Curses, Fates & Soul Mates

by et al Kristie Cook

I wracked my brain for other colleges I knew within an hour-or-so drive from Charlottesville. Of course, he could have come from farther away like Bex and I had, but I doubted it. Only girlfriends and groupies did that, especially in the dead of winter.

  “Should I know what you’re talking about?” Micah asked.

  “Just trying to figure out where you go to school. You never said what you were doing in Charlottesville that night and now you’re here, so I figured you go to school around there, and you’re down here to work for the summer. You from around here?”

  “No. Across the board.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Not from around here. Not from Virginia either. And do I really look like the scholarly type?”

  “Do I?”

  His eyes cut over to me, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. “Touché.”

  “But you’re not? You don’t go to college?”

  “Not exactly. Do you?”

  He was being evasive, so I thought I should be, too. “Not exactly.”

  It was true—I’d basically dropped out last semester and still hadn’t finished registration for the fall—even if the plan was to return in a couple of months.

  “So what were you doing there?” I asked.

  “What were you doing there?” he countered.

  “Seeing the band, of course.” I didn’t go into details about why that particular band. He didn’t need to know anymore about my life at this point of our, er, relationship. Or whatever you call it. “Wanted to check it out.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Micah didn’t elaborate either, and my frustration grew.

  “How’d you get from there to here?”

  “I drove.” He patted the dashboard as I let out a groan of frustration. Before I could complain, though, he continued. “You have Sammy. I have Ginger. This truck is my best friend. We’ve been through a lot together, including a lot of states.”

  “So you’re a drifter?”

  “You could say that.”

  “But why here?” I pressed.

  “I heard there was work. Was hooked up with a cool place to live. So I’ve been here for the past few months.” He peered sideways at me again. “I could ask you the same, you know. What you were doing there and here, right where I happen to be.”

  “I have good reasons. For both.”

  “So do I.”

  “Well, you know mine. I didn’t show up here for the hell of it. I didn’t have a choice. You know that. So what are your reasons?”

  He looked at me full-on now, over Sammy’s back, with a big smile on his face and a gleam in those mocha eyes. My stomach dropped like it had when I’d fallen from the door this morning. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine? Is that what you want to play? Because there are much more fun versions than this.”

  My mouth might have fallen open a little. His grin growing wider, Micah turned his attention back to the road.

  “Last I checked, coincidences aren’t a crime,” he said. “That’s all it is. A weird coincidence.”

  Reluctantly, I nodded in agreement. What else could I do? He obviously wasn’t going to give me any other answers, and I certainly didn’t want to piss him off since Sammy and I were currently at his mercy. Who knew what he could to do to us? Sheesh. What had I gotten myself into? I needed to be very wary. Alert. I patted my pockets for my switchblade and pepper spray I always kept with me. Both were in easy reach.

  “So, didn’t like the skinhead thing?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “What the hell are you talking about now? Do you ever speak English?”

  “I am! The last time I saw you, you had long hair. Now it’s extremely short, as if you’d gone skinhead but changed your mind.”

  He snorted. “Definitely not skinhead. Those guys are assholes.”

  Agreed. I’d never met one I liked. “Then what? Some kind of makeover?”

  He chuckled. “Once again, I could ask you the same. You look different, too.”

  I swallowed. He was right, and for some reason, I felt the need to explain. Maybe something inside me wanted to trust him. I ran my fingers through my straggly hair that barely reached my shoulders. Trudy had helped me return the color to natural, but we’d had to cut it pretty short. At least I hadn’t shaved any of my head for over a year, or she probably would have sheared it all off and given me a wig. Apparently, Micah had noticed the change, as well as the lack of heavy eyeliner. In fact, I’d been going with the natural look lately, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible these days. I inhaled a deep breath and let it out.

  “My grandfather was my last living relative.” I swallowed again to keep away the lump trying to form in my throat. “When he died, I wigged out at first. Practically drank myself to death. When I finally came out of it, I knew I couldn’t go back to that whole punk scene. So here I am, trying to be a grown-up.”

