Three Times Torn

by Felisha Antonette

  I trip down the last step, catching myself with the railing. I’m panting, one hand clamped at my chest, the other squeezing the might out of the wood railing of the stairs. I don’t want the hallucinations to come back. I don’t want an ability that welcomes my crazy.

  Nathan steps in front of me and takes my face in his hands. His mouth moves, making the words, “It’s okay.”

  I breathe, hearing the cars pass and the wind blow. “Thanks.”

  Carmen and her brother gallop down the stairs of the deck, followed by an angry Michael.

  If I let go of Nathan, there’s a fair chance I will set Michael on fire.

  “Maybe just hit him. Don’t set him on fire. We’ve drawn enough attention to you already,” Nathan drones, although I can hear his poorly timed humor. “I know you want to ask him why and find out what’s going on but don’t talk to him.

  I nod.

  Michael folds his arms in front of his chest, taking a stance that shows he means business. “What the hell, Tracey?” he asks, demanding an explanation.

  “You should excuse yourself, Michael,” I quip, wanting to keep it short. My blaring questions are sitting at the tip of my tongue, ready for me to yell them out. Like, why the hell he isn’t human and why the hell he didn’t tell me.

  “What? Do you think I’m going to ignore that little episode you had back there?” he asks loudly, gesturing toward the restaurant.

  “Who are you to question her?” Nathan interjects.

  “Not right now, Hercules. I’m talking to her.” Michael thrusts a point at me.

  “Then you’re talking to me.” Nathan steps toward him and I hold him back. “Last time I checked, we have no obligation to you.”

  “Tracey, talk to your stud. I’m not going to take too much more of this.”

  Nathan cuts me off, saying, “Doubt it,” in a dark, sarcastic tone.

  Michael cracks his neck and visibly takes a deep breath. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you, Tracey. You just looked at me with full black eyes and fought the air.”

  “I’m good. Leave me alone.” I turn from him, getting in the passenger’s side of Nathan’s car.

  Nathan says to Michael, “Don’t come around Tracey anymore. Don’t speak to her. I don’t care where you are or what you think you need to say. You better act like she doesn’t exist.” He pauses. “By the way. . . Good disguise, Faylaman. You’re all the same,” he finishes, disgusted.

  Michael lowers his tone. “How can you know that?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Don’t disregard what I told you unless you want to lose your life. And I’d profusely enjoy watching your blood dripping from my hands.”

  Michael steps closer to Nathan. “I’m over you threatening me, imitator.”

  Nathan shoves him back, regaining his space. “I don’t threat. I guarantee. I will kill you . . . and soon.” He turns away and gets in the car. “Turn down your ears.”

  “That was dark,” I say, putting on my seatbelt.

  “I had to get my point across.”

  “What’s a Faylaman?” I ask.

  “How do you know that’s what he is?” Carteal asks, dropping in the backseat.

  “I saw him through Sparks,” Nathan answers.

  “And how did you see him?” Carmen asks me.

  “An ability Nathan gave me,” I say, not wanting to go into detail.

  Nathan starts the car and looks in the backseat. “Where’s Courtney?”

  “He’ll meet us later. He’s going to stay here with some girl,” Carteal answers, pointing to Courtney waving out one of the restaurant's windows.

  Nathan nods, driving off. “Your ex is a full demon. Specifically, he’s a Faylamen. He should be dead.”

  “Wait, a full demon? Wait, before you answer that. When you say, should be dead, do you mean he’s supposed to be dead, or you should kill him now?” I ask, needing to know what I’d dealt with in my past. Like, is he a dead demon who is alive? Like, how does this supernatural stuff work?

  “Probably both,” Carmen snorts a laugh.

  “I should kill him.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about that. I don’t have feelings for Michael, but he. . . Dammit! All the things I did with that boy. And this entire time he wasn’t human. He’s not human.

  What’s wrong with me?! Do I just attract demon guys?

