Dark Child

by Jo Raven

  A lie. I can’t quite remember why I had it done. In fact… I keep forgetting I have that ink. I keep forgetting what made me get it.A shivery feeling climbs up my back and I try to ignore it.

  “It looks a bit like Mercury’s staff.”

  “Hm… Sorry?” I glance down at her, frowning. “Staff?”

  “Yeah, you know. It had two wings at the top. Looks a bit like a double ax. Did you know Mercury is also the God of the Dead?”

  “Uh. Wasn’t it Hades or something?”

  “But Mercury led the souls across the river of Lethe to the Underworld. He guards boundaries between worlds.”

  I shiver again. Goddammit. What’s wrong with me?

  “Once I thought…”

  “You thought what?”

  “That I’d study to be a historian. Or archaeologist. Visit Italy, walk in the Coliseum, map the temples and ancient towns.”

  “And what happened?” I’m still struggling to get my breathing under control.

  She doesn’t reply right away, her eyes back on the screen. “Well,” she finally whispers, “Mom left, Dad had a breakdown, and then Sophie had a huge fight with her boyfriend and left for parts unknown for a while.”

  Distracted by her story, I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her. “I’m sorry, Cos.”

  “I dropped out of school, followed Lin, got a job, and forgot all about that. It was a stupid dream anyway.”

  “It doesn’t sound stupid to me. You said you got your GED. So what stops you from studying history now?”

  “My sister needs me. I can’t commit to anything until she’s in a better place.”

  Commit to her studies, or to me?

  It doesn’t matter. This need to protect her sister, her family, is something I get, one hundred percent. “You know I’m here if you need help with anything, and not just the cat, right?”

  She sits up and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear where a small golden stud glints. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

  “I mean everything I say to you, girl. I hope you’ll trust me one day.”

  She does that thing where she bites her lower lip, and predictably I start getting hard. My gaze drops to the swell of her tits and I have to take some deep breaths to keep from tackling her to the mattress.

  “God, you’re cute,” she breathes.

  I bare my teeth. “I’m not cute. Girls are cute.”

  “Ruggedly handsome, then.”

  “That’ll do.”

  “You’re like no one I’ve ever met before,” she whispers.

  Let’s hope that’s a good thing.

  JC wanders into the kitchen a few days later, looking like something the cat dragged in.

  “Rough night?” I look at him over the rim of my mug, my hip propped against the counter. “Drank one too many?”

  He doesn’t reply, pouring himself a huge mug of coffee.

  “Or did you spend the night having wild monkey sex? Tantric sex? Underwater se—”

  “Shut up, Merc.”

  I lift my brows and salute him with my coffee. “Yessir.”

  He observes me as he takes a seat at the table. “You’ve been sleeping better lately.”

  In contrast he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, but I keep my observation behind my teeth. I nod, sip my coffee. “Not keeping you up at night anymore?”

  “Told you, I don’t sleep much.”

  Yeah, buddy, obviously. “Look, JC… I’m sorry about the other day. I don’t know what got into me.”

  He nods, gives me a faint smile.

  Relaxing, I sit down across from him. “So what’s your story?”

  “Story? There’s no story.”

  “We all have one, man. Where are you coming from, who’s your family, where are you going? What was the turning point in your life?”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Mine…” Dark, blood, dreams, a secret. A secret even I am not sure of. No… I give this some thought. “When I found out who my dad is. It sort of knocked the world off its axis.”

  “Why? Is he someone famous?”

  “Rather infamous. He’s a douchebag I’ve known all my life. His son, my half-brother, is a carbon copy where behavior is concerned.” A bully, in fact, but let’s not get into that. “He left my mom without any support to work three jobs to raise us, and all the while he lived a few miles down the road from us.”

  He looks a bit stunned—that my dad didn’t turn out to be an incognito movie star, maybe? Yeah, boring tale.

  But then he says, “So your turning point wasn’t something you did.”

  I consider this. “Right. Well, unless you consider punching said half-brother and helping save my sister from a crazy stalker.”

