by MK Schiller
I loved how she wanted to advocate for me. Anna had said something similar. “I didn’t want her to. I figured if she wanted to come forward, she could. She didn’t, and I wasn’t going to ask her. Asking her would mean she’d have to say what happened that night. What the frat did to her. I didn’t want to make that decision for her. By the time I’d healed, I’d missed so much school it didn’t seem to matter. I never really thought I belonged there anyway.”
“Where do you belong?”
Wherever you are. Instead of responding directly, I just shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”
“So, you’re just a drifter.”
“Something like that.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I said when she’d been quiet for a while. At least she’d unclenched her fingers.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you jump in when no one else did?”
I was almost going to say it was the right thing to do, but that wasn’t exactly right. “I just thought what if that was my sister up there? And no one was helping her?”
“You’re okay, New York.”
“You’re not bad, either.”
The small house shook with wind, followed by the fierce, noisy splatter of rain. She shivered again, rubbing her arms. “We’re in for a storm. I feel it in my bones”
“What are you, like, sixty? Only old people say stuff like that.”
She poked me in the chest. “Like you don’t sound strange talking about your fucking hypothalamus.”
God, this girl made me laugh. “You don’t like storms?”
She twirled a piece of hair between her fingers. “I love the rain, but I can do without its dumbass drinking buddies, thunder and lightning. This house is creepy enough, but a good storm makes all the ghosts come out.” She chewed on her lower lip, causing the nice warm simmer between us to boil over again. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“They’re real.”
“You say that as if you know.”
“I do. I’ve seen one with my own eyes.”
She inched closer to me, her face bright with excitement. “You have a ghost story for me?”
“Nah, don’t want to freak you out.”
She leaned forward. Her shirt dropped a few inches, exposing more flesh and some beautiful cleavage. “Oh, come on. I really want to hear your run in with the other realm.”
Lifting my head before she caught me staring, I tried to focus on her eyes.
I shifted, staring at her pretty mouth. Big mistake. Her bottom lip jutted out. I’m not sure when, but she must have applied fresh gloss. I wanted to lick it all off. I lowered my head a little more, focusing on her collarbone, an area I’d never been interested in, but Scarlett’s clavicle was a work of art.
“Hey, you still with me?” she asked.
I lay back in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. That was safer. The masochist in me could finally focus. “Sorry.”
“How about that story, mister?”
“I’ll tell you, but you can’t laugh.”
She shook out her arms as if this motion was somehow going to prepare her not to laugh. Or maybe she was dealing with her own temptations in keeping her hands off me? “I’ll do my best.”
I cleared my throat. “I was only five and going to see Santa. Now, you have to picture Manhattan at Christmas.” I held my hands up in a square like a television set for her. She actually looked inside. “It’s loud, colorful, exciting, and smothering at the same time. People…so many people, crowding in so you don’t even feel the wind anymore.
“My sister, Anna, held my hand. My dad was somewhere, too, probably talking on his cell, making money when we should have been making memories. We stood at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The big department store with all the brightly lit Christmas trees was across the way.
“The light was so long, and I was anxious. I saw Santa walking in, led by a precession of elves. He waved and shook hands with all the kids. A line formed behind him, winding down the street and around the corner.
“I freaked. I had something very important to ask him for, and the line would take all day. My father said something to that effect. It wouldn’t be long before he started making excuses about leaving. I couldn’t let that happen. So I dropped Anna’s hand and darted into the street.”
She gasped, cupping her mouth. “What happened?”
“I didn’t get far. A ghost stopped me. It floated toward me, all white and billowy. It smelled sweet, too. Time stopped.” I paused, thinking that scent was so familiar. Something I’d come across, but my brain wouldn’t quite latch onto the source.
“Ghosts smell sweet?”
I nodded. “This one did. It kicked me in the stomach so hard I flew into the air and landed on my ass back on the crosswalk.”
“Maybe you tripped?” she offered.
“Tripped and fell back? Nope, this was definitely ghost. I couldn’t even breathe for a minute, and I had a red welt across my chest to prove it.”
“What did your family say?”
“They didn’t see anything. The ghost disappeared…disintegrated into the air. They thought I hurt myself playing, but I know what I saw. It scared the hell out of me. I actually pissed my pants. I had nightmares for months.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, the laughter threatening to bubble out of her. “Seriously?”
I faked a hurt look. “You think that’s funny? I’m bearing my soul to you, and you’re laughing your ass off after you promised you wouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry. That was mean.”
“It was.” I bumped her shoulder to let her know I was teasing.
“What were you going to ask him for?”
“Who?”
“Santa. You said you had something important to ask him.”
I’d never told the story to anyone, and now I remembered why. “I wanted him to bring my mom back. We needed her more than Heaven did.”
She looked so concerned I offered her a smile to lighten the mood. Gently nudging the cat off the bed, she shifted closer to me. “She died?”
Although we were fully clothed, I’d never felt so naked in my life. “It’s stupid. I didn’t even know her. I came into the world about the same time she left it. I just thought if she were back, maybe my dad would be different. Maybe we’d be a family.” I played with the button on my cuff. “God, I sound pathetic.”