  “Damn, Sparks. Now that’s harsh.” Nathan pulls me from my thoughts, insulted.

  Ugh, forgot. . . “I’m sorry, Nathan. I didn’t mean that the way it seemed.” I love your demon, I say happily. “But not everyone else’s,” I follow in a whisper.

  “It’s fine, Sparks. But you know what’s going to happen.”

  “Yes,” I respond, looking out the window.

  I LAY ON NATHAN’S back, legs splayed over his, his butt to my pelvis, my chin resting on his spine. Counting, I make it to twenty-seven before I ask again. “You know I won’t be upset if you tell me.”

  He adjusts his chin on his arm, and his head moves higher where I can’t see the TV without adjusting myself. Why I care what’s on the TV shouldn’t matter because all he’s doing is flipping, never resting long enough on a channel. “No. Accept the no,” he discards.

  We rest on his bed. Been laying here for a while not saying anything since he came back from looking for Michael. This is the third time in the past month since he’s been out and he won’t tell me if he found him or not.

  He found him. I know he did. If he didn’t, he’d tell me like he’s told me any other time. He’s also had a lot more to say than accept no.

  “Are you going to settle on something or just flip through the channels?” I ask, watching channel seventeen fifty-six pass for the third time.

  “I’m just going to flip.” The TV holds on a channel with a baseball game for five seconds; then he’s back to flipping.

  I roll my eyes, letting my head fall back between his shoulder blades.

  I try to ignore the multitude of trouble my life’s endured. But it doesn’t let up. Glen’s like a thousand-ton elephant I see in every room or hear down every hall, no matter where I am. She’s a weight I’m too afraid to work off, but is too heavy to hang on to. I want her back, here with me so that I can be there with her. But there’s a reason for everything I’m told. A reason we stay and go, and I often wonder how true it is that the dead have it better than the living. But if memories are all I must go by, I’ll live with them.

  On the upside of things, I start college in two months. I’m so excited. Nathan’s pushed off him starting by a few months because his company is requiring more of his time with his expansion to Washington. He’s excited about that.

  “Ahh!” I jump back, sitting on his butt. Nathan’s back heats, growing hotter by the second. It’s too hot to touch. “Babe, you’re back is turning red, and it’s extremely hot,” I tell, watching the red areas darken.

  “I see. And it hurts badly.” He hisses. “Take the pain away.”

  I touch his sides, avoiding the parts changing color. He expels his relief in a harsh breath.

  “Don’t look away from it,” he says, when I look up at the TV that’s finally landed on a channel. Shifting my gaze to his back, I study it. An image’s branding into his skin, darkening its part of his back. The marks almost look like scythes, two of them. And they’re huge, with one upside down and the other right side up, almost shaping a triangle. In their middle’s branded an evil eye on an upside down hand.

  It’s intimidating.

  “It is, huh?” he jests, finding it humorous.

  “You would think that’s cute. . .”

  “Not cute, but daunting. Excuse me.” He adjusts to get up, and I move from him. I follow him into the bathroom and watch him stand in front of the mirror examining his back. He yells, “Mom!” It carries, loudly echoing off the bathroom walls.

  “Really, Mommy’s Boy. Did you just call for your mom, Mr. I’m fifty-four?” He is such a kid for that. “Not to mention y
ou didn’t have to yell her name.”

  “Hush.” Looking over his shoulder at the mirror, he touches the parts he can reach.

  Natalia rushes through the room, panic strong in her presence. “What is it, Nathan?”

  He turns his back to her. She stumbles backward, hand flying to her chest. “W-when did this happen?” she utters nervously.

  “Like, three minutes ago,” I answer as she walks up to touch where the marks lie.

  Her fingers barely graze the marking as if she’s afraid to touch them. “Nathan, how many have you killed?” she asks as if his answer will give her the answer as to why they appeared.

  His gaze flicks to me and then back to her.

  “You better tell her out loud and in a language I understand, grim,” I hurry to say, knowing he’ll try to hide his answer from me.