  He gives a tired grin. “So you’re a secret superhero?”

  “Don’t I wish. You’re not gonna get any glamorous stories outta me, man. Poor as dirt, boring as fuck, that was always my life. Not that it wasn’t a good life. I got a great family. Wouldn’t change them for the world.”

  “Except for your dad. And half-brother.”

  “That’s right.” I drink more coffee, and by the time I finish my mug and stand up to get some more, I’ve more or less given up on him giving away anything about himself.

  Despite sleeping better, I’m tired. I’ve got classes, and assignments, and work at the garage later on, and hopefully Cos will drop by in the evening.

  To my surprise, he says, “I’ve made mistakes in my life.”

  I’ll be damned. JC Carlton, opening up to me? “And?”

  “And what? I’ve hurt people.”

  I give him a curious look. He seems the same age as myself, certainly not old enough to wreck lives, as you’d think from the gravity of his tone.

  Then again, maybe age has nothing to do with wreckage.

  “And now you’re on a mission to make amends?”

  He pushes brusquely away from the table and takes his mug to the sink. “Too late for that.”

  “They say it’s never too late to make things right.”

  “This isn’t a fantasy movie like the ones you like watching, Merc. This is real life.”

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I live in reality.”

  “You can’t even face your nightmares. Gimme a fucking break.”

  “Hey!” I call after him, but he’s already leaving the kitchen. “Hey, wait.” Slamming my mug on the counter, I start after him. “Come on. What am I supposed to do, huh? Face them, how?”

  And then I stop, panting harshly, my fists shaking.

  Know what? Forget it. I’m getting better. Sleeping better. Fuck the nightmares, and fuck JC for reminding me of them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cosima

  In my dream, Merc is dragging a double ax behind him, wading through a dark forest, his pale hair shining like a halo around his head, bare chest gleaming like polished marble. His feet are bare, too, torn up by thorns and stones, leaving bloody prints behind.

  I call his name, but he doesn’t see me, doesn’t hear me. Birds flutter in the trees, cawing and flying away, a black cloud against the white sky.

  A bell is tolling in the distance, like a bad feeling with a voice.

  I follow him as he crashes through the underbelly of the trees, through brambles and bunches of weird, jagged flowers made of sharp blades. Insects buzz, crawling on the tree trunks, making their surface ripple.

  I don’t want to stay in this nightmare forest, but Merc keeps going, never slowing down, and I scramble to keep up, my hands and feet catching on sharp edges, my hair catching on the trunks, insects jumping on my back, biting into my skin.

  “Merc! Wait.”

  “Please tell me what this forest means, what you’re doing with that ax. What are you looking for?”

  But he doesn’t stop. The trees start to thin out, the forest ending in a meadow. We hurry through the shiny, silver grass, my jeans catching on the thorns.

  When I look up, I stop in my t
racks.

  The meadow ends in a drop-off, and from below I hear the sound of crashing waves.

  “Merc!”

  He’s striding away from me, heading straight for the cliff and the roaring sea below, unseeing, unhearing. Heading straight to his death.

  “Stop!” I yell at him, “Stop! Please let me help.”

  He falls off into the void, vanishing without a sound, the wind blowing after him, a mournful howl.

  I drop to my knees and cry and the bell is tolling louder now, a deafening ring in my ears, louder and louder—

  Until the cliff and the meadow fade away, and I’m lying in bed, my eyes blurry with tears.

  Jesus Christ.

  The bell turns out to be my phone, ringing on the nightstand. Reaching out blindly, I pat around until I find it, press Accept Call and bring it to my ear. “H’llo?”

  Then I sit up, suddenly wide awake as the words pour into my ear, frantic and choked with anguish.

  It’s my sister.

  All these dreams of Merc, and I never saw this coming. Why don’t I ever dream of my sister needing help?

  Maybe because she has no problem coming out and asking for it, a little rational voice in my mind says. She asks for help all the time. Your subconscious is working on problems and riddles that aren’t so obvious.