She didn’t laugh at the joke. She did something I wasn’t expecting. She climbed on top of me and laid her head on my chest. Her arms and legs curled around me. My hands embraced her back. A hug…but that seemed too simplistic for what this was. It was like a transference of pain. My heartbeat changed as it blended with hers. Something shifted inside me.
“Does this hurt?” she asked.
“No. This…this is perfect.”
The rhythm of my heart had always felt loud. As a young kid, I thought everyone could hear their heart all the time like I could, but then I found out that wasn’t true. The beats didn’t even have the right timing. They were just sharp, disjointed, chaotic noises.
The doctors all said my heartbeat was normal, though, so I accepted that I must have had superhero hearing. As I lay in her arms, the restlessness in my body stopped. My heart finally had a rhythm.
My serenity.
“Just because you never knew her doesn’t mean you didn’t love her or that she didn’t love you,” she said.
I tilted her head, staring at the Sea of Tranquility within her eyes.
Are you a dream? I wanted to sleep forever in her arms, laying on pink bed sheets, in this creaky old trailer. We could weather the any storm like this.
A snap of lightning sliced through the chaos happening in my head. She shivered. The cat screeched, jolting on top of us. He hissed and clawed my leg before jumping off as if I was personally responsible for the weather.
“Ouch.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. Let me get some cream for
that.”
I wrapped my arms around her. “Don’t move. I’m fine.”
She rested her head against my chest. Her hair spilled out over me. I breathed in the scent of strawberries and peppermint. “Okay.”
“Do you have any stories like that?”
She looked at me, pressing her chin against my chest, a sly smile on her pouty lips. “Any stories where I pissed my pants? No, can’t say I do.”
I tickled her rib cage, rolling us over. I would regret this. Her giggles made me hard all over again, and I fought against the urge to hear one of her moans. “Funny, smart-ass. You owe me a ghost story. Go.”
“I don’t have any ghost stories.”
My fingers paused. “Then tell me something that scares you so we’re even.”
“Santa Claus.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“I swear it’s true.”
My eyes blinked in disbelief. “Santa. Not axe murders, serial killers, or clowns?”
“Oh no, those things are scary, too, but you said one thing. This is in keeping with the theme of your story.”
I moved off her, crossed my arms under my head, and laid on my back. “What about St. Nick freaks you out, Texas?”
“You can’t laugh.” She bit her bottom lip. I struggled because I wanted to bite it, too.
“Okay.”
“Do better than that.” She held out her pinky to me. I curled mine around hers.
“Get on with the story.” God, I wanted to taste her again. Taste her everywhere.
“Okay, so I was six or seven. Before my father left for that one-of-a-kind brand of smokes, he decided to take us to visit my grandparents for the holidays. As usual, my mom was pissed at him. She complained the whole way that we should’ve gone to her relatives. It was constant griping about the car being too hot and that he needed to find a job.
“She brought up his promise to take me to see Santa. It was her way of guilting him. We were on some back road when he pulled over at this small hole in the wall country store. The kind that sells homemade jams and ammunition. Oh, and, of course, cigarettes.
“It must have been fate because there was a sign announcing Santa would be there. My dad gave my mom one of those ‘I planned this all along’ looks. Random, right?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Anyway, we had to wait since Santa was running late. My mom complained about that, too, but she lightened up when my dad told her to buy something nice for herself. After an hour, Santa finally showed up.”
“And he turned out to be an old creepy guy?”
She grinned, undoing the last braid she’d made. She combed her fingers through the strands. “No, he was wonderful. He had a real beard and everything. Since I was the only kid in the place, I got to spend a lot of time with him. He listened while I rattled on about all the dumb stuff I wanted. He even asked me questions.”
“Then why are you afraid of him?”
“That didn’t happen until later. When we finally left, I saw this huge shiny red pick-up in the parking lot. The front was decorated with garland. The words ‘Santa’s Sleigh’ was painted on the side. My father got some dad feelings and said, ‘Look Scar, that right there is Santa’s truck.’” She made a hand gesture imitating the scene. “I asked him why Santa didn’t have his real sleigh.”
“Dad said it was because his sleigh could only be used on Christmas Eve. When he was doing normal Santa stuff, he used the truck. I got really excited and thought my present might be in the back. That made total sense, right?”
“It kind of does.”
“Well, before my dad could stop me, I ran around and jumped on the tailgate. I lifted the blue tarp covering the truck bed and stuck my head inside.” She shivered, the goose bumps on her arms visible. “I’ve never been the same since.”
I tensed with her narration. “What the hell was in there?” I rubbed her arms. My head ran through a montage of horror films, each image worse than the last.
“The bloody corpse of a ten-point buck.”
If I’d been drinking something, I would have choked. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish. Turns out Santa was a hunter. The reason he ran so late was because he’d had himself a nice kill. The whole trip home, I screamed, ‘Santa shot Dancer. Santa killed Dancer. Dancer is dead.’ I have no clue why I thought it was Dancer and not one of the other reindeer. But ever since then, Santa freaks me out. I even stopped leaving cookies out after that.”