  Micah’s right hand left the steering wheel and made the smallest move toward me, but then he pulled it back, as if changing his mind. Yep. He’d definitely felt something when we touched.

  “I didn’t know about your grandfather,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel.”

  Now it was my turn to snort. “I hate it when people say that. Nobody knows how I feel. Not really.”

  “Well, maybe not exactly. You still have your friends, right? The girl you were at the show with, at least?”

  “Bex? Yeah, I guess.”

  “Well, there you go. You have someone still.”

  I peered over at him. His face resembled a stone statue’s, and his knuckles shone white, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard.

  “And you don’t?” I asked.

  “There’s a reason I’m a drifter, as you put it. Nothing to tie me down.”

  “No parents? No brothers or sisters?”

  “I grew up in foster homes and couldn’t wait for the day to escape. Closest I’ve had to real brothers was in the Marines Corps. But, well, shit happens.” He clammed up then. I was surprised he’d even told me as much as he had. Not normal for a guy, especially with a girl he just met. Then again, maybe he’d felt the same as I had—that we somehow already knew each other.

  “So ex-military, huh? That explains the hair. You finally had the chance to grow it out and didn’t like it?”

  His hand ran over his short dark hair. “Pretty much. Old habits die hard.”

  “How long were you in?”

  “A little over four years. I enlisted the day I turned 18.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Well, you obviously didn’t enlist for the education benefits. You already said as much. So not a good career choice?”

  His face hardened again. “You ask too many questions. I’ve answered more than I should.”

  As if on cue, he turned into a parking lot of a large building with a fenced-in lumberyard to its side. Time to focus back on the business at hand, but my last question burned my curiosity. Actually, Micah’s reaction was what ate at me. Had something happened? It must have been something bad. Had he been dishonorably discharged? Ah, man. Maybe trusting him had been a bad idea after all.

  “I’ll go put the order in for all the supplies, then you can go in and pay,” Micah said, sliding out of his door and slamming it shut. He strode off, leaving me with Sammy.

  I watched the smooth way his body moved as he headed for the store’s doors, admiring his physique while absent-mindedly rubbing at my arm. When he disappeared inside, the ache in my left wrist fully registered in my brain.

  “What in the hell?” I shrieked, startling Sammy. The flame mark, which I’d forgotten about when it had faded to nearly non-existent, had returned, much brighter and more defined than before.

  CHAPTER 11

  I rubbed frantically at my wrist, licked my fingers and rubbed some more. “Oh, my god. Oh, my god. What is this thing?”

  I jumped out of the truck, completely freaked out, and paced up and down t
he side of it, grinding my wrist against my jeans the whole time. The flame only brightened.

  “This is so bogus. What am I going to do?” I whined to myself. I had no way of hiding the mark, which had become pretty damn conspicuous now. Would Micah notice its sudden appearance? Maybe he’d think it had been there all along. Not likely, though. It practically glowed—no way he could have missed it before. Who cares what Micah thinks?! I have a fucking tattoo that’s NOT a tattoo! Where did the thing come from? Why?

  “Your stuff is ready and waiting for your money,” Micah huffed behind me. I turned around with my hand behind my back, but he’d already made it to the other side and was sliding into the truck.

  I didn’t know what to do, but figured I better act nonchalant or he’d think I was a freak and leave me stranded there. I hurried inside the store and immediately searched for the bathroom. But like before, the mark wouldn’t wash away. After several minutes with no success, I knew I was pushing my luck, so I went to the counter and paid. I thought I’d taken too long when I first walked outside, my left arm held tightly against my body, because the truck was gone. The faded red color flashed in the corner of my eye, though, and I found Micah loading the back with supplies and Sammy hanging his head out the window that slid open to the bed.

  Reluctantly, I headed for the truck’s tailgate to help Micah load, although I didn’t know how I’d keep the bright red and orange flame hidden.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Micah said roughly. “I’m almost done.”

