She sidles away, I’m sure she is going to rush off, avoiding this conversation like I want to. This awkward tension, I want to sever it like a line. I have the scissors in my hand, and the line just needs to stay still long enough. But the more she shifts, the more I follow, losing momentum and train of thought.
‘Avalon is full of desperate people.’ She bites at her lower lip this time, fumbling her hands, knitting her fingers into the bundle of plastic coin bags in her grasp. She starts walking, and like a magnet I follow, switching sides, glancing back up to the coffee house to see Liv glaring knives at me.
‘Are you implying that I’m desperate?’ I say, one eyebrow tilting.
‘You don’t need to be desperate… you can have anyone... I…’ she trails off. Looking up and trying to search the line of shops for the bank. I repulse her, I make her want to run. Why is this so hard? I need to get inside of her, I need to know what she is thinking, what she is wanting.
It surely isn’t me she wants. Not to the extent that I… want her.
‘You?’ I entice her to finish her sentence but she doesn’t, she stares off into the bustling crowds, memory flashing her eyes with a darkness.
‘Madi wouldn’t fumble like this.’
Oh, she would fumble, but not in the way you are, Elli.
‘You’re not her, Elli.’ I entice her again, trying to force the dark memory, the sadness from her.
‘No, if I was, you wouldn’t have wanted anyone else.’
A breath hitches in her throat, she puts a hand over her mouth and says something else, her cheeks dance a shade of red that brightens and brightens until she apologises and quickens her pace. I chuckle, pulling at her arm and encircling one around her waist, pulling her back to me. Beneath my touch, her body trembles. When I raise my hand, my palm touching her cheek, I am sure she isn’t breathing.
‘I don’t want anyone, Elli.’ My eyes burn, consuming her with my gaze. She is like a frightful deer, struggling beneath me with a gaze that cannot quite meet mine. When she does, it is only for a brief second before falling down and all I see is the gentle flutter of her raven flashes.
‘I told you. I want someone I cannot have.’
‘That is a really harsh way of telling someone you’re not interested.’ She murmurs, her voice so low, so whisper-like if I were anyone else I would have missed it, but I don’t, and my hand on her cheek slides down her neck, then round her ear, pushing off strands of brunette hair from her china white skin. All the time, she is trembling, her voice lost, her eyes never meeting mine.
‘Meet me tonight, Elli.’
‘I’m working late, I… I can’t.’ she waves me off, she pulls out of my grasp and as she leaves my vicinity, making her way to the bank, I am certain I’ve lost my pull, whatever pull I might have had. I’ve lost my chance…
‘Elli.’ I say, my voice getting lost in the crowds that push and collide with me. For a dreary little town, the Mall always attracts so much attention.
She must have heard me say her name, because as she is walking away she turns back, a few words upon her lips, tormenting words. I want to tear my eyes out, I want to swoop down to hell and finally rip the deadened heart out of that awful sister of hers.
‘I’m not my sister. I’m not perfect.’
‘You are more than your sister, Elli, far more.’ And you are perfect, just too perfect, and too unattainable.
Ellison –
I can’t get him out of my mind; he is like an incessant itch I cannot scratch. A thirst I cannot quench. I cannot describe what it is like to feel this way, as I have nothing to compare it to. There was that one guy, but not like this. I fumble around the back of Beaumont’s, diving hands into old dusty boxes, rummaging through the dearly departed boxes of belongings. An elderly lady, diamonds on her fingers, gold rings in her ears. A gypsy flowing dress sashaying as she moved. She dropped off the belongings, saying she would rather burn them but thought Beaumont’s would discover a hidden gem or two. She was right. Rifling through I found old books dating back to the 1800’s, magic tomes, old rabbit’s feet, silver and gold charm bracelets.
Even when diving through the box of history, picking through the grimy silver brooches and dusting them off, I cannot get Evan out of my mind. I’m sure he has many objects like this, I can picture a room full of old, historic paintings staring at you as you enter, gilded frames reflecting his handsome face. I stop for a moment, bringing a hand to my chest.
