True Intentions

by Lisa Kuehne

  I'm actually excited to leave Chicago. I never thought in a million years I would feel this way. But I do . . . . Tomorrow, I'll be at the place I consider home— California.

  While lying in bed picturing my new room—the way Mom described it in our phone calls over the last few days—I drift off to a deep sleep. I dream about playing at my old elementary school playground. I'm about six or seven years old. I look around the playground for Aiden, but, no matter how hard I search, I can't find him. I call his name, but he's nowhere to be found. Suddenly, I see him. He's walking toward me from behind a nearby building. It's as if he appeared out of thin air. I start running toward him, ecstatic to see him. As I approach, something feels wrong, Aiden looks pale and sick. I stop. He's carrying a knife and has a wicked look in his eyes. I turn and sprint back to the playground, but Aiden catches up with me swiftly—without much effort.

  He grabs me by the shoulders and throws me onto the pavement. I lie helplessly with him standing over my body. He looks possessed. His eyes are glazed over like he's a zombie. I scream and jerk, waking from my horrific nightmare. I'm in bed. Thank God it was all a dream. I breathe a sigh of relief, then turn over and see Sam lying next to me.

  "Sam!" I gasp, automatically hugging him without thinking. While embracing him, I take into account how distraught he's made me over the last few days. With those painful memories still fresh in my mind, I abruptly pull back. I'm about to tell him I want to know what's up, but he speaks first.

  "I've missed you. Every night after you fall asleep, I come in here, but make sure I leave before morning." He sounds ashamed.

  "Oh." One thing bothers me.

  "Why didn't you ever wake me up?"

  "Because . . . you look too beautiful while you sleep."

  I frown. His presence is not as gratifying as it had been a moment ago.

  Don't compliment me when I'm irritated at you.

  Instead of wondering if I look beautiful, I'd much rather know why he has been acting so cold lately. I seek reassurance.

  "Why the long face?" he whispers, gently grazing my bare arm with his index finger.

  I hesitate. How honest should I be? I feel chills, and it is not from his touch.

  "I'm scared you're going to change your mind and leave—permanently," I manage to spit out.

  It's the truth. Why someone as amazing as Sam would jeopardize his existence to protect me makes no sense. I've been living with the constant fear he'll eventually realize I'm not worth all this and go back to his old way of existence.

  He is insistent. "Trust me, Ava. I'm not going anywhere . . . . Promise."

  As he stares in my eyes, his expression becomes more playful. "Why are you so intoxicating?"

  "What are you talking about? Me? Intoxicating?"

  He must be confused.

  "You put me under your spell every time I'm around you," he whispers in my ear, kissing the lobe lightly.

  I can't help but smile.

  "Maybe I'm a witch casting a spell on you."

  I watch his teal eyes widen as if he has entered a trance. He sticks his arms in the air, mimicking a zombie.

  "Stop it," I say, trying to control my laughter.

  He smiles. I turn my body over, wrapping my arms around him. I feel my lips burning with the touch of his skin against mine. He moves his face closer to me but stops short. His breath is warm against my cheek. I move to graze over his fully parted lips with my own. I've missed his touch so much. I take in a deep mouthful of air. I feel completely dazed by his scent.

  I follow his firm jawline with my burning lips down his neck, planting small kisses the entire way. I feel a strange aching I've never experienced before. The blood boils under my skin causing my body to feel overly sensitive. I open my eyes and can see his flutter open in response to mine. The unbearable beauty of his teal eyes lures me deeper. I'm mesmerized instantly.

  "What are you thinking," he asks in a soft voice.

  "I'm thinking that you're the one who is intoxicating. I guess I am turning into an alcoholic." I joke. I refuse to remove my lips from his neck while I speak. His scent is strong and breathtaking. Then, he gently pulls my face toward his and presses our lips tightly together. His tongue exploring mine sends my senses into a whirlwind of pleasure. I can't think of anything but wanting more . . . much, much more.

