“It’s okay. He just wasn’t right for me. He was getting too clingy anyway and you’re right, it’s been way too long since we talked. I’m sorry I let Chris take up so much of my time.” I’m sorry I almost kissed your boyfriend too.
“I guess you know why Sam left the party.”
“I would like to hear your version of the story.” Emily is sure Sam is correct in thinking that something happened that night with Elijah. She really does care about Sam, it’s not just my gift that made her realize it, and that little fact makes me want to curl up and disappear. She looks down and sips on her iced tea waiting on my account of that night.
“Elijah found me on the beach right after Sam punched Chris. He invited me back to his house to talk and that’s all that happened, we talked. I spilled some wine on my dress and so I changed before coming back to the party.” I hate lying, especially to Emily. Wine, blood, close enough. My inner angel is scolding me right now. What? It’s not like I can tell her the truth. “And now Sam won’t even talk to me.”
She is not sure if she believes me or not. She wants to trust me, but she knows what Elijah means to me. She is fighting those same feelings for Sam. My eyes are beginning to water just thinking about this whole situation. Emily tries to cheer me up and gets me to crack a bit of a smile when she suggest I should pin him up against his locker and have my wicked way with him. But then she pictures herself doing the same and my smile disappears.
***
I dread looking into Sam’s eyes in the class that we share with Elijah, knowing how badly I hurt him kills me. But there he sits in all of his long legged splendor, dressed in his well-worn jeans and soft plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Sam’s muscles are lean from logging hours in the pool, his sport of choice has gifted him a swimmer’s physique that mimics Olympian gold medalist. Waves of amber hair play softly around brown eyes.
I’m so sorry, God what have I done? Repeats like a chant in Sam’s head. What is that all about? What does he have to be sorry about? I’m the one who lied, cheated and tore out his heart like a carnivorous fanged beast. Elijah walks in with his usual grace and godlike air and Sam sinks in his seat. I take up residence between both, the flesh in this hot man sandwich. For a brief moment, I imagine having them both intertwined around my body and a wash of color turns me a shade of red God spiked for the tops of rainbows. The hint of Sam’s cologne breezes into my nose as he bends over to retrieve his textbook from his bag. The familiar woodsy scent elicits memories of the long week we spent together for Christmas.
Emily suggested that I ask Sam to talk with me after school today. I know that I’ve to formulate my words correctly so that my gift of influence doesn’t force him into doing whatever I say. I never want to use my gift on Sam. He deserves better than manipulation, heck he deserves someone better than me. Before Mr. Sanchez gets too engrossed in his bi-lingual banter, I slip a note to Sam. I hope he doesn’t shred it like he did the check I wrote him for the extravagant party he threw me. He paid a couple of grand for a front row seat to Elijah and I’s shared look of morning-after-bliss.
Sam unfolds the note, reads it and tucks it into his front pocket. He doesn’t even glance my way. Mr. Sanchez begins his class by conjugating several new words on the board. My note simply read: Sam, can we meet later to talk? Love, Bren. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word love, it likely soured his taste buds like spoiled milk. He is probably holding down chunks right now to spare the class from our rotten relationship.
After class, Sam puts away his book and slings his messenger bag over his neck. He acts as if I’m not even there as those worn boots of his walk right out the door. Well hell, now what? Emily and I didn’t even discuss a plan B. Elijah just shakes his head. The day presses on with my classes and Sam avoids me like I’m the crust on his PB and J. Can’t say I blame him. I guess I just thought if I made the first move to repair things he would at least hear me out.
The next day is the same. And so goes the rest of the week. I decide to take matters a bit more seriously and I sit down at his table one day during lunch the following week. Chris coughs the word bitch as I sit down. A small part of me, okay a large chunk of me wants to water board him with his own carton of chocolate milk right now. I settle for a smack to the back of his head.
“Mind your manners, lady boy,” I say as I deal my blow. He rubs the back of his head and sulks.
“Chris, don’t go there.” Okay, defending my honor is a good step. Now let’s see if we can get you to talk to me.
