The Thirst Within

by Johi Jenkins

  “Wait, no. You work there. I won’t take you to work on a date!”

  Holy shit—he said date.

  “Um, anywhere is fine, actually. Well, how about somewhere with a power outlet, so that I can charge my phone?” My phone came with minimal battery.

  “We could hang out at my apartment,” he says, and his smile is so sweet that for a second I have no doubt that he really likes me, and that we may be kissing on his couch sometime soon.

  My brain interrupts my musings.

  I really, really want to go, but I have to think about it. I’ll be in his apartment alone with him. He could be a killer. I don’t know anything about him. I’d be at his mercy. His mercy….

  Thank God my heart answers for me.

  “Sure, I’d love to see your apartment.”

  He beams, a little surprised, as though he was expecting me to decline. “Awesome, Tor. We can watch a movie there or you can just play with your new phone. Whatever you want. I even have this gadget thing that can give you a scalp massage.”

  “A scalp massage! I’ve never had one,” I say, totally ignoring the fact that it’s weird that he has such a gadget and creepy that he would offer it to me in the first place.

  “You’ll love it! They’re amazing.”

  We walk a few blocks until we reach a beautiful residential area. He stops at what looks like an alley between two brick buildings, the entrance covered by a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the fence, I can see the alley widening into a terrace to the left, with green plants everywhere even though it’s the winter. It looks like it has a fountain in the center and everything. It’s so pretty. Thierry unlocks a man gate in the fence and we walk into the alley.

  The floor is covered with large gray slate tile, which looks great with the greenery and the earthy tones of the plants’ pots. Inside by the terrace, to the left, I immediately spot a mini pool, possibly a hot tub, repressed in the floor, lined with beautiful cobalt blue tiles. It’s complemented by the fountain I saw from the outside, which is also surrounded by plants. A wind chime playing softly to my left with the gentle breeze makes me feel right at home; comfortable somehow. By the hot tub there’s a little sitting area with a circular iron table topped with glass, and two cute iron chairs. There are cobalt blue glass accents everywhere. It’s absolutely charming. I want to live here.

  “Oh, wow, Thierry, this is beautiful. How long have you rented here?” I ask. I’m awed and jealous.

  “Well, it’s actually mine.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, the entire building. I rent the front apartments. I told you, I’m loaded.” He says it like it’s no big deal.

  “But you’re still in college.” It can’t be. He’s twenty-one and a homeowner?

  “When my father died I got a huge settlement.”

  “Really? For just you and your brother?”

  He shifts just a tad, and it makes me think he’s uncomfortable.

  “Yeah, just my brother and I.”

  “Wow. This is all yours, and you two are so young…. And this place is amazing.”

  “Glad you like it. So the whole building is ours. The front, which is accessed through the street, is all rented. Back here there are two apartments: the first floor”—he points at the door to the left—“here, which is empty at the moment, and the top which is where I live. You can access through those stairs”—he points at a curving staircase at the back of the terrace to the left, which leads to a second-story, and a door right over the first story door—“or from the inside of the first story apartment. There’s an interior staircase inside, it has its own lock, but I never use it since it’s quicker to take the exterior stairs.”

  “And that?” I point to the brick building to the back, right in front of me. It’s covered with the same type of brick as Thierry’s building. It has a door to the little plaza, and another door on the second floor above it that leads out to a small balcony. The balcony has its own roof, with railings made of wrought iron; it looks great, overlooking the terrace where I stand.

  “That’s part of the same building. It’s shaped like an L. The bottom is actually a garage; you enter from the street behind, which is more like an alley, it’s so narrow. Then the second story is still part of the top apartment. And that one”—he points to the building on the right, also a two-story building—“is just the back of the building that faces Decatur street. It’s all stores in the front, and storage in the back. Those windows don’t open.”

  Now I notice that the neighboring building he’s referring to doesn’t have any doors or balconies facing us. There are two-pane wooden windows but they’re all closed, and according to Thierry they never do. The little charming plaza is only seen from his building and whatever little can be seen from the street. It’s enough to make me swoon.

