Ghostgirl ~ JB Salsbury

by JB Salsbury

  Eight.

  Tonight, I only count eight.

  Lying in the backyard, waiting for Laura to bring Mercy home, I count only eight.

  There is no more make-believe, no power of suggestion that could get me to see shit that isn’t there. Mercy is gone, and until I get my arms wrapped around her, feel her pulse against my lips, and breathe her in, I’m going to climb the walls of my insides, waiting.

  I check my phone and see the same five voice messages from today.

  Two are from Mrs. Leonard asking why I missed my last finals.

  Three are from my teachers offering to postpone them until Julian’s health improves.

  I stopped by the hospital after dropping off Miguel, and Carla was there, spoon-feeding my little brother his requested pozole. With tears in her eyes, she spoke about my mom and how cada niño infermo necesita a su madre. She agreed to stay with him tonight so I could be home to wait for Mercy.

  My foot anxiously taps away on the grass, and I rehearse everything I want to say the second I see her, starting with the news about her father.

  Blood results are in.

  “Mr. Rich and Plenty” is Mercy’s biological father. I wanted to be there when they told her. I wanted to sit her on my lap and hold her to keep her from falling apart, but I only found out after the fact. Laura assured me she handled it well, that she’s okay, and that she’s bringing her home tonight.

  I’m about to call and find out what’s taking so long when a pair of headlights rounds the corner at the end of the driveway. I hop to my feet, and my heart slams against my ribs as I recognize Laura’s car and see the two dark shadows inside.

  My blood hums through my veins, and the second the car is in park and the headlights turn off, I jog to Mercy’s door and swing it open so hard that I almost knock it off its hinges.

  I don’t know who moves first, whether she jumps out at me or I pull her into my chest, but we crash together hard and fast. I bury my nose in her neck and feel her doing the same, nuzzling me at my tattoo.

  “Mi alma,” I breathe against her skin, calling her my soul because that’s what she’s become. “God, I missed you.”

  “You’re not mad.” She squeezes me more tightly.

  “I could never be mad at you. I love you, Güera.” I pull back and kiss her forehead. “I fucking love you.”

  Laura smiles softly from the other side of the car. She nods her approval then heads inside, giving us our privacy.

  I cup Mercy’s jaw, run my thumbs along her cheeks, and lift her eyes to mine. “Are you okay? Are you hungry? Do you need any—”

  She pushes up on her toes and presses her mouth to mine. The words die on my lips as her kiss knocks me off balance. I stumble forward, pressing her back against the car. I wondered if I’d ever see her again, get to hold her like this, and I thrust both hands into her hair to prove to myself she’s really here. She moans softly when I tilt my head to deepen the kiss. Frenzied but not sloppy, we make up for all the times we held back, all the time we’ve been kept apart. We say all the things we’ve wanted to say without speaking a word.

  My hands shake with the need for her. I pull back on wobbly legs and hold her to my chest. “I need a minute to cool off,” I say and chuckle because that’s the understatement of the decade. We’ve never done more than kiss, and the last thing Mercy needs after all she’s been through is her boyfriend pawing at her like a horny dog.

  “Can I spend the night with you, Milo?” Her voice shakes as though she’s thrown off kilter just as much by what’s happening between us. “Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Every night. I want you to spend every night in my arms.”

  She avoids my eyes, and I’m sure all this talk about sleeping together is freaking her out. I’m ready to take our relationship there, to happily get lost inside her body forever, but a month ago, she’d never even kissed a guy. I remind myself to take things slowly even though my blood surges with her nearness.

  I keep her pressed to my side as I walk her to my door then push it open to guide her inside. The lights are off, and that’s fine with me. Being alone with her in darkness intensifies our connection as we rely on our senses of touch, taste, and smell.

  I slide my hands around her from behind and kiss her neck.

