Entwined

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Entwined Page 15

by Kat Catesby


  No one, apart from Dee, is pleased with this. My mom looks between my father and me with a lost, terrified expression while my dad stares me down, measuring my conviction.

  I stand my ground.

  “I agree that you should be allowed the freedoms you want and I appreciate your attempt to understand our perspective –”

  I can feel the but coming…

  “– but it is unrealistic of you to think that we’ll suddenly be able to cut-the-apron-strings and let you run off into the world unprepared. I know we haven’t done ourselves any favors by omitting certain information and I know we can’t compel you to cut contact with Mr. Smoak, but I’m hoping we can find a compromise?” asks my father.

  “I’m listening,” I answer warily, still bristling at his presumptuous tone.

  “We would be comfortable giving you the freedoms you’re demanding if we knew that you could protect yourself. Therefore, would you be open to joining the Corps?”

  Demanding?!

  “It is my liberty to live free from parental interference; that’s not a demand, it’s a civil fucking right. The sooner you grasp this very simple concept and acknowledge that the only people at fault are yourselves, then the sooner when can start to rebuild our now tattered relationship. That being said, I could be open to a career in the Corps,” I say slowly.

  The ‘Corps’ is a covert government department comprised entirely of supernaturals employed to combat issues arising from misbehaving immortals. A sort of supernatural police force.

  It works closely with elements of the CIA and FBI that have a high enough security clearance to know the truth about our kinds.

  Its headquarters is located in San Francisco, so it’s not a surprise that if I won’t willingly separate from Jackson my parents would try and negotiate my relocation to the other side of the continent.

  Dee is already signed up to start training with the Corps following graduation, but I haven’t made a decision on what I want to do post-college.

  I know I don’t want to join Dad and work for ‘Stellar Enterprises’ just yet – especially after this.

  I’ve been toying with the idea of joining Dee in the Corps, but now my parents are souring that idea by making it more about what they can ‘deal’ with and less about a choice I’m happy to make.

  “Obviously, we only expect you to undertake an intelligence-based role,” squeaks my mother, clearly shaken by me calling our familial relationship tattered.

  “Deal breaker. If I sign up, I will go into whatever role my aptitude scores suggest would be best. I’ve excelled in self-defense classes so I could see myself being suited to a more front-line position.”

  That’s the truth and I tell it to her…I’m not pandering to my mom anymore. “And given that I would be very well trained in that role, there would be no reason for me to have Tristan, or any other bodyguard, following me around. There are probably rules against having a human accompany a supernatural on covert operations anyway.”

  “But what if you are suited to a position that doesn’t give you combat training?” asks Tristan in a steely tone.

  “Then I’ll be in a building with a lot of people who do have it. You wouldn’t be able to protect me any better than those already trained by the Corps. Either way, your presence isn’t necessary.” I say to Tristan before turning my attention back to my parents. “If you want me on the other side of the country, then the job I do will be my choice and I won’t be babysat by a security detail.”

  My mother can sense she’s losing this battle, but I’m frustrated to see her steely determination flash vibrantly in those brown eyes of hers; she thinks she has a plan.

  “Fine. No security detail, but you give me your phone right now along with the note that boy wrote his number on. We’ll have a replacement phone for you within the hour,” she says with annoying self-satisfaction.

  I give Tristan my best death stare; obviously, he heard my conversation with Jackson through the door last night and ratted me out. There’s no other way my mom would know about Jackson’s note otherwise.

  “You untrustworthy asshole, Tristan. I thought with all your military training you’d at least have some integrity, but you’re just an unscrupulous–”

  “Em, I’m so –”

  “I’M NOT FINISHED! This is not a negotiation; this is my life. I will choose whether or not I join the Corps, I will choose which job I do if I join, I will choose whether or not I see Jackson again, and I will not surrender my phone to you so that you can prevent me from contacting him. This is how I’m living my life; get on board or get out. There’s no place in my life for people who don’t support me.” I fume.

  I am bone-shatteringly tired of this conversation; why is it so hard for them to accept that I’m an independent young woman and they are in the wrong?

  Suddenly, inspiration strikes.

  I’m not capable of cutting my parents out of my life, despite my threat, and honestly, I wouldn’t want to. I love them, despite their faults, and I think my dad is shrewd enough to realize this, but the horror in my mom’s eyes betrays her insecurities. And that’s the real crux of all our problems. They want to negotiate? Let’s negotiate to fix this once and for all.

  “I didn’t mean that,” I breathe heavily. “I don’t want a life without you both in it, but if this level of crazy doesn’t change then there may come a day when I do, and I don’t want to get to that point. In all honesty, I was already considering a career with the Corps, but I wasn’t kidding when I said I will choose which position I take and that I won’t have a bodyguard if I join. You also have no right to demand I stop seeing Jackson, but he seems to be the only leverage I have to make you see reason.” I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it’s the only way I can think to save my relationship with my parents. “I won’t see him and I’ll even give you my phone and the note IF mom goes into therapy.”

  I try not to focus on the many pairs of shocked eyes staring at me and instead end up thinking about how badly I’m about to hurt Jackson and in turn, myself.

