by Anna Rezes
I nod yes, shake my head no, and finally shrug, irked I can’t explain. She’s too kind to push me further on the dad subject and instead offers, “So wait a while with Ben. If it’s meant to happen, it will.”
“I don’t think anything can happen, but ever since he told me how he feels, I can’t help but notice parts of him I’ve never noticed before. And it’s crazy how he’s always been there for me, more than I ever knew. I mean, he got suspended for defending me, and he’s put college on hold. But I wonder what will happen when he realizes it’s too much. I’m too much.” I roll to my side and prop my head on my hand.
“Wow, there is a lot there we need to discuss. I’ve never seen you like this.”
We continue talking and catching up. I find out why she left college. Morgan’s roommate went out one night leaving the door unlocked. Morgan went to sleep early because of finals the next morning. In the middle of the night two drunk guys stumbled into her room. They overpowered her, held her down, stripped off her clothes, and covered her mouth to muffle her screams. Her roommate came back just in time. Even though she wasn’t raped, she was violated and never felt safe after that. The two guys got away with a slap on the wrist, making Morgan feel additional betrayal by the lack of consequence.
While I am a pessimist—expecting bad from people—Morgan is genuinely optimistic. She sees the best in people and situations. Optimism can be very annoying, but with Morgan, it is part of who she is. Even with her faith in humanity rattled, she is eager to carry on with her life. Her motto, everything happens for a reason, is still holding strong.
I tell her about my year, leaving out my recent discoveries. After everything that’s happened to me recently and after hearing her story, I feel childish for worrying about Gavin. We reminisce over stories from our past, and I feel a pang of guilt realizing if I hadn’t accidentally run into Morgan on campus, I wouldn’t be here now. It’s so easy to drift apart. We went different directions and almost lost each other in just a year. I promise myself I won’t let it happen again. Even if she moves to Antarctica, I’ll make an effort to hold onto such a gem in my life.
“I’d better get my stuff out of the car,” I say, standing.
“Okay. I’ll follow you down. I’m thinking about making a pizza. Are you hungry?”
Opening her bedroom door, I shrug. “I could eat.”
Morgan makes her way to the kitchen while I head to the car. The wraparound porch is brightly lit, but the country sky is pitch black without city lights. As I open the back door, the interior light blinds me for a second. I stuff my shopping bags into my overnight duffle and pass the BMW on my way back. I meet Morgan in the kitchen, drop my bag on a chair, and hike myself up on a stool at the counter.
Leaning toward me, Morgan asks, “Pepperoni pizza okay?”
“Sounds good. Are your parents’ home?”
“No, they’re out getting fireworks for tomorrow.”
Morgan’s family has a firework display every year. It’s their Fourth of July tradition.
“So, whose car is out there?”
She scoffs, “That’s Patrick’s car, of course. Leave it to him to end up with a ridiculously expensive car.”
“Patrick?” I swallow nervously. “Is he here?”
“He’s around here somewhere. Probably in his room.”
“What do you mean . . . in his room?”
She cocks her head as if I’m missing something obvious. “He lives here. You know that, right?”
“I . . . didn’t know that, no.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head wondering first why she thought he would’ve told me and second why didn’t he tell me? Shrugging, I suggest, “It must have slipped his mind.”
“So, what’s going on between the two of you anyway?”
“Nothing.” I burst into nervous laughter having no idea what’s going on when it comes to Patrick.
Her brows furrow. “Are you at least sort of friends?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I think we get along quite beautifully, myself,” Patrick contends from the doorway, his tall stature leaning against the door frame. His arms are folded across his chest, and his blond hair is messier than usual. He is smiling from ear to ear, and his bright eyes are searching mine from across the room. His once white button-down shirt is filthy and missing buttons. His jeans are caked in mud while dark smudges stain his lovely features.
“What happened to you?” Morgan snickers.
He doesn’t break my eye contact as he answers her. “Setting up the fireworks. Someone has to do the dirty work so the rest of you can relax and enjoy the show.”
