Lucky: Dorian Gray Novels Book 1

by F. E. Bradley

  I don’t know if it’s the sudden shock of thinking he was going to die, the relief of seeing him alive, or the fire and ice I felt run through my veins when my hand brushed his cheek, but I know my feelings for him now are stronger than they were before.

  If I were being rational, I should be running right now. On top of all his stalking tendencies, I just saw him take down a 2,000-pound ball of raging muscle that was charging at him. I understand defending your own life, but he did the same thing to the girl in biology – what threat did she pose? I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but there is almost nothing that could keep me from sitting on that rock with Dorian – not even the fear for my own life that I know I should be feeling.

  As I sit down next to him, Dorian repositions himself slightly farther away from me, but even though he is physically farther away, the tone of his voice makes him seem much closer. “How are you feeling?”

  “Full of questions.” I say, deciding to leave out that I’m yearning to be closer to him.

  The expression on his face let me know that I didn’t give him the answer he was looking for. “You touched me…twice” He said slowly, almost like he was confirming it with me.

  “I only touched you once. The second time you touched me”, I say quickly as a defense. “… and thanks for keeping me from getting crushed. Um…sorry about touching you. Are you okay?” I didn’t mean to make him feel weird.

  The corner of his mouth jerked up first before the rest of his mouth spread into a wide grin while he chuckled. Did I miss a joke?

  Watching him laugh was truly mesmerizing. His slight and perfect dimples accented his cheeks and his smile showed off a perfect row of white teeth. The desire to touch him again is definitely getting stronger.

  Still not understanding why he is laughing, I lean in slightly and ask the same question again, but this time with a teasing tone. “Are you okay?” I hope this doesn’t bring back his usually sullen mood.

  His face turns serious and he says, “Ellie, what are you?”

  I’m not used to hearing my real name. Even in school, I’ve always gone by Lucky. “How do you know my real name?”

  “It was on your birth certificate.” He said it like it was simply a fact that I should have been able to figure out on my own.

  This is getting to be too much. I’m willing to overlook some hiding in bushes and drawing pictures of me, but I don’t think he should be researching my vital records. I also don’t feel too great about how he can make people and animals have serious seizures with a single touch. “Wait, this is getting a little creepy. Can you please tell me why you followed me, why you know what’s on my birth certificate, and what you did back there that made a goring bull fall to the ground? –What you did to that girl in biology? She had to leave school!”

  I can tell that I’m getting a bit frantic, but this all seems like a really friggin’ good reason for it!

  Quiet withdrawn Dorian is back. He moves to face forward, and his hands are sliding back into the pockets of his leather jacket. It’s a stark contrast with the open joy he had while he was laughing just a few short moments ago.

  Still starring forward, he says “The story of what I am and the story of my interest in you are two separate things. I can see that I’ll need to tell you both, but not right now. I will let you choose which story you would like to hear first. That is, if you have time right now to hear it.”

  Wow – his interest in me? He’s interested in me? I know there is so much more there in what he said, but those four words are like a spark inside my chest. I’ve never wanted someone to be interested in me more than I want that of this beautiful mysterious man in front of me. Even with that I know that I’m going to choose to hear Dorian’s story.

  Every bit of vanity and lust in me wants him to talk about his interest in me, but if I’m going to get real answers I need to know ‘what’ he is.

  “Tell me your story.”

  He’s sitting right next to me, but his thoughts seem to have pulled him into a much sadder world. It seems almost as if he’s in pain as he answers, “Very well.”

  Chapter 6

  Dorian seems to break away from his thoughts and turn toward me with a sheepish look in his eye. “Before I begin, could I ask you a favor?”

  “Sure.” I couldn’t imagine what I wouldn’t do to ease the melancholy in his eyes.

  “May I hold your hand while I speak?” He’s acting like it’s almost a sacred gift that he’s asking for.

  I can’t hide my pleasure at the thought of holding his hand. I’m trying not to smile, but the strain in my cheeks tells me that it’s not working very well. The heat I feel rising under my skin lets me know that I also can’t control the blush that must now be visible.

  Instead of speaking, I simply decide to hold out my hand in front of him as a simple gesture of acceptance.

  He looks down at it like my hand is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He moves his hand close and reaches one long finger out to gaze the edge of my thumb before quickly moving back. He looks afraid to touch me and like my touch is the only thing that could bring him peace all at the same time.

  Even though I’m aching to touch him I remember his fear when I reached for him before and I decide to just keep my hand still.

  He’s looking in my eyes like he’s expecting some kind of reaction, so I say “It’s alright” in the most soothing tone I can manage.

  At that, he grabs my hand and brings it close to his chest before taking a deep breath in and closing his eyes.

  It doesn’t seem like he’s afraid of touch now, it seems like he’s enjoying it – I must have drawn a wrong conclusion about his fear. As he breathes in and out in slow relaxed breathes, I see the golden translucence of his long eyelashes resting against his cheek. I see the slight breeze jostle the soft curls in his hair and I move my eyes slightly down to see the curve of his mouth slightly drawn up at the ends in a perfect serene smile.

