because I was so tired. He stepped in carefully, lowering us both into the steaming water. At least the bubbles covered up the wounds on his chest—at least they covered up the most obvious evidence of my guilt.

  I finally got up the courage to murmur what had been on my mind since I realized who Tommie was. “Please don’t hate me.”

  He tensed, I could feel the reaction course through the muscles in his arms. “Caitlin—stop it. Stop apologizing.”

  I didn’t want to be touching him anymore, not if he wouldn’t listen to me, not if he wouldn’t talk about this—but when I tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let me.

  “I can’t breathe,” I said, beginning to hyperventilate, and he instantly let go. I clung to the edge of the tub with both hands while he brushed the hair back from my face.

  “Cait,” he whispered again, “it’s over now. It’s okay. We’re safe. Why are you crying?”

  I turned to him, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Because I’m mad at you!” I sputtered, not realizing it was true until I said it out loud. “Because you say it’s okay, and it’s bullshit, because it’s not okay.”

  I could feel it, all of it, weeks of things I shouldn’t have left unsaid, all pouring out now in an unstoppable flow. “You’ve been such a dick,” I said, as if trying to explain something to a third-grader. “You pushed me away, you just shut down weeks ago, and you didn’t tell me why, and it wasn’t fair. I hated it, and you didn’t care. I’m m-mad”—my voice caught on a fresh wave of angry tears—“because I should have known better, I should have known it was him. I just wanted to feel close to somebody again, and it didn’t seem like too much to ask. I mean, come on! Normal people don’t have to deal with this shit! Normal people can date someone and then decide their boyfriend’s a jerk and break up and move on and they don’t have to worry that the person they move on to is going to be a psychopathic demon that wants to impregnate them! This whole thing is stupid. This situation is stupid. No shit I kissed Tommie—of course I kissed Tommie. I’m mad at you.”

  I crouched back against the far edge of the tub. “I officially resign from the supernatural shit. I’m done with this—I’m done with all of it.” Adrian sat staring at me with a dumbstruck look on his face. “So we’re here,” I continued, “and we’ve gone through all this, and you died, and then you un-died, and so you tell me, clearly, to my face—tell me how we’re going to fix this. Tell me how we’re going to be okay.”

  I let the silence draw on for five impossibly long seconds, but he didn’t answer, because he was Adrian, and God forbid Adrian answer any question, ever.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  I stood, then, to get out of the tub, suddenly grateful I hadn’t made a total ass of myself by getting completely naked in the shower. Bypassing the towels, I headed straight into the bedroom to find my sweatpants, trailing bubbles onto the carpet as I went. I was calculating how long it would take Trish to come pick me up and decided it was too long. I’d just walk. If he wasn’t completely dead, Tommie was very nearly dead, so I probably didn’t have to worry about him, and if a bear tried to eat me, I’d just slap it across the face with my shoe. I’d just found my sweatpants in my bag when the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I turned and found Adrian coming at me through the bathroom door.

  He stopped, looking about as angry as I’d ever seen him. “Fine,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “Here it is, here’s all the stupid, random, infuriating shit that’s been going through my head the past couple months.”

  He took a half step toward me, then whirled back toward the bathroom, shaking. Finally, he turned and faced me again, eyes burning uncontrollably silver.

  “Do you know how fucking hard it was to lie next to you every night for weeks and do nothing? Do you have any idea how difficult it was to convince my family I didn’t have any real feeli
ngs for you, whatsoever? Caitlin, you have no clue what would happen if they found out—”

  “If they found out what?” I exploded. “As far I know, I am the same level of importance to you as the bag lady at the grocery store!”

  “God, Caitlin!” He whirled in a circle, running his hands through his hair. “There are rules.”

  “We do not live in the Middle Ages,” I sputtered. “This is America. This is a democracy. You are not obliged to do every tiny little fucking thing you’re told!”

  He laughed and shook his head bitterly. “You really think it’s that simple?”

