I can’t help but wonder if the day that brought me to this was a hallucination. I mean, it’d have to be, but it didn’t feel like it. Just like with Tara. I’m well aware nothing is worth killing myself. At least that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself of for the past three days, but apparently, he is. How many times can I say that I was finally happy and coming to terms with everything? It was that darn heart that ruptured and snaked its mysterious smog in my nostrils. Since that happened, everything has felt off, from me following birds, mixing reality with hallucinations, and trying to kill myself!
“What the hell is my problem?” I shut my Humanities textbook and drop my pen on my notebook, unable to focus on my studies. Looking down past my bunched-up hospital gown to a scar that’s sure to be permanent, I hate myself for what I’ve done to my body. After years of dealing with my hallucinations, I’ve yet to get a handle on it. Ignoring it hasn’t helped, dealing with it straight on doesn’t help, and therapy didn’t help. What’s wrong with me? What will stop all this? How can I get a handle on it. “Ugh!”
I spoon the last scoop of the green jello in my mouth and flip the channel on the TV. The volume is low. This floor of the hospital is quiet. The beeping from the monitors in the other rooms and constant shuffle from the nurse’s scrubs are therapeutic. I set down the plastic cup and lean back on the squishy pillow, tuning into a commercial.
Laine adjusts in the chair near the bed. “How long have you been awake,” he asks as he’s yawning.
I shrug and hand him a chocolate pudding from my food tray. “There’s an older nurse with a nose ring like yours. She said you two share a love for chocolate pudding and asked me to give this to you.”
“Thank you.” His fingers brush my hand as he grabs the cup. I brace for the freezing shock that comes accompanied with his touch, but there is none.
That’s odd. “You okay?” I ask.
He reclines, throwing a leg over his knee as he slouches in the chair. “Can we finally talk about what happened?” he asks, pulling the aluminum lid from his pudding.
I eye him, taking notice of his absent accent. “Been hanging around the American’s too much, Laine?”
“You’re deflecting.”
I rub my finger along my eyebrow and hesitate, meeting Laine’s pearl eyes. “I’ve waited years to reacquaint with Nathan. And, I thought I had. That should be enough for you.” I turn on to my side and stuff my earbuds in my ears.
Over the next couple of days, I catch up on tons of class work I’ve missed with nurses coming in and out of the room, demanding I get some rest or take a break. On my final day, I can’t move any faster in my rush to get changed, pack my bags, and get the heck out of here. Dragging the zipper of the bag closed, I lift it as I’m standing. A sudden stab attacks my side.
Laine snatches the bag from my hand as I hunch over the hospital bed. Biting back a cuss word, I wrap my arms around my stomach. “Argh.”
“I will not say it, Black Eyes,” he grumbles, remaining turned away from me.
“You just said it,” I mutter, straightening. “I’ll let you take the bag.”
The nurse will be back shortly with my release papers. I’m so ready to get out of this hospital and get back to class and work and the normal life I created for myself. Normal keeps away the crazy! Next time there’s a break, I’ll be taking classes through it. I don’t want downtime, or time to think. Keeping busy keeps me sane. Sanity will save my life.
Before heading home, Laine and I make a pit stop at Nutmeg Bistro. In a two-seater, he sits across from me. I text my manager, and Laine stares at me. He’s been staring for a while.
The words break from him. “Let’s take it back, Black Eyes. Remember when we were at the fair and you told me about you and your mate’s abilities?”
As I respond to another text, I answer him, “Kind of. Why?”
“I think I figured out why they’re still after you, even though your mate is dead.” I cringe at him saying it so coldly. “They want your sight, with or without your mate. Just because you don’t know the full capability of your gift doesn’t mean others don’t. And you’ve done little to protect it. The ability that lies within your vision allows whoever possesses it to see without being seen or seen through.”
Quirking a brow, I ask, “Does that mean I can turn invisible? Because that would be awesome!”
