It’s a dance I couldn’t choreograph on my own; a dance that requires a skilled partner. And he is very, very skilled. Still gently cupping my head, his tongue teases the seam of my lips, asking for permission. Electricity shoots to my very core. My own mouth opens, starved. Greedy for anything it can get.
Finally, I allow myself the freedom to explore. My fingertips dig into strong shoulders born from constant motion. Masculine and solid. He’s so large and demanding. I love how feminine it makes me feel. I explore the curls at the base of his neck, tugging lightly on them before running my fingers through his hair. He groans against me. I need him closer and I feel myself going from zero to sixty. Kissing went from everything to just the beginning. I will always need more from this man.
He smiles against my mouth and I shudder.
I have to breathe.
My head falls back with a sigh of delight. His mouth does not waste the time for breath. Lips suck and tickle my now-fully exposed neck. Longing like I’ve never felt before pools in me. I need more. I am empty. I need to be teased and explored and filled. With a deep inhale I find his mouth again. His amazing lips. I pull the bottom one into my mouth and suck on it. He groans and presses himself against me.
He releases his hands from my neck to explore me in return. His hands never still. Greedy for every inch of my body, they slide from my hip to my bottom, to my ribcage under my shirt. A fingertip grazes the bottom of my breast and my knees almost give out with the wave of arousal. Is it possible to die from too much pleasure?
The thought sobers me.
He could … All at once the reality comes crashing back. I need to stop this. I will hurt him. I have to stop his sweet, soft, delicious lips from moving against mine.
As soon as I realize my mistake a bolt of electricity shocks his lip.
He sucks in a breath and reels back.
“Sorry,” I gasp out.
“Don’t be.” He sets his hands on my shoulders and ducks his head until I meet his gaze. “It’s okay. It just surprised me. I’m fine.”
But it’s not fine. This is why I keep my distance. This is why he isn’t safe. I stumble back and bump into the table. Water sloshes over the tank’s edge. Ginger somersaults dramatically to show his upset. Ginger. I could have gone off. I could have hurt him. Mrs. Davies is just outside the door too. My head shakes as I push him away.
“No. It’s not okay. Get back.”
“I promise it doesn’t hurt,” he says.
Of course he says that. He doesn’t want me to feel bad but I’m spiraling now. A moment ago I was on the cusp of pleasure I have never experienced and now I’m worrying about going off in a different way.
Even thinking it sends a burst of energy down my arms.
“You need to calm down,” he says.
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,” I snap.
If I had a dollar for every time a doctor or a man told me to calm down …
His hands shoot up and he steps back. “No. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean— You’re glowing. You’re getting brighter as you get more upset. That’s just like we thought. What were you thinking about? What changed?”
To my horror, I’m a beacon. My hands shake as I see the white light pulsing out of them. I am upset. I hurt him and it’s getting worse. I scoot away from Ginger. From the both of them and toward my bedroom.
“Please. I’m sorry. Just go.”
“Julia, wait. Take a deep breath. This is good remember? We wanted this to happen.”
Despite looking a little pale, he’s smiling. Understanding hits me. This was actually an experiment. In my pathetic naivety I thought that he had wanted to kiss me.
“You did this on purpose.” My hand drifts to my lips. “I told you I could hurt you. And you pushed me.”
The floor feels like it tilts and I hold on to the wall.
“Wait, don’t misunderstand. That was no chore.” He presses his fingers between his forehead. “I’ve been dying to kiss you.”
Dying. I’m too worked up to think clearly. I can’t have him here. He’s at too much risk.
“Please just leave,” I say it with such vehemence there’s no further discussion.
He heads to the door and I’m in the corner of my short hallway, barely holding it together. I dig my nails into my palms and fight for each breath, swallowing the light back down until I don’t cast shadows. The pain from pulling the light back inside me hurts like never before.
Just before he’s out the door, he looks back with an earnest and apologetic expression. “I am sorry,” he says.
I stumble back to my room.
Does he think I’m amazing or does he think the things I can do are amazing? That’s an important distinction. And now I’m not so sure.
18
Julia
A few hours after he leaves I finally hobble out of the bedroom. I’m embarrassed for my overreaction. Only it didn’t feel that way at the time. It felt like Nathaniel really was in danger. I slipped too far. I was so lost in his hypnotizing eyes and curls that beg to be ruffled.
Oh my God, I ruffled his curls.
I kissed him. He kissed me. We kissed. A lot. None of that felt like experimentation. At least of the laboratory variety. He groped and licked and sucked and …
I groan. Ginger ignores me.
It’s all I have been thinking about these last few hours intermixed with the weirdness that Monday would bring. If I’m even able to go to work. I try not to think about him because when I remember the taste and smell of him, the glow returns and a fresh wave of suffering begins. The pain is worse than it was before Nathaniel’s visit. I go to the cabinet for medicine; it helps dull the aches a little. If Angel were to ask, I’m sitting at a nine. Any worse and I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. As I pass the counter I see the plant-saving supplies that he brought and my stomach lurches with embarrassment at how badly everything went.
