Watch Me Fall

by Nora Flite

  How could he have done all of that today and still cared if we were found out?

  The seductive pull in my loins demanded I stay behind after class. I needed to talk to him, to figure out what we were supposed to do at this point. I needed to hear the words from him, an admission that he didn't give a shit if anyone realized what we'd become. I wanted to hear his side of things and... well...

  I needed to kiss him. I needed to feel him.

  Shit, I was so weak.

  I didn't get a chance to indulge my desires. The class was buzzing, and Bronta was chattering at me about some plans everyone had. “How do you feel about going to the Catacombs?” she asked me. “One of the guy's got a bunch of tickets, we can all go. It'll be great!”

  I knew about the Catacombs from my mother. She'd loved them, waxed on about their grim, mysterious tunnels and the sobering vibe. Cold, dark, not sexy. “That sounds perfect,” I said, forcing myself to stop staring at Carter's hard-lined jaw.

  We were a mob of young adults. The constant noise, the laughter, it formed like water around me. I drowned myself in it, pushed aside the memory of Carter's breathing... his untempered need for me.

  With so many people to guide the way, I didn't have to worry about directions. I didn't need to think. It was liberating to be free of making decisions. And, with such a group—the boys flirting with the girls and vice versus—I didn't have to make conversation.

  It was wonderful.

  ****

  The outside of the Catacombs was milling with a long line. Wrapped tight in my thick jacket, I was content to people watch. Bronta was flashing dazzling smiles at one of the guys from Wolf House—Jerome, I thought his name was. Oh, I thought suddenly, realizing she was also chatting with Richard. She looked so comfortable, smoothing the front of Jerome's shirt; laughing at something the other boy had said.

  A tiny smile broke across my face. It was in contrast to my flush of envy. She's not nervous with them at all. She gets to have fun right here, right in public, and no one would give a second look.

  Mixed into the group, I spotted Valerie. Her crimson hair was flowing around her shoulders. She kept gesturing with her hands, speaking on her phone and ignoring everyone.

  The only person who seemed as quiet—as distracted—as me, was Cally.

  Her fists were buried in her pockets. That long spine was tight, lips an impossible knot. Her skin looked bloodless, shiny from sweat in spite of the cool air.

  Tempted to ask her what was wrong, I bit my tongue instead. Cally had always been short with me. I was too exhausted to get into a fight with her now, especially before something that was meant to be fun.

  The line began to move again. A large chunk of the group swayed towards the inside of the building. I started to follow when one of the guards put an arm out, stopping me. “Sorry,” he said, “limited room down there. You'll have to go with the next group.”

  I was disgruntled, but not about to argue. My classmates looked back at me. I waved them on, figured it couldn't be much of a wait. It was growing colder out, I hugged myself for warmth. A weak drizzle had been dampening the city on and off for the past hour.

  Abruptly, the man at the top of the stairs looked back at me. Curling his fingers, he waved me and some others forward. “Alright,” he said, “enough of them have come out the other side. I can let ten of you down.”

  I didn't know the rest of the people with me. Experiencing the Catacombs with people I had started to grow close to had been my preference. Regardless, I wanted to see it, even if it meant doing it essentially solo.

  The stairs were steep. The deeper I went, the slicker they got. Rain had seeped through and mud had coated everything, trekked by the boots of travelers. It was a long walk, taking me into the bowels of the city.

  Behind me, the treacherous stairs were slowing the others down. Moving forward without them, the tunnel lit by the glow of the occasional small lamp, I got my first glimpse into the Catacombs of Paris.

  Long winding tunnels, the sloped ground was covered in coarse gravel. I had sneakers on, but still slipped if I wasn't careful. Indents were filling with water; stalactites dripped, hanging in small groups from a low ceiling.

  Turning the corner, I finally discovered the bones.

  It was morbid... somehow artistic. Skulls were stacked in perfect rows, organized along the walls. No matter where you looked, you stared into the empty holes in the faces of the dead.

