Like waking up from a nightmare. Or opening your eyes to presents and cake. I liked it.
The music hit my ears again, and I looked ahead, spotted Aydin, and stopped.
He sat in a pair of black pants and a white T-shirt like me, but his was filthy with dirt smudges as he leaned over the plant bed and cut something. His hair, usually slicked back, laid dry and haphazardly over his forehead and temples, and a light sheen of sweat covered his forearms.
I stared at him, unable to move, because I couldn’t remember why I’d come in here, but I knew it was a secret. I hadn’t wanted to run into anyone. I thought he was still asleep.
He glanced over, dropping whatever he’d cut into the bowl and reached over, cutting some more.
I shifted on my feet, ready to turn around. I couldn’t go to the shed now.
But instead, he called me over. “Come here.”
I looked up at him again, seeing him concentrate on his task, and I walked over to his side, doing as he said.
He picked a strawberry out of the bowl and handed it to me, leaves, stem, and all.
I shot him a suspicious look, but I took it. He’d just cut it. It was probably fine.
Sticking it between my teeth, I bit into the small thing, pressing the chunk between my tongue and the roof of my mouth, sucking on the juice. My mouth exploded, savoring the flavor.
I nodded, swallowing and nibbling on the rest.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s… sweet.”
It was surprising.
“Mmm…” he agreed, returning to his work. “Yes.”
I looked at the remnants, knowing that real strawberries were this small. His tiny garden had tomatoes, basil, peppers, lettuce… I wouldn’t think he’d be into this, but I guess now I knew who was taking care of the greenhouse.
“Strawberries used to be sweet when I was young,” I said. “I don’t know. They’re sour all the time now.”
“Commercial strawberries the last couple of decades are bred to be big and beautiful, but that’s it,” he said. “They taste bad. I can barely eat any produce in the States.”
I looked down at him. “You’re not from here?”
He turned his eyes on me, cocking an eyebrow.
“The US, I mean.”
Okay, yes. I assumed we were in the States, but we might not be.
He returned to his task. “I was born in Turkey,” he told me. “My family relocated when I was fifteen.”
So he was an immigrant. Was it hard for him, being different in school? Trying to fit in?
“Did you assimilate quickly?” I asked.
“Assuming I had any ease assimilating to anything to begin with?” he joked, amusement in his eyes.
I couldn’t help it. I smiled.
I could relate.
I was the only kid in school who didn’t celebrate Christmas. Who didn’t take part in the annual winter pageants or do Secret Santa on the swim team.
But if I could’ve faked it, I wouldn’t have. It wasn’t my style to fit in. Screw ’em.
“Did you assimilate to her?” I broached, almost whispering.
The woman he talked about at the pool showers. The one made for him.
He faltered and then stilled, a faraway look crossing his eyes.
I swallowed, but I smiled to myself. I’d found his weak spot.
“Still hearing noises?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“No.”
But I might know where they were coming from now.
I glanced at the phonograph near the windows, still playing Schubert.
“Why are you roaming?” he asked me.
I shot him a look, an excuse lost on my tongue.
But then I remembered.
“I, uh… I saw the garden shed,” I told him. “I thought I’d look for tools. Maybe a ladder. That panel is off its hinges.”
I pointed to the roof and the broken panel of glass.
But he didn’t look, just kept working as he cut and cleared weeds. “Come here,” he said and held out his arm, inviting me in.
I reared back a little, but then…something pushed me forward.
I inched in, and he circled my waist, pulling me down into his lap.
I protested, trying to stand back up, but he took my hands in his and pushed them forward, palms down into the plant bed and sliding them underneath the soil.
What the hell was he doing?
Turning my head, I looked at him as he squeezed my wrists, keeping my hands in the dirt. What…?
“What do you feel?” he asked.
I hesitated, speechless. What did he mean, ‘what do I feel’?
“Soil,” I said.
Obviously.
He cocked his head, looking unimpressed.
Did he really have to hold my hands down?
Sighing, I wiggled my fingers a little, indulging this as the crisp feel coated my skin.
Almost like planting your face in a fresh pillow.
“Cool earth,” I finally told him. “It’s soft with water. Fluffy. Like flour, almost.” I looked over at him, his nose inches from mine. “Thick but…clean between my fingers.”
He released me, but I stayed there and watched him pick up a small glass pitcher, pouring water over the soil covering my hands.
Ice hit my pores as the fluff turned to goo.
“And now?” he pressed.
“Weight,” I replied. “It feels heavy. Muddy. Sticky.” I stared off, almost grossed out by it. “It’s suffocating. Like I’m buried.”
He nodded. “There’s not much that’s bad for you, done in moderation. Some water is necessary for plants to thrive. Too much kills them.”
Holding my eyes, he gripped my wrists again, pinning me to the dirt.
“You want tools?” he asked. “To fix… hinges?”
I stared at him, not liking the gleam in his eyes.
“You came out here to get tools for broken hinges you didn’t see until you… came out here.” He stared at me, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. “You can have all the tools you like, Emory. In moderation.”
I swallowed the golf ball in my throat as he continued to hold my hands and my eyes.