  Maybe? It makes sense, right?

  But come on. Merc doesn’t need help with anything. His family rocks. He’s fine. And if he looks tired sometimes, well, he’s a student who works hard to make ends meet. Who wouldn’t be tired? It’s not fatal, for God’s sake.

  It’s actually a good sign. He seems to be hard-working, responsible. Reliable.

  A good guy.

  And I shouldn’t let myself get distracted.

  Griffin isn’t doing well. He’s had a bad reaction to the chemo, the docs think. He was admitted to the hospital for observation and tests, and my sis is terrified.

  Who wouldn’t be, right? This disease sucks.

  Sitting by the phone, waiting for an update, isn’t very productive, though. The kitten wanders by, rubs herself on my shins.

  I need to go to my sister’s classes, decide what to do about her upcoming assignments, go to her job…

  Will this work? Short-term, sure, taking notes, answering phone calls, doing basic stuff. But I can’t pretend for much longer. I can’t take her exams, can’t go out with her colleagues for drinks. Something’s got to give.

  She has to tell people the truth. Or at least come back.

  Not the right topic to discuss with her right now, of course, but… soon. If things continue the way they’re heading.

  Griffin has to get well. If my sister loses him, I don’t know how she’ll recover from that blow. It won’t be easy.

  Why am I thinking such dark thoughts? I’m not a pessimist. Griffin will be fine. My sis will be fine. Everything will be okay.

  But the weight on my chest won’t lift. My heart is racing, my stomach hurts. Mom and Dad should be here for her. She should be able to turn to them for support—but Soph won’t ask for their help, and the phone calls I made to them were for nothing. Mom doesn’t have time for Sophie’s shenanigans, she said, and Dad isn’t sure what he could do, and besides, Sophie hasn’t spoken to him in years, and his car is broken down.

  I throw my phone on the sofa and pull my hair back, off my face, sad and annoyed and mad at our parents. I’m glad she has me, at least, but when the world goes sideways, you need your family close. I’m worried, thinking I should go find my sis, be by her side, and to hell with the classes and work and… the kitty who’s giving me a soulful look from the floor.

  She probably wants to be fed.

  “You still have food in your bowl,” I tell her and jab my finger at the kitchen. “So don’t look at me like that.”

  She bumps her little face on my leg. Meows. Purrs.

  Sigh.

  I’ve never met Griffin in person, only through the stories Soph told me, since their first meeting to their break-up, and the way life brought them back together.

  It’s a great love story, for God’s sake, at least the way she tells it. It can’t end like this. It’s given me the strength to keep looking, to keep hoping I can find real love even after the ugly break-ups I’ve had with asshole boyfriends. It’s what’s kept me going, kept me looking for my own Griffin, it’s how I found—

  My phone dings, and I lunge for it, hoping for an update—as if something might have changed over the course of a few hours, but hey, you never know, right?

  But it’s Merc. The text message is from him, and my heart starts to pound for an entirely different reason.

  ‘Hey, pretty girl,’ he writes. ‘Wanna grab some lunch? Miss ya.’

  God, me too. But…

  ‘I can’t,’ I text him back. ‘My sis isn’t doing so well. Waiting to see if I need to drive over to help out.’

  A few seconds with nothing.

  Then, ‘Where?’

  ‘Memphis.’

  The next message comes immediately:

  ‘How can I help?’

  I stare at the words, wondering why my eyes are stinging even as my lips curl into a smile. No reason why my throat should feel so tight.

  ‘I don’t know yet. For now I will be apartment-sitting.’

  ‘And cat-sitting?’ he writes back with a cat emoji.

  Reluctantly I smile.

  ‘Not sitting on the cat, obviously,’ he writes a few seconds later. ‘Or is that what you meant?’

  I open my mouth, glance at the kitty. She cocks her little head and stares back at me. Then she hiccups.

  My phone dings again. ‘That would be uncomfortable.’

  Ding. ‘For the cat.’

  Ding. ‘Lucky cat.’

