by K. R. Grace
If I’d been wrong with her, what were the chances of my being wrong again with Star?
Chapter Three
~*~*~*~*~*~
Star
There are three different types of days. Type One: the rainy, miserable day that makes you want to stay inside where it’s dry. Type Two: the sunny day that emanates so much perkiness you stay inside because you don’t want it to consume you. Type Three: the best in my opinion, the slightly overcast day with brooding clouds and moaning wind where dark souls seem at home. Today was a Type Three day. I sat on a fallen log at the edge of our property, enjoying the feel of the wind teasing its long fingers through my hair.
Breathing grew harder. My eyes burned with tears I refused to shed as I looked down at the thin razor blade in my hand. My friend India said cutting was a way to let out the pain, to focus on something other than the hopelessness consuming my heart on a daily basis. At the time, I thought she was crazy. Had even contemplated reporting her to the guidance counselor. But now? Yeah, I got it.
Today was Clint’s favorite type of day, too.
And it was also supposed to be our three-year anniversary.
My hand shook as I studied the blade, wondering if it would really be enough to get rid of his memory.
I lifted my head and squinted as I stared out at the open field behind our house. The wind whipped my hair into my face and in my mouth. I felt some of the strands go up my nose and just left it there. It reminded me of my existence. An existence I despised.
Whenever we were about to have a big storm, Clint would drive us out onto his parents’ property and park his old beat-up truck under a large tree overlooking the pecan groves his father owned. We’d climb into the flatbed and snuggle up on a blanket, content to watch the wind rattle the rows and rows of trees. Well, to be more accurate. I’d stare out at the fields while Clint buried his face in my neck. It was an obsession of his.
Just before he’d roll us so that I was beneath him, looking up into his smirking sea green eyes, he’d whisper into my ear, “Whenever we’re apart, just look out at the field, and you’ll find me.”
It was so corny, but a well-aimed missile that worked at sending me into a shivering, hormone-driven mess. He knew I was a sucker for the Catherine and Heathcliff relationship in Wuthering Heights, and was always looking for ways to recreate that for us. He was good about that, especially if he thought he would get lucky, which happened nine times out of ten.
At the moment, I could hear his voice clearly. It was lower, deeper than normal; like it’d been the first time he told me he loved me.
Over the howling of the wind, I heard his soft words. “I love you.”
God, I’d been so scared and excited the first time he’d said those words.
Clint’s older brother Marc worked at the theater complex, and was able to sneak us into an R-rated movie Clint had been dying to see. It was one of those horror slasher movies that basically made you scared to live. Clint loved how I spent the majority of the time with my face buried in his shoulder, but I ended up needing to leave because my stomach couldn’t handle all the blood and gore. We snuck back out and sat in his brother’s 1979 VW van called the Shag Shack to talk until his parents picked us up.
“You’re such a chicken,” he teased me, poking the spot under my ribs, sending me into the floor with a squeal.
“I can’t help it. They were mutilating each other. I thought I was going to hurl.” I turned up my nose.
I eyed him with unease, afraid he was going to tickle me again before I could get back up in the seat. He held his hands out in surrender, allowing me to slide next to him on the bench. Our thighs brushed, and I felt the familiar jolt I got whenever we held hands. It started at my feet, went up to my hair and then landed right in the pit of my stomach. I knew what it was – desire. We learned about it in wellness class. By the way he suddenly tensed up, I knew he was feeling the same thing.
He shifted slightly so our knees were touching instead of our thighs. As if that made it any easier. I looked into his beautiful sea green eyes and knew it was the moment I had been waiting for: he was finally going to kiss me, and it would be my first kiss ever. Those radiant eyes moved to my lips and my stomach began to spasm like chipmunks hyped on caffeine were using it as a bouncy house. I had the fleeting fear I was going to throw up on him, but then he took my hand into his and squeezed it, bringing my focus back to us.
He awkwardly lowered his face to mine, a clear indication he was new at it too. I could scarcely breathe because when I did, I drank in his air and it took mine away. Our noses bumped and we chuckled, but he was determined. Finally, our lips met. First, I was disappointed. His lips were dry and the only thing I could think was that he shouldn’t have had his mom’s garlic bread before we left. Then I was mortified because I ate the bread too and knew he must be thinking the same thing. He must’ve sensed my hesitation because he pulled away.
“What? Was I not good enough?” he asked. I saw the hurt in his eyes and I knew I had to act fast or the night would be ruined, not to mention the memory of our first kiss.
“No, just nerves,” I said and dove back in.
This time, I didn’t know what happened, but suddenly my heart went into my toes and I was shaking from the intensity of it. It was short. Too short. He pulled away and flashed me with a proud smile, and my heart melted under its intensity.
We kissed again, and I felt his tongue push against my lips. At first I didn’t know what to do, but then I slightly parted my lips and our tongues met in a wet, sloppy dance that made me crumble against his chest. My toes curled, and I clung to him as if I’d drown if I let go. He let out a groan, and I was blissfully lost.