Chuckling, Laine adds, “I don’t know. Maybe you should try.”
“I doubt it.” I stir my coffee with the wooden stirrer. “I remember when we were talking about the All-Seeing of Death,” I whisper spookily. “There was fear in your eyes. Like an unspoken fear that brought a cause for death into your always humble expression. It was the darkest I’d ever seen them,” I admit.
“I think whoever it is, maybe more than one person realizes that knowing someone’s utmost desires and having the manpower to implant your control on just about anything is a tool.”
“A weapon,” I correct, recalling Chislon’s mention.
“Even worse,” he adds. “Having the manpower to have any being conform to your own desires and triumph over any foe is the perfect power for control.” Laine holds out his hand. “You’ll have man, beast, demon, animals, the entire universe eating out the palm of your hand,” he says as if it sours his pallet, and the same fear that darkened his eyes the first time we talked about this, returns. “There’s been a prophecy set over the person or persons. They’re referred to as he and she. He who tyrannizes wearing the mark of death and she who sees beyond and within. Once they fall into the wrong hands, free will will vanish. Hope will slowly be eliminated.”
Holding my cup between both hands, I take a small sip. “Nemanites are afraid of the prophecy so you’re bringing this up again because you believe my mate and I were this he and she?”
“Nemanites are not scared of the prophecy. We’re here to protect the land of mother nature and the creatures that walk upon it,” he defends aggressively. “I’m just saying”—he calms his tone—“there are some similarities I see in you and had seen in your mate. If someone comes along posing as him, what’s to say someone didn’t get a hold of his body and is trying to use it to get you.”
“Because I am not who you and everyone else think I am.”
“Black Eyes, if three people out of four are right, it’s likely that that fourth person is the one who’s incorrect.”
I roll my eyes and attend to my brew, ignoring him. So what if Nathan and I were this prophecy, then what? “Are you going to kill me too?” Before he answers, I continue, “Your and Nathan’s deceased friend Cesar said something very similar to that years ago.”
“Was that before you killed him for no reason?” he sasses sardonically.
“Whoa!” I throw up a hand. “I had a reason. And a damn good one.”
Laine grumbles and digresses. “Why’d you bring him up?”
“The holding lives in your hand thing. He said that.”
“So . . . ?” Laine sings with a shrug that accommodates his confusion.
I state, “He was a Sephlem and purposely got possessed so he could get the strength to take out Nathan and me. You think I took him out for no reason, but I was protecting us. I just need you to see that regardless of the size of the threat coming after me, I will protect us.”
He scoffs. “To death?”
I nod.
Laine looks away from me, out the window. “Well, you will not be able to do that if you’re lying in a grave because you continue to ignore that anyone could pose as your dead mate to kill you.”
What an asshole thing to say. I stand and scoot the chair in. “Let’s go before I throw this hot coffee in your face, Laine.”
He stands from his chair. “You may not like my honesty, but that doesn’t change its accuracy.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, leaving him.
Nor·mal·cy: the condition of being normal
Returning to work is a bit of a challenge. I’m supposed to be taking it easy.
Though my stitches have fallen out and I got the okay to return to my everyday activities, my side still hurts. The area where I hurt myself is shades of blue and purple. It’s tender to the touch, and the bruise stretches across my skin the width of a football. Adding this on top of the separation attacks that periodically send me buckling over and clutching at my stomach or chest, it’s taking me awhile for me to heal. I’ve caught on to the signs for when to expect the attacks and can brace myself for the pain. It does get easier with time. While it also makes sure we do not forget them, it makes remembering them as more of a pleasure than a pain.
Taylor doesn’t see this that way. We’ll take a few steps forward, but when she’s hit with the reminder of her separation, we’re shoved ten steps back. Jason’s suffering the most. Days have passed since she’s last left her room, and we each pitch in to take care of her son. Sometimes, Roseland and Ann pick him up, and he goes to their home where the other half of our family lives. He always returns happier than he left. I pick up the slack where I can, taking him on play dates and shopping for him, and Little Nathan and I take him to the park when we can fit it in the schedule.