  “You’re going to think wrong of me, Sparks.”

  “Just answer her,” I order, preparing myself for his reveal.

  He faces Natalia. “Honestly, I don’t know. A lot. . .” He throws his head back, flicking his gaze toward the ceiling. “Maybe one or two, maybe three for every year of your life.” He shrugs.

  Both of our eyes widen at his response. “Nathan,” she utters.

  I straighten, trying not to look too surprised. But I know I’m failing. Natalia has to be decades older than him. That’s a lot of people.

  After looking it over again, Natalia grazes her thumb across the eye. “It’s the sign of misfortune or injury, but it being in reverse, guarded by the scythes. . .” Her brows knit as she thinks further. “It is your ability marking, stating that of one who can bring forth death—injury and misfortune. One, he who takes care should fear. One, he who dares test will and can bring harm. You’ll see before the plea.”

  I shiver.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Nathan asks, amused.

  He is so sick, I think to myself, trying to hold back my smile.

  “Considering the lot you’ve killed, maybe. But it means nothing over your life. It may, however, be what you can bring or possibly cause,” she responds slowly. “The marking is late coming in, and that concerns me. But no, son, you’re okay.”

  “Thank you. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t hexed or cursed or something. We’ll come down for dinner later,” he tells her.

  She nods and leaves the room.

  “Sparks, this eye thing may actually be for you, in relation to your illusions and stuff.”

  “Maybe. So, I guess this means you did kill him,” I retort as he passes me.

  “Can you make these reaper knives and Mary hands go away before we talk.” He plops down on the bed, rolling his shoulders.

  I cross the room, stopping before I get in front of him. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  His hand shoots out, eases around my waist, and then yanks me to him. “The same way you do everything else,” he affirms, taking my hand in his and placing his lips to my palm. A cool breeze I recall sweeping over my face that took away my feather, black hand, and heals me blows across my hand. The fog-like mist brushes over my skin and its icicle-mini-flakes dissolve in the air. It tingles with him being so close and the touch of his lips against it. “Just barely kiss my back on each side and maybe in the middle. As you desire for them to go away, you breathe out through your desire for them to fade. And hope you don’t get something started.” He moves my hand to his shoulder. I smile, failing at holding it back. Him saying that is getting something started.

  I climb onto the bed behind him. The marks make his back a different kind of attractive. Maybe, deadly attractive, when you know it’s something you aren’t supposed to be involved with, but you go with it anyway.

  I sweep my fingertips over their areas.

  His head falls forward as he mumbles, “Can you not touch me like this? We have to be down for dinner, and then go to your house to finish helping your parents pack for their departure week after next. Keep touching me like this, and we’re going to miss something.”

  Bringing my lips to the curve of his ear, I drop a kiss on his earlobe. “I vote dinner,” I whisper, kissing the side of his shoulder.

  Twisting around, he wraps his hand around my neck, pulling me into his stop my heart from beating, steal the breath from my body, kiss. I lay back on the bed, taking him with me.

  He welcomes himself between my legs, gliding his hand over my thighs right up to my butt. He squeezes it hard and our hips align. I move his hand from my butt to my sweetest spot, inviting him to touch me. He rubs against her, distantly pleasing me, as his kisses send us blasting through the firmament and into a wave of blazing meteorites. Finding his wrist, Nathan smacks my hand away and slips his in my panties. I’m hot—hotter, enlivened by him kneading me. I sigh, seconds away from my limit. But he stops before I reach it. I grumble, frustrated he did.

  Chuckling, he grabs the waistband of my shorts and panties.

  “Please, Nathan. Don’t tease me.”

  “Hush, Sparks,” he tells me, stripping off my clothes. The exact moment I lift so my shorts can pull down with ease, the door opens. The freaking door opens!

  Olar, Lana, Carmen, Courtney, and Carteal walk in the room, neither caring about being welcomed first.

  Ugh!

