Shards of Us

by Caverly, KR

  Shards of Us

  KR Caverly

  ISBN: 9781301404308

  Copyright 2013 by KR Caverly

  Cover art and design by Berto Designs

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Chapter One

  I enter Hotel de Galaxias as I always do: with my head down, my heart pounding. I can feel the red lipstick on my lips, the dark black dress snug against my body, and the familiar warmth in my stomach that races through me. My whole body is a rush of excitement and anxiety as I step through the double-doors into the huge, luxurious lobby. Chandeliers hang above me, and a silky purple carpet stretches the expanse of the floor, all warm and cozy beneath my feet. A few people play on flutes and violins by the fire in the corner, and others dressed in suits and extravagant dresses surround the lobby, drinking cocktails and laughing and talking with one another. The buzz of activity fills the air, but there is a certain softness to it, a quietness, like they're all talking in hushes as if they expect something terrible to happen.

  Once I'm inside, I nod at the man at the front desk, who wears a sharp tuxedo and whose blonde hair is combed to the side. He smiles warmly at me, nodding toward the stairs. He knows me, of course, and he knows Sebastian has already paid for the night's stay. I've been here so many times before, it's almost a ritual at this point, one I can't do without. Sebastian is my addiction, my everything, but that doesn't even bother me. Nothing so incredibly right could ever bother me.

  The air is warm here, toasty, and it wipes away the shivers from the snow outside. My body tingles as I reach the carpeted stairs, taking three at a time, knowing he is waiting for me just two floors up.

  I've always loved Wednesdays, because Wednesdays mean Sebastian, and Sebastian means happiness. He is the one person who never fails to make me feel okay, feel normal. No--he makes me feel better than normal. He makes me feel alive. And I haven't felt alive since my parents died two years ago.

  I brush my long black hair over my face as I make my way up the stairs, making myself as inconspicuous as possible. A few people pass by me, so I stay to the edge of the stairwell, practically flattening myself against the wall. I remember what Sebastian always told me: "don't get noticed. Not ever." And if there's one thing I've learned from these last four months, it's that Sebastian should always be obeyed.

  Once I reach the third floor, the conversations from the lobby have totally faded. Light music pulses throughout the hallway, the sort of dance beat that makes me feel like I'm in some sort of club. My feet ache in my black high heels as I walk down the hall, and I hear the steady sound of my earrings hitting my neck--pat, pat, pat. I hate dressing up, but I know Sebastian likes it, and so I do it. I do lots of things for Sebastian.

  One day, I wore makeup to the room, and Sebastian told me never to again. He said he didn't want me to look fake. He said he wanted me to be his. All his. And so… well, I obeyed that too.

  I became his.

  And I haven't turned back since.

  I look around the hallway before heading to our room. No one is around. Perfect.

  My legs carry me all the way down the red carpeted hall, past the small lights hanging over each room until I stop at the end, at the large brown door with the number "364" in thick brass numbers. A "DO NOT DISTURB" sign is already hanging on the doorknob. I can't help but smile at that. Sebastian must be ready to get right to get down to business.

  I'm keenly aware of the pounding in my temples, the anticipation building up inside of me as I reach for the knob. My whole heart feels like it's in my throat, and my body hums with the familiar desire Sebastian gives me. I try to envision what he looks like today as I push open the door, try to figure out what he has in store for the night, what he will do to make me happy this time.

  That's his goal, he says. His goal is to make me happy. And my goal is to make him happy in return. It's perfect, really, the way our relationship is set up. No questions. No drama. Just pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  The door creaks as it opens, until after a minute, it hits the side of the wall with a little shudder. I hold my breath and step inside, closing the door behind me.

  The room is dark. Pitch black, actually. I can still hear the steady thrumming of music in the distance, can feel the softness in the air, like a far-off song, thick with emotion. Sebastian is here. I know it then. I can feel him here--everywhere. I can feel his cocky little smile, the heat of his body, the feel of his hard muscles around my back. I can almost taste his skin, can just imagine trailing my tongue down his body, making a circle around his erection. The possibility is so close, so close it makes my body hum with energy.