  Trembling, I rubbed my arms and kept going. My decision to get ahead of the curve, walk faster than the rest of the group, was turning out to be less than ideal. I didn't consider myself easily frightened by figments and horror stories. This place was different; smothering. I was reminded just how small I was. So many erased lives... I didn't know a single one of their names.

  What would that be like? A dried out corpse, no different from all the others that circled you.

  Water dripped on my shoulder; I jumped. Okay, I want out of here. It was colder than ever, no heat existing in the underground. Long shadows followed me, black corners that hid who knew what.

  My imagination was going wild, picturing things following me in the labyrinth. Moving faster, I nearly slipped. Fuck, I thought to myself, I need to find the stairs. This was no longer about fun. At least I was able to appreciate that I wasn't thinking about Carter anymore.

  Flush with nerves, I worried about the unseen and the unknown. This time, it wasn't because of the man who could melt me with a single look.

  I thought I saw something move in the tunnel ahead of me. Raspy whispers, a rapid pattern. As I got closer to the sound, my heart began to match the speed. Please let me be imagining this.

  Ghosts weren't real, corpses couldn't come to life. But, I could no longer say monsters didn't exist. I'd fed myself to one yesterday.

  I wasn't crazy. Something was there in the dark. Eyes wide, red rimmed, boggling at me... “Cally!” I gasped. The girl was crouched down, hugging her knees and shaking. She stared through me.

  Bending down, I tried to get her to look at me. “Cally,” I said again, my hand closing on her shoulder. She jerked away, wailed. Those pupils were pinpoints, dancing side to side. Finally they focused on me. “Cally, are you okay?”

  “I don't want to be down here,” she said, lips blue. Her eyes were pits, reminding me too much of the dead things surrounding us.

  Taking her hands, I clasped them tight. She was so cold. “Cally, hey, hon. Stand up, I'll get you out of here.” She blinked at me. “What happened?” I asked soothingly.

  Her words were stuttering, teeth moving up and down, cutting off the sounds in chunks. “I just thought... I shouldn't be scared. This isn't supposed to scare me, but I couldn't take it. All the dead things, the walls, I can't breathe! God, I can't breathe! Get me out here, please, I just need to leave. I can't see any of this anymore!” She was panicking.

  I wrapped my arm around her ribs, tried to will my body to warm her. It wasn't enough; I pulled my jacket off, forced it around her body. She didn't thank me, just kept weirdly holding her stomach. “This way,” I said, pointing down the tunnel. “Follow me, come on, it can't be long.”

  My ability to conjure up things and scare myself, it vanished in the wake of Cally's actual, real terror. She was so upset, so weak looking. It was too much; my mother all over again. That body, just fading away in bed, hair strands frail as snow.

  Surging with the need to keep this girl safe, I guided Cally through the Catacombs. To my relief, we hit the final set of stairs. It was an uneventful, silent climb.

  I never asked what had set her off. Whatever demons she had a burrowing inside of her mind, they were her own. It wasn't my job to pry. All I could do was help get her out of there.

  She was still shivering when I got us to the top of the stairs. We were in a small room in a cramped building, an open door showing the exit to the street.

  Only one man handled this side of the tourist attraction. He took a look at us, quickly rounded his cou
nter. “What happened to her?” he asked, taking Cally's face in his hands. He felt her pulse, flipped her wrists over.

  With the outside world peeking at us through the open door, Cally came back to life. She shook her head, shrugged the man off of her. “I'm fine,” she insisted. Her fingers slid down her arms, realizing that she had my coat on over hers. Blinking, she looked at it, then at me.

  “Are you really okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said firmly, “just worked too hard today in class.” Watching the man who was fretting over us, Cally lifted her voice. “I'm a dancer. My blood sugar is low, that's all it is.”

  He looked relieved, probably understanding that this meant she wasn't his problem after all. Nodding, he gave us one final look as we inched out onto the street.

  No one was waiting for us. It was silent, the sky turning colorless, the sun long gone. “We should get you something warm, coffee or tea or something,” I said.

  “Stop fussing over me,” she growled. Cally started to walk away; her foot hit the edge of the sidewalk. Catching her before she fell, we shared a look. She forced her eyes away, unable to meet mine.