His gaze is seductive. I look to Morgan who is gawking apprehensively between Patrick and me. The oven buzzer rings letting us know it’s finished preheating. Morgan shifts her weight and turns to put the pizza in the oven.
“I thought my parents were out picking up the fireworks,” Morgan says, as she closes the oven door and turns back around.
His stare shifts from me to Morgan. While his gaze is otherwise occupied, I view him unrestrained for the first time since we met. The two of them are talking, but the words are a blur. His alluring baritone becomes music to my ears.
Even as disheveled as he is; he looks impossibly fresh. My nostrils fill with his sweet masculine scent, causing my eyes to close involuntarily. A hint of mud and sweat mixes with his alluring musk. His dark jeans fit like they were specially tailored for him. His open shirt reveals a chest so enticing I can’t look away. Warmth spreads through my body—building—getting hotter by the second. I’m barely holding myself together, finding no flaw, no imperfection. I want him to look my way, and as he turns in my direction, I am imprisoned by the ocean behind his magnificent blue eyes. I hold my breath, feeling as flimsy as a school girl with a crush. I understand now why Ashley and every other girl I’ve seen find him irresistible.
“Emily!” I hear Morgan cry, effectively capturing my attention.
Snapping my head around, I break out of my pathetic stupor. “What?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I asked you three times.”
“No, I’m sorry. I guess . . . I zoned out.”
She’s quick to forgive. “Did you bring your bathing suit?”
“No.” What have I missed? How long have I been staring? I hate that I lose myself when Patrick is around.
“Well, I have a few that might work,” Morgan says, unaffected by my mood.
Patrick leaves the room to travel up the stairs. I find myself trying to follow his quiet footsteps above, so I won’t be taken off guard next time.
When we finish eating our pizza, we make our way up to Morgan’s room. I hear the shower in her adjoining Jack and Jill bathroom, so I figure Patrick must be staying in the room opposite hers.
Morgan and I watch a movie we’ve already seen a dozen times over the years. It quickly becomes background noise as the two of us continue to catch up. I learn about Morgan’s new job working nights at the local hospital. She’s hoping to stay there and get a job as a nurse once she’s finished with school.
Morgan has been back for a month and she already has her life back on track moving steadily straight ahead. I have no idea what I’m doing with mine. I wish I had a strong desire to be something or an ambition to strive for, but what I have is a very uncertain feeling about almost everything.
I’m keenly aware of the shower turning off in the next room. I listen intently, but can’t hear a thing, so I assume he goes back to his bedroom. I wonder what Patrick is going to school for and how he can afford such a nice car.
It’s almost midnight when Morgan’s mom taps on the door. Julie peeks her head in to say hi. She and Tom have just returned from somewhere, and she says her quick goodnight. Morgan and I crawl into her queen size bed, and she’s out in a flash.
I lie watching the shadows on the ceiling for an hour without finding sleep. The more I struggle to get comfortable, the further awake I become. T
o avoid waking Morgan, I quietly make my way to the bathroom and close the door before turning on the light. I flip the switch and stifle a scream. Patrick is leaning against the sink as if waiting for me.
“What are you doing? You scared me,” I breathe, putting a hand to my heaving chest.
“It’s nothing in comparison to what you do to me,” he purrs seductively.
My mouth hangs open until I find my voice. “W . . . what?”
His confident eyes stare into mine. Those eyes are toxic for my otherwise infallible constraint. My legs waver under me. He is ruinous to my composure—disastrous to my self-control. He steps toward me, and I slink back farther into the door I’m already pinned against. He takes another step and reaches for me. I’m frozen and desperately fighting to keep my thoughts coherent. If I let him touch me, I won’t be able to break his spell.
His eyes trail from my shoulders down my arms as his hands follow. Every hair on my body stands on end at his touch. He gently pulls my hands from my chest examining all the scrapes and bruises I acquired on my clumsy hike the night before. The look of disapproval appears to consume him, but with my injuries being mild, I wonder about the level of concern etched in his face.
