Vision

by Beth Elisa Harris

Andre.

  My plan to avoid him after school had failed. He had simply waited for me.

  The car slowed to a stop where I stood curbside.

  His expression was serious, demanding, with a big smile on top for effect. “Hop in.”

  The passenger door was already open. My heart sped up with apprehension. Was this sudden anxiety brought on by all the warnings, or was I actually sensing something?

  My reads were so off these days.

  And with theatrical timing, it started raining.

  “Oh, hi.” My greeting was nonchalant, distracted as I giggled with nerves. “You know, normally I would take you up on your offer, but I need to walk right now. Call me later.” My thumb and pinkie finger formed the universal hand signal for phone, a gesture I would never use under normal circumstances.

  But nothing about my life resembled normal anymore.

  His head tilted to one side, briefly contemplating the rejected offer before he became demanding again. “Layla. It’s wet out. Get in. Let me drive you up the street.” He added a smile like an after thought, his eyes burning with foreboding passion.

  If he drove me up the street, he would want more, but if I refused again he wouldn’t leave me alone either. There was no one around.

  Rock and a hard place, rock and a hard place.

  Reading minds had always been my go-to, when in doubt, reliable character read. I never had this problem, and didn’t have a back-up plan. If I continued walking, he would follow. But the thought of sitting alone with him in a confined space didn’t feel safe either.

  I should have walked away. “Um – okay why not.”

  His smile switched to satisfied, and I got in the car.

  “I missed you today. How were your classes?” He was talking to me in a tone that insinuated we were in a relationship, like ‘hi honey how was your day?’

  Stay cool. Almost home.

  I tried relaxing, hoping he didn’t pick up on my uneasiness. For some reason, I felt like prey, and didn’t want Andre to sense my fear. “Good, you know, I just wanted to make sure my assignments were on track. I tend to get obsessive about schoolwork. Oh, this is the street.” I pointed toward the left, but he didn’t turn.

  Instead he sped up moving through the Brown’s neighborhood, and within seconds we were blocks past my destination. “Let me show you something first.” The look in his eyes was past mischievous, moving toward scary determination. The Jag was fast, and he didn’t hesitate to break speed limits.

  He pulled off the road into a park area filled with overgrown trees that masked all light from entering. This was shade central, even on a sunny day, but with wet skies it was pretty damn dark.

  I silently gulped. “Andre, I really need to get home.” I struggled to keep a casual timbre, masking the slight panic welling up in my chest.

  He shut off the engine and turned toward me. “Thought you said your assignments were fate accompli?” His fingers touched my curls, his hand moving to caress my neck, making me shudder with discontent. This felt nothing like Stuart’s sensual electricity. My eyes closed trying to think of a way out of the situation. He misinterpreted that as pleasure, moving closer. “Let’s get in the back,” he growled.

  My eyes sprang open, my skin now crawling with anxiety. “Andre. Take me back to the Brown’s and stop trying to hold me hostage.” I forced a laugh for good measure that turned into more of a rattled sounding guffaw.

  His eyes darted around quickly before meeting my eyes. “Better idea. Let’s make-out. Just for a few minutes. Please?” And suddenly he was a young boy asking for ice cream – pretending he was hard to resist, and extremely manipulative. Unsure how to respond, my eyes locked into his trying to get something, anything, to help me figure out what was on his mind.

  But there was nothing except the unabashed hunger in his eyes that frightened me to death.

  I switched to offensive strategy. Maybe…kissing…will calm him down – a quick make-out session while my mind wanders. Tomorrow I’ll tell him thanks, but no thanks. “Five minutes to make out then I need to go. Promise?”

  His brows raised in a devilish, suggestive manner as his hand raised in a promise sign. “You have my word.”

  We moved to the backseat and began kissing. What started out as a pleasant experience the other night had turned into something else. Andre was strangely aggressive, almost – desperate. But beyond that it also felt like I was cheating on Stuart, which was oddly troubling, like a betrayal of epic proportions. I hated myself.