‘Why am I thinking like this?’
Scolding myself, I get back to work. Emptying the contents of three boxes, ordering things from jewellery to books to miscellaneous trinkets, I finally come to a halt. Wiping my brow with the back of my sleeve, I gather perspiration and dust. The familiar ding of the front door chimes and I turn, glimpsing a look. It’s a shadow of a person, looming over the weaponry. One hand touching the glass. I stand at the back room door for a little while, waiting for Charlie to tell him off, to scold him for touching the glass of what was a very valuable box of antique weapons, one misjudged move and he would be paying Charlie back until he was on his deathbed.
I turn away at that, shaking my head. I really have spent too long in this shop, already I’m turning into Charlie, just decades younger.
A pile of books call for me to dust them and put them on the carry horse, to take them out. I thumb through a few, they are old romance novels from centuries ago. I skip to a page and read the first few lines.
A story about a wayward man falling for a shy farm girl. I can imagine the ending already. They fall into each other’s arms and everything is just right.
If only life were like that.
I brace myself, fingers poised above a thick blood red tome, I hear Charlie’s voice, his hearty chuckle and then I see his balding head bouncing in the doorway.
‘You have a little admirer you do.’
‘Charlie?’ an eyebrow peaks upward, into my tangles of dust covered hair. I tiptoe over to him and peer through the doorway into the front. There standing by the desk, crooked smirk on his lips, is none other than the itch I cannot scratch.
‘Tell him I’m not here, Charlie. Tell him I’ve gone home, tell him I’m not—’
‘Now what sort of man would I be to let a nice young gentleman pass you by?’ he winks, a broad grin beaming his grey whiskered face. ‘I know an admirer when I see one.’
‘No, Charlie, not admiring, just… just…’ I lose my train of thought, peering over his shoulder and seeing Evan wave a hand, his sapphire eyes are mystery and shadows, the ringed fingers he grips the front desk with are hands I long to touch my face again. This is absurd, absolutely ridiculous. Madi would never fumble over a guy, the guy was always fumbling over her, lusting after her all the time, never the other way around.
I guess I am nothing like my sister.
‘I think the feelings mutual.’ Charlie chuckles, slips into the back room with me, one hand tenderly touching my shoulder as he leans in and whispers in his breath that smells of menthol lozenges and coffee. ‘Go and have a little fun, it’s what you need, Ellison. It’s nearly closing time, I’ll be fine.’
Charlie moves with rickety steps, one hand reaching up to his chest for a moment, but it must be a slip of his hand as it soon brushes his fingers over his shiny scalp. He heads out through the door and gestures with a hand to Evan.
‘Now a fine young gentleman like you must keep young Ellison safe; you have nothing untoward happen to her, you hear?’ he winks before adding with a low, phlegmy chuckle, ‘Without her this shop wouldn’t exist.’
‘Charlie, it’s been here for decades. I don’t do that much.’ I murmur as I pass Charlie, half wanting to hug him and hit him. I couldn’t think of anything worse, or better than to spend some time with the blue-eyed boy. A complex of emotions are stirred in my stomach when I look at him. And when he meets my gaze I cannot help but turn away.
‘No trouble at all, Mister Beaumont.’ Evan’s voice is cool, calm and crisp. A tug at his lip
s gives him the allure of charm, the brightness in his eyes the bold mystery. I can understand why other women are drawn to him. I just can’t get over the feeling of darkness that seeps in my muscles, makes my jaw tight and heart quiver with jealousy when that happens. He isn’t mine, I’m not his, it’s just the feeling I cannot quite shake when I’m around him.
A strong attraction, a sort of bidden lust. I’m sure that is how Liv would describe it.
The door makes its familiar ding, ding, as Evan opens it for me. I slip underneath his arm, his familiar scent overpowers me. A musk of salty sweetness. An essence of burnt sandalwood. The awkward feeling returns when we are out of the shop, walking side by side through the mall. I’m not sure where we are heading but the exit sign is fast approaching.