“I’m afraid you’ve had a terrible birthday, love.”
I shrug, unable to speak. It hasn’t been my best birthday, but I was lucky enough to spend a good part of the day with my sister and Morgan which makes today better than most.
“Come with me.”
I have no time to question him. He’s already pulling me through the adjoining door into his bedroom. Although everything rational in me screams not to go into a dark room alone with Patrick, he’s taken away my choice. My nervousness turns to full-fledged anxiety as he closes the bathroom door with his foot, his hands never leaving my wrists.
We’re alone in his bedroom with the doors shut, and the curtains hanging heavily over the moonlit windows. The only glow of light comes from under the bathroom door. I barely contain my inner turmoil as we stand linked in the darkness.
“Emily, you have no reason to be frightened by me.”
A new sensation trickles up my arms, and I wonder where the sudden heat comes from.
“Patrick, what is that?” I can’t help the subtle quiver in my voice.
He remains unruffled. “Just a minute more and I promise I’ll turn on the lights. You are very special. I know it’s hard for you to understand and your dad did a terrible job explaining, but Emily, this is not a bad thing. I know it seems that way to you but—”
“How do you know?”
I’m tired of being in the dark, but my thoughts are less clouded now that I can’t see him. Dad’s explanation was vague, but I still don’t understand how Patrick could have any answers.
My frustration builds at his continued silence, and the warm sensation begins to burn as it spreads through my body like fire. “Ouch, Patrick, what are you doing?”
“Just a second,” he says, unfazed by my irritation.
A painful moan escapes as I attempt to wiggle away from the heat, but Patrick’s grip remains firm, and I still can’t see a thing. “Let go, Patrick!” I twist my arms in another attempt to pull away.
“Almost done . . .” he says, holding tight. “There!”
In one fell swoop, the heat departs, and his hands release my wrists. I tuck my arms against my body and retreat several steps. Just as I am able to distinguish his outline in the shadows, he moves away. When he turns on the light, I am momentarily blinded.
Despite my apprehension, Patrick appears unphased. An easy smile lights his face as he glides back to me. “Look,” he says, reaching forward.
I back away, afraid of his touch. Glancing at my arms, I gasp and hold them out in front of me flipping them over. The scratches disappeared, along with the bruising. As a matter of fact, my muscles are no longer aching either. “How . . . how did you . . . I mean . . .” I lift my gaze to stare at him in question.
“I told you it’s not all bad.”
“Patrick, how is this possible? How is any of this possible?”
His smile fades and his tone becomes serious. “Are you ready for the answers?”
I look around his room to find I’m only a step away from his bed. I back up to settle my body on the corner of the king-sized bed. “I’ve been ready for answers. You’re the one refusing to give them to me.”
“Very well. What would you like to know?”
“I want to know all of it! Like what the hell is going on and how you can talk to me without talking and what the hell did you just do?”
He snickers under his breath as he joins me on his bed. What was I thinking? I’m alone with Patrick. In his room. On his bed! I want to run while I have the chance, but these answers are too important, so I pivot to face him.
His back rests against the dark leather headboard while his legs stretch out in front of him crossing at the ankles. Even with the space between us, he feels a little too close, and he looks too smug.
“You aren’t going to answer me, are you? You’re just toying with me again. This is stupid,” I say, moving to get off the bed.
“You inherited your gifts from your mother just as I inherited my gifts from my mother. I know this because only women can pass along these traits,” he explains, and I settle back down.
“Okay,” I say with hesitation.
“I’ll tell you the story I was told. Do you think you can hold your questions until the end?” He watches me with one eyebrow raised in challenge.
“I’ll try.”
He jumps right in. “It started about five hundred years ago with a pregnant queen on her deathbed.”
I have to try harder than I thought to stay quiet, while I internally shake my head and roll my eyes with disapproval.