I started laughing.
“Hey, you pinky promised,” she said, but she’d started laughing, too. Soon we were both cracking up.
“Good story, Texas.”
“Thank you.”
I traced her lips. She had gorgeous lips. They tasted as good as they looked. She parted her mouth and moved closer to me.
The rain came down harder, all of a sudden, as if the whole sky had opened in some type of cosmic warning. We both sighed at the same time and laid on our backs taking in the sound. It rattled the entire house. Lightning cracked, emanating the scent of ozone in the air, electrifying the sparks and tingles present between us. We both lay on our backs staring at the hundreds of lit up stars on her ceiling. Did she look at them with a sense of adventure for the new? Or did she see the blank space between them and concentrate on those missing pieces?
Our hands found each other. She started humming a familiar tune. One I’d searched for on Spotify many times. It felt as if a needle punctured my spine, I got up so fast. “What song is that?”
“It’s ‘Here comes the Rain’ by The Eurythmics. It’s an old song but one of my favorites. Do you know it?”
“I hear it all the time.”
“I hate when a song gets stuck in my head, too.”
“Yeah, that does mess with a person.” She misunderstood, but then again, how could I give her an explanation without sounding deranged? It was the chorus of my dream soundtrack.
“You know the best cure for that?” she asked, her eyes glowing.
“What?”
“Listen to it, all the time, until you get it out of your system.” She walked to the bookshelf. The archaic-looking stereo buzzed to life.
The cat appeared out of nowhere as cats did. He circled the bed a few times and growled at me before settling in the vacant spot Scarlett had left. I thought of petting him. Then I thought better of it. This kitty had some serious street cred, and I wasn’t about to get scratched up. I focused on Scarlett. She closed her eyes, undulating her hips, swaying to the music. The cheap plastic glow in the dark stars on the ceiling casted a spotlight on her, shining down on her long, sunset-colored hair. I leaned back on my elbows. The cat and I watched her.
He with disinterested curiosity, an expression only cats could muster. Me with awestruck fascination. Under the rhythm of her laughter, all my logical choices evaporated. I tried to be good, but her dancing to this song—a man was only so strong.
The rain pelted harder, followed by a hot flash of lightning bathing the room in brilliant white light for a few brief seconds. It was as if the very sky was trying to warn me not to give into my weakness. It didn’t matter, though. The addict instinct inside me could no longer ignore the greedy needs of my body.
I surrendered.
Chapter Nine
I wanted to run and scoop her up in my arms. Instead, I walked, closing the gap between us, each step feeling like an eternity.
“May I?”
She nodded, putting her arms over my shoulder. I gripped her hips and pulled her against me. I bent and pressed my mouth against her.
I delved deeper, asking her to open for me. Her lips parted. My tongue swirled with hers, gently biting her plump bottom lip. I drank in her moans. They were fucking delicious.
“You said we shouldn’t,” she gasped, her voice husky, between kisses.
“Will you let me change my mind?”
“I will.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But keep convincing me.”
I sucked on
her earlobe. She moaned with approval. When I nipped it, she melted against me. I whispered into her ear, “I’m going to love every beautiful inch of you, Angel.”
I pressed my hands against the thin fabric of her shirt, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. She swung her arms around my shoulder. I pressed her against the wall, finally getting to trace her clavicle with my tongue.
Then Septimus nipped my ankle.
I groaned and pressed my temple against hers. “Can we exile the cat?”
She gave me the dimple-smile and poked my chest. “He’s beginning to like you.”
“He wants to battle me for alpha male and tear my balls off so he can have all of your attention, Angel. I don’t blame him. Although I think I have the advantage with my opposable thumbs and all, but let’s not chance it.” Never underestimate a male in love.
My hand slipped inside the waistband of her skirt, trailing the edges of her panties. I bent toward her ear, whispering my pledge. “The things I want to do to you don’t need an audience, especially one so hostile.”
A blush swept across her clavicle. “Yeah, I get that.” She swooped up the cat and took him out of the room. Septimus gave an argumentative meow, but Scarlett told him to play by himself or maybe with himself. She put her back against the closed door. We stared at each other, every sense on overload, the air so thick with sexual tension that not even a knife, or machete, or chainsaw could cut it.
“Come here,” I said, holding my arms out. She ran, her body slamming into mine with surprising grace. I picked her up and swung her onto her desk.
She lifted her shirt off to reveal a black bra with yellow stripes. Her nipples hardened as my thumbs burnished across the thin fabric of her bra. Grumbling in frustration, I watched her fingers work through each button on my shirt. Why the hell had I picked a button-down shirt? Was I some kind of masochist? I almost ripped it off, craving the feel of her skin on mine. Finally, she shoved the shirt off my shoulders.
Her eyes widened as her fingers ran down my chest. She traced the lines of the leafless tree etched onto my right side.
“Why this?” she asked.
“I saw a tree like this in Central Park. It stuck with me.”