by April Smyth
I smell the spa before I see it. Hot, sticky cinnamon smells are floating down the corridor. When we open the door, the pretty Asian girl I saw yesterday outside the house is smiling at me. Her shiny black hair tied back in a plait. Channing leaves and the girl introduces herself as Aimee. She doesn't talk much and seems very committed to her work. She asks me to undress and wraps a towel around me. She takes me to the steam room first and leaves me in peace to saturate. I come out feeling clammy. I don't know why women come to a spa to sweat, to feel even dirtier than they were when they arrived. But I don't complain. I've never been to a spa before and the experience is certainly interesting.
Aimee gives me a back massage first, ladling scented oils all over my skin and digging her fingers deep into my muscles. Then she moves on to a facial. It feels like she is injecting toxins into my cheeks as she pinches my skin with her fingernails. I am more relieved for the massage to be finished than I was relaxed by it. Aimee suggests I try the sauna but I gently decline. I've had enough steaming and sweating for one morning.
I am picked up from each location like a child from school. Thinking about it, it is just like home. I am never allowed to travel myself. People treating me like I can’t be trusted to take care of myself. I don't understand. I'm the last person you would expect to be hurt.
Channing takes me to the gym. I am in awe of all the fancy technology. I am excited to get started. No running and too many cakes will take its toll on my body and I want to keep in shape especially now that I have somebody to impress. Running on the treadmill isn't ideal, I much prefer being out in the fresh air, feeling like a leave blowing in the wind, but it is definitely better than sitting around in that steamer all day cooking like a vegetable.
Channing stays and works out with me. Watching him lift weights is quite distracting. I am being spoiled with all the good looking people here. Justin and Channing are like cutouts from a catalogue and Gabe was never hard to look at with his pretty eyes and chiselled body. Then there was Maurice: the most beautiful of all. I almost stop moving completely when I think about how unearthly his face was but then I start to laugh thinking about Chec and his tubby stomach. He broke the rule that every man working for Maurice has to be devastatingly good looking.
"It's twelve now, Cassie," Channing says, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. He even makes that move look sexy. I wish I could take him home to the girls from school. They would love him. "I have to go."
My stomach sinks. I know what that means. Time to swap handsome Channing for Gabe, the traitor. I'm not ready to see him. Not since I ran away crying. Maybe it was a good thing that I am going to see him so I could show him that I don't care, that I am here to be with Maurice now and what Gabe does is his own prerogative, it doesn't affect me. I won’t even blink if I pass him the corridor and I would step over him without a second thought if he was lying drunk on the floor. Channing leaves me alone in the gym for a few minutes. I use the crunch machine but with very little fervour because I am so nervous to see Gabe's face. I wonder if he will apologise or pretend nothing has happened. After all he is Maurice's employee, he needs to keep our relationship separate. Our relationship? I don't know what to make of it.
Sweat is dripping down the side of my face when Gabe finally arrives. His face is cold and expressionless. I jump up, startled and we are caught in a moment. What is the look in those beautiful brown eyes? Apology? Regret? Annoyance? Anger? No feeling at all? I don't know which frightens me more. I am afraid of how breathless I get at the sight of him. I would prefer for there to be no electricity between us but there is no denying the static, fuzzy and tangible, between us. Keep thinking about Maurice and his easy smile and his velvety voice.
"Time for a swim," Gabe says. His voice is hard. Any feelings I managed to unlock beforehand are safely guarded by a brick wall once more. I think of the padlocks on the Ponts des Arts and the way he talked about visiting Paris with some girl. I will never find out who Claire is now, never dig deeper and find out what has driven this young man to serving a vampire he clearly despises and shouting for a girl in his sleep, bottle of whisky or champagne in hand.
He takes me to the pool. No speaking. I used to think he disliked me but it goes beyond that. My outburst has pushed him over the edge; I wonder if it got him into trouble from Angelica or, worse, with Maurice. My anger, my fury at how badly he hurt me, how he ruined my life for the past few years, still sizzles at the pit of my stomach. He is the reason I lay in hospital beds, pricked and prodded by doctors like a rodent under inhumane tests. He is the reason researchers and scientists were bargaining for my attention, eagerly anticipating just a drop of my blood, a scrape of my skin cells on a plastic slide. Scrutinising me like I didn't have a face, a voice, a mind. He's the reason dad won't let me go running, one of the few pleasures in my life. I can't even cook or walk home from school alone. I'm made to feel like a freak with an ugly giant walking behind me wherever I go and it's all because of him. I don't have bad luck, Gabe made this happen. If all those tragic accident hadn’t occurred, there would be no media frenzy surrounding me. I could be more normal, as normal as one can be in my situation.
Yet despite knowing this, despite the blood boiling hot underneath my cheeks, my desire to apologise and to wrap my arms around him far outweighs any other emotion. Whenever I see his face, I am struck by how helpless it makes me feel to see how sad he looks. But my lips remain in a straight line, tongue trapped between my teeth.