  “It is that simple,” I countered. “All you’ve told me from the beginning is that you want to be different, you want to be better, you want to be your own person, and every time you could have stood up for yourself, every time you could have stood up for me, you didn’t. And all this shit just happened, and it’s shitty, it’s so insanely shitty, and I’m mad, so I’m only going to ask this once: Do you want to kiss me, or not?”

  “Fine!” he said, and started toward me.

  “Too bad!” I yelled, dancing around the end of the bedpost. “I don’t want you to kiss me anymore!”

  He closed the space between us, and in a sudden burst of childlike panic, I scrambled onto the bed to snake across to the other side. He caught my ankle and I fell flat on my stomach, scrambling for pillows, throwing them over my shoulder at his face. Finally, he dragged me toward him.

  “No!” I said, struggling. “You’re not allowed to kiss me anymore! My lips are off limits!”

  We were face-to-face, both of us breathing hard.

  I glared at him. He stared angrily back at me at with his upturned brows and his silver, dancing, stupid eyes.

  We reached for each other simultaneously, hands diving into hair, lips crashing. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he dragged me off the bed, but he instantly tripped over a pillow and we went down. He grunted, hauled me up, and kicked open the door, stumbling into the hall, and then over to his bedroom between unpracticed but enthusiastic kisses. It was dark, lit only by moonlight and stars, like the last time I’d been in here, but I wanted to see him. I wanted to be seen.

  “Turn a lamp”—I started to demand, but interrupted myself by kissing his face again with my face—“on.”

  He scrambled for the lamp, yanking the cord before accidentally knocking it to the floor. He left it there and staggered over to the bed, dropping down and rolling until I was pressed beneath him. He pulled back and stared at me a moment, both of us breathing hard, chests heaving. His mouth was set in a hard line, his damp hair was wavy and dripping onto the comforter. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, staring angrily down at me. “I love you.” The expression on his face was somewhere between bitter and bewildered. “I love you, and I’m not allowed to, and I’m sorry for being a dick.”

  His face softened, slowly, muscle by muscle, until he simply looked tired, and sad, and totally worn-out. “I’m so s-sorry,” he said, voice catching. “I love you.”

  At the words, my eyes instantly burned with tears. I hadn’t cried this much in one day since my mom died, and it felt good. It felt necessary. I cradled his face in my hands. “Why is that always so hard to say?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it’s your turn to say it.”

  I smiled, the wild energy all used up and gone. “I love you, too. But we got shit to talk about. Later. When I’ve spawned more blood cells or whatever, and can think straight.”

  He smiled, but it was kind of a miserable smile, so I pulled him toward me and pressed his face to my shoulder, wrapping my arms around his back as though I could be the one to protect him for a change. He breathed sharply, trembling, but I knew he was listening to my heartbeat, and he slowly relaxed. I ran my fingers lightly down his naked back and within a half a minute, he was fast asleep, and I wasn’t far behind.

  * * *

  Adrian woke me up every few hours, pressed his ear against my heart, and listened. I’d stroke his hair and eventually he’d fall back asleep. That was how Julian found us. He opened the door quietly and stood there in his designer jeans and a fur coat, the light from the hallway casting him into a silhouette. He opened his mouth and I shook my head.

  “Let him sleep,” I whispered.

  He ran a hand through his hair and down his face, looking tired. For a moment, I swore I saw his eyes flash blue and gold in the darkness. He backed out quietly and closed the door. I felt both safer that someone else was in the huge, empty house, and edgy—caught with the weird sense that Julian’s presence both confirmed and denied everything that had happened that night.

  The next time I woke up, I smelled coffee. It was disorienting for a moment; the smell of it reminded me of Rachel and Joe and home. There was a heavy but comfortable weight on me, and I realized Adrian was still there, still asleep—although so was one of my legs. I looked over and saw a tray with two mugs, a small bottle of hazelnut creamer, and a note. Pinned under Adrian, I groped awkwardly for it. Adrian murmured and I ran my hand up and down his spine absently as I read.

  Caitlin,

  Mariana and Dominic will be here in an hour. Don’t let them see you with Adrian.