  I have lost all my self-control. Satan is too good at what he does; Sam is the perfect temptation. I'm not sure how to say no to my body any longer, and I'm not convinced I really want to. The temptation is so strong; no sense of right and wrong will change my mind.

  I speak without thinking. "It's impossible to not want to be intimate with you. I want you to be my first . . . here . . . now."

  His lips stop moving, and he gently pulls back, separating us. I hesitate. He's caught me by surprise.

  I'm not prepared for this response.

  "What?" I ask, defensively pulling farther away from him. I cross my arms as if this defensive position will protect my heart from being rejected.

  "We can't, Ava."

  I'm talking about sinning, wanting to be with him in the most intimate, physical way— and he doesn't want me?

  "We can't even think about that," he continues, his voice uncertain.

  Are you kidding me?

  "Hold on! I'm telling you I want you, and you're telling me no?" My voice cracks.

  Tears fill my dry eyes.

  He tenses.

  "Ava, please don't cry," he begs. "Believe me, it's not that I don't want you. I want you more than anything in this world. You're completely lethal to me—in every imaginable way! But, it's really complicated. I don't know how to explain."

  "Try!" My tears are at the point of overflowing.

  He nods.

  I pull my arm away from my chest momentarily to wipe my eye as one tear travels down my cheek.

  "You have a very pure gift. It is that rare gift which is the big threat to Lucifer—

  the main reason he wants you destroyed. There are not many humans that have that sort of gift."

  "What gift?" I ask, sitting straight up. My attention shifts from my personal pity-party to my confusion. I'm baffled. This topic has never come up before, and I don't understand what the hell he's talking about.

  Sam leans over and brushes a piece of my hair out of my face and wipes another tear as he answers.

  "You have a rare, special power to influence humans just as we do. But your gift works opposite of ours. You can influence the good in them like we influence the bad.

  Believe me, your ability to influence is much more powerful than ours. That's why you were tracked down. If Lucifer can't have your soul, he wants you destroyed. He won't stop until you make the choice."

  My confused expression forces him to continue, "If he could somehow get control over your powerful, spiritual ability, he would be even stronger than he presently is . . .

  probably unstoppable."

  "I can't even control my own emotions, much less someone else's." I complain, the tears remaining.

  He smirks. "You have more control and even greater power than you realize.

  You just don't know how to fully utilize it yet. Don't worry. Someday you will."

  "Whatever. And even if I did, it doesn't work when it comes to you. I lose all control and power."

  Sam moves his hand from my hairline and gently brushes my cheek once again, but this time there are no tears to brush away. His touch feels warm against my skin and is instantly relaxing.

  "What does this gift have to do with you rejecting me?" I ask, still hurt from his negative response to my desires.

  "Well, right now you're pure . . . a virgin. If we were to . . . be intimate, that would change. Sin is exactly what Lucifer wants , especially from you. You see, as long as you're pure, Lucifer can't directly kill you, nor can his servants. Only another human can kill you. That's precisely why Matthew influenced Walter. He needed Walter to do the deed— to destroy you. Once you lose your purity,
any one of us can kill you. You'll lose that protection. In every respect, I have hell of a better chance to protect you from a human than one of my own kind. Another dark angel would have the same powers as me and maybe thousands of years more experience of how to use them.

  "So, I have to stay a virgin forever?" I grimace. The tears reappear and trickle down my cheeks. I bow my head in disgrace.

  He puts his hand under my chin and lifts my head up. I see his charming smile through my tears.

  "Not forever . . . . But you have to do it in a non-sinful way," he reassures me.

  "A non-sinful way?" I say, becoming more anxious.

  Is the non-sinful way in Sam's eyes the same as in mine?

  "Marriage," is all he says, answering my question.

  My eyes widen in disbelief. I have to get married in order to ever have sex and stay protected. Panic comes over me. My heart rate and breathing increase rapidly. I distinctly remember back to our conversation earlier this week. I had asked him if dark angels and humans ever got married. The answer was no. I will never be able to be with Sam.