  Lifting Cally's arm over my shoulders, I helped her down the road. “Let me get a taxi for us.”

  She shook her head, wet hair tickling against my cheek. “I need the air, it'll do me some good.”

  I wasn't going to argue. She had a better idea what she needed than I did. All I could do was hover at her side and breathe easier when color returned to her face.

  At the metro, she didn't need me to hold her up anymore. She slid my coat off of her, handing it back to me. “Thanks,” she said. The word was funny coming out of her mouth. She knew it, too, and she looked away again. “What happened back there, you won't...”

  “No. I'm not going to tell anyone, don't worry about that.”

  Cally blessed me with a rare smile. This wasn't how I thought my day would go. Helping Cally, rescuing her from... what? Herself?

  How she'd looked, crouched down in the corner of that tunnel, like she was hiding from something; being hunted. I couldn't guess what it was, but as someone who was dealing with being hunted by my own beast—real, in this case—I refused to press her.

  But if she ever wanted it... I'd have an ear ready for her.

  ****

  When we got back to Lavender House, Valerie and Bronta were sitting up in the common room. I could smell something cooking in the kitchen; my stomach grumbled.

  “Hey!” Bronta said, looking up from the book on her knee. “What happened to you guys?”

  I avoided looking at Cally. “She met up with me in the tunnel, we walked it together,” I said. Lying sucked, but I wasn't about to reveal what it happened.

  “Oh, shitty. What did you think about all the bones and stuff?” Bronta asked.

  “It was really neat.” I unbuttoned my coat, shaking it out before hanging it on the wall. “I've never seen so many bones.”

  Valerie didn't smother the derision in her tone. “I get the feeling Noel didn't appreciate the Catacombs the way she could have. I think she was daydreaming about a certain other type of bone.”

  My mouth went dry. Had she really just said what I thought she had? Fuck, she knows. Of course she does. Everyone has to! Cold paranoid rippled from my gullet upwards, threatening to make me vomit. I stood there, trying to decide how to answer or what to do. In front of me, Bronta looked ready to throw a punch.

  “Leave her alone,” Cally said.

  All of us stared; no one had expected Cally to stand up for me. She leaned on the doorway, glowering at Valerie.

  The redhead scrunched her nose up like a bulldog. “Well, it's the truth. I mean, we all saw them today! I'm not blind. Mr. Braeburn had his hands all over her. It wasn't as if she didn't like it!”

  “Shut the hell up, Valerie!” Bronta shrieked, the muscles in her neck straining.

  There was a drum where my head should have been. Fists were slamming it, ruining my thoughts. I couldn't get words to piece together.

  “It shouldn't be allowed!” Pointing at me, Valerie came so close I saw the freckles on her chin. “How can she get away with it? It's not fair, getting special treatment—getting all the attention!”

  Lifting my head, I looked straight into her eyes—right at the frazzled rage.

  Valerie's nostrils flared. “You should just admit it. You're fucking him, you stupid slut!”

  A crack, like lightning; my fingertips were numb. I stared at them, then at the redness spreading on Valerie's cheek. I'd actually slapped her. I didn't feel my arm move.

  Cradling her face, the girl backed away in surprise. “You hit me!”

  At once, everyone moved. Valeria loomed forward; Cally stepped between us, Bronta copying her.

  “Yeah, well, it's your fault!” Bronta huffed, folding her arms. The tiniest body guard. “You should know better than to accuse someone like that!”

  They protected me, ready for Valerie to retaliate. She looked us over—squinted at me—then retreated into the hall. “Whatever! Fine! Pretend it isn't going on. I'm not stupid, though. If you're sleeping with our instructor, Noel, it will come out.”

  I couldn't see her anymore. One word was a banshee, bouncing in my skull endlessly. Slut slut slut. Downstairs, the front door slammed. I peeked at Cally, thought of the time she'd stormed out on me, too.

  Now she was on my side.