  “I missed you. Are you sure you’re okay? After the accident—”

  Her body stiffens. “Laura said Julian is going to be okay?” She turns in my arms but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry about what happened. I never should’ve . . . I thought I could—”

  “Shh . . .” I pull her to my chest and rest my chin on her head. “It’s all right. You don’t need to apologize. I knew you were trying to help, and I think the whole thing just kind of . . . broke you.”

  She nods, and her arms wrap tightly around my waist. “I didn’t think you’d forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive.” I run my hands up and down her back, absorbing the warmth of her body against mine and allowing it to soothe the last few days of fear that I might lose her forever. “Did they treat you okay in there?”

  She nods.

  “So uh . . . you wanna talk about your dad?”

  Her muscles tense against me.

  “I don’t like the guy—”

  She pulls back and peers up at me. “You met him?”

  I grin and brush my thumb along her cheek. “Don’t look so freaked out. Yes, I did, and even though I don’t like the guy, I was polite . . . ish.”

  She buries her face in my chest again but still carries the tension in her body.

  “You know, it’s a good thing he surfaced.”

  She’s still a statue in my arms, and I hate that his presence in her life is stressing her out.

  “Now we know you’re nineteen. We can be together. No more hiding. Mercy?” When she doesn’t respond, I walk her back a few steps to the bed. “It’s late. Are you tired?”

  She nods again, and I kneel to take off her shoes. I run my hands up and down her calves, having no intention of taking this further but needing to touch her skin. I pull my shirt off, climb next to her on the bed, and pull her to my chest. She melts into me, and her arm slides across my abs to nestle up even closer.

  I run my hand down her hair, tangling my fingers in the soft waves. “Are you going to meet him?”

  “Milo?”

  “Hmm . . .” I run my nose along the top of her head and breathe in, grateful she’s finally here, in my arms, where she belongs.

  “I don’t want to talk about him.” She sounds as though she’s fighting tears. “Not tonight.”

  I frown into the darkness. “Tomorrow, then.”

  She needs to talk about this shit, and more importantly, I need to know what she plans to do.

  “I want to show you something tomorrow afternoon. It’s near the beach. We can go sit on the sand, and we can talk about it then.” If she had any intention of leaving Los Angeles, I think what I want to show her tomorrow might change her mind.

  She doesn’t answer with words but simply nods.

  “Tonight, it’s just us. No talk of family or responsibilities or any other bullshit, okay?”

  Mercy

  MY THOUGHTS SPIN with all the things I want to say but can’t.

  I am an inexperienced girl stuck in a woman’s body. I don’t know how to seduce a man.

  Milo, please take the one thing that is still mine to give so that it can never be taken from me against my will.

  Let me have this moment so that it can sustain me through a lifetime of living without you.

  And . . . I’ll miss you forever.

  He must sense my struggle, because he rolls onto his side and kisses me. His hand slides over my shoulder and down my spine, where he presses on my lower back to bring me closer. The heat of his skin sears me even through the thick fabric of my sweatshirt. I long to get burned, to blister and wear permanent marks that won’t let me forget that, for the briefest of moments, I was free to l
ove.

  His fingers dip under the hem and with trembling hands brush against the bare skin of my ribs, only to stop at the underside of my breast.

  “It’s okay.” I hold his hand against myself, inching it upward. “You can touch me.”

  He cups me over my bra, and a low rumble vibrates his chest. “We don’t need to do this. It’s too soon. You—”

  I silence his protests with a kiss, not trusting my voice to respond, not with the knowledge that this will be our last night together, that this will be the last time he’ll see me. I crave his touch, skin to skin. I need the beat of his pulse to carry mine. He’s too far away, with too many clothes between us. Hauling my sweatshirt up over my head, I carelessly let it drop behind me. He pushes up on an elbow, his eyes dark and soothing as he follows my every movement. I reach back to unhook my bra and let it slip off my arms to the bed. He seems hesitant, as though he’s afraid if he reaches for me, I might disappear, so I guide his hand to my chest and place it over my heart. His dark fingers fan out against my pale skin like a shadow illustrating the shelter his presence has cast over my heart since we met. I melt into his touch. I feel his gaze all over me like a warm blanket, wrapping me up and holding me close.