  Will he ever forgive me?

  Can I find a way to get a message to him to explain?

  It’s not a bad idea for us to wait until I’m slightly more durable before embarking on our intense – and probably still dangerous – relationship. And in the immediate future, I need my mom to get help.

  She needs to stop being so obsessive and smothering me, but she genuinely needs help to accomplish that. She needs someone who can put the whole supernatural world into perspective for her so that she can trust that maybe I’ll live longer than I did the first time around.

  Of course, I can’t ignore the voice shouting at me that given how Jackson has already lost me once, he’s probably the best person on the planet to look out for my safety.

  My thoughts begin to spiral and thankfully, Dee steps forward and gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.

  “You think I need therapy?” Whispers my mom.

  “Yes. Can you honestly tell me you don’t?” I answer softly – it can’t be easy hearing that your child thinks you need professional help.

  “It’s not a bad idea, Margot,” soothes my father, surprising me. “Sweetheart, she’s not a child and we can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want. If we threaten to cut her off, which is the opposite of what we want, Emilia still wouldn’t do what we want; she’d just forge forward without us. Her world is different from ours and it’s natural for that to be frightening, but she was born equipped to deal with it. My love, you’ve been increasingly stressed and anxious since she returned from Dartmouth and our solution was to increase the level of surveillance, but that didn’t work…for her or you. Instead of ensuring Emilia could always trust in her parents, we’ve alienated her, and instead of coming to terms with everything we’ve learned and our fears for her, we’ve become paranoid. It’s not just you, Sweetheart; I let this go too far, so, I think we should see a therapist together. What do you say?”

  “I su
ppose we can’t continue like this, so if you think it’s best then…okay,” she answers quiet and reluctant.

  “When you make the arrangements, then you can have my phone.”

  It’s only now that they’re agreeing, I realize part of me was hoping they wouldn’t go for it so that I wouldn’t have to leave Jackson again.

  “I know a therapist who is already aware of the supernatural world. Her name is Dr. King, would you like her number?” asks Wilhelmina.

  “Please. Philips, could you make the call?” my dad asks.

  Philips nods silently, takes the number from Wilhelmina and leaves the room to make the call.

  In the awkward moment that follows, my dad folds my mum into a comforting embrace and I resolutely ignore Wilhelmina, who in my opinion has no business being here for this. I look at Tristan’s stony-faced expression and see a flicker of remorse, but it’s going to take a lot more than that to fix our relationship – if that’s even possible. The man spied on me more invasively than I ever could have imagined and constantly reported my whereabouts and actions to my parents like a misbehaving child; whatever trust we built as friends, he destroyed.

  In this lonely moment, all I want is Jackson, but I’ve nailed the coffin shut on that one, so I turn to Dee instead.

  “You’re really going to join me in San Fran?” she asks.

  “I was thinking about joining the Corps anyway; we have way too much fun to go our separate ways. I don’t like how it’s come about, but it’s not something I wasn’t already considering.”

  Just then Philips walks back into the room and confirms my parents’ first appointment with Dr. King for this coming Wednesday.

  I’m tempted to ask for reports of their sessions to be emailed to me to make sure they’re going and see if they’re making any progress, but that would make me no better than them in the stalker stakes.

  I take a deep breath and reluctantly hold up my end of the bargain and hand them my phone.

  “Tristan, could you please go out and buy a replacement phone for Emilia?” my dad asks.

  “I won’t take it if the security seal on the box is broken. I’m not having a phone that has been tampered with so that you can track me. Clean phone, unopened box,” I demand.

  Tristan looks at my dad who nods his agreement before walking out the door. I wonder idly which phone he’ll pick for me… probably something shitty because now we hate each other.

  “Will you call him and tell him what’s happened?” I ask, not needing to clarify that I’m referring to Jackson.

  “And have him storming the campus before you’ve moved to the West Coast? Absolutely not,” snaps my mother.

  I want to argue with her, but I was stupid enough to hand over my phone before I could negotiate for them to tell him.

  So instead I walk toward the door with the intention of retrieving Jackson’s note as promised. There’s no point trying to hold it to ransom; they don’t want Jackson knowing the plan in case he attempts to stop it. And if I don’t get the note, they’ll just send Philips to riffle through my room instead; he’s going to follow me to make sure I don’t copy the note as it is.

  Dee follows and puts herself between me and Philips just as Wilhelmina calls out to her. “Miss. Lauren, if you’d be so kind as to leave your phone here. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Vincent don’t want you calling Mr. Smoak on Emilia’s behalf.”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  They’re all so determined to keep us apart, but there has to be a way to tell him what’s happened.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dee and I finally get a moment’s peace after dinner.

  Wilhelmina is in a meeting and Tristan left with my parents when they realized we wouldn’t be building any bridges until they see Dr. King.

  After spending some time with Sophia, who’s recovering well, we end up sitting on my bed trying to process everything that happened today.

  “Is it wrong to be excited about the two of us heading off for adventures on the West Coast?” Dee asks.

  “No, it’s the only positive that came out of today.”