  “I can—”

  “Just get in the truck, okay?” he barked, making me jump.

  I let out a low growl, not liking his tone with me, but went to the cab without a word. Micah climbed in a few minutes later, and we drove the fifteen miles to my place with the radio blasting heavy metal, drowning out any chance for conversation. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what had put him into such a bad mood so quickly. Maybe he remembered another job he could have done—one that actually paid? Well, I could certainly pay him, if that’s what he wanted. The stairs had needed to be replaced anyway. And I didn’t need his bad attitude—my anguish capacity had already reached its max as I fretted about the glowing mark.

  “I gotta go take care of something,” Micah said, his voice still gruff. He’d stopped on the road, not bothering to pull into the parking lot. “I’ll be back later.”

  “I can pay you, if that’s the problem,” I said.

  “A deal’s a deal,” he growled.

  “But I can—”

  “It’s not a problem!” he nearly yelled. He inhaled through flared nostrils, then added more quietly, “Really, it’s not you or this. I’m just going to grab some lunch.”

  I almost laughed. “Wow. You sure get grumpy when you’re hungry.”

  He grunted in response. I led Sammy out the passenger door and watched Micah take off, his wheels throwing sand and other debris on the road. I knew this couldn’t be about a growling stomach. Something else was wrong.

  A strange sensation washed over me once he left. A sense of something missing, as if I were no longer complete. As weird as it sounds, I felt as though a part of me had left with him. That’s not just weird. It’s wrong! You’ve only known the guy for a few hours. Or had I? Why did I feel like I’d known him for longer . . . forever? Actually, an odd feeling deep inside me, in my very core, hinted it was about more than knowing Micah. Whatever connection we had, it went way deeper.

  Which was totally whacked out.

  This line of absurd thinking would make me crazy, so I concentrated instead on my own lunch. I’d skipped breakfast and had no food in the fridge. I also needed cleaning supplies, so Sammy and I climbed into the Jeep and headed for the local store.

  Not knowing how long Micah would be gone, I hurried through the Safeway, grabbing snacks and junk food and a case of Diet Coke, along with sponges, detergents, bleach, and a cheap plastic shower curtain, trying not to care about its transparency. Except for Sammy I lived alone, but my stomach still fluttered uncomfortably at the small chance of someone seeing me naked.

  “Interesting tattoo you have there,” said a male voice from behind me as I stood in line. Having nearly forgotten about it already, I didn’t realize he spoke to me until he added, “Does the flame mean anything?”

  I looked up at him in shock. For some reason, my heart burst into a gallop. In his late twenties maybe, with blond, spiky hair and inky black eyes, he looked like a Billy Idol wannabe, but instinct told me his good looks lay precariously on the surface. Something ugly and dark churned underneath, waiting for the opportunity to shed its pretty skin.

  “Um . . . no,” I said breathlessly. The man tilted his head as he looked deep into my eyes, and I swore, if we truly had souls, he tried to peer right into mine. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and my palms became clammy. I spun in a hurry and quickly pushed my cart out of line. “Forgot something,” I mumbled.

  Bandages. I’d forgotten bandages, the only way I figured I could hide the bright mark until it hopefully faded again. Thankfully, the spooky guy was gone by the time I returned up front to the checkout.

  Hauling the goods up the ladder wasn’t easy, but taking several trips, I managed. After putting everything away, I took my switchblade out and went into the bathroom to perform minor surgery. I couldn’t wait for the mark to simply fade, especially since it seemed to be growing and brightening even more. If for any reason someone pulled off the bandage—someone as in Micah—the questions would fly, and I had no answers. At least, no sensible answers. And most importantly, if I could make the flame go away faster, I’d be a lot less wigged out myself.