  “Your heart is racing.” His fingers flex against my bare skin. “Are you scared?”

  “No.” Not of him, not of the last good thing I’ll have. I will leave my heart with Milo when I walk out of this room with the hope that I shall never feel again.

  He skates his hand down and to the side to gently cup my breast while his thumb slides softly against the curves and swells. “Lie down on your stomach, mi alma.”

  I don’t know what it means, but the words bloom from his lips like a fervent prayer. I crawl beside him and tuck my hands under the pillow, resting comfortably on my stomach. “What does mi alma mean?”

  He climbs over me, the warmth of his thighs encompassing mine. The heat of his lips brushes against my spine. “My soul.”

  A soft purrlike noise rolls up from my throat.

  He chuckles against my bare skin. “I’m glad you like it.”

  His fingers dance slowly across the entire expanse of my back, and I wonder if he’s tracing every detail of my wings. My skin becomes oversensitive to every stroke, sending waves of warmth down my arms and legs. Time is irrelevant as he kisses, nips, and caresses every inch of my back until my body feels plugged into an electrical currant. My feet rub together, my fingers flex against the pillow, and my lips part to accommodate my quickened breath. It’s all too much yet far from enough. I squeeze my eyes closed until they hurt, hoping to dull the ache his caresses have stirred inside me.

  “Shhh . . .” His breath bathes my ear and neck in heat. “I’ll take care of you.”

  His thick fingers slide beneath the waistband of my shorts, and I lift my hips so that he can tug them down to slip them from my feet. He groans, soft and low, and I imagine him sitting back on his knees as he studies me.

  “Turn over.”

  I start at the low, gruff sound of his voice.

  He runs soothing hands up my calves and follows up his command with a gentle “Please . . .”

  He’s on his knees at the foot of the bed. I mimic his position, pushing up to kneel in front of him. My hair falls heavily over one shoulder, covering a breast, and I slowly push it back while keeping my gaze solely focused on his. He dissolves the space between us. One hand dives into my hair while the other wraps around my lower back. He kisses me, and I gasp into his mouth as bare skin meets bare skin. His heart races in time with mine, a galloping beat that demands more.

  I grip his bicep as he towers over me, and my back arches with the force of his kiss, but I’m never in danger of falling back with the way he holds me tightly against him.

  I’m breathing heavily, and parts of my body feel as if they’re filled with lead yet seem so empty at the same time.

  The hand at my lower back slides around to my stomach, and his short nails bite into my skin as he dips his fingers behind the elastic of my panties. My thighs tremble with the amount of energy necessary to keep upright when all I want to do is fall onto my back and bring him with me.

  His fingertips run back and forth between my hips, each pass delving a little lower . . . and a little lower. His lips are soft and his tongue slow as his kiss helps to take my mind off what his hand is doing. When he finally slides his palm between my legs, I moan.

  “So soft,” he says as he presses his hand in more tightly. “You’re perfect.”

  “I don’t know—” My breath catches in my throat at the sensation of his hand rubbing circles between my legs. “What I’m supposed to do.”

  He runs his lips down my jaw to my neck. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to touch you.” My fingers grip impatiently at his biceps.

  “I ain’t gonna stop you.” His hips grind forward. “I want your hands on me.”

  My fingers quake with excitement or nerves, but I manage to get them down to the button of his jeans. I’m clumsy, overcome, and getting the zipper down over the swollen part of his body takes me a minute. “I . . . I think you need to help me.”

  He takes my hand and pushes it down beneath the elastic of his underwear then with his hand over mine, grabs it tightly. His breath becomes labored, stuttering and quaking in quick bursts from his lips.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He chuckles through his discomfort. “Hurt?” He curses under his breath. “Nothing has ever felt this good. I just . . .” He rests his forehead in the crook of my neck to look down at my hand wrapped tightly around his warm hardness. He moans, thrusts into my hand once, twice, then . . .”Oh no—”

  He jerks his hips back, and I lose my grip.