‘Why did you come by? I said I was working late.’ my voice sounds pitiable, I try and find the strength inside, to flutter my eyelashes to grab his hand as we walk, to say something less Ellison and more Madison, more Olivia and Jade. What does occur is a slight twist of a smile, a pout, but it turns out more like a grimacing scowl, so I retreat back to just staring forward, watching as a few children tug at their mother’s hand, dragging her into the toy shop.
‘Your boss, he doesn’t need a lot of persuasion.’ I watch Evan’s chest quiver in a laugh, watch as he brings a hand to rake fingers through his quills of hair. A fine contrast of ebony hair and ivory fingers. I’m sure a sculptor would adore his fine chiselled features, a painter would love to work with the brightness of his eyes, the alabaster of his skin. I find myself staring just a little too much and retreat my eyes back forward.
‘What did you want?’ I say, biting the inside of my lip, regretting sounding too harsh. I catch a glimpse, just up through my eyelashes. His eyes glimmer, his lips tug into some sort of a smile, smirk. He could scowl and it would still be smouldering.
‘I want to get to know you a little better.’ His hand touches mine, the briefest of touches but I still recoil my hand into the sleeve of my cardigan. His touch is blisteringly hot, I’m sure earlier today when he cupped my cheek I had burn marks. But no, it is just him, just his touch, it sends crazy little shivers throughout my entirety.
‘I don’t understand you… you said you want what you cannot have. Isn’t this a form of torture?’
‘Does a person who wishes to lose weight not taunt themselves with sweets? Does a person not go by the same window every day, just to glimpse the piece of jewellery they long for, yet can never attain? We torment ourselves every day with things we cannot have. Perhaps it is torture, but perhaps my request is genuine.’
I stare at him now, not hiding behind my lashes or my hair, I meet his eyes and for what seems many quivering heartbeats of time, I see every little shadow and shiver of light in his eyes. Ever line on his skin, every little perfect part of his face.
I truly do not understand this man, and I don’t think I ever will. There is something beneath his porcelain skin, a darkness, it shows upon his shoulders, a heavy burden he doesn’t care to carry. I hope one day – a fruitless thing, to hope – that I might see just how he feels.
‘East Hollow is full of tormented souls.’ I remark, only to hear his chuckle, his eyes moving forward just in time to step out of the way of a wayward man with armfuls of carrier bags.
‘Now that is the attraction.’
***
Our ambles have taken us through the streets of East Hollow to the outskirts of town. The dying light of day creating a pink glow to the sky, just as dark clouds that promise storms, roll in over the valley. Evan has spoken about himself fairly little, but what he has said keeps going round and round in my head. No one understands how he feels, no one sees the worry that creases his brow every night as he stays awake. He cannot sleep because he has too much to think about. I had laughed, trying to lighten the mood – a first for me – saying that at least he slept in a gilded bed, he stopped me, a hand touching my shoulder, his forefinger trailing down my arm, his eyes held mine with an iron grip as the smirk that twisted upon his lips dazzled me. I just catch him saying how I would love to see his bed.
A crimson glow must have found my cheeks, I could feel them warm until burning hot.
It is strange to say how easy he is to talk to. How simply my woes slip off my tongue. I told him about my parents, he did not seem surprised. I told him just how I could not stop seeing the images of Madison. He said, with such calm, almost cold words, that cut through me as much as the harsh winds on the valley’s outskirts, that once a witness of a death, it never truly goes away. I asked him if he’s ever lost anyone, he said he had no one to really lose. When I asked, really, he caved inward and said his father, I asked him about him but he said he had colder eyes and a blacker heart. As I looked at his brow furrowing, his eyes turning faraway, I knew that he must care greatly about his father, but was almost afraid to admit it.
‘They say this is where the angels fly over East Hollow.’ I say, absentmindedly sitting on the thick stone guards of the bridge. My finger trailing over the hard granite, poking at aged holes.
‘Angels?’ his brow raises.
‘I was told when I was younger, East Hollow was set in a valley like this because it was in prime sight of the angels.’ I say, looking up from the stone to his face, his jaw was as tight as the granite my hand rests upon. I notice he isn’t too responsive, I shake my head, knowing just how foolish it sounds. The only angels in East Hollow are the ones that look out in the graveyard with their stone cold eyes.