He continues, “All the medicine and healing practices were failing, so in the wicked king’s desperation he called upon a magical healer from a faraway land.”
“And bippity boppity boo, she was all better, right?” I say, unable to restrain myself. He gives me a dirty look, making me feel childish. And to my surprise, he doesn’t continue his story. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet,” I promise.
He stares me down, and I wonder what he’s thinking. He moves closer to me on the bed which causes an immediate increase in my pulse. He sits cross-legged just before me with his knees touching mine. When he reaches out, I shy away. His open palm caresses my cheek. My body is tense and a thrilling warmth spreads through my body. I tilt my face away from his palm, but his other hand is already there to catch my other cheek. He guides my head forward to meet his gaze. I know I should pull away, but part of me wonders what a kiss from Patrick would feel like.
“Let me show you, love.”
“Show me what?” I mumble through my fog.
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
His grin emphasizes how close his lips are. “I’m going to show you anyway.”
At first, I think he’s going to kiss me, but just like that bippity boppity boo bullshit, Patrick’s room dissolves into a lavish bedroom from medieval times. A woman is lying on an enormous bed. The guilted quilt is pulled down to her thighs, revealing a round belly under her regal gown. Though she appears to be on her deathbed, a sparkling crown adorns her intricately woven blond tresses. Four maiden women are tending to the ill queen.
How I could be seeing the pregnant queen from Patrick’s story is beyond my comprehension, but those thoughts escape my mind as a burly man barges into the room. He’s dressed in an elaborate garment with animal fur draped over his shoulder. He wears a golden crown atop his head with gemstones sparkling from every finger.
The queen and her maidens cower at his presence. The king doesn’t appear cruel, but seeing how others react to him, I sense he’s someone to fear. An ancient woman follows him into the room. Her skin is dark and wrinkled as crepe paper. Her hollow cheeks, white eyes, and silver hair peek out from beneath her embroidered hooded cloak. She is s
mall and hunched but moves with grace as she halts the king with a gesture. Her bony hand sweeps out from behind her cloak revealing her ring-laden fingers as she points him toward the door. A violent look flashes across his face but is replaced with a blank stare as he makes eye contact with the old woman. The king leaves without a word.
Once the king is gone, the old woman moves urgently toward the Queen. She drops her cloak and beneath she wears a simple dress revealing her tiny frame adorned with jewels and medallions.
The picture blurs then fades away, and before I know it, I’m back in Patrick’s room staring into his eyes. Patrick pulls away, removing his hands from my face, but he can’t go far because somewhere along the line I must have grabbed onto his t-shirt. My hands are fisted in the flimsy fabric.
“Now will you let me finish my story?”
Releasing his shirt, I nod, afraid my voice will crack if I try to speak. I need him to keep talking so I can pull myself together enough to ask him what just happened.
“When the shaman arrived, she kicked the king out for she knew he was a loveless, abusive man who only married the young woman so she could bear his sons. The king threatened the shaman’s life if she didn’t save his unborn son, yet he didn’t care about the life of his beautiful bride. The shaman spoke silently to the queen’s spirit bringing her back from the brink of death by laying hands on her pregnant belly while uttering incantations. A dense fog covered the castle for days while they communicated.
“When anyone came near the healer, they would forget their purpose and be frightened away by a single glance from the glazed eyes of the old woman. She could bury thoughts deep into the minds of others without them knowing the ideas were not their own.
“When the queen was ready to give birth, the elderly shaman helped deliver three daughters. The third child was stillborn. The queen demanded to hold her dead infant. The grief-stricken queen cradled her precious daughter placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. The baby took her first breath and exhaled with a life-inducing cry. The queen died immediately after the kiss, choosing to trade her life for her child.
“The king was beyond furious. He would’ve sacrificed all three daughters and the queen for one son. He threatened the old woman and she, in turn, cursed him with a spell of sterility and vowed to protect the girls from him. She gifted the girls with her inherent powers of the shaman and threatened the king with death should he ever raise a hand to his daughters.