  “Come,” he says softly, and takes my hand. My heart starts beating fast at the thought of being in this magical place with him. We climb the outside stairs and make it to his apartment. He puts the key in, but doesn’t turn it.

  “Is this okay? I mean… I don’t want you to feel….” He struggles with the words.

  “This is fine, Thierry,” I say, not letting him go on, because he’ll say something like “you know I’m not bringing you here to make out… I’m not interested in you that way…” thinking that it should comfort me that he doesn’t want to take advantage of me, when in fact if he said that I’d die, because I’m here to make out and be taken advantage of.

  “Okay,” he says. He smiles, but it’s a nervous smile.

  He opens the door for me and allows me inside. Oh my God. I’m in the living room, I take it. It’s huge. And… nice. I was expecting a mess, like college kids’ apartments in movies. But it’s decorated with expensive-looking antiques, a comfy-looking couch, and a flat screen TV. Surrounded by antiques, but always gotta have the flat screen.

  So his apartment turned out to be the entire second story of a house in the French Quarter, not that far away from where I work. Hmm… I shouldn’t like these possibilities running through my head. They can only lead to trouble.

  I get the tour, which is not as short as regular apartment tours. To the left is a wall with a wide opening framed with intricate molding which separates the living room from the dining area and the roomy kitchen beyond, while keeping the space somewhat open.

  To the right past the living room, opposite of the dining area are the bedrooms. The apartment has three bedrooms and three bathrooms, Thierry says. The one bathroom that is not in a bedroom is luxurious and makes me think of a spa. The shower is lined with white marble tiles, enclosed by a thick glass wall and door.

  Thierry opens the doors of the first two bedrooms to show them to me but we don’t go in; we keep going down the hall. There are doors in the hallway that he doesn’t open, which he says are closets or utility rooms. The whole place is laced with the same type of antique accents throughout.

  I want to marry him, just to be the mistress of this house.

  The tour ends at the master bedroom, the one at the end of the apartment that has the balcony overlooking the plaza. The bed dominates the room but there’s still plenty of space around it; the room is huge. We stop at the middle of the room, only a foot away from the bed.

  “I took the biggest one,” he says conspiratorially, like he cheated to get it. “When my brother visits he has to stay in the middle room. But he can’t complain; that one has a bathroom too.”

  “Doesn’t the oldest one get first dibs on everything?”

  “Uh, right. I usually share evenly with him, though. But not everything.” Suddenly he looks at me, and his gaze is intent. His voice drops irresistibly. “Thank you for coming here. I’m so glad I met you, Tori.”

  I have to press a hand over my heart to keep it from escaping my chest.

  “What’s wrong with your heart?” He asks.

  “You can probably hear it all the way from where you are, huh?”

  “Are you nervous?”


  “Yes,” I say honestly.

  He comes closer. “Don’t be,” he says softly. “I really, really like you.”

  Thank you. The words I’ve longed to hear. I’m so close to him now. I tilt my head up, possibly smiling, possibly looking stoned. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

  He slowly bends his head down, puts his hands around me, and kisses me. Ahh…. His lips move slowly over mine a few electrifying times, but I can’t respond because I’m frozen, drinking it all in. A current runs throughout my skin, and I finally reanimate; I kiss him back. He pulls me even closer, and I feel his hard muscles under his clothes. My entire body tingles with desire, and I make a happy noise like a moan.

  Slowly, he leans backwards towards the bed, never stopping the kiss. My heart picks up in excitement, nervous but delirious…. He sits at the foot of the bed, while I stand between his knees. His bed is quite tall, so I don’t have to bend quite so much to kiss him. And I’m still kissing him. It feels heavenly…. There’s something about him that makes me want him, want to get closer. My hands bury in his hair, and it’s so silky, with the softest waves.

  I pull back for air, and kiss his forehead. I examine his hair, and for whatever reason I want to smell it. Ohh… he smells so good. As I lean in, he brings me closer to him and presses his lips against my neck.