When he finally decided we needed air, he backed away and rested his head on my forehead like I’d seen couples do in the movies. Then, he placed a kiss on my neck, just below my ear and whispered, “I love you.”
I didn’t say it back. I couldn’t because I was so overwhelmed. We hadn’t been dating for three months yet. How could he be so sure what he was feeling was love? God, how could I be sure it was love? It could just be heartburn from the lasagna we’d had for dinner. Thankfully, instead of getting mad, he tugged the collar of my shirt down and began sucking on the base of my neck. My eyes rolled back as I let out a happy sigh, and I accidentally slammed my head on the window.
We both laughed as he pulled me onto his lap so that I straddled him.
Something hard pressed against the place that seemed to be on fire between my legs. My face flushed hot at the knowledge that I’d caused him to respond that way, and his face went pink. Neither of us addressed it, but instead I clutched onto the front of his shirt and kissed him with all the emotions I felt but for some reason couldn’t voice.
God, that night had changed everything. I’d known then Clint was my forever.
But I’d been wrong.
I felt something hot and sticky on my hand, bringing me back to the present. Glancing down, I saw a thin line of blood flowing from the incision, the blade still slightly embedded in my skin. It didn’t matter when I’d done it. All I could focus on was the release. The boiling pain in my chest moved to my wrist, flowed out onto the ground in a small stream, and it felt good. But with the relief came an immeasurable amount of guilt. God, what had I done?
A dog howling in the field broke into my thoughts, bringing me back to reality. If my parents saw this, they’d have me admitted.
I jumped to my feet and hurried inside to the bathroom where I doctored myself up. Once I was positive all evidence of my cutting was gone, I went into the living room where I listened to Dad talk about his job.
The wound on my arm throbbed like the telltale heart, and I worried my parents would be able to see the bandage through the thick black hoodie I wore.
If they did, neither said a word.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Drake
I couldn’t believe she’d gone through with it. No amount of prayer and telepathic mes
saging had worked. When the blade sliced through her flesh, I felt it down to my core.
It’d hurt like hell to feel her love for another guy. To have to watch the memories play out in her mind. The edges of the recollections had been pink. A sign she was choosing to remember the good instead of focusing on the bad, indicating the relationship hadn’t been a healthy one.
Still, as much as it sucked to have to sit through that, it didn’t hold a candle to the knife in the gut I got when she cut herself. It’d taken all I had not to burst through the tree line and lick away the blood before a single drop fell on the ground.
A tortured howl ripped from deep within my chest. Star’s eyes flew up in my direction, and I froze. There for a moment, I was positive she looked right at me. But, her mind was only focused on getting rid of the evidence as she stumbled into the house.
Stella needed to take over so I could do some work around the house, but I continued to pace along the edge of the woods, letting Star’s emotions wash over me.
Guilt was the most overpowering, but misery was also a strong contender. Her parents seemed oblivious to her cry for help, talking and acting like nothing was wrong with their only child. Her heart rate finally regulated, and she was no longer thinking about that guy. Just about the wound on her arm.
I relaxed when she excused herself to her room and turned on her iPod. Arctic Monkeys’ “Fluorescent Adolescent” began playing as she stretched out on her bed, staring up at nothing.
I heard a twig snap, and my head turned, gauging the distance.
One mile.
A quick sniff at the air identified warm blood and cinnamon. Definitely not Stella.
Meliena.
When she appeared beside me, I waited as she released the dead rabbit from her mouth. It landed at me feet with a soft thud. She briefly bowed her head in submission before looking me in the eyes.
Stella sends her apologies. She had a work emergency.
Thanks. What’s with the food?
I doubt you’ve eaten anything.
Always the one to look after me. Even when I’d failed her.
Thanks.
Someone has to make sure you’re ready for battle.
She sat quietly while I ate, which was unusual for her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her silver tail thumping impatiently. Out of respect, I left her thoughts to herself. She’d talk in her own time.
As soon as I finished my last bite, she finally spat out what was bothering her.
I heard some talk on campus that might interest you.
I did a quick check on Star to make sure she was still in her room. The song had changed, and now “The Ice is Getting Thinner” by Death Cab Cutie was on. Her steady breathing was an indicator she’d fallen asleep.
Tell me. I commanded.
There is this new club called the Purists on campus. They like to call themselves hipsters, but I got a trail on their thoughts. I think they’re a new chapter of Zealots. She shifted uneasily, preparing herself for my outrage.
Shit. I thought they died out back at Salem.
I began to pace. If the Zealots were back, things were about to go from bad to worse.
They’re having a hunt this weekend. The words “mutants” and “mutts” were dropped on several occasions. They even have a list of people they plan on capturing. Hesitation lined her words. There was more.
Drake, your name is on the list.
That stopped me in my tracks.
How the hell am I on the list?
Meliena whimpered at my raised voice as her snout lowered to the ground.
There’s more. She whined as I towered above her.
Spit it out, Liena! I commanded.
Star’s on there, too.
A growl ripped from my chest as I resumed my pacing.
How the hell did a bunch of college pricks get Star’s name? I demanded. If I found out one of my own leaked the information, someone was going to die tonight.
