Object of My Affection

by Tracey H. Kitts

  Hearing about Marco’s attack upset me much worse than I’d thought it would. It was similar to my own, except in my case, my father had chopped up the werewolf. I was torn between crying and throwing up.

  “What happened? What did you do?”

  My dad seemed to come out of a fog as he answered, “Alfred and George had killed the one we were sent for on their way to us.”

  “What about Marco?”

  “Well, after he was ... done we just looked at each other for a while. I think if Alfred had had any bullets left, he’d have shot him, but I just couldn’t. I know that’s what I was supposed to do, but part of me kept saying, that could have been you.”

  He looked back up and said, “Lilith, that could have been me, and it nearly was my daughter ... I let him go. I watched while he walked out and Alfred looked for a bullet.”

  My dad had another call coming in, so he excused himself.

  The moment the call ended I began to cry. I cried so hard I pulled my stomach muscles. I had known that Marco was attacked, but I’d had no idea that my father and Alfred were both there. I had never expected to hear an eye witness account of him being ripped to pieces.

  I went into the bathroom and put a cool wash cloth over my eyes. No matter how much I tried to calm myself, all I could see was Marco covered in blood. My mind ran through memories of rubbing my face against his chest. The image was so strong that I could feel his hair as it brushed my cheek.

  The next image that filled my mind was his muscular tanned chest hanging in shreds. I lunged for the toilet and barely made it. I must have spent at least an hour in there throwing up what felt like everything I’d eaten for the past month. Once I finally stopped gagging I just lay there on the floor and fought the urge to run to Marco as if it were a physical thing. My desire to be near him, to comfort him was almost tangible.

  Chapter Four

  Somehow I made it through to the next morning when Elijah came knocking at my door. I had packed a change of clothes in my usual black leather bag. Elijah wanted to go to dinner after a day at the beach and I didn’t want to wear a transparent tunic to a restaurant.

  When I opened the door the smile faded from his face as he asked, “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  It had taken every ounce of will power I possessed to get out of bed that morning. I wanted to be near Marco and the more I fought the urge, the stronger it seemed to become.

  Elijah stepped inside the door and hugged me close to him.

  For a moment I wondered if he could read minds, too. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in the curve of his neck. Since Elijah was only a few inches taller than me, he was easier to snuggle. The more I was around werewolves, the more touchy feely I was becoming. I had always been the kind of person who liked to be casually touched, but not by strangers. Then again Elijah wasn’t a stranger. My desire for closeness had been largely ignored, however, due to the fact that direct contact with their skin might accidentally result in me reading people’s minds. For years the only person I ever hugged had been my father.

  But Elijah was safe. He’d had a nice childhood and a nice family. He had good memories. Nothing terrible was going to jump out at me from behind that gorgeous smile.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” he asked as he pulled back from me.

  “Yeah. I was just a little sick last night, something I ate.”

  “You sure it isn’t all the rumors I’ve been hearing?”

  “Well, that didn’t help, but the thoughts of being associated with you doesn’t make me sick.” I attempted to sound upbeat about it, but failed miserably.

  “I’m really sorry about that. I want you to know I haven’t said anything to give people the impression that....”

  “It’s alright,” I interrupted. “You don’t owe me an explanation,” I forced myself to smile, “or an apology. I’ve lived in this town off and on my whole life. These people are assholes.” The smile was genuine after I said that and my spirits began to improve.

  “So, you feel like snorkeling?”

  “Sure. Just let me get my flip flops.”

  Elijah had an old red Jeep that was perfect for going to the beach. He tossed my bag in the back along with his and we were off. The nearest beach was about a fifty minute drive from my house, so we had time to enjoy the breeze and each other’s company.

  “So, what have you been up to?” he raised his voice slightly so I could hear him over the wind rushing past our ears.

  Immediately, I was plagued by the image of Marco crawling toward me in the bathtub and I felt myself begin to blush.

  “Oh, nothing really.”

  “Do you burn easily?”

  “Huh?”

  “You look a little flushed.”

  “Oh, it’s just the heat,” I lied.

  For the rest of the drive he told me about his visit home.

  Both his parents were doing good, as well as a few other relatives he’d visited while he was gone. Elijah had worn deep blue swim trunks that were nearly knee length with a pale blue t-shirt. As he spoke, I couldn’t seem to stop my eyes from wandering. He had nice legs. Then again, I hadn’t seen anything on Elijah that wasn’t nice. I felt a little guilty for noticing, but then reminded myself there was no harm in looking. Like I’d told Kat once, “If I ever stop looking, check for a pulse.”

  I like to think of attractive men like paintings in an art gallery. I love to look. It’s one of my favorite things to do.

  There are all different kinds of art and I have learned over the years to appreciate them in all their many forms. I might learn to appreciate the beauty of a particular piece, even if it doesn’t exactly match anything of mine. It wouldn’t go well in my house, but it looks nice just the same. There is a big difference in admiring a painting and taking it home to hang in your living room.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  I was too embarrassed to admit I’d been staring at his legs and hadn’t heard a word he’d just said. Fortunately he repeated the question, so I didn’t have to.