“Sam?” I reach toward him and he stops breathing for a second. I lightly touch the back of his hand and look into his soulful brown eyes.
“Please, Bren don’t.” Don’t what, don’t touch you? Don’t try to talk you into taking me back? His mind is a puzzle of thoughts now, running rampant inside his skull so chaotically I can’t make any sense of any one thought he is having. I get the overall impression that he thinks I shouldn’t be with him.
I go to remove my hand and leave, but Sam places his other hand over mine. His touch evokes temporal feelings that I was positive weren’t real. I had convinced myself that what I felt for Sam was lust at best, that my heart beats solely for Elijah. Now, with Sam’s familiar hand over mine, I’m not sure.
Sam’s eyes are watery and the tip of his nose is red. I can’t do this. It’s not right. I still love Elijah so much. There has to be another way. I see the tear roll out of Sam’s eye just before he turns. I’ve to let her go. I’ll only end up hurting her. He releases my hand and walks out of the cafeteria. My stomach lurches into the pit of my gut and I feel like he just tore off a small piece of my heart and left with it. The lunch crowd is seemingly unaware of our little scene.
“Smooth,” Chris manages to roll out before I shove his head forward as I pass him. Emily did well to ditch that jerk.
Elijah catches up to me once we are alone. “Are you alright?” he asks, keeping up with my attempt to flee the scene. I need to get as far away from the cafeteria and its permanent, cheese-puff and foot scent, as possible. I think it’s following me, it’s like its own entity. I round the corner knowing that the space will be void of students.
“I don’t want to do this Elijah. Can we just take a break from operation win-Sam-back?” I lean against the side of the building. Elijah leans his body toward mine and rest his palm on the brick behind me, pinning me the way he used to. I breathe in his clean sporty scent, he is missing the desert essence that usually accompanies him, especially when he’s this close.
His cobalt eyes examine me carefully. Light bounces off of his coal black hair as if the sun herself wanted to run her fingers through his perfectly neat style.
“Take all the time you need,” his voice is doused with longing. His lips, soft and fleshy like the leaves of some exotic succulent, grab my gaze, causing my insides to roll in generous waves. I lick my suddenly dry lips, and Elijah closes his eyes as if the simple act was too much for him to bear witness to. We are both bound by this moment, neither able to break away nor finish the distance, blessed and cursed with our fate.
The loud clanging of the end of lunch bell, right above our heads, sends us scattering for relief. We walk to class together, bereft of our usual small talk. Sam is already in his seat by the time we arrive.
Mr. Sanchez announces a pop quiz, the class groans as a unified organ, as if some great injustice had been committed to them. We begin the test and all heads are down, pencils up. Elijah probably speaks every human language, ancient, extinct, and current, so I’m amused that he looks so focused. He has excellent acting skills.
It’s not hard to believe that Sam is in the running for valedictorian. He really is well rounded, his admission to Harvard is practically guaranteed. His SAT’s were in the top ten percent in the nation. A full scholarship to any Ivy League school he wants is practically guaranteed. I know we are both anxiously awaiting those emails to arrive soon thanks to the early admissions we submitted. In the weeks that have passed, I’ve missed his friendship
more than anything. If I could even get us back to friend status that would be better than this.
Chapter 6 ~ Tested
Elijah and I pull into my driveway and our nightly routine begins. Our push-pull still leaving us teetering on the brink of breaking all the rules. We cook dinner together, well he cooks, and I assist in chopping or stirring. We eat dinner and talk for a while. He washes and I dry. We watch TV until I pass out on his chest. Tonight is no exception. We relax into the plush velvet sofa and I take my usual spot. Elijah puts on the nightly news and I settle into his glorious body.
He sips on a glass of red wine and runs his hand down my arm. Heat sizzles in its wake along my skin. I look up and meet his eyes. The look of longing stretches out infinitely in those expansive blue eyes of his. He is telling me something with those eyes but I don’t have a clue what. I won’t push him to tell me. My gaze travels to his lips. They fill with color and I reach my finger up and touch his lower lip. He sucks in a breath. I close my eyes and remember what it felt like to kiss those lips. My breathing slows and the rise and fall of his chest beneath me begins to match my own.