He knew I was full of shit.
He knew it the moment I walked out here. Did he know about my stash?
I clenched my teeth, keeping my nerves in check, but he cocked his head, eyeing me curiously.
“Did you grow up with an addict?” he asked.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I can usually spot liars fairly easily. They keep their explanations vague, fidget, break eye contact… You’ve had practice.”
“I’m not lying about why I need the tools.”
“You are,” he retorted calmly. “But that’s okay. I like being played with. In moderation.”
Chills spread over my skin, and my pulse kicked up a notch in my chest, but then… something brushed the tip of my finger underneath the soil.
I jerked. “What was that?”
But he held me down, warning me, “I wouldn’t move.”
What?
Something slithered over my fingers under the dirt, and I froze, unable to breathe.
I pulled against his hold, but he pushed me back in as his piercing gaze pinned me, the smooth body under the soil thick and never-ending.
It was long. It wasn’t a worm.
I gulped, whispering. “Is that a snake?”
“One of them.”
One of them? I darted my eyes around the plant bed, trying to spot others. There was a clear, plastic wall around the garden, the panel in front of us removed so Aydin could work.
“Who was the addict in your family?”
“Huh?”
“Look at me, Emory,” he said.
I looked up at him, worry knitting my brow. I tried to slide my hands out, but he held firm. Shit.
Where was Will?
“Who conditioned you to lie so well?” he asked, staring into my eyes
and keeping his voice calm and steady.
“He…” I trailed off as the snake, or whatever it was, stopped over my hand, and I felt it shift or…start to coil. Another lump lodged in my throat. “Aydin…”
“Who?” He tightened his hold on my wrists.
“He…” I breathed hard. “He wasn’t an addict. My brother had a temper,” I explained.
Fuck, where was Will? Tears sprang to my eyes.
“And he got physical with you?” Aydin asked.
A flicker of something hit my pinky—again and again. Its tongue?
“Oh, my God,” I gasped. “Please.”
Let me go.
“Be still,” he said. “Look at me.”
I darted my eyes to his again.
“Like a rock,” he instructed. “You’re part of her terrain. She won’t notice you unless you want her to. Like a rock, Emory.”
“Aydin…”
“Don’t move,” he chided again.
I closed my eyes, trapped. Feeling it there. Unable to run. Any sudden movement, and… God, get it off me. Please.
“It reminds you of him, doesn’t it?” Aydin asked. “Your brother.”
What?
“Waiting for the danger to hit,” he continued. “Knowing it was coming.”
I kept my eyes closed, trying to drown it out, but my knees started shaking, and I wanted to hit him. My arms were charged, the anger there, like before, but I couldn’t do anything with it. Not yet. I couldn’t move.
“Unable to live, damn near wetting your pants and waiting for the inevitable as it got closer and closer to you.”
Shut up. He didn’t know me.
“Would you get sick right before you knew he was coming home?” he asked. “Run to the bathroom and vomit, maybe?”
I opened my eyes, meeting his through the blur.
Needles pricked my throat, remembering. “The kitchen sink,” I told him. “It was closer than the bathroom. I was usually making dinner.”
He nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
The snake’s head slid over my hand again, grinding the dirt into my skin.
“Is it poisonous?” I asked.
“Something is only poisonous if you eat it,” he retorted. “Organisms that bite and inject you with poison are described as venomous.”
Jesus, fuck. “Is it venomous, then?”
“They’re black racers,” he pointed out, as if that meant anything to me. “What if I said it’s venomous, but I have anti-venom?”
“Let me go.”
“What if I said it’s not venomous, but it can bite?”
I gritted my teeth, the snake’s head nudging between my fingers. What the fuck? Why wasn’t it moving on?
“What if I said it can’t bite, only constrict?” he asked instead.
“What are you doing?”
“Or maybe it’s not harmful at all,” he told me, “but I might put some in your bed tonight? Would you fear them any less?”
“Aydin…” I started to pull at my arms.
He barked, “If you move, she’ll strike.” He glared at me. “Own it, Emory. Own this moment.”
What? I shook my head, my thighs tense as I got ready to bolt and fight and run, but…
“Don’t run,” he told me, reading my mind. “Don’t cry. Don’t get angry. Just let go.”
N…no. What…? The dirt shifted a few feet away, and I whimpered. Was that another one?
But he yelled, “Let go!”
I startled, resisting the urge to curl my fingers into the dirt.
“Look at me,” he said. “Look into my eyes.”
I snapped my gaze to his. Please…
“Look at me,” he urged again. “Hold my eyes. Don’t fight. Don’t rage. Don’t scream. Don’t give him your fear.”
I panted, staring into his brown eyes, tunneling deeper into the flecks of honey and amber.
“I am here,” he recited. “This is it, and I am not scared.”
I exhaled, sucking in another breath but starting to calm.
“I am not scared,” he repeated. “I am the eye of the storm. The calm in the madness.”
I blew out a breath, drawing in another, slower.
“The quiet in the chaos. The patience for my moment.”
My hand started to melt into the dirt, the snake shrinking and my heart starting to slow down.
We didn’t blink.
