by Abigail Boyd
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says, and looks down at me, and I’m mesmerized by the longing I see in his eyes. He swallows hard, like he’s fighting something inside himself. If it’s the urge to kiss me, I don’t want him to fight it.
He steadies me and lets me go, taking a step back, but he overextends himself and starts to fall. My arms shoot out and then I’m the one who is trying to hold him up. I’m not strong enough and he lands on his ass in a puddle, splashing water. Our hands are still attached and he pulls me down with him.
Both of us break into laughter, and I laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. We finally wind up back up on our feet.
“I’m not the only one who’s drunk,” I say.
He flags a cab and I rest my head on his shoulder on the way home as I drift off. When we arrive back at our building, he helps me up the stairs.
“I really wish this place had an elevator,” I complain. Now that we’re back, I feel more drunk than ever, and I weave back and forth as the hall spins. We laugh our way down the hall at how ridiculous we’re acting, and I clutch my hand over my mouth to stifle the giggles.
This euphoric feeling makes me think we could talk about anything. As I glance over at him, I see the bright lighting is making the silver around his pupils glow. It’s unmistakable.
“Why are your eyes like that? Silver, like mine?”
He stares back at me and the grin fades away. But I’m far past the point of caring if I’ve offended him. I want to know the truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“It’s got to be obvious to you,” I continue, undaunted. “My eyes are brown, so it sticks out. There’s no hiding it. I keep waiting for one of us to say something, and I don’t know why I haven’t been the one to do it.”
We jog up the stairs to our floor, slowing our steps. He keeps his gaze ahead, like he wants to avoid my inquiry.
“Have you ever seen anyone else with silver eyes?” he asks finally, his voice devoid of any hints as to what’s on his mind.
“No,” I admit.
He pauses. “I have.”
“When?”
He bites the pad of his thumb and avoids my gaze, not replying.
“I hate it when you get all evasive,” I complain, and take a few steps ahead of him. He takes longer strides so he’s back at my side.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I hear such a tone of sorrow in his voice that it makes me immediately reach out for him and take his arm.
“I just want to know. What I am. Do you know what I mean?” I say, unable to keep the pleading out of my voice.
“I don’t think you’re going to remember this conversation tomorrow,” he says, studying my face.
“You might be right,” I say. “You win the bet. I’m all lit up like a Christmas tree and will probably have amnesia tomorrow. So why don’t you tell me?”
He seems to weigh my question for a moment. “I don’t know much more than you do. Just that it means we’re…special.”
We’re in our hallway now at the top of the stairs, and my legs decide to tangle together at the end of the hall. He helps me up one last time and balances me with my back against the wall. I put my arms around his neck, and as I stare up at him, my bottom lip quivers and I know I can’t fight this connection anymore.
My eyes slid shut and I lean forward, tilting my chin up. Anticipation spirals inside of me, and I can’t take it much longer. My eyes fly open and see his conflicted face, frozen just inches from mine.
“Do you really want me to kiss you?” he asks, his voice low, just a whisper. “Because that would be the last step. We wouldn’t be able to even pretend that we’re friends anymore, because after I kiss you, I’m going to know what it feels like, that it’s even better than I’ve imagined, and I won’t be able to go back.”
Having him this close is like torture, but I’m frozen.
“I’ve never wanted anyone in my life as much as I want you,” he says. “But I need to hear you say it. I need you to tell me you want me to.”
My heart is pounding in my ears, and I dart my tongue across my bottom lip. “Yes, I do. Please.”
“Goddamn it,” he whispers, and then he kisses me, and there is nothing soft about it. His lips move against mine almost roughly, sending chills of pleasure down my stomach. The velvety, scorching feel of his mouth sets me on fire, erasing every other kiss I’ve had before.
Our tongues twist together and he puts a hand on either side of my head, palms flat. I can’t help but moan as I tilt my hips up to him. He tears his mouth away and looks down at me, panting. I pull him to me again—I can’t be in the same room with him right now and not kiss him. Even though we’re in the hallway, I start unbuttoning his shirt.
“Remy,” he moans as I start to stroke the hard lines of his chest, but I meet his lips again. Then he gently pushes me away, and I know he’s getting the upper hand again. He takes a moment to collect himself, then runs his fingers through one strand of my hair.
“I told you, I’m not going to take advantage of you,” he says, still holding on to my hair. “This isn’t how I want to experience our first time together. I can barely see straight and I know you feel the same way. Can I have your keys?”
I pull them out of my pocket and hand them to him. “You’ve had sex with a lot of girls. Why is it any different?” I’m glad that it’s different, but I just to hear him confirm it. He finds my apartment key and shoves it into the lock, opening the door.
“It just is,” he says as he flicks the light on. “We’re just different. I knew you felt the same way, just by the way you look at me. I don’t want to take the chance of messing this up now.”
He helps me into my room, flipping switches on the way, and sits me down on the bed.
“Do you feel sick to your stomach at all?” he asks.
I shake my head. Despite the dizziness, my stomach feels fine. He helps me off with my shirt, pulling it over my head, then my pants, tossing my clothes in the hamper. I sit upright on the edge of the bed in just my bra and panties, but he just brings me a glass of water. I sip it gently and he sets it on the bedside table.