  Nathan yanks up my shorts and breaks away from me. “I can’t understand why none of you know what a closed door means.”

  I slam my fists against the bed, expressing my anger and frustration in my mini temper tantrum. Grumbling, I sit up, gaze zeroing in on Nathan in all his shirtless glory staring at the group of intruders. It should be illegal for him to look this good and interruptions and restrictions lie in this world.

  “So,” Courtney sings, waggling his brows. “What were you two getting ready to do?”

  “Lock the door,” Nathan mutters, passing them to the closet.

  “Whoa, Nate!” Olar exclaims.

  “Oh yeah. That’s what we were supposed to be doing,” I say to myself.

  “What is that on your back?” Carmen asks high-pitched.

  “Nothing,” Nathan answers, whipping around so he faces them. “What do you need? Can you give us five minutes?”

  “That’s all you need?” Courtney asks, twisting his lips to the side. “I expected a lot better from you, Nate.”

  “No. What I need is for you to know what to do before you enter my room,” he fires back, annoyed.

  “Unh, unh, unh,” Courtney hums. “Man, the benefits of having your girl stay with you. You can get it whenever you want.”

  Nathan turns up his nose and knits his brows. “Obviously, I can’t.”

  “But you haven’t said anything about those markings on your back.” Olar cuts in.

  “If you give me five minutes, there will be nothing for me to say.”

  “Come on, Nate; we’re family. You can tell us what’s going on,” Carmen assures.

  “Or, I can tell you to get out,” he shoots off sardonically.

  Leaving the bed, I meet him, understanding he doesn’t want to talk about it. With his height, I can stand behind him without being seen. Olar goes on trying to convince Nathan to talk about his problems and how, maybe, he can help. I place my lips on the left, right, and middle of his back, willing the marks to go away. The cool air passes my lips and dances against my face from pushing off his back. It’s sucked up by his skin as if it’s breathing it in. I lean back, watching the scythes, evil eye, and hand fade out.

  Plastering a frustrated expression, I step aside. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, cutting Olar off. “There’s nothing to talk about. What do you need?”

  “I know I saw something on his back when you were on the bed and when he almost walked passed us.”

  “There’s nothing here, let it go.”

  Olar comes over and examines Nathan like a post.

  “Now, if you’re finished being my girlfriend. What is it?” Nathan asks, frustrated.

  Fixing us with a suspicious stare, Olar waits before responding. It’s funny. W
hen did he start caring this much? What happened to the easy going, don’t give a damn Olar? “Little Nathan had a girl over,” Olar starts. “She tried to attack Lana. She accidently died,” he quips, disclosing his tell as if he were telling us dinner is ready instead of someone just died.

  I turn down the corners of my mouth, squinting my eyes. “Accidently?”

  He returns my expression. “Yes.”

  I shrug. “Well, it—”

  “Wait, Sparks,” Nathan cuts me off. “Let’s go talk to Little Nathan.” Nathan leaves to the bathroom, closing the door.

  Olar’s suspicious gawp cuts a hole into the side of my head. “What?” I blurt.

  “You two are hiding something,” he accuses.

  “We’re not. You’re just, I don’t know, seeing things.” I leave to the hallway, waiting on Nathan to come out.

  Not shortly after, he does, and we head downstairs. “Call him and see where he is,” he says.

  “You can’t call him because. . .?”

  “He won’t answer if it’s me.”

  I nod. “That’s because you’re a grim reaper and you scare the shit out of people.”

  He snorts. “That’s not funny.”

  Little Nathan, I call.

  Yeah, Tracey, he answers.

  Where are you?

  My room. Nathan’s with you?

  Of course.

  Is he angry?

  No. Not at all.

  Okay. I’ll meet you in the family room.

  Little Nathan looks beyond sad. We sit on either side of him, and Nathan nudges his shoulder. “Why are you attracting all of these psycho girls, little brother?”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he huffs. “I meet them, and recently, the ones I decide to bring home haven’t been what I expected.”