  He looks into my eyes as he opens his and I can see that he seems filled with peace. He moves my hand down to the space that is in between us and rests it gently on the stone before placing his hand back on top of mine.

  Speaking softly, he says “If you want to pull your hand back at any time, please do so. My story is not a happy one and I would understand if you didn’t want me to touch you after hearing it – I just couldn’t resist touching you while you might still let me.”

  I feel like I should respond, but I don’t know what to say to something like that. Should I tell him that I don’t think there’s anything he could say that would make me want to pull back my hand? Probably not. Almost like he can sense my struggle to find something to say, he continues. “It’s okay; you don’t have to say anything. Just listen. I only wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel as though you had any obligation to me.”

  I nod.

  “Good.”

  “First off, my name is not Smith. I was born Dorian Gray.”

  Hey, I recognize that name from somewhere, I think, but I can’t quite remember.

  “If you know the book, then you should know that I’m not exactly the creature described in Wilde’s book but that in most ways I am much worse.” He said it so softly and remorsefully, I can’t believe what he’s saying. I’m so confused; I wish I could remember more about why I know that name.

  He continued. “I knew Oscar Wilde when he was a young man studying at Magdalen College in Oxford.” I don’t quite remember the book, but I remember enough about Oscar Wilde to know that he was an author that died a very long time ago.

  I’ve got to stop his story, because I’m already lost. “Wait. I think I may have heard the name Dorian Gray before, but I do know who Oscar Wilde is and there’s no way you could have known him as a young man.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps we should do this a different way.” He said and then seemed to think hard for a few seconds before continuing. “Yes, we should probably start with a demonstration. What you’ve seen so far wouldn’t g
ive you enough reason to believe everything that I’m going to tell you.

  “We’ll hold off on the story for just a few minutes while I get this out of the way.” He seems to be speaking more to the atmosphere than to me.

  What? I didn’t want him to stop! I just want him to explain! Before I can protest, Dorian is walking toward one of the largest poplar trees growing inside the edge of the quarry. Half way to the edge he yells back over his shoulder “Wait there.”

  I’m completely confused, so I do as he asks. After all, I don’t know what else to do.

  As he nears the tree, he takes off his jacket and tosses it on the ground. He doesn’t slow down, and it looks almost like he’s going to run into the trunk of the tree, but at the last second, he jumps and starts to climb.

  I absolutely can’t make any sense of this man – he must be crazy. Why does he need to show me that he can climb a tree? Yes, he appears to be very very good at it but I’m not getting any more answers – just more questions. I should have asked him to tell me about his interest in me – maybe that would have kept him on the ground. Sadly, I think that I probably don’t want to know why he’s interested in me because I won’t be able to hide my sadness when I find out that he isn’t interested in me the way that I would want.

  Watching him climb, I realize this is the first time that I’ve ever seen Dorian without his jacket. He’s wearing just a light t-shirt and the material clings to him as muscle and sinew work in perfect harmony pushing him up the tree.

  Already he must be half way up and 30 feet in the air. The trees growing inside this old gravel quarry are extremely tall – it’s almost like they are all trying to match the height of their neighbors growing along the edge even though they started out in a much lower place.

  Now he is slowing down slightly as the smaller branches are more closely spaced and require more time to get around. He’s going way too high. If he falls from that height, he’ll surely die. I can’t wait on this rock any longer. I stand and start to walk toward the tree as I yell at him. “Hey, Stop! You’re too high! I get it! You’re good at climbing trees!”

  He doesn’t even slow down and now he’s almost at the very top of the tree where it looks like the branches are too small to support him.

  He looks down and sees me walking toward him and he yells “Stop! Stay right there for a second!”

  I stop, and almost in the same second, I find myself reliving all the same emotions that I felt earlier in the day when I thought Dorian was going to be mauled.

  Shock and fear grip my throat and instantly stop my breath.

  Like a diver leaping from the high board, Dorian jumps from a springy branch as high in the tree as possible. The difference is that instead of falling down toward a waiting pool of water, Dorian is falling toward a sharp pile of rocks.

  He’s motionless as he falls with his arms stretched out to the side and his chest pulled forward. His eyes are locked with mine and his expression echoes the one that he had earlier as the bull was charging for him – simple curiosity.

  I want to look away before he hits, but his movement at the last second stops me and I stand frozen in his gaze. It all happened very fast. Dorian tuned in the air at the last second so that he was in an upright position and he landed in a slight crouch - perched on the rocks and completely uninjured.

  He hit the rocks at full speed – something that was confirmed by the vibration I feel in the ground and the sound I heard. It’s impossible, but somehow, he’s completely uninjured. For the second time today, Dorian Gray should have died in front of my eyes but instead he is now walking toward me and bending to pick up his jacket along the way.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, just before coming to a stop in front of me. His eyes are filled with concern and curiosity. For me, this sense of relief is the strongest emotion my brain can process right now.