  I look around, feeling my throat catch. Everything creaks. The floorboards, the walls, the bed in the middle of the room. Winter wind howls outside, sending a shiver down my spine. My eyes search for Sebastian, but I find nothing.

  Nothing.

  No one.

  My heart races in my chest, and the air in the room tickles at the hairs on the back of my neck, making my skin prick. Where is he? I ask myself.

  I spin around. Still nothing.

  Is he even here?

  Then, as on cue, a light goes on in the corner of the room. Right behind me.

  I freeze, and ever so slowly turn to face whoever is here.

  My gaze rests on a broad smile, which reveals two rows of perfectly white teeth. A thick, recently-shaven jaw is clenched below it, lips parted into a perfect circle. And then I look from his mouth to his eyes, and my heart beats faster. He's always had beautiful eyes. Such a deep blue, so strong, like a lake frozen over, like glass about to shatter.

  I stare at him for the longest time, feeling the intensity between us, the heat that ripples between our bodies, until he finally speaks. "I've been waiting for you, angel," Sebastian whispers so softly it's as if it isn't even there.

  "Sebastian," I breathe, my voice filled with desire.

  He smiles, a wide, crooked, toothy smile. Long dark hair is parted across his forehead, all wavy and curly and perfect. His skin is sun-kissed, his lips thick and parted in that utterly kissable kind of way. I can see the muscle in his biceps, the way his shirt rolls off his chest and reveals a slice of muscular stomach, the hunger in his blue eyes.

  Our gazes lock for a long moment. Heat rips through me as his eyes linger on mine, and I feel like everything is disappearing at our closeness, like Sebastian and I are in a whole new galaxy of a sudden. Like it really is just us--just us and the pieces of our broken pasts.

  I know nothing about Sebastian, not really, and he knows nothing about me. All we know about each other is that we both are alone this world. Both of us have no real friends, no family left, no nothing left. I don't know Sebastian's real name, don't know where he works, don't even know where he's from or why he's here. I just know that he makes me feel better, makes me feel like I'm not so alone in this world, and for now, that's all I need.

  Sebastian and I have three rules:

  1) No sex.

  2) No personal questions.

  3) No leaving the hotel room until morning. Not ever.

  We meet here every Wednesday night and have for the last four months. We're here to heal each other, really, heal the brokenness in our lives. Nothing more, nothing less. There's no sex involved in our relationship, no love, no emotional feelings, no strings attached. All that we have is each other.

  It's a perfect set up, in a way, and I've learned not to question it--or him. After Sebastian and I met
in a club one night and hit off so much that he proposed this little arrangement, I've felt happy. Truly happy. My what the therapists call "horrendous case of low-esteem and depression"--I guess that's what happens when you lose everyone you care about, and then soon after your one passion in life in one fatal week--has even gone away for now, so I don't have any reason to say no to all of this. Sebastian would never hurt me. We both know that. So it's not like there's any sort of risk to go along with it.

  "Come to me, my angel," Sebastian coos after a minute. His words always sound so soft and poetic, like a distant song only I can hear.

  I obey. My long black dress touches the floor as I walk over to him, feeling the gust of wind on the small of my back, where the dress wraps around. He stands up as soon as I'm in front of him, his eyes not leaving mine. Gently, he reaches out a thumb and touches it to my chin, rubbing his finger back and forth and back and forth along my skin. His body is so close that I can feel his heat wrapping around my body. I feel his breath on my lips, the tingling sensation I get when I'm this close to him. I press against him further, wrapping my arms around his well-muscled body and savoring it, savoring him, as everything else washes away.

  "You are my everything," he whispers into my ear.

  "I know," I whisper as he moves his fingers from my chin to my lips, trailing them in circles ever so slowly. I close my eyes, savoring the taste of his skin, wanting nothing more than for him to move his finger down lower and lower.