  Anxiety hits the back of my throat, like a wave smashes the beach. My heart sinks, perhaps all the way to the ocean floor.

  Sam picks up on my panic.

  He grabs me, pulling me tightly into his chest. His hands start rubbing the back of my head as he slowly plants a kiss on my brow.

  "I know," he says, his chest tensing up against me. "Don't worry, we will figure it out."

  He lifts his chin and glances up at the silver clock on the wall directly across from the bed. It is late—2:00 a.m. to be exact.

  "You need to try and sleep. We will be heading to the airport in a few hours.

  We'll talk more about this later. I promise. I love you . . . You mean everything to me. I'll figure out a way to be together forever."

  "Ditto," I manage to spit out, using all my physical strength to hold back the rest of the tears.

  He leans down until our eyes met. His lips part slightly, and I feel their softness press against me. I close my eyes, feeling his breathe against my mouth. Within seconds, I feel him slipping away. Our kiss is too brief. I open my eyes to stop him, to beg him to stay, but he is, once again, already gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six – A Couple

  I wake Sunday morning feeling exhausted. Sam and I had said goodbye to Mallory and her family and headed home Saturday. I'll miss my BFF, but this time it's a little different. I'm glad to be home. Truth be told, I've really missed Mom— more than I ever could have anticipated.

  She picked me up at the San Bernardino airport, ecstatic to take me to our new home. She was exaggeratedly proud of her accomplishment. I couldn't remember a time in my life she resembled an eager child more than yesterday. The entire car ride home she talked about the house, everything she'd achieved last week, and all her future plans to remodel the upstairs bathroom and kitchen. She absolutely loves the historic look of this place. I guess she always wanted a historic home in Chicago, but my dad was partial to a more modern look. He trumped her, in that category at least.

  Our Chicago home was decorated in a traditional mix with eccentric style. She has decorating freedom beyond her wildest dreams in this new place. Everything has been her decision. She is acting like a kid in a toy store, seeing endless possibilities ahead. I'm happy for her. She needs this.

  It was difficult for me to get off the plane and pretend I didn't know Sam. I knew I couldn't bring attention to him, especially if I introduce him to my family one day. My mom has an amazing memory. What if she remembered him? I'd end up having some explaining to do. Instead of getting caught in a spider web of trouble, I managed to avoid eye contact with Sam once we exited the aircraft.

  As I look back now, I wish I would have asked Sam when I would see him again.

  As I think about it, I realize I never even told him our new address. How will he know where to find me?

  I assume he won't stay far away for long. But then again, I didn't ask.

  So much for learning not to assume.

  I went to bed Saturday night and woke up this morning with no contact from Sam.

  Should I be worried?

  What if Satan finds him?

  The most practical way to get to me: destroy my protection.

  I miss him when he is not around. His absence leaves me with a void in my heart, reminding me of Aiden and how I've felt since his death. It brings me constant sorrow to know I will never see Aiden's face again. Well, at least not in real life, only through memories and photographs.

  I feel my stomach turn as I imagine the worst. How will I cope if something happens to Sam? It's too horrifying to even consider.

  After a brief stretch, I climb out of bed and tiptoe across the cold, hardwood floors. The coldness on my skin reminds me the first thing I need to do is put some rugs down. That way, my feet won't feel like they are frostbitten every time I move across the bare floor.

  I grab my small box of girl necessities like soap, shampoo, and my toothbrush, and then head down the small hall to the bathroom. At least now I have a shower on the upstairs level. No more carrying my supplies up and down the stairs each day.

  That's not a pleasant memory.

  My new bathroom is old-fashioned and entirely outdated, but one of a kind— like me.

  Small, black and white tiles cover the bathroom floor. The tub/shower combo is an olive green like it was last updated in the 1970s. There's a matching toilet close to the window.

  Interesting . . . . Now everyone can watch me use the restroom.