  “I was just wondering if Kat would still be willing to help Mary out when she finishes school. What do you think?”

  His sister Mary would be completing her degree in interior design sometime next year and Elijah was hoping she could come to work with Kat.

  “I think so. Kat has talked off and on before about opening a café either in her shop, or next door. Having someone else around would free her up to do that.”

  “That would be perfect. Then I could make sure local punks don’t try to date my sister.” He laughed. I knew Elijah was teasing. He obviously cared for his sister, but I knew enough about him to know he wouldn’t really try to run her life.

  Our day at the beach was surprisingly fun. We swam, we snorkeled, and neither one of us got a sunburn. There was another storm brewing in the gulf, so it was pleasantly overcast with a nice breeze. The ocean had both fascinated and intimated me ever since I was a child. I stood there knee deep in the water and let the coming tide wash over me while Elijah gathered sea shells. As the clean salt air filled my lungs I made a conscious effort to release my worries.

  There were people out there with real problems and issues that made my mixed up love life pale in comparison. When it came down to it, I was blessed, with nothing to complain about.

  Maybe Mathias and all his advice had been good for something after all. How many times had he told me that everything was going to be alright? Besides, the man could see the future. Even if tomorrow might completely suck, at some point things had to improve. I looked toward Elijah happily chasing the waves looking for shells and decided that that moment was already an improvement. Mathias was right.

  Whatever would be would be, and I could either learn to accept that or go crazy. Given those choices, acceptance sounded pretty good to me. I believe that our destiny was decided long before we were born. However, the path we use to get there is up to us. The choices we make along the
way determines which version of our self arrives at the destination.

  Keeping with that train of thought, I realized then that a part of me belonged with Elijah. The cheerleader that never got to go to the prom, the girl who was in drama and theater, she belonged there, not me. Elijah would have been the perfect guy for a different version of myself. But the me that stood before him that day had seen too much and evolved quite drastically from cheerleading captain.

  He belonged with the part of me that still believed in love at first sight, not the part that knew what it felt like to be manipulated. The version of me that Elijah knew had dropped out of high school. I had had to get a GED after my attack so that I could travel to Terra for training and evaluation as soon as possible.

  Of course my father kept the circumstances of my injury very hush-hush, but it didn’t matter. The point was I had to leave a part of myself behind. And that part would have liked Elijah very much. The fact that he was still attracted to me, in spite of what I had become, was a great tragedy.

  Somehow I knew that if Elijah kept hanging around me, I’d break his heart. Not intentionally of course, but it would happen nonetheless. I did not want to be the one responsible for taking the sparkle from his eyes. But I liked Elijah and didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise, because it would have been a lie.

  He walked toward me with his hands full of shells. His smile lit up his blue eyes and I almost chuckled. Good looking guys are like shells on the beach, you can’t keep them all, but every now and then you see one you’re willing to take a dive for. So what if everyone in town thought I was sleeping with Elijah? There were worse things to be accused of. I was willing to take a dive to keep seeing that smile, even if being near me might lead to its eventual demise.

  It wasn’t as if I had a great reputation in the first place.

  Since I didn’t have much of anything to do with the people in town, I was naturally the topic of a lot of gossip. People are always eager to run their mouth about things they don’t understand. Why that is, I’ll never know.

  —

  Once we had both changed in a little booth on the beach we decided it was time to get something to eat. We went to a Brazilian restaurant that had a wonderful sugar rum drink with lime slices. I couldn’t remember the name of the drink, but after I’d had several, the live music began to sound better and better.

  Elijah, being the responsible soul that he is, didn’t drink because he would be driving home.

  “I have to confess something,” I spoke over the music.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve never really liked cops.”

  “Really? How come? Do you have a problem with authority figures?”

  “Not really. I like men in uniform, so I suppose in theory that means I like cops. I guess I’ve just met too many assholes who consequently were police officers.”

  “Pigs you mean?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, pigs. Don’t get me wrong, I like bacon.”

  “But?”

  “But too much of anything will eventually give you indigestion.”

  To his credit, Elijah had a great sense of humor. He actually laughed at my insulting joke.

  “Do you really think that’s funny, or are you just faking it in the hopes of seeing me naked?”

  “If you’re going to be a cop in a small town, you might as well have a sense of humor. But yes, I am holding out some hope of seeing you naked.” He smiled.

  “Is that so? You often find women who mock you attractive?”

  “Always.” He grinned.

  “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”

  “On the contrary, I think you haven’t had enough. I know how fast you metabolize alcohol. I’m hoping that if they keep them coming fast enough I might be able to take advantage of you.”

  I laughed and to my horror snorted before responding, “Honey, no one’s ever taken advantage of me, unless I let them think they did. You get me?”

  Elijah shook his head, but his smile never wavered.

  “No, I don’t get you. But that’s part of the appeal.”

  “You should be careful which fruit you find yourself apeeling.”