  Just the thought makes me all anxious.

  Hotel room 364 is huge. It's a suite Sebastian is always able to get for us--I have no idea how. He always pays for it, tells me it's perfectly safe, and so I don't question it. It's not like he has any reason to lie. The walls are long and perfectly white, stretching into another room. The air smells perpetually like roses and shampoo, and it's thick, intense, like him. Brown lacquered floorboards stretch across the expanse of the apartment, cool under my feet. A large dresser sits behind Sebastian's leather chair, and a couch and television are positioned in the adjoining room, with a refrigerator full of beverages beside it. A single chandelier hangs in the bedroom, where we are now. I look up at it as Sebastian brushes his lips against the space below my chin, nipping at my soft skin. The chandelier is always shining and moving, I realize, making a million tiny clinks as the pieces of glass hanging from it hit each other.

  The bed in the center of the room is huge and soft, and the creamy white covers are filled with rose petals Sebastian leaves every week, forming a simple diamond.

  The diamond symbolizes me. He got the idea from my name--Crystal--saying that I really am a crystal, or, more accurately, a diamond. My soul is pure and rock-hard, he says. Unbreakable. Unshatterable. Untouchable by anyone but him.

  I'm his diamond.

  His angel.

  And he's my savior.

  Sebastian stops with his slow kisses after a minute. He pulls back and watches me for a while, taking me in, and I take him in too. He really is the kind of person I should be afraid of: handsome and slick and 100% mysterious. He's tough on the outside, like he's been through a lot. I can see it in the scar on his jaw, in the hardness of his skin and the gruffness of his voice. But something about him is so tender, so raw and real and hurt as I am, and it just makes me want to stay with him, heal him, maybe even love him so much more. I don't understand my feelings for Sebastian. I don't understand my attraction to him. But I think that's the point. Because if I don't understand it, I can never lose it like I did with everything else. And let me tell you this: I don't want to lose Sebastian.

  I don't want to lose the one person I have left, even if I will never really know him.

  "Want to hear a joke?" Sebastian asks after a while, with that distant look in his eyes, like he's thinking about me in as many inappropriate ways as I'm thinking about him.

  I raise my eyebrow, biting back a smile. I never really could predict what Sebastian did or said. Maybe that's what I liked about him. I liked that he was so mysterious, so hard to make sense of. "A joke?"

  "Yes, angel," he says, stepping back, seemingly deep in thought. "A joke. I'm capable of them too, you know."

  I feel myself smile. "I'll be the judge of that."

  "Okay." He moves closer to me, kissing my cheek ever so slowly, his tongue dragging against my skin, and then pulling back. "Ready?"

  I savor the feel of him against me. "Ready."

  His eyes light up a little. He's always liked challenges. "Knock knock," he says, watching me intensely.

  I play along, hiding my smile. "Who's there?"

  "Sebastian."

  "Sebastian who?"

  He doesn't take his blue eyes off of me as he says, "Sebastian who is not wearing any clothes."

  I almost laugh. Almost. My heart skips a beat at the heat of his stare, feeling the tingles he gives me creeping into my skin. "Was that just a trick to get me turned on, Sebastian who is not wearing any clothes?" I say to him.

  "Of course," he says, jaw tight, smile perfect and seamless. He keeps staring at me, dancing his tongue between either end of his mouth, and I'm so fascinated with the movements of his lips that I feel myself gravitating closer and closer to him. I can't resist him. I can't resist him and he knows it. "Now, more importantly," Sebastian says, "did it work?"

  He's dressed in a tux and black bowtie, his dark pants smooth against his thighs. My eyes focus on the bulge in his pants, and I realize how much I want him there, but can't have him--big thanks to rule #1. I have to work not to squirm at thoughts of Sebastian and me, of him inside of me, and a blush comes over me, hard and warm.

