by Ifè Oshun
“I’ve always had to hide pieces of me,” I continued. “From everyone; people at school, my family, the girls. But I feel like I can tell you anything. As much as I can.”
“Your secrets don't define you, Angel. Anymore than mine do.”
But don't they? “Things have changed a lot...since we met.” I bit my lip.
He reached out and touched my hand. It was like being caressed by a live wire and I quickly pulled away. The smell of him was still intoxicating, but the hunger that was starting to register took a back seat to other sensations. I turned away, unable to face him. “We can't be together, Sawyer. I can hurt you.” My voice was so thick I almost didn’t recognize it.
“More than I've already hurt you?”
He gently turned me around, and placed a hand on my chin, forcing me to look into his sparkling eyes. “This is dangerous, Sawyer.”
“Is it the black/white thing?” His tone was playful, but his eyes were grave as they searched mine. “Boston is full of interracial couples, we won't stick out that much.”
I felt the corners of my mouth lift. But the smile quickly died.
His hand was still on my chin. “Your moodiness can be quite dangerous. But I think I can adjust,” he murmured. His eyes reached into my soul. I inhaled the sweetness of his breath. But I had to bring this back to reality. And the reality was, despite his revelations of weirdness, he was still mortal. And I was not. In the wake of my Mahá, it was clear I wasn't even a normal immortal. At the end of the day, I didn't know what I was.
How could I have a relationship with Sawyer when I couldn't be honest about who, and what, I am? How could I put him in constant danger of being killed if I had a moment of weakness? My heart was breaking from the pain of knowing that I had to give up something that I wanted with every fiber of my being.
“I can't. I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking. I got up and walked out of the room, faster than I should have, but it was the only way to keep going. Because even with the events at my Mahá and the Garden, walking out on Sawyer at that moment was one of the hardest things I'd ever done.
And I finally knew why. I loved him.
I didn't know when it happened. All I knew was that outside of my family, there was no one I wanted to be around more, no one I wanted to know more, no one I thought about more than Sawyer Creed. I shook my head at the irony. Didn't I hate him before I even met him? Now I wanted him on every level imaginable. Including instinctual. One taste of Sawyer would reveal all the music in his head. I would be completely lost in him. And the urge to devour him would overwhelm my reason. I couldn't allow that to happen, even though my very being cried out for it. I had to protect him. From me.
I gave myself time to blink back my tears and strengthen my resolve by slowly walking back to the studio. Once there, I saw Markus had arrived. A group of guys were hanging out in the far corner. All were mortals clad in black denim and goose down. Their pants all hung below their butt cheeks despite the belts. “My crew,” Markus said. The guys nodded toward all of us during the informal introduction. All shared that distinct school-of-hard-knocks attitude that many street rappers wore like a badge of honor.
“We're just taking a short break right now,” I told Markus.
“I'm ready,” Jules said. “Been ready. Is Sawyer coming back soon?” Her tone was loaded.
“Not sure,” I said casually. I wanted, needed, to refocus on the work. “Let's practice harmony.”
We sang until Sawyer came back a few minutes later. He exchanged fist pounds with the guys and a few quick words with Markus. A covert glance told me he was fully concentrating on the work, too. The unibrow had returned, but there was nothing I could, or would, do about that.
Jules laid down her harmonies. Then I went back in to lay down some filler harmonies. Next up was LaLa. Her lyric delivery had all heads nodding; even Markus' motley crew. Throughout it all, we encouraged and praised each other, but Sawyer kept his back to me. When addressing me he was cold, detached and über-professional.
One of Markus' big hands gently pulled me to the side. “Outside of your Mahá,” he said, “we haven't really caught up. Whaddya think?”
As if they had a mind of their own, my eyes automatically slid in Sawyer’s direction. All I saw was his back: tense, impenetrable, and…touchable. But, I had to be clear that it could never work between us. I had to stick to my kind, and keep him glamour-free and out of danger. Someday he might understand, but more than likely he would never know that it was all for his own good.