“I am the eye of the storm,” he murmured, and I was transfixed. “He did not happen to you, Emory. You expected it. It was supposed to happen. It was all part of the plan. You knew it was coming.”
I gazed into his eyes, his voice surrounding me like music as cool calmness swept through my blood.
“Nothing is ever a surprise,” he said. “Always act as if you knew it was coming the whole time. Pretend it was part of the plan. You move with the storm, Emory. Calm, quiet, patient, and then… Then you happen to him.”
My chest rose and fell in steady breaths as I whispered, “I happen to him.”
“He may hit you again,” he breathed out, “but he will never hurt you. You will smile, and then…”
“I will happen to him,” I whispered.
Warmth coursed over my body, a curtain lifted, and my lungs opened, steel coating my skin and knives sprouting from my nails.
The racer slithered over my finger and up to the surface of the soil, moving away into the other plants, and I looked down, seeing my palms still buried, but Aydin was no longer holding me.
When had he let go?
Taking them out, I looked at him, seeing him give me a small smile. Then, he leaned over and grabbed the black snake, still fisting its body and staring at me as the reptile hissed, snapped back around, and struck the back of his hand, sinking its fangs into him.
Aydin released it, and I watched as he sucked the two red punctures into his mouth and spit the blood into the plant bed.
“Like nearly all suffering,” he told me, “it bites, but you live.”
Sweat cooled on my skin, and my head was in the clouds, a tremendous weight I thought I’d always feel suddenly gone.
Leaning in, Aydin kissed my temple, and I didn’t even consider pulling away. His lips were warm and gentle—almost like a…
Like a father.
“You’re Lilith,” he whispered against my skin. “You can’t be burned if you’re the flame.”
Pulling back, he looked down into my eyes, and I didn’t want to smile. He wasn’t off the hook for that scare, but I walked in here with something that I was going to leave without. Everything felt stronger and lighter.
How the hell did he do that?
Lilith... His words drifted through my head. Was he Jewish? She was in our folklore. Adam’s first wife and cast out of the Garden of Eden, because she refused to be subservient.
She was dark and light. She wasn’t afraid to fall or to burn too bright.
She was a flame.
Something shifted off to my right, and we both turned our heads, seeing Will standing just inside the room.
He wore gray sweatpants, hanging low on his hips, and nothing else as his hair stuck up all over the place in the most adorable way.
My heart instantly ached at the anger always in his eyes, but I was ready to do something about it now.
His gaze shot from Aydin to me in his lap, the sharpness in his scowl suddenly turning flat, like he didn’t care. He just stood there, unmoving, and I rose from the seat, remembering that night on the dance floor at Homecoming.
Everyone had stared at us because we didn’t belong together, but we felt nothing other than the ache of the agonizing inch between us, and suddenly Aydin wasn’t even in the room.
“Micah and Rory gone hunting?” Aydin asked, leaning back in his seat.
Will nodded, refusing to look at me now. “I told Taylor to go with them.”
Aydin chuckled under his breath, looking at Will over his shoulder. “Just the three of us, then,” he mused, glancing at me. “You kid
s want to play in the pool?”
I gazed at Will, ignoring Aydin’s thinly veiled request that I take off my clothes, but then Will spoke up.
“Just take her,” he said. “I’ve had her.”
I stared at him, the challenge clear, but while I would’ve mouthed off or walked out ten minutes ago, I felt roots sprout from the bottoms of my shoes, keeping me steady.
An oak.
The eye of the storm.
Aydin laughed to himself and rose from the chair, replacing the panel that kept the snakes confined, and ruffling my hair as he headed out of the room. “You know where to find me,” he called out, “when you’re ready for the next level, Miss Scott.”
He left and Will looked at me, shaking his head. He wouldn’t even stop me if I jumped on every dick in this house right now.
He didn’t care, because he hated me.
“Nothing was going on,” I told him.
“I don’t care,” he shot back. “And you wouldn’t care if I did.”
Without another word, he twisted around and walked away.
My lungs constricted. “Godzilla,” I called out, taking a step forward.
He stopped. Turning back around, he narrowed his hard eyes. “What?”
I took another step, tempted to fidget or look away or shrink like it was always in my nature to do when I was scared shitless, but I kept my gaze locked on him.
No matter how much it hurt.
None of what’s happening right now is a surprise. I knew it was coming. Handle it.
“You, um…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You missed a Godzilla movie since you’ve been gone. King of the Monsters,” I told him. “It was pretty decent, except for the plot.”
He remained still, eyeing me suspiciously.
I took another step.
He could walk out any second, but I wouldn’t let him. Stay.
“Good cinematography and action sequences,” I said. “You get to see Mothra, too.”
The sprinklers overhead sprouted to life, but I didn’t look away as warm rain fell over the trees, plants, and garden, wetting my clothes.
I removed my glasses, setting them on the edge of another tree bed.
“I bought Milk Duds and Twizzlers.” I chuckled under my breath. “I don’t know why because I was on my own, and I didn’t need all that candy, but I didn’t eat the Milk Duds.” I swallowed, staring deep into his eyes. “I couldn’t help but think… ‘Will would love this.’”
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