  “I’m sorry—” I begin.

  “No, don’t be.” He kisses the edge of my mouth. “It’s just . . . Seeing your hand down there, I almost . . .” He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just . . . I just need a second.”

  “We don’t need to stop—”

  He presses me back to the bed, his hand moving again, and my words are lost in my throat. “I won’t stop.” He comes up beside me and licks at my breast, which makes my body tingle from my scalp to my toes. “But we have the rest of our lives to explore each other, mi alma.”

  If only that were true.

  Just for tonight, I’ll pretend it is.

  His lips crash down on mine, and I imagine an endless number of nights when we’re together like this. Our legs tangle, and I pretend we’re in our bed, in our home, and that an infinite supply of his kisses is waiting for me to claim for years to come. Our hands explore every dip, curve, and secret spot, and I imagine we have forever to find new ones.

  But I know better.

  Life is pain and sacrifice, and no mere human deserves this kind of happiness forever.

  “Whoa . . .” His hand stills, and he stares down at me. “What is it?”

  I lift my head to chase down his mouth, aching with the loss of the fantasy, desperate to get it back.

  He kisses me softly as if easing me back from a dangerous ledge. “Hey . . .” His thumb makes a pass on my cheeks. “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?” He untangles himself from me to pull me into his chest.

  “Pain born of love . . .” The hot tears flow from my eyes to wet the spot over his heart. “I would take it one thousand years over for one night with you.”

  “We have the rest of our lives. You own me, Mercy,” he whispers against the top of my head. “I’m yours. My heart. My body.”

  A sob rips from my chest at the unfairness of it all. I wish I could give him every part of me, but how would I convince him when he thinks we have forever? His arms tighten around me.

  “We’re inseparable now,” he says. “You’re my soul.”

  Oh, how I wish that were true.

  Mercy

  WERE IT POSSIBLE to freeze a single moment in time and live it for eternity, I would choose this one. Wrapped in Milo’s arms, our legs i
ntermingled beneath the sheets, my cheek pressed to his bare chest, sinking into the rhythm of his heartbeat . . . This is my heaven.

  But I’ve watched the moon through the window, blazing a path across the sky. Hours tick away and threaten morning—a black hole waiting to swallow me up for eternity.

  Four o’clock.

  This shouldn’t be so hard. After all, I was raised to be a sacrifice for humankind. I was brainwashed to believe I made a difference in the lives of hundreds if not thousands of the faceless people I came into contact with.

  And that was all a lie.

  Now, I finally have the ability to be a real angel and save the people I love by sacrificing myself. I will give up the little I’ve managed to gather for myself—my dreams, my independence, my freedom—I’ll trade it all for pain and suffering in order to protect them.

  It’s because of Milo that the choice hurts so badly. He made me believe in things like hope. He taught me through loving me that I was worthy of living my own life, the kind of life I choose. And oh, how I wanted that life with him.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and hold Milo a little more tightly, milking what I can from our time left together. A soft snore rumbles in his throat, and I mourn the loss of a lifetime of hearing it. I pray to the Blessed Mother that the sounds will be imprinted on my soul, that his scent and the feel of his skin will become a part of me and, no matter where I am, I’ll always feel him close.

  “What’s wrong?” He presses a sleepy kiss to my forehead and yawns.

  “Did I wake you up?” I loosen my hold on him, afraid I’m squeezing too hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t sleep?”

  I shake my head, not trusting my voice to keep my secret.

  “Nightmares?”

  If you had any idea. A crushing sadness settles over me as I consider that now my reality is filled with him and my dreams of monsters, but after today, my monsters will be my reality and my dreams will be saved for him.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

  You can’t help me anyway.

  I have to give him something, or he’ll never give up. I clear my throat and force the words from my lips. “A lot has happened, and I guess I’m still processing.”