I turned to Markus. “Sure.” He smiled back in a benign, friendly way that hid the toothiness.
“Good. Movie and then the Nest?”
“Sounds like fun. Tonight, okay?” He looked doubly pleased. “Come get me,” I said before taking a swig from my hot tea. He playfully looked at me sideways and we both laughed. He was the only one in the room who understood the joke of me drinking tea. This was what I needed, I told myself as I giggled a little too loudly. Someone who really got it. Someone who got me.
“You seemed a little perplexed earlier,” he whispered. “Are your friends acting strangely?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Surprised, I relayed how LaLa and Julietta seemed to have almost traded roles, although I didn't mention Sawyer's permanent frown, or the reason behind it.
“It's you,” he said casually while pushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. “Your newborn energy is affecting the mortals closest to you. Same thing happened to me. I had to lay off hanging out with them so much until I got a little older, more stable.”
No one had mentioned this bombshell information to me. Why would I hear it only from him? I asked him as much.
“Your folks don't spend as much time around mortals as we do. Trust me, the longer you're around, the weirder they're gonna get. Someone might even get sick; depends on the person.”
As I digested this information, Jackie walked over. “Little Wolf, Sawyer's ready for you now.”
Markus disappeared into the booth. There weren’t a lot of mainstream rappers that I liked, but he was an exception. His dark lyrics were intelligent and spoke of being an outsider in a world full of pain. His words came across as the truth and now I knew why. There was nothing lonelier than making music with mortals.
As he spit his lyrics, his crew started getting a little rowdy. Jackie came over to tell them to be quiet, but her influence lasted all of two seconds. The noise increased again.
“Y'all need to chill,” LaLa said in her strongest alpha-female voice. That squashed the din and even earned a few muted apologies. Markus emerged from the booth to slaps on the back and massive fist pounds from his crew.
“So I'll come to pick you up later, Angel,” he said after his boys had already gone. “It's been a while, but I think I remember how to get to your crib.”
LaLa and Jules simultaneously gaped at us and then glanced, puzzled, at Sawyer. Markus slid a sly, quicker than mortal look at Sawyer's cutting glance, before offering him his hand. It hung in the air a second too long before Sawyer clapped it fiercely. Markus smiled again, this time full out. I got the impression this rather scary sight was something he rarely afforded mortals. But if he thought the sight of his sharp canines would frighten Sawyer, he was wrong. Unfazed, Sawyer had moved onto the next track as if Markus had already left. Markus, his jaw tight, took his goodbyes from Jules and LaLa and headed out.
The rest of the session went like that, with Sawyer in his own terse little bubble, spitting out orders and keeping everybody on their toes. Musicians, artists, and industry people continued to float in and out of the studio throughout the day. Some came to work, like Joy, who laid down killer bass lines before heading out to a gig later that evening; some who’d heard about the session through the grapevine and came to chill and hang out. Camera phones and camcorders clicked steadily, documenting the occasion.
Eventually, Nina came through to check in on us, and she grew excited when she heard what we'd laid down. “Ve
ry nice,” she cooed while scrolling through her Blackberry. She dialed. “Listen to this,” she said into the phone. “Sawyer, turn it up!”
He complied. The studio took on the ambience of a club: bass thumping, folks dancing. Nina talked excitedly into the phone. LaLa, Jules, and I exchanged round-eyed glances. Nina rarely got passionate over a song.
It felt like moths were flying in the pit of my stomach. “I'm nervous,” LaLa said, echoing my thoughts. We hugged, and it was a wordless acknowledgement that our work, the music we had poured our hearts and souls into, made others excited. Jules grinned at the two of us as she went back into the booth to lay harmonies for the next track. Sawyer still frowned.
Eventually, the new moon was high in the sky and we were done. LaLa was uncharacteristically wistful. “Our first real studio recording session comes to a close,” she mused. We all hugged again, taking a few last pics to mark the milestone. Don, surrounded by fourteen empty coffee cups, went back outside to smoke what must have been his fifth pack of cigarettes. Nina was marathon-texting in a corner. A few people, including Raj and Jackie, lingered around the studio. Sawyer congratulated us tersely, and then left.