My fingers leave his lips and travel down his neck to the open buttons of his polo. I run my fingers through the curls of sparse chest hair and he sighs beneath me. I know I should stop but I don’t. My hand slips under his shirt and caresses his carved abdomen.
“Brennen,” Elijah pants out. I know it’s too much for him to bear. But how can I not thoroughly examine the angel that is lying in my arms right now? How can I not seize every moment with this man? There’s a deadline in our near future and I don’t want to feel hung by it.
My hands move to his chest. I can feel his heart as well as hear it, banging wildly under all those well hewn muscles, pumping blood into all of his vital organs. My finger runs along the edge of his jeans at the waist. He lets out another burst of a frustrated sigh. He can’t touch me like this and it’s killing him. A smile plays on my lips.
I decide to try something. Test just one little rule. Which said we could not share a kiss. These kisses will not be shared by lips. I push his shirt up and find that little spot just between his pectoral muscles that I love so much. Elijah stops breathing as my mouth explores this little spot. Hm, were still here. I move up to his neck and do the same. He moans out and allows me to continue. I repeat the process on the other side, drawing his earlobe into my mouth gently.
He whispers his sultry breath into my ear and it sends heat into unexpected places. “I love you.” His words melt me on cue, and my body relaxes over him. My lips hover over his, longing to know what they feel like. But fearing what that would cost us, I retreat.
I stare into his eyes, memorizing every fleck of azure and nuance of blue they contain. I settle back on his chest and slowly our breathing returns to normal.
“I love you Elijah. I don’t know what to do with Sam and this whole...”
He stops me and covers my lips with his finger.
“Brennen you don’t have to worry. Our love is on hold so that you can help Sam fulfill his destiny. But I want you to know I will never stop loving you, even when he finally takes you back. I will love you even if you don’t love me. I will love you even when you don’t want me to love you. It transcends every obstacle placed in our path, and it will prevail in the end.” God, thank you for this man, this angel you made to worship you. His words were just what I needed to hear tonight.
The next morning is Saturday and I wake up to the loveliest sight of Elijah’s stunning gaze. I snuggle in closer, and revel in the warmth of his bare chest. He puts his arm around me and buries his nose in my hair, inhaling the fragrance of my new lime scented shampoo.
The sky outside is foreboding, heavily saturated clouds hang over the sea, threatening to subdue it. A roll of thunder claps and rain begins to pelt gently on the window as if politely asking to come inside. I stretch out my limbs and yawn.
“Sleep well?” Elijah asks a little more chipper than usual.
“With you entangled in my limbs all night? Hardly a wink,” I tease.
“Really, because the sounds coming out of your mouth would boldly tell another story.”
“Ugh, I don’t snore.” At least I had never been told I do, not that I’ve had many sleepovers.
“Like a pug on a motor boat.”
“Stop!” I say through laughter as I chuck my pillow into his face.
“Oh, you wanna fight huh?”
“Bring your skills Mr. Angel E-lite.” I say as I take off running. I’m out the door and down the hall as I hear his bare feet on the hardwood floor like a loud heartbeat. We dash around the house like children in a game of hide and seek, stuck inside on a rainy day. I bolt down the stairs and he surprises me from behind a pillar, hoisting me up by the waist.
“Got ya!” he says triumphantly. I squeal in his arms and he laughs. He spins me around and lands us on the sofa. I’m winded and my heart is beating out of my chest at the moment. I’ve a smile on my face that won’t leave. His dimples quiver next to his own signature smile.
“Today we have a little experiment we have to do. I hope you don’t mind too much,” he says releasing me as if something inside were forcing him to do so. Experiments with Elijah? I would gladly be a part of any experiment he’s willing to perform on me, with me, against me. Aw hell, when do we start?
“Does it involve your lips?” I ask coy as a cat. I get the brilliant smile flashed at me, dimples and all.
“Not exactly.”
He leaves it at that and a moment later I hear the shower running from the master bedroom Elijah has sort of moved into. By the time I come downstairs he’s made me a cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal. I kiss his cheek and feel the heat rise to the surface of his skin. The rain has tapered off and the heaviest clouds have moved on to torment someone else.