  He pulls back suddenly, as if caught doing something bad. As though someone had opened the door on us.

  I think he murmurs, “Sorry.”

  “What?”

  He stands up and takes my hand, and leads me out of the bedroom, past the other bedrooms and into the living room.

  “I’m sorry, Tor,” he says again, but I’m sorrier than him. We sit down on the comfy couch.

  “What for? What’s wrong?”

  “I shouldn’t have brought you here. It looks bad.”

  “To whom? It’s not like we have parents.”

  “Yeah, not parents, I guess. But I don’t know; your guardians would flip shit. Especially since I’m twenty and you’re underage.”

  “You’re twenty-one.”

  “Yeah, that’s even worse.”

  “So okay. Maybe they would flip shit. But it’s not like I’m gonna call them and tell them.”

  “It doesn’t change that you’re seventeen, though.”

  “Seventeen year-olds can make out, Thierry,” I say reasonably. It’s not like were going to have sex. We weren’t. Holy shit. Maybe he wanted to have sex?

  He makes a noise like an exasperated a moan, gets up and starts pacing up and down the room.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask him.

  “A little.”

  “Does it have to do with us kissing?”

  “Maybe.” His face is torn. And he still manages to look hot. Aw, hell.

  “I’m sorry we kissed, then.” I sound cool, at least to myself, but inside I want to scream, punch him for saying he regrets it, and kiss him again.

  Suddenly I hear sounds outside. I look over at Thierry, but he’s not surprised.

  “Tori,” he says, and he is nervous.

  “What is it, Thierry?” Now I’m nervous, too.

  “I guess my brother decided to stop by.”

  9. Angel

  I calm down a little. It’s just his little brother, not my uncle carrying a shotgun. How much trouble could we be in?

  But then I see Thierry’s still nervous, and I don’t know how to feel.

  He walks to the door and opens it without looking through the peephole. I guess he really knows his brother’s footsteps. He steps to the side and his brother—presumably—walks in.

  Oh.

  My God.

  I blink, and do a double-take. I thought Thierry was one of the cutest guys I ever saw, and I wasn’t exaggerating. Thierry’s a solid nine. He’s not a ten only because by the inherent definition of ten, ten is the impossible; ten is perfection. Still, Thierry’s a hot guy. Extremely comely. Nobody would deny that, not even other guys. I’ve often thought he could easily be Hollywood material.

  But now. Oh my God, this guy. My scale has been shattered, pulverized. This guy blows my idea of a perfect ten out of the water. Thierry’s brother is out of this world, inhumanly beautiful. His features are… perfect. His dark hair is short, but longer than Thierry’s, and it follows his movements languidly; he does not appear to have hair product holding it together. It looks so soft from over here, I want to touch it. His eyes are clear, maybe gray like Thierry’s, but I can’t tell from where I am, and he won’t come closer.

  He looks at me, our eyes meet briefly, and we both look away at the same time. If it weren’t kind of creepy I’d think it’s funny.

  Right before we looked away, though, I saw something in his eyes. Something like anger. His stance, his expression—he looks totally pissed off. Why? At whom? I’m immediately defensive. Thierry didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, other than bring a girl to his apartment. Maybe it’s because it’s their apartment, and I’m unannounced. No. He’s unannounced. Didn’t Thierry say his brother—did he ever say his name and I forgot?—didn’t he say the brother lived in Chicago?

  And Thierry’s suddenly serious, more so that I’ve ever seen him. I don’t understand. This is his little brother, yet he acts like he’s embarrassed, even though it was the brother that came here without even announcing himself.

  I decide I don’t like the newcomer. My deep-rooted dislike of good-looking people—barring those named Thierry—is proportional to how beautiful they are; so by that logic I’m supposed to hate him. Loathe every cell in his body, and all of his offspring for seven generations. It doesn’t help that he looked at me like he hated me too.

  No one’s said anything. This is uncomfortable. I look up at Thierry, who’s looking at me.