“What did you do to him?” Jules asked as she, LaLa and I made our way outside. Taking note of her confrontational posture, I remembered what Markus told me. What I'd first thought was residual fallout from my Garden-gig improv wasn’t that at all. My girls were affected by my change. Sawyer wasn't the only one I'd have to protect from me.
“Sawyer's moody. We knew that going in,” was all I said. I sounded as casual as I could while bidding them both goodnight, knowing it would be the last time for a while that we’d spend so much time together. Mom and Dad were right. I had to remove myself from the mortals I loved, and the pain of this truth cut me to the core.
Raj came outside. “Julietta?” he said before taking her hand. They wished us goodnight before climbing into his Benz. How messed up was this? He wasn’t even her type. Shocked, I looked to LaLa who just shrugged and giggled.
Seconds later, an Escalade pulled up with one of Markus’ boys inside. He opened the car door, and we acknowledged each other with a lift of the chin while LaLa jumped inside. LaLa driving off with a guy she just met was something I never thought I’d see. She waved at me happily through the window as I backed away slowly, head reeling with what I’d just witnessed. The elation of our successful recording session now seemed way in the past as I swallowed tears.
My friends were no longer themselves, and it was because of me.
27. THE FOREVER TYPE
Later, back at home, I glided through the closed front door and heard Cici's laughter tinkling in the family room. Satchel, Markus, Mom, and Dad were in there with her.
Markus rose to his feet. “We've got a half hour before the movie starts,” he said while taking my coat. Mom and Dad looked at each other with small smiles.
I sniffed the blood Cici was sipping and my stomach growled. I was so caught up in the energy and rush of the recording session I'd forgotten I’d gone through all the thermoses and hadn’t eaten for a while. A long, involuntary hiss emitted from between my lips before I raced to the kitchen and brought back a few goblets.
The doorbell rang. Cici opened the door to find Justin. Mom and Dad discretely retired to another part of the house. Markus eyed Justin like a side of beef, and Cici and Satchel couldn't seem to stop giggling as they went upstairs.
“You haven't eaten for a while, Angel,” Justin said, casting an accusing eye on Markus.
My head swiveled between the two of them. Fresh blood was always the best option, but it seemed downright rude to feed with Markus sitting here waiting to get our date started. Justin's blood throbbed in his veins while I regarded the goblet still in my hand...
“Thank you Justin, but we were just about to step out,” I said as neutrally as possible. I gestured to the goblet. “I'll be right very soon. No worries.”
Justin winced as I quickly downed the contents of the remaining glasses before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Markus, seemingly bored, removed lint from his sweater. “Let's go,” he said, “before the movie starts.”
For a brief second, I wondered what Justin had been doing before he sensed my hunger. He was dressed in black leather pants, black boots, and a mid-length black leather trench, quite a different look from the blue-collar apparel he usually wore. “See you later, Justin?”
“Yeah,” he muttered before I closed the door behind him.
Markus reached around to the back of the couch and pulled out two helmets. He offered one to me. “Mind riding my Ducati?”
The sleek, red and black motorcycle, listed by Rolling Stone as a favorite in his collection, was illegally parked in front of the house. Fast bikes like that scared the heck out of me, but I wasn’t going to let him know that. “Can’t wait,” I answered, taking the helmet.
He also handed me a shopping bag. “Thought you might like it.”
Inside was an Avirex motorcycle jacket; red leather with fleece lining. He held it for me, but I hesitated briefly, wondering if the coat represented a little more than a gift between friends. Deciding to go with the flow and stop over-analyzing everything, I put it on as he nodded with approval.