  The pedestal sink is white, and looks like it might be the original. There is a small closet in the corner where I can store my bathroom supplies. The sink isn't going to offer me any storage, that's for sure.

  I hurry through my shower since I need to get to work on my bedroom. I dry off and throw on a pair of clean underwear, pink short-shorts, my bra, and a plain, white, V-neck T-shirt. I pin my hair up in a towel and open the bathroom door, releasing all the built-up steam. I wipe my hand across the fogged mirror, so I can see enough to brush my teeth. I finish and then head back to my bedroom, leaving my box of supplies in the bathroom. My lavender body lotion is the only thing I'm taking with me.

  I open my bedroom door and gasp, dropping the lotion. The bottle makes a large thud as it hits the floor. I stare in disbelief. Sam is lying across my bed, his legs crossed, reading my diary. I've written thousands of personal thoughts in that stupid book from describing fights with friends, to starting my period. Hell, I even have pages about obsessing over him. The small book is compiled of thoughts I've transferred on to paper— including personal thoughts about him.

  "What are you doing?" I growl, grabbing the book out of his hand. I hold the book tightly to my chest and add, "How did you get in here?"

  A playful smile sweeps across his attractive face.

  "The book was on the corner of the bed under the pillow," he explains.

  I know that, since I had written an entry last night when I lay down for bed.

  How much had he read?

  "What are you doing here, and how did you get in?" I repeat, my cheeks still flush from embarrassment. I can't believe Sam read my personal thoughts. He'll probably think I'm crazy from my descriptions of him over the past few months.

  My journal has been my personal escape for as long as I can remember. I write about my feelings, my experiences, and, most importantly, I write to Aiden. I'd never let anyone read those entries. I'd feel transparent. I don't want anyone looking through me—directly into my soul.

  "I came to see you," he pauses, awaiting my response.

  When I don't change my expression, he adds, "Through that window. You have the most perfect climbing tree right outside." He points toward my north window.

  "What if my mom found you here?"

  "Well, she left you a note . . . . She went to church without you. She thought you might need to catch up on some sleep. But I had a great plan. Just in case she discovered me, I'd
tell her I'm here to attack you," he jokes, grabbing my arm and flinging me on top of him.

  His scent is strong against my skin. I want to bury my face into his chest and stay there for eternity. I feel his muscles underneath his tight, cotton T-shirt. He is way more amazing than any girl could ever dream up. I feel guilty for hogging him all for myself.

  Someone this beautiful should be shared with the whole world. Too bad I'm selfish and want him only for myself . . . now and for always.

  "What's going through that mischievous mind of yours?" he asks, pulling my attention back to the fact he was reading my journal moments ago.

  "Nothing you probably haven't already read out of my book." I growl, then I smile innocently.

  "I think you have our roles confused. I'm supposed to be tempting you, not the other way around."

  He plants a kiss on the center of my neck. His lips cause me to break out in goose bumps. Samuel Perry has such an effect over my mood. I hate how he can easily influence my feelings but love the exhilaration he brings out of me.

  "You are a demon," I say, lightly smacking him on his chest.

  He laughs at my gesture and raises one eyebrow.

  "Now that I know for certain how you really feel about me, I have one question,"

  says, grinning. I know he got the information about my feelings from my stinking journal.

  Darn him . . . .

  "Go ahead and ask," I say, rolling my eyes. I then add, "Of course your answer may still lie in the parts of the book you didn't get to."

  "Oh, don't worry . . . I'm a fast reader. Another benefit of being immortal."

  That comment doesn't ease my anxiety. I suddenly have a strong desire to burn the stupid book.

  He stays quiet.

  "Are you going to ask, or what?" I demand, wanting to get any embarrassing questions over with.

  "I read your entry last night talking about Chicago and our trip. You mentioned you met some hot college guys at the game. Should I be concerned now that I have competition?" he asks, smiling.

  "Very."

  "Well then, I better claim you quickly."

  He swiftly moves, changing positions until he is lying on top of me. It takes my breath away as I anticipate what he may be instigating.