“So what exactly are we doing today?” I ask as I sip on my cup of chai. The warm liquid flows down into my belly and helps take away the chill of the morning. I can’t wait for spring to get here. Living on the beach in winter is depressing enough all on its own, add in the constant gray skies and lack of life and there’s a real tragedy that encompasses us each day.
“We have to test your powers of persuasion to see if the effects are permanent.”
“And if they’re not?” I ask. Elijah glances out the window and then back to me. He looks me square in the eyes and pauses a moment. His expression reveals only a hint of apprehension.
“Let’s not worry about that until we need to.” Thanks, that makes me feel much better Elijah. He better be pumping out the Toll House scent today, I’m going to need every bit of his aroma not to freak out and run screaming for the hills if this doesn’t work. He looks down at his watch. “Time to go.”
Elijah and I drive into the city where a Tea Party rally is underway. A couple hundred patrons have turned out to listen to a keynote speaker, divulge his opinion of the one-percenter’s rise to power. The Democrat in me feels like a minority all of a sudden. I’ven’t prepared for this. I feel like a lamb being fed to the lions.
The dark clouds have found us, followed us here in hot pursuit. A moist wind kicks up around the park, scattering leaves as it whips through the bare branches of the sprawling oaks as if the devil himself were pulling up a chair to watch my ivory tower crumble to dust. I highly doubt they will let some eighteen year old kid get up to speak against their cause anyway, so I’m sure this is just a waste of time.
“See the man in the trench coat?” Elijah points over by the pavilion. I nod spotting a man with a neatly trimmed and styled coif of hair that looks like it belongs on a box of Clairol for Men. I don’t think the wind even tousled his do. “Go over and introduce yourself, tell him you are the next speaker.” I wind my brows up and give Elijah an, are-you-serious look. He motions his hands like a father ushering his child to the sandbox, “Go play.”
This is nothing like second period government. These are adults with strong views and valid concerns. Some of which
I actually agree with. I think I’m the most bi-partisan democrat I know. I hate modern day politics. If it were up to me, our government would be scaled back tremendously, at least the angels and I are on the same page on that one.
I find myself in front of the man in the trench coat. He glances my way for a second, happy to see someone my age taking an interest in educating myself. I take a step forward and hold out a hand before I chicken out.
“Hello my name is Brennen Hale, pleasure to meet you.”
“Martin Shultz.” He shakes my hand after removing his expensive looking leather gloves.
“I would like to go up and say a few words, you don’t mind do you?” I throw on pouty lips and flash my big ol’ green eyes up at him to enhance the effect.
“Free speech right? Go on ahead Brennen.” Thanks for the gift mother. That would have been a big laugh in the face otherwise. The man speaking on stage right now is prattling on about his right to bear arms. It’s a touchy subject that most of the audience feels adamant about. I’m not against guns, but what I’m against, is crazy people owning them.
Martin Schultz introduces me on stage like I belong there. The crowd looks bewildered. I’d better hurry up and do this before I get yanked off, or shot in the head, by one of these gun-nuts. I find Elijah in the sea of people and it immediately calms my nerves. I hone in on his slow steady heartbeat. I take in a deep breath and begin to speak.
“Hello, I’m honored to speak with you today. For those of you who don’t know me, it’s because I’m still in high school, a nobody yet. But in reality, I’m your future. I’m the one the government is borrowing money from right now, so I thought maybe I could get a snippet of an opinion in today, right?” I get a few laughs from the crowd.
“I won’t tell you that I’m for everything that you are, but I can agree on our right to bear arms. I’m originally from Texas and you know how much we love our guns down there. However, the thing that is not sitting well with me right now, is the fact that mentally ill people can bear arms. Insane people should not have the right to bear arms. Insane people should not have the right to bear anything deadlier than a spork.” The crowd emits a unified chuckle. I recall a story that ran in last night’s news that concerned me a great deal.
My Soul to Take (Soul Keepers (Young Adult paranormal romance)) Page 5