  Flexing my hands, I sat heavily onto the couch. “Holy shit,” I mumbled. Bronta ran into the kitchen, bringing me back a glass of water and a small square of warm ham; what I'd smelled cooking. I took both, scarfing the meat and slurping until the drink dribbled down my neck.

  “Take a breath,” Cally said flatly. Sitting next to me, she didn't touch me, but she watched. “Just relax. You're fine.”

  Squeezing the empty glass, I inhaled deeply. “I can't believe that happened.”

  Crouching on the arm of the couch, Bronta laughed nervously. “The look on her face when you slapped her. She deserved it, though.”

  Tell them, tell them the truth. Admit what's going on! Gnawing my tongue, I put the glass on the floor. “I shouldn't have hit her.”

  “That depends,” Cally said softly. We both looked at the blonde. She hesitated; I knew what she had been about to ask.

  “Depends on what?” Bronta didn't soften her disbelief. Eyeing me, she looked like she was waiting for my cue.

  Standing up, I started to pace the room. “You're both wondering about it. This whole thing—you want me to spell it out to you, right?” They didn't move. They only watched me, wide owl eyes. Was that pity or disgust? Can I even say it out loud? Surely Bronta knew there was truth in Valerie's words. I'd admitted to her what had almost happened with Carter. I hadn't told her where things had ended up.

  I went to speak; Cally interrupted me. “Don't tell us anything. You don't need to.”

  Bronta was perplexed by this mothering side of Cally. She kept squinting at her, wrinkling her forehead. “Uh, what she said. Noel, none of this is our business. Whatever you're doing or not doing... it doesn't matter.”

  That's wrong, I thought sourly, it does matter. “Let's say she's right,” I started uneasily. “Valerie, say she called it. If I was doing anything with Carter...” I almost corrected myself, called him Mr. Braeburn. Standing tall, I pushed on instead. “What would you guys think?”

  Again, Bronta stared at Cally. It bothered her that this wasn't a conversation between just us two. “I'd think it was your life. If you—hypothetically—like this guy, then it's between you and him.”

  Cally waited until I gave her my full attention. “I think,” she said quietly, “that you'd need to decide what's more important to you. Your goals, or love.”

  Bronta sputtered. “Who said anything about love!?”

  Yes. Who HAD said anything about love? It hadn't crossed my mind—this wasn't love, right? What I was doing with Carter was something else. Something far more dark and filthy and primal. The way he m
akes me feel, how my body loses control, that isn't love.

  That's anything BUT love...

  Right?

  I wished I had more water. “Why do I need to choose at all?” I asked.

  “Because your dreams demand all your time, your life. And so does love.”

  That pushed Bronta over the edge. Jumping to her feet, she pointed accusingly at Cally. “Don't listen to her, Noel. What the hell does someone as cold as her know about love?”

  With lips so tight they could snap, Cally rose from the couch. She was taller than all of us, intimidating in her presence. “I know all about love. Let me tell you about it. Love is a cruel, brutal thing that will steal all you are and give nothing back.” Texture filled her voice. She looked at me, didn't blink. “You can't have them both. Dreams, or love. Whatever you pick... you lose the other.”

  The certainty she wore, I didn't dare challenge it. She was vibrating; a slight movement I nearly missed. Like earlier, she held her stomach firmly. I wondered if she wasn't feeling entirely better or if she was just upset. I couldn't ask. She left us there, retreating to her room without slowing down.

  Bronta broke the silence first. “She's wrong. Bitter, and wrong.”

  My mind was running Cally's advice through a filter. Maybe she was wrong, or maybe she knew more about the dark side of love—or whatever this thing was—than any of us.

  I saw her, that thin body bent in the Catacomb shadows. How pale she'd been, how scared... What had she experienced that made her sound so sure?

  I didn't know why, but my gut said Cally might be bitter... but she wasn't wrong.

  Dreams or love? Could I choose, if I had to?

  Reaching down, I twisted the ring on my finger.

  - Chapter Nine -

  Carter Braeburn

  There were three hundred and six cracks in my bedroom ceiling. Or that was as far as I'd gotten before I gave up counting.