The leader of the group goes to your high school. Meliena answered from her lowered position.
Did you get a name? I need a name, damn it!
I loomed over her head, ready to go for the jugular if she answered the wrong way.
No one would even think it. I think they’re screening their thoughts.
Damn it, this wasn’t good. With Star in Seymour, it was about to be a shifter reunion. The Zealots were a sick, twisted group of fanatics who made it their sole purpose to rid the world of anything unnatural in the name of Christianity, but they weren’t Christians. They were monsters. Destiny had silenced them once, but apparently someone had resurrected the old, tyrannical sect. Star’s presence was leading the shifters right to their deaths if we didn’t do something about it.
It looks like the Falcons are the least of our worries. Meliena muttered as I finally backed down and let her rise.
I turned to watch the light in Star’s room flip off. How was I going to keep her safe without her knowing she was in danger? It was going to take all my abilities and breaking all the rules, but failing wasn’t an option this time.
I was going to need help, and there was only one person I could ask.
Hopefully she would hear my case and see it worth pursuing.
We’re not going to make it out alive, are we? Meliena’s voice didn’t waver. She was already accepting defeat when the battle hadn’t even started.
As long as we stay on the side of good, we’ll make it.
It was a partial truth, but even I had a hard time believing it.
I sent up a call to Destiny, knowing she heard. If she decided to give me the time to explain, we had a chance of surviving. Otherwise, this could be the end…for all of us.
Chapter Four
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Star
I felt like the hamster on an exercise wheel. No matter how hard I ran, I made zero progress. I just wanted it to stop and break down or something. No, I didn’t want to die. I just needed a change, one I actually wanted for once.
I hadn’t had the urge to cut since the day in the field. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I’d done it in the first place. Yeah, it felt good for the moment, but the truth was Clint’s death couldn’t be eradicated by my bloodshed. I had to accept that, and he would’ve killed me if he were alive to see me do it.
So, I threw the razors away, and promised him and myself I would find another way to cope, if that was even possible. To cope, that is.
School was what it was. I went, tried to avoid people, and yet they constantly followed me. I didn’t understand it. I never responded to their questions, nor did I contribute to their conversations, yet they always included me as if I had. After a week, I thought I was going to go postal on them.
“Hey Star, we’re all going to the basket ball game tonight. Are you game?” Giles asked and laughed at his own joke as we all headed toward the parking lot after school.
“I’ve got a thing,” I shrugged, not liking eight eyes on me.
“What kind of thing?” Onyx asked. The suspicious look she gave me was unnerving.
I didn’t answer. Not because it was my usual MO to ignore questions, but because I was terrible at lying on my feet. I inherited that from Mom.
“She is taking lessons with me,” A deep voice behind me answer. I turned to see Drake leaning forward on his crutches. I didn’t realize he was as tall as he was. He had to be at least six feet if not more. For a guy supposedly on crutches, he moved silently. I hadn’t heard him come up on us.
“Oh, well, have fun,” Wayley smirked and nudged Onyx as they all walked away, Giles and Chris reluctantly sizing Drake up as they followed.
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that,” I muttered and turned to walk away without looking at him.
“I didn’t do anything. Mr. Thomas told me to try to teach you some basic music principles.” I looked up in shock, not sure how to respond, only to find his face mere inches from my ear. “You missed your cue all week.”
He act
ually smirked at me! It made him look almost devilish. His eyes twinkled like he had something up his sleeve. I definitely didn’t like how I had the insane urge to giggle. Giggle!
“I’ve gotta go.” I tried to brush passed him.
“What are you afraid of?” He was still hovering. I was walking at a power-walk speed. How was he keeping up?
I didn’t answer him. When I made it to the front door, he was still there. A frustrated growl rumbled in my chest. I had to do something or he would follow me to Mom’s car like a stray dog that decided to adopt me. Mom would never let me hear the end of it. As I turned to say something sarcastic to get him to go away, I realized he could be my get-out-of-jail pass for the night. If I stayed later for the lesson, I’d be able to avoid my parents’ constant stares.
“What’d you have in mind?”
When he gave me a smug smile, I noticed he had a slight dimple in his left cheek. His black hair hung freely around his face and his bangs were slightly drooping over his left eye. My fingers ached to brush the hair out of his face. Okay, so I wanted to see if his hair was as soft as it looked.
What was wrong with me?
“Follow me,” he crooked a lean finger, and I did as I was told. There was something mesmerizing about him. I guess Mom saw us because out of the corner of my eye I caught her waving at me before driving away. My cell buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. It was her, of course.
“I’ve got practice,” I muttered, not wanting Drake to hear me.
“Can you get a ride from him? I promised your dad I would have dinner ready when he got home.”
“Sure,” I said before ending the call. No way would I ask him for a ride.
I realized we were going in the direction of the football field instead of the band room. I should’ve called him on it, but I didn’t have enough energy to care. Drake dominated the hallway. Even slumped over on his crutches, people moved out of the way as he walked by them. I couldn’t contain the bubble of giddiness that swarmed my system at the possibility people associated me with him.