  I couldn’t breathe, and gasped for air. His lips were pressing hard. There was nothing soft about his movements. The oxygen depleted from the car, and the windows grew condensation, blocking the outside world.

  Mine. Can’t stop.

  And there it was. His thoughts were flooding into my head hard and fast, his desire nearly choking the air from my throat. Even when I tried backing away to catch my breath, he continued to press his weight into me until we were in a reclined position, something that caused me great unease.

  I’ll have her now. Mmmm. Intoxicating. She’s mine. Ravishing.

  He moaned and groaned and grinded and I was growing sick.

  “Andre!” I managed to gasp out his name through the corner of my mouth. “Stop!”

  He was incredibly strong, pushing his body harder against mine, the blood racing through his veins pounding against his muscles.

  This was getting out of hand.

  “Andre, damn it, time out!” But he didn’t stop. The space was so confined, the car so freaking automated, I was unsure if I could even get the door open without a decoder ring or magic word. “Stop. Now.”

  No stopping (moan). Too late to stop. Must have you. Mine. All mine.

  The shove was hard, yet he wasn’t fazed much except to stop and look down at me, hovering with a dangerous half grin. “What’s with the hostility, babe?”

  Through clenched teeth, I growled, “First of all, I’m not babe and GET OFF ME!”

  His laugh bordered on diabolical, and he was hyped up on testosterone and adrenaline.

  I was in trouble.

  “No.” And he was off again, smothering me, groping in all the places I didn’t want to be groped, grabbing my pants, reaching for zippers. It was as if he had eight hands, and I had none.

  I was growing both pissed, and frightened.

  Was he actually attacking me? How did I loose so much control? Shit! Think, Layla think.

  I shoved him again, harder this time, which only agitated his behavior, coaxing a snarl from his throat, spurring his aggression.

  I managed a scream. “NO! I don’t want this!”

  Nothing. He literally was not listening to me, or caring about me in any way.

  How could I have been so bloody stupid?

  His pants were lowering, but he wasn’t getting mine down. I would die first.

  Frustrated, we wrestled as he attempted to get both my hands locked into submission.

  Pin her first. She’ll like it.

  “NO. I. WON’T! GET OFF ME!”

  The slap burned my cheek. No one had ever struck me. My whole face burned, and tears popped from my eyes.

  When another scream rose in my throat, his hand covered my mouth.

  A decision had to be made to continue fighting, or surrender.

  There was a loud crash, and the car door opened.

  It took a moment to realize someone else had arrived, because Andre was skidding off and away from me, like the monsters in the movies always did when they managed to find teenagers in a parked car to murder.

  Someone, or some thing, was dragging Andre straight to hell with brute force.

  I noticed the hands shackled around his ankles, hands I had seen before.

  He thudded to a stop outside the car, landing face down in the dirt.

  Tugging at the air, still gasping and repositioning my clothes, I found the door on my side had been opened. Jumping out, I ran around the car. He was standing over Andre, pan
ting.

  Stuart.

  Paralyzed and shaken, I watched him grab the back of Andre’s collar, easily pulling him up to his feet. Andre’s devilish grin turned to face his oppressor. But before he could speak one word, Stuart punched him straight in the nose – a blow delivered with such force, blood instantly flowed from Andre’s nostrils upon impact.

  He bunched Andre’s shirt in his hands, pushing him hard onto the car hood, seething through his teeth as he held him down. “Who the fuck do you think you are, ass hole?”

  All I could think was, ‘Stuart fights and drops “F” bombs.’

  And here I thought he was the Peaceful Prince of Nottingham.

  His question wasn’t rhetorical, and Andre didn’t answer – probably a wise choice for Andre, since Stuart appeared capable of killing.

  “She said no didn’t she and more than once?” There was little space between their faces. Stuart continued to have a lock on the immobile Andre.

  That question did require an answer, but Andre didn’t seem clear about the rules.