  When I was a kid, my parents were total workaholics. They were sports agents, always have been, and they always went on business trips, both across the U.S. and across the globe. Half of the week every week until I turned eighteen they were away from the house, away from me, leaving me at home and totally alone. Sometimes they never even told me they were leaving; they just left. But I still loved them. I still needed them more than anything, especially when I failed out of college sophomore year, and I had them, until two years ago.

  Or at least, I told myself I loved them.

  Whenever I was sad, I always used to throw myself into dance. I loved it with every fiber of my being. It was a part of me, a piece of my soul I couldn't reverse. The routines, the people, the bliss it gave me--all of it became one with my mind and heart. Dance helped me escape everything else, kind of like Sebastian does, but more than that, something about dance always pulled me in. There was something beautiful about all of the different movements and poses, something magical in the stories dance told. Dance made me feel free, made me feel alive, made me feel whole, but then I lost it, like I lost everything else.

  Two years ago, after my parents were murdered in what the police determined to be a robbery, I felt like I had nothing left. Depression had eaten away at me for a long time, but I always clung to the fact that I still had people in my life, people that mattered to me, people that I couldn't leave, to keep me from doing anything to stupid. But then, just like that, all that was gone. And I had no one.

  I was twenty the night I attempted suicide a few days after their murder, but it of course didn't work. I tried to jump off of our three-story building, to break myself and my body once and for all, but the only I thing I ended up breaking was my leg and all chance at ever dancing again. Now all that's left of me is a bunch of shards, shards Sebastian is trying to put back together.

  Sebastian always told me that dance made me graceful, angelic, supple, like my movements were the key to a world filled with delight he wanted to unlock in me. He said I was an acrobat because of my dance past, and not just an acrobat in bed. He said something about me--the way I walked, the way I thought, the way I was--was so smooth and graceful, so perfectly wonderful, it was like I was always performing for him. And sometimes, just sometimes, I think he's right about that. In a way, I'm always performing for him, and I don't want to stop.

  Sebasti
an is the audience member who I'm effortlessly pleasing, and he is returning the favor.

  I take a step toward him now. He watches me carefully, with that hawk-like expression of his, waiting with a gentle amusement to see what I do next. "Yes," I whisper hoarsely. My eyes lock with his, and the connection I feel makes my heart speed up. "Yes, it worked."

  Sebastian's eyes are on fire all of a sudden, burning into my skin. His gaze makes me feel so hot, inside and out, and suddenly all I want is to press against him again and more. I watch his lips come closer to me, feel the hardness between his thighs pressing against me. "Then do it," he growls, his eyes searching mine. "Take it off."

  And holy hell, I don't need to be told twice.

  I don't take my eyes off of him as I slowly slip off my dress. Quick and easy. Check. Then, ever so slowly, I unhook my bra. He watches me with such intensity it makes me want him even more as I unhook the first strap, then the second, and then, to his delight, the bra falls away, hitting the ground with a soft pat. I reach for my panties next, but instead he says, "Allow me."

  Everything freezes in that instant. Everything slows. The space between us is totally gone, and it's like all of the air is sucked out of the room as Sebastian reaches his hand for my panties, tracing his finger along the soft skin on my inner thigh, tingles racing through me. I gasp and feel my back arch back, stopping and staring at him, wanting nothing more than for his fingers to inch up further and further. He touches my hot, tingling skin slowly, softly, like he's petting a bird's feather. His fingers move to my panties, and the next thing I know, they're slipped off. My panties hit the floor softly, but not once do I take my eyes off of Sebastian, and he doesn't take his off of me. We just stand there, staring. I'm totally naked now and I don't even care. My whole body is hot and tingly and humming with energy, and I'm full aware of the need coursing through me, the intensity between us. We stand there, not breathing, not moving, for what feels like eternity. Sebastian shifts his body closer to me. I can see he's as aroused as I am, can feel it in the electricity in the air. It's like we aren't even here anymore, like we've been taken into another dimension, one full of heat and desire and no air to breathe.