‘Stupid, isn’t it?’
‘I heard that they just fly on over, that’s why East Hollow is so dark.’ He mutters, his voice lost within the winds that cut through us. ‘It doesn’t see their light.’
‘Mm.’ I bite my lower lip, pulling my arms closer around my body as the chill picks through my jacket. I stare down into the murky waters under the bridge, catching our reflection. Evan places his hand on the stone, moving off from his seated position. He stands behind me, one hand upon my shoulder, the other by my waist. I’m sure he can feel my breath hitch in my throat, feel my heart almost stop thundering in my chest.
‘Do you believe in Angels, Elli?’ he whispers, his voice a chilly murmur in my ear. His lips just brush the tip of my ear, his breath pooling against my neck.
‘I don’t know. If there were angels here, would they really allow all of this darkness, all of this pain?’
He is silent, I tilt my chin down, closing my eyes. All I hear is the rush of the wind, the crash of the water beneath us, colliding into the banks of ragged stone, Evan’s gentle breathing and my own palpitating heart.
‘Then you must believe in demons.’ He says, so nonchalant, with not even the slightest lift of amusement in his voice. I don’t know whether or not he’s serious, but I turn my head ever so slightly, his is right there, his eyes inches from mine, and his nose barely touching my face. If I was to just inch a little closer our lips would collide…
‘There is a demon within everybody. We’re all fighting them, inside of us.’
My lips tremble against my voice, against the sharp winds that thump against me. I hear more crashing and a loud roar of thunder. At least, I think that’s thunder. It might be my heart…
‘You are a bright light, Elli.’ His own breath hitches, a sound that I cannot quite grasp. His eyes are darkening, his lips tightening. His hands grasp me tighter and he moves closer, his mouth inches from mine, I can almost taste the sweetness and saltiness of his scent, the rich coffee beans and sugar, the vague spearmint. I say nothing, I’m not even sure I’m breathing.
‘You shouldn’t have to see such pain, such blackness. You are too pure.’
His lips do not collide with mine, his skin does not brush against me, only his voice sends a shiver down every notch in my spine, trailing goose bumps over my skin. He tilts his head to the side, his lips gently brushing against my ear. And that is all. I’m not good enough for him. I’m not. That’s why… that’s why…
‘Too pure�
�’
Evander –
The hot air whips past my face, tangling my black hair in ebony waves as I pace, back and forth, back and forth. My feet bearing tracks into the salted red earth, traipsing bone fragments and red clay to and fro, from the doorway to the inside of the foretelling room. The thick drapery flickers as I throw aside the door and let in the gusts of hot air. It sends a stark smell of decay and earth, of brimstone and fire, filling the only place in Hell where it smells of sweet candles and bittersweet memories. The wind ruffles at my shirt, billowing it out around me before I close the door tight, it slams, fighting with the gust of hot wind, only to shake the inside and cause the candelabras of red wax to tremble.
‘Prince Boy.’ The fragmented voice hisses, bony fingers extending out from her dark shroud, alabaster white against the black material, accentuating her very dead and very gnarled appearance.
I say nothing, but pull out the cloth wrapped bread from the inside of my shirt and throw it across the table at her, eyes darkening, narrowing upon her with a voice that matches exactly what I am – no niceties this eve, I am seething, I am spitting fire. I am demonic.
‘Show me something, now.’ I demand, watching her intently unwrap the cloth with bony fingers and proceed to claw at the outside crust, revealing the soft innards of the bread, continuing to dissect it, she speaks in her disjointed echo.
‘Prince Boy wants to see something he already knows.’ Her cackle resounds against the draped walls; bouncing off the curtains and wavering the red flames that shoot up before levelling out. I tear my gaze away from them and back to her, stalking forward and resting the heels of my palms on the table, feeling the grained wood beneath grasp, my grip so tight, I am sure I leave indentations.
Grey October (East Hollow Chronicles) Page 15