  So I sterilized the blade with a lighter I’d found in my Jeep (probably dropped by Bex a long time ago), gritted my teeth, and began dragging it across my skin. I’d been personally introduced to real pain before and I wasn’t into inflicting it on myself, so I hoped scraping off a layer or two of skin would be enough. Tiny beads of blood popped up on my forearm. Excellent. Even if I couldn’t make the mark disappear completely, a good scab would keep it hidden. I cleaned the “wound” and wrapped it in a bandage.

  Now I needed a story to go with it. I tried to think of one as I began cleaning, but nothing came to mind. I considered purposely breaking the bathroom mirror, one of the few things in the efficiency that needed absolutely nothing done to it. At some point, noises that sounded appropriate for construction came from outside, so Micah had returned and set to work without even a hello. This disappointed me more than it should have.

  After a few hours, I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d tried to ignore the desire to see him again, but it had only built up into an urgent need that possessed my body like a demon. If I didn’t go downstairs, my crackling nerves might cause me to climb the walls and hang from the ceiling, projectile vomiting green slime all over my clean kitchen. Okay, maybe not so bad I needed an exorcist, but before my brain caught up with my body, I’d already begun hedging my way down the ladder, a plastic cup filled with ice and water in one hand.

  “Thought you might be thirsty,” I said once my feet landed on solid ground and the electric saw had turned off. Four wooden posts stood upright in newly poured cement in the ground, and Micah was now standing at some kind of portable saw contraption, cutting boards for the stair treads.

  “Thank you,” he said, not bothering to remove his work gloves before taking the cup from me. He downed the whole cup then refilled it from a nearby thermos. Idiot. Of course he had his own water. This was his job after all. “I’d buy you a six-pack instead, but I’m not old enough. But maybe food would be better anyway? Wouldn’t want you getting all grumpy again.”

  That sexy smirk of his made an appearance. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. I’ve been warned now. So, uh, I’ll make sure there’s a pizza here waiting before you’re done tonight.”

  The smirk disappeared and something flashed in his eyes before he looked down at his hands. “As good as it sounds, I’ll
have to pass.”

  Well. He’d pretty much told me he didn’t have a girlfriend or any friends for that matter, so he probably didn’t have much in the way of other plans. Which meant his rejection of my offer was a nice way of rejecting me altogether. Not that I’d been asking him on a date or anything. I thought it’d be nice to buy him dinner since he wouldn’t let me pay him.

  I forced a weak smile. “Guess I’ll have to eat alone then.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be alone,” Micah said.

  Man. How patronizing. “Of course not. I always have Sammy.”

  His eyes darkened. “That’s not all. Seems you have a guest.”

  His head moved in the very slightest of nods toward the bar parking lot across the street. I had no idea what he meant at first, but something instinctual made my eyes zero in on a blue Ford Taurus sitting in the middle of the lot. A light blond, spiky head could be seen through the windshield.

  Micah’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “He’s been sitting there since I got here. Never went inside. No one’s come out to him. Any idea who he is?”

  “I can’t really see him, but I think he might be the guy I ran into at the store.” A chill tingled at the base of my spine as I remembered those inky black eyes. “I can’t believe he followed me. What a creep.”

  “I’ll try to keep an eye on him,” Micah said. “I don’t like it. But I guess I’m not surprised. A young girl who looks like you do probably attracts all kinds.”

  I looked at him with my head tilted, not sure whether to take his statement as a compliment or not. He returned my gaze, and his face broke into that sublime grin, dimples and all.

  “Especially when you run around like that.” He eyed my bare shoulders. As he’d predicted, I’d taken off my top and only wore the tank now. “Wish I would’ve been wrong. You’re quite the distraction.”

  Compliment. Definitely a compliment. His husky tone sent my insides into a hot, swirling mess. I smiled like an idiot until I remembered his rejection not two minutes ago. He was a flirt, nothing more.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’ll go away,” I said, referring to the perv across the street. “Come up when you’re done, and maybe he’ll think you’re not only here to build my stairs. I promise I won’t make you stay for pizza or anything.”