  Ding. ‘Come sit on me instead.’

  I snicker. He’s crazy. And his texts keep coming.

  ‘Damn. Now I can’t stop thinking of you sitting on my face.’

  Oh holy crap… Heat washes through me. My belly clenches. My pussy tightens.

  I take a few deep breaths. This boy is nuts. I should be laughing, but instead I feel like I’m on fire.

  ‘I’m just waiting for more news,’ I make myself type.

  ‘Let me bring you breakfast,’ he replies. ‘Just say Yes or No. Actually, just say Yes.’

  I stare at his text. I couldn’t care less about breakfast, my stomach one big knot, and I shouldn’t care about seeing him right now. But I want Merc here, I realize, his arms around me, his steady, solid presence by my side.

  Family. I need him like I need family. What would it hurt to have him over, anyway?

  ‘Yes,’ I type, my fingers shaking. ‘Yes.’

  Seconds later, his reply appears on my phone: ‘On my way.’

  He brings donuts and coffee and that warm, bright grin I love. My own private sun, and I’m getting caught in his gravity. Dressed in old sneakers, ratty sweats, and a patched black hoody that has seen better days, he’s a sight for sore eyes. His ever-present set of headphones hangs around his neck.

  “Were you out jogging?” I take the coffees, and he places the paper bag with our breakfast on the kitchen table.

  “Yeah. Sometimes.” He rakes those long musician fingers through his pale hair. “When I can’t sleep, I get up early and jog.” He makes a rueful face. “It doesn’t help with the sleeping problem, but it calms me down.”

  The sleeping problem. I uncap the coffees, the aroma of good coffee and cream wafting up to my face, and try to find the words to ask.

  Hey, Merc, do you know I kept dreaming about you bleeding to death? Or jumping off cliffs, carrying a huge-ass double ax?

  There’s also the matter of those dreams where you’re making love to me, but… yeah, anyway, I got horny, but also sort of worried…?

  “You sticking to the apartment most of the day? Need me to go borrow some notes for your sister’s class or anything? Talk to the professor?”

  “You’d do that?”

  A
shrug of broad shoulders. “If it’s important, sure.” Today again he has dark circles under his eyes, but he looks cheerful.

  And beautiful.

  “I…” I sip at my coffee, to buy myself time. “Thank you, Merc.”

  He nods, sprawls in one of the chairs and takes a long gulp of coffee, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

  He’s such a study in contrasts. Educated, but also kinda rough around the edges, as if he’s spent a lot of time on the streets. Handsome, but not in a perfect, manicured sort of way. His smile is crooked, his nose broad, his hair messy and in need of a haircut. There’s always black grease under his fingernails from working at the garage, and his long fingers are rough and a bit callused.

  He’s funny, but also earnest, and thoughtful. He talks a good yarn, but also listens and pays attention to what I say.

  “You should eat something,” he says, and when I look up, I find that his blue eyes have gone deep and dark. “Not hungry?”

  I shake my head and pass him the paper bag. He digs out two frosted donuts and grabs two napkins from the napkin holder.

  “They’re good. I know this small place that makes the best donuts in town.” When I don’t move to take one, he frowns. He breaks one of the donuts apart. “Come here.”

  “Where?”

  He pats his knee. “I guess I need to feed you myself.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  He makes a grab for my hand, and I laugh, letting him pull me to him. Putting my coffee down on the table, I settle on his muscular leg.

  He slips one arm around my waist, supporting me, and it feels… good.

  At least my dad never rocked us on his knees or anything, so it just feels… unfamiliar. Kind of nice.

  “Now open up,” he says, and lifting a piece of donut to my mouth, and I obey, accepting the sweet morsel and chewing.

  “Good girl,” he says, and I roll my eyes at him.

  He grins, unrepentant. “I like feeding you,” he says, stroking his fingertips over my mouth, pushing his thumb between my lips.

  The image that rises to my mind—of me going down on him, taking his cock into my mouth—almost sends me into a choking fit.