“No,” I whine, finding the bottle with one tiny tablet at the bottom. I shake it as if it would magically replicate. I meant to stop at the pharmacy ten different times but with working so much, I’d always been too tired by the end of the day.
I check a few other places but all my stashes of painkillers are gone. I have no choice; I have to leave the house. I don’t bother changing or doing my hair. I don’t even look at my reflection and risk scaring myself like that. I know my face is drawn from holding back the pain. My lips feel chapped from being too lazy to even get water. I’m still in the leggings and tee from earlier but I slip on one of my grandpa’s old sweatshirts, two sizes too big. I don’t even think about the bird’s nest that is my hair.
Since I have to go out, I’ll stock up on a few other things I need and get myself a few varieties of gelato to reward myself for this excursion.
At the store, I realize I’m technically in house slippers still. They’re those moccasin types that at least have rubber soles and can be passed off as shoes. Regardless, not my finest hour. Even for a small town with a lot of weird characters I still get a few looks. One man in particular shoots me several suspicious glances. He’s dressed in jeans and a camo shirt. His bulbous nose is speckled with broken blood vessels. Maybe it’s paranoia, but it feels like he is watching me as I pitifully shuffle up and down the small aisle. More than once I look up to find him glaring in my direction.
By the time I collect all that I need, I’m sweating from the effort of trying to stand up straight. I’m going to sleep for a year when I get home.
There’s one kid in front of me in line. He’s a teenager, so I guess not really a kid. He’s got a box of condoms buried under a pile of what I suspect are totally unnecessary items. I used to do that as a teen when I had to buy pads and tampons. As though I had anything to be embarrassed about. Thank God somewhere along the way I stopped giving any effs. I learned that literally nobody cares what you buy, but especially not the bored cashier who deals with a hundred people a day. The kid glances around and when he sees me looki
ng he sort of frowns and looks forward. I don’t blame him. I’m frightening.
As the cashier, a pretty teenager girl—ouch. Tough break, kid—starts to scan his items, I watch in pity as the tips of his ears grow more and more red.
“That’ll be $23.50.” The cashier smiles widely at him, a bit enamored. I guess he is a pretty cute boy. His profile is vaguely familiar which isn’t totally surprising in a small town. This is literally the only pharmacy-slash-quick stop grocery store unless you drive thirty minutes to the mega store in the next town over.
“Oh shit,” he swears under his breath, patting his shirt and jeans. “I forgot my wallet. I’ll have to come back.”
The man behind me makes an annoyed sound and I turn around to shoot him a glare. It’s the man that was not-so-subtly following me. He lifts his chin and gives me a disgusting once-over.
I turn my attention back to the teen whose hunched shoulders reflect that he heard the sigh too.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, collecting his keys. “I’ll come back.” His ears are bright red.
“I’ll get it.” I step forward and put my own basket down. “Just add it to my order.”
The cashier’s eyes widen as she takes me in, probably assuming I was a vagrant, before she shrugs and starts scanning my few things.
“You don’t have to. I have the money. I was just in a hurry to leave and I forgot to grab it,” says the boy.
The guy behind us sighs again. I ignore him and smile at the kid. “No biggie.”
“I can pay you back.” He’s mumbling and the color from his ears spreads to his cheeks.
I’m sure he has money, but I’m not worried about it. His shoes are fancy Nikes. I know, because I spend a lot of time looking at shoes online. He has the look of a rich kid. I think the cashier notices it too.
“It’s really no big deal. It’s my good deed for the day,” I say.
“Come on. Let’s go. You give money. She takes money,” The creep behind me interrupts, enunciates slowly. We got a real comedian here.
It’s my turn to flush. I turn around and say, “Can you chill out?”
“Yeah, man, what’s your problem?” the kid adds.
“I’d like to get out of here today.” He crosses his arms over his camo shirt.
In tandem, the kid and I turn back to finish the transaction but share a look as we do. What a jerk, it says.
I pay the cashier. She deflates more and more as the kid seems to not notice her pretty smile. Ah, young love. We leave with a thank you and a final dirty look at Camo Shirt.
“She put our stuff in the same bag,” he says rifling through the bag in the front of the store.
“I think she was a little distracted,” I say.
He looks up confused. Something about that half-quirked smile really strikes a familiar chord with me.
“Don’t worry, you can take the bag,” I say “Just—”
The guy from the store brushes past me and bumps me so hard I almost fall off the curb. The action shoots pain down my already aching back. The kid grabs my arms and helps steady me.
“Hey!” I yell at Camo Guy.
“Oops. Sorry,” he says over his shoulder with as much sincerity as he has patience. “Fucking …”
He murmurs something that I’m pretty sure is super-offensive to women. The thing that frustrates the most is that if I hadn’t been feeling like shit, if I had been dressed nice and had my hair done, he is exactly the sort of guy who would look me up and down and leer at me. There’s a balance to being a woman; pretty enough to be liked, but not too pretty to be labeled a whore. And if you aren’t pretty, then you’re offensive. After all, men like him think our job is to look good for them.