I don’t mind it at all. Jason may talk a lot, but it’s amazing witnessing his personality develop as the days pass and he grows.
“Here.” I place a plate of sliced hot dogs in front of Jason sitting on the counter. “Carmen?” I call. “Can you hang out with Jason?” I yell upstairs. When she comes down, I add, “I need to get Jace some clothes.” I point to his jeans that have turned into flooders over the past month. “Whoever said Sephlem children grow slow was lying.”
Carmen kisses the top of Jason’s head. “That doesn’t apply to Burdeneds.”
Jason slams his fork down on the counter. He shouts, “I do not like being racially categorized by the darker side of me!”
“What?” Carmen and I blurt, whipping around to face him. “Where’d you hear that?” I ask.
He shrugs and tends to his sliced hot dogs using his fingers. “On TV.”
“Well, no more TV for you, sir,” Carmen says, picking him and the plate up. She heads for the living room. “See you later, Tracey.”
“Just a couple hours,” I say, leaving out the front door.
I go the mall in the city to get a change in scenery and to not worry about paying the suburbs’ prices. Taylor originally said she was coming with me, but changed her mind last minute when Jason ran into the room smiling, eager for a hug from his mom that she couldn’t force herself to give today. I diverted Jason’s sadness with the promise of ice cream, and reminded myself, baby steps. . .
“Will this be all for you?” the young girl behind the counter asks, bringing me back to the moment.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Oh, yes,” digging for some cash in my purse that’s strapped across my chest. Handing her six twenties, I gather my receipt and bags then head out of the store. “Thank you!”
“Come again,” she calls as the door chimes, announcing my exit.
It’s beautiful today. My skin tingles from the change in temperature, being glazed with the warming rays of the sun. I take in a breath as the wind tickles my nose, and my tensed shoulders lower. Taking my time, in no rush to head back home, I stroll to my next stop, wanting to enjoy the nice weather.
I walk to the coffee shop at the corner of the line of storefronts and look at my hands packed with bags, then the doorknob. “Hmm.”
“I got that for you.” A guy rushes to the entrance of the coffee shop and pulls the door open.
Chuckling at myself for juggling my bags, I say, “Thanks!” and hurry in.
“Looked like you were having some trouble,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say, still shuffling the bags to get a hand free. “I probably should’ve stopped at the car first.” I finish through the door and throw a smile over my shoulder.
I hold my breath.
“Yeah, probably.” Releasing the door, he leaves to meet two others who wait for him. When they meet, they seem to pick up a conversation that might’ve gotten interrupted by his diversion. They cross a street, keeping up their lighthearted chat with hand gestures and laughs.
“Oh . . .”
He’s never looked happier; shoulders in a thin line, swaying as he strides in the middle of the two guys, a smile I’ve only seen when I’d wake up after him and he’d been watching me, relaxed eyes that don’t reflect a single worry.
My heart pounds. The world is silent, save for the rushing of my blood and the shaking of the bags clutched tightly in my trembling hands.
The three cross the street to the parking lot, and I rush out the door of the coffee shop, slamming my hands against the handle to shove it open. I race to the sidewalk but halt just before making it to the curb. Blinking away a tear or two and swallowing down the frog crowding my throat, a crushing reality punches me in the gut.
Something deep within me doesn’t want to steal this happiness from him.
I wish to experience that serenity of joy I see in him. I know the second I bring him back to me, it’ll deplete. If our being together is what causes our tragedy, as it’s been proven one time after another, maybe staying away from him is the right decision. I want him happy more than I crave my own happiness.
Nathan and his two friends get into a white car. Neither of them looks back. Their laughs whistle through my ears, the realism in them, the peace . . . His calmness.
I wipe away a tear that’s crept onto my cheek.
“Excuse me?” A tap thumps my right shoulder. “You dropped these,” she says.