  Julian

  My initial response was anger. Then I realized he wasn’t warning me to stay away from Adrian—he was warning me to not let Mariana and Dominic know. And he’d brought us coffee.

  I didn’t understand Julian at all.

  “Coffee?” Adrian mumbled against my collarbone.

  “Yeah,” I said, brushing the hair back from his face as he stretched and looked up at me blearily. “Julian brought it.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion. “Julian?”

  “He came back a little while ago.”

  He blinked. “Julian brought us coffee?”

  “I know.”

  We disentangled and slowly sat up. My arms looked even worse in the morning light, and I was glad it wasn’t summer, because I had no idea how I’d hide the bruises from Joe and Rachel without long sleeves.

  Adrian sucked in a sharp breath, and I looked at him. He placed a hand softly on my jaw and murmured, “Shit, that looks bad.”

  I winced at the touch. I’d almost forgotten Tommie had hit me hard enough that I’d nearly blacked out.

  “I can’t heal all your injuries until I’ve had more time to recover, but I’ll take care of that before you go home,” he said. I nodded, and he cleared his throat.

  We sipped at the coffee for a while in silence. I glanced over at Adrian, suddenly realizing we were both very nearly naked, and that things had been said, and that we’d definitely really, really kissed, for real last night. When I looked over, I realized he had also chosen that moment to look over at me, and we both immediately blushed and buried our faces in our coffee cups. We could fight demons together, but we couldn’t make eye contact after making out. But there was something even better than eye contact, and that was Adrian’s hand finding its way to mine, and holding it. I knew I had a big sloppy grin on my face, so I pressed my forehead to his shoulder so he couldn’t see me smile, and we sat like that for a long time.

  “Adrian,” I said after a while. “The things that your dad said, about me—were they true? Were they really hoping that I would die?”

  Adrian’s hand tightened painfully around mine, then relaxed. “I don’t know. He’s a liar—but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t telling the truth.”

  “So what do we tell your sister about what happened? What do we tell the Council?”

  He ran his thumb over mine slowly. “The truth—or part of it. We say that my father came, and tried to—” He paused, swallowing. “He tried to hurt you. I fought him. I scared him off. We came here.”

  “Okay,” I whispered. “But what do we do if your dad wasn’t lying? What if the Council wants me dead?”

  Adrian shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. You’re Caitlin, from Connecticut. You’re—”

>   “Nobody?”

  He looked at me seriously. “To them? Yeah. At least, you should be.”

  “I don’t understand this. I don’t know who to trust.”

  He found my gaze and held it. “Me. You can trust me.”

  I wrapped my arms around him, hiding my face against his neck. “Please don’t leave me again,” I said, trembling. “Please don’t shut me out.”

  He hugged me to him tightly. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it would be easier if you hated me.”

  I pulled back, searching his eyes. “Why?”

  He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against my shoulder. “Julian made me see something I didn’t want to see. And it didn’t occur me to try and find another way.”

  “What does that mean?” I whispered.

  He looked up at me, pained. “Caitlin—starting now, at eighteen, my aging is reduced by ninety percent. By the time I look thirty, I’ll stop aging completely. I will never grow old. Do you understand what that means?”

  I did, but I shook my head, because I didn’t want to know.

  “We’ll figure it out,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. “We can figure that out.”

  He kissed me. “We will. I know we will. But when I realized that you would die someday, like everyone has to—like everyone should—I got overwhelmed. I can protect you from my father, I can protect you from the Council, but I can’t do a damned thing about time. And I could never give you k-kids,” he whispered, voice breaking.

  “Shh,” I murmured, holding him. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

  I kissed his hair and his arms tightened around me. We stayed locked in that embrace, and I was terrified. I was terrified that even if he loved me, even if there was no Council handing out laws and rules and restrictions, he was right—I would grow old, quickly. I would die.

  And he wouldn’t.

  “I don’t want to talk about this now,” I repeated, sliding off his lap and onto the bed. “Can you just…”