  He laughed. “Wow. That has got to be the worst line I’ve ever heard. Now, I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

  “Na, I can be just this stupid sober, I swear.”

  “Why don’t you eat something else? It might absorb some of the rum and keep you from getting sick,” he suggested.

  “That’s not possible. By the time we get half way home, I’ll be sober. Besides, why would I want to kill my buzz now? I’m rather enjoying it. It’s not often that I find something strong enough to have this effect on me. Maybe it’s just because I’ve never tried this before. I haven’t had time to build up an immunity yet. What’s it called again?”

  “Caipriinha. It’s rum made from sugar cane.”

  “It’s good,” I said as I fished the lime slices from my empty glass.

  “So, when does Alfred come back?” he asked.

  “Three weeks.” I held up three fingers while I sucked on the lime.

  “You know that looks dirty?” he teased.

  “What? You never suck on limes in public before?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  After I finished with my gratuitous lime sucking, we got back in the Jeep and headed home. The warm evening breeze felt good against my skin, so I just lay back and enjoyed it. It was completely dark by the time we got home. Considering it was summer that meant it was at least nine thirty. Elijah walked me to the door and leaned in close. It took me a minute to figure out he was examining my eyes.

  “You’re right, your pupils aren’t even dilated anymore.”

  “Told you.”

  He looked disappointed.

  “It’s alright, Eli. You can still kiss me goodnight.”

  Without giving him a chance to respond, I leaned in and pressed my lips very gently against his.

  “Goodnight, Elijah,” I whispered against his lips.

  “Night,” his voice was a little shaky.

  I went to bed immediately after Elijah left and fell asleep before my mind could come up with anything for me to worry about.

  —

  I felt surprisingly good the next morning. After breakfast, I decided it had been too long since I’d just cut loose and danced. There’s nothing like being home alone and dancing around your house like an idiot. Besides, I had just the CD for the occasion. I am of the opinion that M. Jackson is one of the most incredible dancers the world has ever known. He did for dancing what the wheel did for driving.

  When I was cheerleading captain in high school one of my favorite things to do for a pep rally was to recreate the dance routines from some of his videos. I even had a few of the costumes still in my closet. I put on a black sleeveless bodysuit and cranked up the music. The only prop I took from the closet was my black gangster hat. I know every dance from every video the guy ever made and over the years, I’ve gotten to be pretty good. He made what I liked to call ‘feel good’ music. And that was the effect it had on me. It felt good to just dance and not give a damn what anybody thought about how I looked or who I was sleeping with.

  I was a lot more upset about all that crap than I let on to Elijah and I needed to release some nervous tension. I straightened up a bit while I danced through some rooms, and in others I just cut loose. By the time I’d worked up a really good sweat about an hour and a half later, I heard a knock at the front door. Since I was moon walking across the foyer anyway, I opened the door fairly quickly. There I found a very frazzled looking Richard.

  Richard and I had met about six years ago when I’d rescued him from one of his drunken werewolf colleagues in a local bar. Dr. David Kane was a newly turned werewolf at the time, and hadn’t known that losing his temper would bring on the change. Fortunately for Richard, Kane had flung a chair and knocked him unconscious before he finished his transformation. Richard walked away wit
h a broken nose and David went to anger management counseling.

  Richard was around five foot nine, with gentle gray blue eyes and prematurely gray hair. At the moment he looked like one of those mad scientists from a cheesy old movie with his nearly white hair sticking out at odd angles. Only his face gave away the fact that he was much younger than he at first appeared.

  If ever I had seen anything bad enough to get Dr. Richard Stacey upset, it wasn’t a good thing. Like I’d said before, he was one of the most easy going people I knew. But looking at him that afternoon, it was no great mystery that he was bothered by something.

  “Come in. Are you alright?”

  He grinned and pointed at the hat I’d forgotten I was wearing. “You done Thriller yet?”

  “Oh.” I removed the hat. “Yeah that was about an hour ago.”

  “So, who pissed you off this time?” he asked.

  “What do you mean? Do I look angry?”

  “No, but every time you break out Michael’s greatest hits, someone has really chapped your ass.”

  “If you must know, there is a perfectly rational explanation for that,” I retorted.

  “Do tell?”

  “When I am faced with a situation I can’t see an easy way out of or something that is out of my control, I revert back to a better time and place. This music helps to take me back to a time when werewolves were something I’d only heard about, when I still saw some good in the world, and when people knew how to keep their fucking mouths shut.” I smiled sweetly.

  “At last we come to the point,” he said. “I knew you were angry.”

  “Forget that, it’s petty. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Before I get started, do you really want to know the answer to that question?”

  “No. I was just pretending like I cared.”

  He looked shocked.

  “I’m kidding. Of course I want to know, why else would I ask? Come on in.” I took a good look at him and added, “I’ll fix you a drink.”

  Richard followed me into the kitchen and sat down with a heavy sigh while I took a bottle of chilled rum from the fridge.

  I looked at Richard again and took in the circles under his eyes and the fine tremor in his hands.