“Do you want pajamas or something?” he asks.
“No,” I murmur. I just want to reach out and pull him to me. I drop back on my bed in frustration, my limbs sprawled out across the sheet. “Why aren’t you touching me right now?”
He leans over me, his handsome face just inches away. He kisses me quickly, but it’s not enough. I reach up to lock my arms around him, but he growls low in his throat and gently releases my hands.
“Baby, you’re the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen, but you’re also Remy, and I want to think with what little brain I’ve got left and not my dick tonight.” I pout up at him. “Believe me, it’s taking everything I’ve got, every ounce of willpower, not to climb into bed with you right now. But you’ll thank me later.”
My eyelids are getting heavy and I’m already starting to drift away. I let go of his neck, unable to keep my eyes open. I feel the warmth of the comforter as he pulls it up around me and hear his footsteps creak across the floor, and then I don’t remember anything else.
###
Every hangover I’ve avoided for the past year decides to visit me in the morning. From 5 am on, I’m hugging the toilet bowl and voiding the contents of last night’s appetizer dinner. I rest my head against the cool porcelain and wonder if this is how I’m going to die.
“Never again,” I moan. “Never again.”
I finally stumble back to bed after choking down two aspirin and a few sips of water. All I want is just to keep that much down for now. I wrap my arms around my stomach and curl up in the fetal position, pulling my comforter just above my shoulders.
I can only remember last night in bits and pieces, and I’m convinced I did something thoroughly embarrassing. I don’t even want to think about it right now, and I pull the comforter over my head.
I’m supposed to work this afternoon, but there’s no way that
is going to happen. Luckily, it’s a Saturday, and when I call I get Tasha. I don’t even have to lie to her when I tell her I’m hungover, and she sympathetically assigns my shift to Beth and tells me to take Alka Selzer.
I fall back into a fitful sleep for another hour, swimming to consciousness every once in a while to revisit the bathroom or take a sip of water from the glass James left on my table. I’m finally able to lurch out to my couch around three, where I sit and click through the channels for a while.
I hear a knock at the door and don’t want to go to it, but it’s persistent and annoying, so I stumble over to put a stop to it. It’s James, looking unfairly not hungover, in a blue and white button down over jeans. His hair is a little messy, but I like it that way.
“Hangover cure, delivery service,” he says, then looks at me sympathetically and pats my shoulder. “You look like you need this.”
He holds up two bags in one hand—one containing what smells like french fries and the other one full of burritos. I feel bile rising in my throat and put my hand on my mouth and swallow. Then I notice that sticking out of one of the bags is a long-stemmed purple orchid.
Seeing the orchid makes me chuckle, even if I feel like crap.
He comes in and shuts the door, setting the food on the counter. I carry the orchid out and put it on the bookshelf, next to my pictures of beach sunsets and bottles of sand and shells.
“I’m aware that the flower in your painting isn’t an orchid, but I thought it was pretty,” James says as he loads up a couple of plates. “It reminded me of you. All flowers remind me of you now, because every time I see them I immediately have to search and see if I find yours.”
“That’s kind of romantic in a way. Even if it’s a check in the obsessive column.” I smile brightly at him and he laughs. In reality, the gesture deeply touches me.
“That’s me, kind of romantic in a way.”
I roll my eyes and slide my arms around his stomach, hugging him. “You’re a little more than that.” He kisses the top of my head and holds up the plates of food, making me I grimace.
“I know it sounds gross, Shell, and all food smells disgusting right now, but I promise if you choke it down you’ll feel better.”
“That’s what she said,” I gurgle as he hands me my plate of cure.
“You know that is the corniest joke of all time, unless you’re on the Office.”
“I know. But I can’t help where my mind goes.”
I go sit at the coffee table and peer at the burrito suspiciously. He sits across from me and starts biting into his, finishing his first burrito before I can do more than gnaw on a french fry.
He nods in the direction of my plate. “Eat up. I swear, it will make you feel brand new. This is how I got through my Freshman year in college.”
I swallow hard and eat a few fries. At first, I think they’re going to come right back up again, but as my stomach settles I’m able to eat more. I find that I’m pretty hungry since my stomach is completely empty.
Slowly, the memories from last night slip back into my mind. I keep glancing at him, but his eyes are averted. There’s an awkward feeling in the air, like we’re dancing around what happened. I finish my plate and set it down.
“Do you feel better?” he asks, sitting beside me and stroking my back. In one swirling, dizzy moment, I think of our kiss in the hallway in full detail—the amazing feeling of his lips against mine, the taste of his mouth. I swallow hard and almost cough.
“Yes, I do, thank you.” I touch my lips the way he did, running my index finger across the bottom one.
“How did you sleep last night? Or, this morning, I guess?”
“I got up a bunch, but otherwise I was okay.” I stare at him, and he’s looking me over. “We didn’t have sex, did we? I don’t remember us having sex.”
“No, we didn’t have sex. Nobody even got naked, although I definitely enjoyed looking at your bra.”