  So Stuart slammed him into the car again. “Didn’t she, I said!”

  Andre nodded, finally realizing the full extent of his problem, beads of perspiration forming on his face.

  “That’s what I thought. Now you listen, prick. Come within speaking distance of her again, and I will finish you for good. Do you understand?”

  Andre nodded again, his shirt soaked with nervous moisture.

  Stuart held his position, nearly choking Andre into submission then released him with a hard shove.

  After many moments, Stuart looked over at me, and calmly but firmly ordered me into the Saab as he waited until Andre’s car lights faded down the road, his chest visibly rising and falling, fists clenched at his sides.

  I turned away from him, and heaved.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next day, Stuart’s demeanor told me he was not in a chatty mood, and would not be talking about the “incident” just yet. Despite the hundred questions floating in my head, I respected the space of the person who saved me from – well, who saved me.

  After seeing me safely home the previous night, I convinced him the hospital was unnecessary. He wanted to hear what led to the predicament, why I was in the backseat with Andre so I spoke quickly, knowing he didn’t care to listen longer than necessary.

  We were silent until we pulled up to the Brown’s, and then he stared a hole into me as he whispered, “Do NOT see him again,” before driving away.

  The following day, he sent a text when we were in our respective classes to say - we’ll talk this weekend…promise. That made me feel better, and I started to relax a little.

  Andre was MIA. He didn’t show for classes the day after, or at all. Unsure whether to be relieved or worried, I decided to stay close to my friends for good measure, vowing to ride with them to and from classes, and anything in between.

  When we met in the parking lot, Stuart was leaning on the car with his arms folded, boring a hole in me as I walked toward him. The flood of emotion seeing him nearly knocked me down. “I want to go with you. Somewhere. Anywhere.” I was responding to his offer made at Sienna’s Sunday, worried he may have changed his mind - that he had changed his mind after what happened.

  Regardless, we had to talk and address the elephant in the room. There were things to discuss, like how the hell did he know how to find me? I was desperate for answers.

  He gave me a half smile, which I took as a yes, and I knew I was his.

  The following Saturday we went to the Botanical Gardens at the University. The brisk chill was invigorating as we strolled among the acres of gardens with endless paths of adjacent garden themes, colors bursting in all directions. It was pretty and peaceful and very European, surrounded by the history I had only read about. The sky held big, puffy, white clouds quickly shape-shifting as we walked, and I was glad rain would not threaten our stroll.

  Stuart knew the name for every living organism growing, and it was really annoying. He made me realize I knew little about botany. “You are scary, Fairchild.”

  His laugh made me want him, and I swallowed hard, imagining about what he would think if I jumped him, imagining the taste of his lips.

  “Just, interested in things.” He shrugged.

  Then he didn’t speak, but I was certain I heard his thoughts say, don’t you remember, love? You used to know all this, too, long ago. Was he sending, or was I imagining things?

  We walked until I was unable to contain myself any longer. I needed answers. But as I opened my mouth to speak, he beat me to the punch. “I knew you were in trouble. Don’t ask me how.”

  Shoving my hands in my coat pockets from the cold, I would have preferred to hold his instead. I addressed him quietly, just above a whisper. “You can’t tell me not to ask you how you knew. That’s totally unreasonable. You made me wait the entire week.”

  He threw his head back as he grinned, making me giggle, and then pulled my hand from my coat pocket, wrapping it in is. “Oh, Layla. Let’s just say, my feelings for you have a radar attached.”

  “What feelings are those?” I prodded, hoping he wouldn’t dodge that question too.

  His sideways grin raised my internal thermostat, making me question the need for the layers of warm clothes I had piled on.

  He glanced over, and simply said, “I care for you.”

  His deflector shield was quite honed, and somehow he continued to distract me from everything except serious talk. When I would start to question, he played the expert tour guide, pointing to this tree and that flower, calling each by its Latin name without referencing the placards.

  Who is this guy?