  “Hey, Tori? This is my brother, Corben. Corben… this is Tori.”

  Corben? The name affects me, somehow.

  “Hello,” says the brother. He avoids my eyes.

  Really?

  This guy Corben, he’s really fucking pissed. Why?

  “Hi,” I reply, forcing myself to speak.

  He doesn’t make eye contact again, and he also doesn’t come anywhere near me. He takes a deep breath, and winces at something. Then he focuses on Thierry.

  “Thierry,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

  Corben sounds so serious; formal even. Is it because I’m here? What’s he trying to pull?

  “Sure,” Thierry answers, but he’s not as confident as he normally is. It’s so strange to watch. A twenty-one year old guy, threatened by a… what? Nineteen? Eighteen? I don’t know. “Do you want to step outside?” He asks, pointing at the door Corben just came in from.

  “First you may want to take the young lady home.”

  Young lady? What is he, ten days older than me? And why does it feel like he’s kicking me out? Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly what he’s doing. I look down, and suddenly feel insignificant. I’m in a room with two extremely handsome guys, one of them positively angelical, and the less attractive of the two still so freaking hot that I feel like a peasant. Of course Corben wants me to go.

  No, deep down I know it has nothing to do with my looks, but that’s what seventeen years’ worth of lack of boyfriends do to me.

  Thierry looks over at me. Before he says anything I already know, from that look, that he’s about to do as his brother asked.

  But I don’t want him to ask me to go. So I jump to my feet and say, “Yeah, Thierry, I actually have to go. June…?” I say, hinting towards the fact that my evil stepaunt might cook me alive for lying about work and sneaking off to make out with boys. Actually, I don’t know her stance on boys. She seems to let Fiona go out to parties where I’m sure making out happens.

  Thierry’s already walking towards me, eyes down, as though he’s being chastised for getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Corben, give me a few minutes. I’ll take Tori home.”

  “No, no, Thierry,” I interrupt. “I’l
l take the bus. I need to take the bus.” Oh my God, how pitiful am I? I sound so confused.

  “Let me at least walk you to the bus stop, for Christ’s sake.”

  “It’s okay. There’s still light out. I’ll call you if I need you, okay?”

  “Tori—” he begins.

  “She’ll be fine, Thierry,” Corben interrupts him, but not impolitely. “Let her go.”

  That hurts a little. I wanted Thierry to keep arguing to take me. To me, wanting to take me home translated into him caring for me, and not wanting to see me go alone. Guys are supposed to always accompany girls wherever they go, whenever they can.

  But I have to leave, and I’m already on my feet, so I move towards the door. And I see Corben shift back slightly, as if he wants to get away from my path, but doesn’t want to make any sudden movements. I don’t kiss or hug Thierry; in fact, I don’t touch him. I just look at him and give him a little smile with a half wave goodbye.

  Twenty minutes later I’m on the bus and wondering what the hell happened. It’s strange; Corben’s attitude sounds to me like that of an older brother, not a younger brother. He wasn’t impolite, if you don’t count his poorly reigned in annoyance. He was actually quite civil; at least that’s what he was going for. However, being all proper when you’re in other young people’s company makes you look like an asshole.

  Also, Thierry was acting all intimidated by him. Not intimidated… more like, respectful. And then it hits me.

  Corben isn’t Thierry’s younger brother. It’s the other way around. I don’t know what night cream he uses to look nineteen, but he’s older. Maybe they switched bodies. Wait, no—ew. I don’t know how I feel about that. Okay, I don’t really know what’s going on, but I do know somebody’s lying to me.

  Corben is the older one.

  ***

  I’m lying on my bed, playing with my new phone, willing it to ring. I think about my kiss with Thierry, and my body shivers as my mind replays it. But then it replays Corben and I get nervous. Something about his attitude was so off. And while, yeah, I’m not exactly convinced that he’s indeed older than Thierry, it still feels like Thierry respects Corben like an elder. Maybe Corben is a US military veteran, and killed insurgents in one of the wars.