I turn on my heels and meet worried brown eyes of a girl who wears her hair braided to the back. “Thanks.” I quirk a smile, taking my forgotten bags.
“Sure,” she chirps with a shrug. “Were you coming to order in The Bistro?” she asks, pointing to the coffee shop. “I can take your order for you.” My gaze drops to the golden rectangle nameplate pinned to the chest of her black shirt. Max. Assistant Manager.
Nodding, I say, “Just got a little distracted.” I follow Max back into the shop and place an order for a large raspberry smoothie. In a chair at the small, circular, rustic blue table, I sit uncomfortably. The metal chair is hard, like pins and needles to my rear-end. I throw my elbows on the table and it’s as if I’d placed them in putty. With my hands smashed against my face, it feels like I’m sinking onto a million knives.
Maybe it wasn’t him . . . Just a lookalike whose presence I could feel crawl over my skin and coat me as I remember Nathan’s doing years ago. Maybe it was a mirage, the memory of a smile haunting me. It could’ve been my eyes playing a trick on me. They’ve done it before . . .
“Here you go,” comes with a thud against the metal tabletop.
“Thank you,” I mumble, sliding my hands to rest beneath my chin. I wish I had the ability to control the millions of thoughts going through my mind. I wish I wouldn’t have frozen when I saw him. Even if I don’t tell him the truth, we could’ve at least talked. God, do I want to talk to him. If our mating is in fact broken, then our being around each other is harmless. Maybe . . .
Smoothie clutched against my side by my arm and hands overloaded with my overflow of bags, I leave The Bistro. A murky blue has cast itself over the natural color of the once beautiful day, sulking me with a heavy depression I thought I’d left in the past.
Screeching tires break color through my haze. I jump back from the street, bags plummeting from my hands, smoothie crushed, splattering in my face.
“Hey,” yells a familiar voice. “You okay?” Jerking my attention to my left, again, I meet peaceful eyes, a relaxing smile, and slacked shoulders. “You’re kinda dazed today, huh?” he asks.
Playfully chuckling, I try my best to relay that I don’t know him. To not look at him with a familiar gaze. To not throw my smoothie drenched arms around his neck and we taste the raspberry drink that’s freezing my face. Coolly, yet embarrassed, I say, “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“That goes without
saying, cutie,” he says, laughing once. “Need some help with those bags? I can walk you to your car.”
“No,” I decline, though my chest burns for me to say yes. “I’ve got it.”
“Nah.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Let me help you. Gabe, jump in the driver’s seat! I’m walking her to her car.”
“Cool,” Gabe, the young man once in the passenger’s seat says, walking around the car. He throws Nathan a gray towel.
Nathan comes to my side as I’m picking up the fourth of six bags. Snatching up the last two, he asks, “Where’d you park?” He passes me the towel.
I gladly take it and wipe the smoothie from my neck, saying, “A couple of aisles down. I like to park far away to enjoy the walk.”
He snorts. “I get it. At least thirty-eight percent of Americans are overweight and not many people care about peace in exercising.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, chuckling. “I never said anything about exercising. That’s your thing.” My breath halts mid-inhale, and I want to take back my words.
He hitches a brow. “Huh?”
I play it off with a nudge to his forearm with my elbow. “It’s more than obvious you’ve never missed a workout.”
He drops his gaze to his muscle. It flexes and relaxes. “Yeah. It’s a hobby.” I chuckle and listen as he tells me about how important it is to stay healthy. “Hey, are we going to make it to your car anytime soon?” Nathan asks when we make it to the sixth row of the parking lot—far from the mall.
Checking my surroundings, I acknowledge, “You passed it.”
“You passed it,” he counters, looking over his shoulder.
Turning on my heels, I spot his car three rows down. Laine and Little Nathan took my car to drive out of town to where the Nemanites were holding a meeting about yet another entity conspiracy. “Sorry. We have to head back this way.”
Finite: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 4) Page 11