“What the hell?!” The kid starts to go after him and I grab his arm, pulling him back with the boost of energy adrenaline has given me. He’s got hidden strength, this kid.
“Not worth it. He’s definitely the type to have a gun,” I whisper.
“Yeah, but what an asshat.” This he says loudly enough to be heard. To me he says, “He can’t just do that.”
“What did you call me?” The man comes back, head tilted, nostrils flared like a bull in the arena.
Something changes in the kid. Fear drains his face of color as the grown manchild comes barreling back toward us. All of a sudden I see how this situation will go down. How this kid gets hurt and we end up on the news. Time really does slow down like it does in the movies. All I can think is I have to stop him. I have to stop this man.
My body steps slightly in front of the kid and my arms go up.
“Stop,” I say as calmly as I can with a shaking voice.
He doesn’t even slow down. “You got something to say?” His eyes are dark with hatred. When I glance to the kid, he’s frozen in fear. His eyes are wide and he’s braced to be hit. As though it’s a given.
Not a fucking chance.
Right before collision—I’m talking right before—my mind goes flat. My vision whites out. I can’t control it any more than a sneeze once it starts.
Get back. Stay back. Do not touch him.
I focus so much on the words, I’m thinking them so hard, that it feels like my hands smack against a brick wall, or like an airbag going off against them. Bright light. A flash of energy.
Camo Shirt falls back, sprawling to the ground to land on his ass. His keys and pack of cigarettes go flying. He stares up at me. The white fades from my hands faster than I have ever experienced. It’s like it never happened. Except now my pain is gone.
He gapes up at me. Then quickly looks around to make sure nobody saw.
“You tripped,” I say.
Camo Shirt looks to me like he’s about to correct me. But what is the truth? He looks to the kid. Decides it’s not worth it and scrambles to pick up his things. He doesn’t look at us again. I watch until his trucks disappears down the road. He’s humiliated that a tiny woman kicked his ass. He will take this story to his grave.
The kid, however, will not.
I turn slowly to my companion, my heart dropping. His wide-eyed gaze flicks from my hands to my face.
“Holy crap,” the kid says by my side. “You’re a superhero.”
19
Julia
“That’s not what it looked like,” I say calmly hands facing him.
He steps out of range of my hands. “Don’t point those at me.”
“I think he just tripped. Thank goodness, right?” My voice is too high to be convincing.
Did that really just happen?
A superhero? Yeah right. I never thought … I never even imagined. Oh my God, what even happened? It was like little puffs of electricity shot from my hands. I had been thinking about stopping Camo Shirt. Then I did.
In other news, I also feel amazing. Like I just detonated, because I sort of just did? I feel so much better. Except for the growing sense of dread as the kid grows more excited.
He’s looking at me with wide eyes, hopping up and down with barely controlled energy.
“That didn’t happen,” I say. “Whatever you think you saw.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes. That really happened,” the kid yells and then quiets his voice.
“No. Wait. What do you think you saw?” I step toward him and he eyes my hands wearily.
“Uh, you shot freaking lightning or something from your hands and he went flying.”
My head shakes as I process. “He came at us. Tripped on the curb and left,” I say, trying to convince both of us.
“Sure. That’s what it will look like if the security camera caught it.” He thumbs to a small camera in the corner. It’s pointed at the video rental kiosk but very much in our general direction.
A different sort of panic hits me. What would that look like on tape? Would they see my glowing hands? Would they see the impact from my non-touch?
“Security camera.” I groan.
My bones feel heavy with stress. The world tunes out around me. Damage control. What can
I do? I can ask to see the footage. Maybe say we were attacked? No. Nobody will even notice unless something happened. Better not to draw attention to it.
The kid is ranting. He paces, unable to stand still. “I knew something weird was happening at those labs. My brother thinks I’m crazy. Can’t wait to tell him.”
That settles into me. “No. No. No.” I step in front of him to get his attention. “You didn’t see anything,” I say slowly, holding his gaze. Maybe I have mind control powers. I dunno.
“Yeah. I did. Your hands turned white and little puffs of light shot into his chest causing him to fall back.”
My jaw falls open. Well, shit.
“This is amazing!” He’s sort of walking backward and hobbling around.
“You’re in shock. You think you saw something,” I try desperately.
“Listen, lady. I saw what I saw.”
I ahem to try another tactic. I grab his shoulders and he stills, looking skeptically at my hands on his shoulders. I drop them immediately. I can’t believe I did that.
“Please. You can’t tell anybody.” His face remains unimpressed. “I bought you condoms!” I add.
His face scrunches. “Ah, man. But my brother would love this. He loves lasers.”
“Please, you can’t. What’s your name?” I try.
He looks suspicious.
“I’m Julia. I’ll give you my number and …”
Suddenly, his look changes from suspicious to … something else. He straightens his shoulders. “I don’t normally go for older ladies, but since you’re offering …”
“Oh God, that’s not what I’m suggesting—”
He grins another half-cocked smile that I’m sure he would describe as smoldery. “I’m Lincoln. You can give me your number.”
Lincoln …
The Untouched: THE UNSEEN SERIES, #2 Page 15