Later, after the movie (starring one of Markus’ rapper-turned-actor colleagues, it was a “drama” that had us laughing in all the wrong places because it was so bad), we lounged in the part of The Nest that was a bar/lounge/nightclub catering to the mortal public. The immortal section, where I had met Justin, was in an area of the building only accessible to folks with immortal DNA or a donor pass. In the midst of mortals and all types of immortals, I sipped from a bottled blood that was kept in a separate section behind the bar and served with a secret code. The bottle looked like a beer bottle; I wondered what would happen if some inebriated mortal accidentally drank from it.
“I remember making little songs with you when we were kids,” Markus said, after finishing an extra-rare turkey burger. He placed a leather-clad arm along the back of the couch where we sat. “It felt good working together today.”
I had to agree, but the arm made me a little nervous. Did Markus have more than friendship on his mind? I'd just decided to clear the air when a few fans came by to get his autograph. Once word got out about who was behind his sunglasses, a small herd of people stood in line. Markus signed and posed for pictures. “Soon it'll be you,” he said to me. I shivered at the thought of being mobbed by groups of people.
After he’d signed about eleven autographs, a big, burly vampire bouncer came to the rescue. He turned the rest away while Markus feigned disappointment. Leery of another potential wave of fans, he suggested we go to the immortal part of The Nest, and I agreed. Moments later, after getting re-situated, I turned to him. “Markus, I really enjoyed our time tonight. But, I don't want to mislead you—”
“Angel, I'm going to stop you right there. I'm gay.”
I nearly dropped my bottled blood.
“I’m not ashamed, but I keep it on the DL since that type of press would probably kill my rap career, knowwhatimsaying?”
“Markus,” I recovered my composure, “I’ll never tell. Your secret’s safe.”
“Cool. But even if you were my type, I could never get in the way of you and your boy over there.” His gaze went over my shoulder. “I could tell earlier you’re really into each other.”
Expecting to see Justin again, I rolled my eyes before turning around. But it wasn't Justin. It was Sawyer. He was leaning on the bar talking to a girl. I recognized her profile; it was Risa, the seamstress. Her laugh revealed fangs, and she caressed his neck suggestively as if she wanted to use those fangs on him.
Red clouded my vision as my shimshana shivered violently in the pit of my stomach. Instantly, I was at her back, standing before him. His eyes grew wide when he saw me. “He’s mine,” I seethed before Risa swung around, ready for a fight.
“Angel!” Her usually expressionless face looked shocked as
she backed down from my Shimshana heat. The lounge had become deathly quiet. All the eyes of the patrons were on me, and their stares were accompanied by whispers of Risa’s impending demise at my hands. Then a waiter hurried over, offered her a donor menu, and that was that.
I took Sawyer by the hand and led him to my family’s booth. “What do you think you’re doing here?” I demanded.
“Me?” he retorted. “What are you doing here?”
“What’s going on here?” a third voice asked. It was Justin coming toward us. Fast. I could hear Markus across the room say, “Oh, snap!”
“You’re so upset,” Justin said to me, “I could feel you.”
The two guys in my life eyed each other. “Who the hell is this?” they asked simultaneously.
“Justin, Sawyer. Sawyer, Justin,” I said in nervous introduction. When Justin looked at my hand still in Sawyer’s, I could feel his despair.
“Excuse us, Sawyer,” I said, taking Justin’s hand and leading him away to another part of the space. He glanced back at Sawyer, still standing where we’d left him.
“I’d thought something happened with the rapper,” he explained. His eyes searched the room until they came to rest on Markus talking to a rough-looking dude with a tattooed face.
“Is that what all this is about?” I shook my head in disbelief. Guys… “Trust me, you don’t have to worry about Markus.”
Justin pointed a defiant chin at Sawyer. “So you do have a boyfriend.”
“It's still none of your business,” I said gently not wanting to hurt him further.
“Does he know you, Angel? The way you deserve to be known?” He searched my eyes. After a few seconds, a confident smile spread across his lips. “You’re the forever type, Angel. And I’ll always be here for you. Forever.” He walked away, but his allusion to Sawyer’s mortality stayed with me like a troublesome fog as I made my way back to the booth.