  After what I’m sure is too long of a pause, I finally choke out one word. “How?”

  “I’ll explain, I promise…if you think you can handle it.” His demeanor right now reminds me of someone trying to calm a wild animal – to keep them from running. Then I realize that in that scenario, I would be the wild animal. I can’t imagine what my facial expressions must be right now to have provoked that response, but it’s probably a fairly accurate depiction of how I’m feeling. In the timespan of less than an hour, I feel like my sense of reality has changed. There are things in this world that are not explainable by the rules I learned in school. I decide that I’ve got to pull myself together.

  I answer his question “Yes, I want to know the explanation.” And I hope that I’m not lying and that I sound convincing enough that he believes me.

  We move back toward the outcropping of stone that we were using as a bench and both sit down silently. Dorian waits wordlessly for a minute before he begins again, I think, to give me a chance to calm myself.

  “I am immortal”, he says pausing and looking at me like he’s checking to see if I comprehend what he’s saying. “I have been unable to find anything that can cause me physical harm or that can change my age whatsoever. I wasn’t always this way and the story I’m going to tell you will explain what I am now and how I became this way. Do you still want to hear it?”

  “Yes” I say abruptly now that the shock has dulled slightly and my resolve has returned. His words were so forlorn and difficult for him to say. I can tell that this must not be a story he has shared often.

  I’m amazed by how quickly I’m able to accept what he’s told me, but there’s something inside me telling me that it makes sense that he’s immortal. It’s more than having seen him survive what should have killed him – twice – it feels more like something I should have seen the whole time. Like a truth hidden in fog that I couldn’t make out because up until the moment he said it, my eyes were only focused on the haze.

  “Is it still alright if I touch your hand, for now?” he says like he’s actually expecting me to say no.

  His desire for my touch throws me a bit off guard as I make my response. “Yes, I would like that very much.” Well, at least I didn’t tell him that I want him to touch more than my hand. His shy smile makes me feel a little less embarrassed. I’ve never wanted someone like this, so I’ve never realized how difficult it can be to put yourself out there – to hint to a person that you’re interested. I’m also a little surprised that my desire for him hasn’t changed after what I just saw or learned about him. Surely there should be some kind of mental pause button for desire, but that appears to not be an option. I wonder, is there anything I could find out that could abruptly end these feelings I’m having for him?

  With his hand again resting on mine, he continues. “Have you read The Picture of Dorian Gray?”

  “I don’t think so, but the name sounds familiar” I said.

  Seeming a little relieved, he says, “I’m glad that you haven’t read that book. It gives me a chance to explain some of what the book contains. I told Oscar Wilde a few pieces, some he guessed at, but a lot of things were just what the world thought them to be – a work of fiction. And…you will be the only one that I’ve ever told my full story to.”

  “Why?” I asked. I don’t know if I’m asking him why he’s never told his story to anyone, or if I’m asking why me. I guess I’d take either answer.

  “I’ll get to all of that” he said. “This isn’t an easy story for me to tell. Do you think that you can just let me talk for a while and save all your questions until the end?”

  I nod.

  “Then, I will start with my childhood. I was raised by my grandfather. My mother died shortly after I was born, and my father before. My family was very wealthy, but I had little understanding of what that meant or how the world worked. Up until my grandfather died, I had never been allowed out of his country house and I only interacted with people that he had approved of.

  “The only explanation that he ever gave me was that the outside world had stolen his daughter from him and that he wasn�
��t going to let that happen with me. He wasn’t prone to displays of emotion, but I knew that he loved me. I didn’t even realize how sheltered I was at the time.

  “When he died, I was suddenly exposed to a world that I had never seen before and everything fascinated me. I moved to a nearby city where my family’s wealth earned me scores of invitations to social events, but I had trouble making friends until one night I was introduced to Oscar Wilde. He was my opposite in so many ways; he knew so much about the world, he was comfortable in any situation and very charismatic. We were almost the same age, but because of my inexperience, he took me under his wing and I became a regular at all the social gatherings he hosted. It was 1877 and he was still just a student, but he was well connected and popular in aristocratic circles. Oscar introduced me to the sins of the world and at the time I was eager for it.”

  “I was vain and selfish and still completely naive when I saw Sibyl just a few weeks after meeting Oscar. I didn’t find out the whole story of how and why we met until much later. All I knew was that I was in love.”

  “It seems silly to talk of being in love with her by today’s standards because I never really spent any time with her, but all my knowledge of love came from the romance novels of the day, so I really didn’t know any better. I went to her plays night after night to watch her perform. I thought she was the most talented person I had ever seen and the most beautiful. She had dark hair and deep red lips set in a face with fine features that accented her large eyes.

  At the time, I didn’t know that I was under an unnatural spell.”

  “Sibyl’s mother owed a large debt to a theatre owner which made her and Sibyl more like his servants than employees. To get free of that debt, she got rich men to fall in love with her daughter, so they would pay off the theatre owner and lessen their dept – I was one of her targets and she was right that I was willing to pay.”