  “That, and your parents agreeing to therapy.”

  “Let’s be honest, that was long overdue.”

  “Can’t argue with that. Don’t get me wrong, I love your parents, but you were a Disney cartoon away from becoming Rapunzel locked in a tower.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” I laugh and nudge her shoulder with mine.

  “So what time are we leaving?”

  “Leaving?”

  “Well, I have a car and there’s no other way of telling Jackson what’s happened, thanks to our overbearing Matron, the douche-bag-hottie bodyguard, and your prying parents. I am of course assuming that you want to see him before you put a continent between you both?”

  “It’s a four-hour drive and that’s just one way.”

  “So? Road trip! I say we leave in the night to get there for early morning. If we’re lucky, no one will have noticed we’re gone.”

  “So, we turn up, tell him that I can’t be with him for a couple of years until I’m properly immortal and he’s going to be so okay with this that everything is going to miraculously work out?” I ask incredulously.

  “No, dumbass. We go there, tell him that nearly everyone we know is paranoid-crazy and give him your number this time. That way no matter how many times your parents replace your phone or delete his number he can still call you. Now, I know from my own internet snooping, that he’s not on any social media, but there’s this genius thing called email. And being the business mogul that he is, I bet his account is hack proof…even for your parents and Tristan. If they can’t delete you from his inbox, then he’ll always have a way of communicating with you. Hell, if he’s that into you, maybe he’ll come to the West coast with us; there’s nothing your parents can do about that.”

  “True, but there’s a small part of me that can’t ignore the logic that maybe it would be better for us to wait until I’m less easy to kill?”

  “You said that having him lose you once would probably make him so determined to protect you that he’d be the best bodyguard you could ever have. But, if it’s genuinely a concern, then there’s nothing wrong with emailing for a couple of years. He’s waited this long for you, will a couple more years really make that much difference?”

  “Why would you drive a five-hundred-mile round trip just so that I can see Jackson?” I ask.

  “Because you’re my best friend and I’ve never seen you the way you are when you’re thinking about him. I haven’t seen you both together, but I can tell there is some epic-love-story-shit going on between you two and I’m not going to stand by and watch you sacrifice that to save your mom’s sanity. As noble as it is, it isn’t your job. Your mom is surrounded by people who care about her; people who should’ve helped her deal with her issues without you having to break up with the sex god.”

  Good answer.

  So at three in the morning, we walk silently – and invisibly, thanks to Dee’s power – down to her car. Thankfully, it’s not parked so close to the sorority house that the sound of her engine disturbs anyone.

  It’s a long drive North on the I-91, but the adrenaline coursing through my systems keeps me from falling asleep. My stomach churns and I’m too wired and jittery to sing along to the radio like we normally do.

  I find myself checking the wing mirrors and looking over my shoulder to see if we’re being followed, a sick knot in my stomach warning me that this may not go the way I want.

  “Relax, we made a clean getaway,” Dee reassures.

  Hours later we arrive and I direct Dee to a parking lot as close to Jackson’s frat house as possible – I’m hoping he hasn’t moved out since I was last here.

  As we walk around a corner and in the direction of Jackson’s house, I see him running up the street towards us wearing black, basketball shorts and a white, sweat-soaked t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination.

  I didn’t have hi
m down as a runner, but that just highlights the gulf between what he knows about me and what I actually know about him.

  What I do know is how I feel around him and right now I wish Dee had stayed in the car. Sweaty men don’t normally do it for me, but Jackson seems determined to be the exception to every rule I have because I want to lick him all over.

  “If that’s what the students here look like then I went to the wrong school,” Dee says, blatantly perving.

  I push down the angry flash of jealousy and take a moment to remind myself that she’s never met Jackson, so she has no idea who this insanely sexy male specimen is.

  “That’s Jackson,” My voice comes out lighter and more distracted than I intended; the man really does disorientate the higher functions of my brain.

  He looks up at the sound of my voice.

  “Wow,” Dee’s eyes widen comically as she digests the full-frontal assault of Jackson Smoak’s wickedly beautiful face.

  “Emilia?” His step falters before he sprints the remaining distance between us at full speed. He barely slows as he reaches me and hauls me into his embrace.

  His sensual lips find mine and I don’t care about my crazy parents, my audience of one or how sweaty he is; all I care about is this kiss and how I can’t bear the idea that I won’t be able to kiss him like this for years.

  It hurts to even contemplate it.

  There has to be another way.

  Dee coughs behind us.

  “New bodyguard?” he asks, reluctantly ending the kiss.

  “She’d be a definite improvement on the last. This is Dee, my best friend and my ride,” I smile. “Dee this is Jackson.”

  He pulls away from me just enough to shake her hand but keeps one arm firmly wrapped around my lower back.

  “Not that I don’t love the surprise, or that you’ve come all this way to see me, but you didn’t call or message me yesterday and now you turn up first thing? I realize I sound like a needy teenager, but you got me a little worried; is something wrong?”

  “Yesterday did not go well and that’s putting it mildly. They don’t want me anywhere near you until I’m fully immortal – they’re terrified I’ll die again.”

 

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