  It was then I recalled something Sienna had told me about Stuart when we first met. She referred to him as ‘brilliant in every way’ and the master of so many different languages it was ‘utterly disgusting.’ At the time, it was trivia about someone I barely knew – now the information had transformed into complex puzzle pieces comprising the mystery called Stuart Fairchild. He was timeless, transformative – and completely out of my league.

  “Let’s go to the Woodland Garden. There’s a stream and lake and it’s quite nice.”

  Okay, seriously? Who says, ‘quite’ except, like, noblemen?

  “Fairchild?” We stopped simultaneously, turning to face each other. We were under a large tree with no one around. The unexpected light dance of his fingers across my cheek as he brushed away a few hair strands made shivers rush everywhere. Standing my ground was becoming difficult. “How do you know…things about me? Did you wait and then follow me after school?” Even that didn’t make sense when it tumbled out, because we were parked at least fifteen minutes before Stuart showed up. “That was stupid, never mind.”

  Our eyes were pinned together, making me burn with desire. Looking into his black eyes was like seeing through to the deepest, richest part of the earths’ center, where time began and ended and stood still according to his will. “We’re very connected. That’s all that’s important – for now.”

  There was a low hum from the butterflies battling in my stomach. “But how…are you like a super hero? Hulk? Spidey? Super…?”

  His impossibly beautiful smile washed over me, stopping me in my tracks even before he placed a finger over my mouth and murmured, “Hush.”

  I never got an answer and soon forgot the question. He was working his way across my collarbone with his mouth, caressing both sides of my neck, as if playing an instrument. Passing out was inevitable. His fingers examined my hair, slowly sliding and twisting the curls. He wandered toward my jaw line, a touch so sensuous it was all I could do to stop from moaning. Absently, I placed my hands against his abdomen, feeling his hard muscles contract.

  Cupping my face, he reached up and kissed my forehead, both eyelids, working his way toward my mouth while sending electric shockwaves below my stomach. Every muscle and nerve ached with desire as he gently tugged on my bottom lip, teasing relentlessly before ful
l contact, making my breath hitch and stagger. When our lips touched I knew I was finished, waking something ravenous in me I had never felt with anyone.

  We walked and talked some more, but not about what happened with Andre. We shared the stories people do when they get to know each other, something we had done little of until now.

  And we laughed. There was no doubt I was falling fast and hard, my need for him scaring me more than anything. Needing anyone was not in my playbook.

  He was close to his entire family, and lived in a cottage behind his parent’s main house. He was well travelled, especially for someone my age, to which he credited his culturally centric parents. I made sure to ask and listen more than I talked, saving my own complicated family dynamics for another time. Mostly, I found him utterly fascinating, his voice soothing and hypnotic, his stories electric with life.

  I decided to ask him about Colonsay, remembering Sienna telling me he had visited there, hoping to glean any information to help me understand something about the tiny island.

  He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating a response. His answer was slightly formal, which for Stuart sounded like a history professor. “It was a stop on one of our vacations. It’s a small island off Scotland accessible by ferry. Not much to do there that you couldn’t accomplish in a day or two. It has a…rich history. There was conflict between two clans in particular – the MacDonalds and the MacPhies. It was all very scandalous. Why?”

  It seemed Stuart knew more than I would have imagined, and I responded with a degree of nonchalance. “Oh, just, before I left to come here I got this letter…Fairchild, how do you know so much about stuff?”

  He shrugged again, adding a sly smile. “I know things. But why are you curious about Colonsay?”

  “Someone wrote me saying she, her name is Abbey, found something of mine on her property. She said it’s too complicated to explain and wants me to visit.” I further explained my hesitancy to call her, because she could just be crazy.

  “Hhmm. You should call her,” he said, twirling me back to face him.

  And that was the end of that discussion, because when his hands rested on the sides of my hips, and his fingers tightened pulling me against him, I moaned into his mouth, and he kissed me harder – like it was our last day on earth.