I sigh in relief and blush at the same time. “Thank you for…for telling me no last night.”
He smiles at me, in a completely sweet way with no subtext. “It was a sacrifice, but it’s worth it.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, it’s worth it to help prove that you can trust me. And it’s worth it because when—if—we finally do have sex, we’ll both be fully there in the moment. I want you to remember your first time as being worth it, so I’m going to make it as special as possible.”
“You have it all planned out, don’t you?” I say, but I feel my inner muscles clench and I have the silly instinct to do cartwheels.
“No, I’m just letting it unfold as we go. It’s definitely more interesting that way.” He kisses my forehead and stands up, gathering the trash and taking it to the kitchen. When he comes back, I stare up at him.
“So what are we now?”
He stares at me for a long moment. “You know I want to be with you. But it’s up to you.”
“You said once we kissed we wouldn’t be able to go back.”
“And I still feel that way. But I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
I stare down at my knees and straighten my sweat pants. “I thought you didn’t do the relationship thing.”
“I haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, no, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to go out with you,” he amends. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Rem.”
Happiness bubbles up in me and I can’t help but smile. I don’t feel any of the negative things I feared—in fact, I’ve never felt more complete. “So then, can I tell other people you’re my boyfriend? Like Matt the bartender?”
“Well, I’m going to be telling everyone that you’re my girlfriend, but you can call me what you want,” he says, suppressing a grin.
“This is my buttface, James,” I say, making him laugh and reach down and kiss me. That was the moment I was waiting for, and I savor the feeling as his tongue briefly touches mine. I can’t feel my legs or my arms for a moment, nothing except for our connection.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“WAIT THERE, OKAY?” he commands, and slips out of my apartment. I lean back on the couch with my eyes closed, letting my food digest through my abused belly.
He comes back with his laptop and sets it up in front of me.
“What’s that for?” I ask as he navigates through a folder. “Did you take photos of me while I was passed out last night?”
He laughs shortly, focusing on the screen. “Not exactly, although that’s a good idea for another time, when you’re sober.” Suddenly, the images of the twins from last night, glaring at me in all their glory, are on the screen.
“Ick,” I say, and can’t help myself from shivering.
“You were right when you said they looked like vampires. But they’re trying way too hard,” he says. “I looked these over for twenty minutes earlier, searching for a clue as to who they can be or why they’re following you. There isn’t that much. But I believe all their clothes come from Hot Topic.”
“Do their eyes have silver in them?” I ask, feeling out a hunch. “Like ours do?”
“So you didn’t forget,” he says, looking down at me. I wonder if he’s disappointed when I shake my head no. He zooms in on the photo as far is it will go, but it’s too dark and both of their eyes look black. “Can’t tell. There’s really nothing to suggest why they’re here.”
“What’s that?” I say, pointing to a spot on the screen.
He leans forward. On the girl’s chest, barely visible in the dim light, is a tribal tattoo—a circle with flames coming out of it.
“Just a tattoo,” he says. “Looks like an amateur job.”
I click through the photos, to the one where they were turning. I point to the guy’s hand, which was sticking out. The same tattoo stands out on his hand. “Right there. He’s got the same one.”
“Maybe it’s some kind of romantic gesture. Instead of rings they’ve got tattoos?”
�
�I dunno. But it’s something. Maybe that symbol represents a group, or a club.” I lean forward and look at the buttons on the girl’s coat. “That shape looks familiar.”
I rifle through the junk drawer in the kitchen, and return with the silver skull button we found on the other building’s rooftop. I hold the button up to the screen. It’s impossible to tell with how dark the resolution is, but the shape looks similar. James and I exchange a glance, and he shuts the laptop and sits back.
“I wanted to ask you out on a real date,” he says at last. “If you think you’re ready to go with me on one.”
“I thought we sort of had dates before,” I admit. “Or close to it.”
“This could be the official first. I wanted to go to a concert out of town, a guy I work with, I think your friend Quinn dated him, Charlie…he gave me the tickets. It’s kind of a generic rock band, but they’re pretty good.”
It doesn’t take much convincing to agree to go with him. The concert is the following weekend, and I know I’ve got the Saturday off again, as long as Russell doesn’t penalize me for taking today off.
“Good, since I already bought the tickets.” He lifts up the laptop and stands up. “I’ll let you get back to resting for now, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got to go out tonight.”
“Where do you go at night?” I ask him as he’s standing over me.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You seem to go off a lot, and you say you’re with your friends, so I’m not trying to butt in. But I get the feeling you’re not being honest with me.” It’s something that’s been bugging me for a while.
He looks down the bridge of his nose at me, and I can see that he’s biting the inside of his cheek. “You really want to know?” he asks finally.
“Yes, even if it’s something I’m not going to like. I’d rather just know what you’re up to. Is it strip clubs? Are you like a VIP member?”
This makes him laugh, and he presses his fist to his forehead. “Remy, where your mind goes, I swear. I haven’t even talked to another girl since that first night I made you dinner. And now that I’m your buttface, I have no interest in anyone else. No, I go out at night because I go and play cards. Gambling.”