He stays in the corridor while I swim. There is a swimsuit provided for me in the ladies changing room, hanging beside a complimentary towel and goggles. I miss out the goggles because I'm not really a big swimmer, I like to paddle to and fro. I do the breaststroke up and down the length of the pool, keeping my head above the water, trying to sort through the pile of thoughts lying in a messy heap inside my head.
Dad and Shannon, hopeless, waiting for me to come home. I wonder when, if, I'll make it back and what I could say to them. How do I explain my absence? They'll never let me leave their sight again. What if I never go home? What if Maurice keeps me as his human pet? Somebody to wine and dine. I wouldn't mind but could I really do that to dad?
And what about Bruce and Jana? I want to see them grow up, give them advice and tell them how important it is to be your own person.
Then I think of Gabe, pacing outside in the corridor. He's so angry at me like I'm the one in the wrong. He's the one that broke me down to nothing. I stayed in every night, looking at vampires and all the things I wish I could do instead of actually doing them because of him.
There's Maurice too, slumbering, awaiting for the crescent moon, just like the necklace he gave me, to appear. The he makes me feel is wonderful, making me forget all of my problems with one single glance in my direction but I wonder when he'll get bored of me when the novelty of my condition wear off. Vampires live a long life, humans are dispensable and I fear that one day I won't be of any use to him and in fear that I might tell everyone about his secret lair, he won't send me back home. I’m stuck.
FOURTEEN
By the time I am out of the pool and shower I feel worse than I did when I woke up. I wish I hadn't seen Gabe. Maybe if I hadn't seen him and felt his anguish then I could have let him slip away from my memory. As if on queue, he knocks on the door. I'm wrapped up in a towel and wringing my hair but I tell him to come in. The last time he saw me like this was in Paris. It had only been two days ago but things were so different. I was a different girl; my emotions assembled differently. He made a joke about my legs, I think, as I tuck my towel securely beneath my armpits. I miss his jokes; now he just looks serious, "Angelica said I was to give you a lesson in one of the cars." He says this like he wants me to say I don't want to do it.
A huge part of me knows I should politely decline and return to my room, putting a safe distance between us so I don't have to look at his stern expression and feel sick with wanting. I should leave Gabe to wallow and maybe I could try to sort out the mess I
've made before Maurice wakes. But I can't make myself do it. I don't want to miss out on the opportunity to drive, and to drive such elegant cars. There is no way I could let myself forget it if I said no. Even if it means spending more time with Gabe. He already hates me. I don't particularly like him right now either so it's not like anything can get worse.
When I don't say anything he clears his throat, "Right, you better get dressed. I'll meet you outside." He is breaking the rules. Maurice wouldn't like me wandering the eerily quiet hallways of his home alone. He wants a pair of suspecting eyes watching over me at all times but I'm thankful that Gabe has never been interested in listening to Maurice's orders.
I get dressed but my mind is too frazzled, I'm feeling too impatient, to bother drying my hair carefully and methodically so I just comb my fingers through it and head in the direction of the front of the house. I haven't been alone in the little time that I've spent here so my navigational skills aren't fantastic. The house is so immense with its separate wings and confusing corridors and doors leading to empty rooms. I am beginning to panic when I finally find, and follow, a sign for the Grand Hall because I know it is just beside the entrance.
Gabe is sitting on the same bench I recognise from last night at the party. The one I hyperventilated on after seeing the grey haired vampire's fangs. The same place I realised Gabe's mean secret and any tiny hope that we could have a friendship, any chance that I could help him grow into a happier person was destroyed right here. I shiver. He is sitting with his knees far apart and his head hanging in his hands. Hungover again. I shouldn’t be pitying him, I need to get hyped up about my first ever driving lesson. I've dreamed of this day for years. Desperate to get my hands gripped around a steering wheel, to feel the low thrum of the engine as I press my foot down on the gas. Dad always shrugged and said we would talk about it later if I asked about driving lessons. I was seventeen now and more than ready but he blamed finances. I knew money had nothing to do with it. He was scared. Always scared.
"This is for you," Gabe says, lifting his hand and handing my a leather jacket. I hold it out in front of me at arms length. Upon inspection I see there are grey studs across the shoulders which then fall down the back like stars falling out of the sky and then the signature crescent moon.
I smile and pull the jacket in close to me; I wonder if I can smell Maurice’s scent infused into the leather. I can't wait to see him and I'm glad he has figured out ways to send pieces of him to me when he can’t be with me. I slip my arms into the sleeves, the inside of the jacket is fleecy and warm and I imagine that this warmth is actually Maurice wrapping his arms around me. Then I remember vampires are cold to touch, it would never be like this. Gabe looks disgusted by the goofy grin on my face.
"Let's go."
I am given a choice of any of Maurice’s cars. I look up and down the vast driveway. There are seven cars in total including the little mini that Rose drove yesterday. I scratch that off the list instantly, it was cramped and looks like a frightened rabbit compared to a roaring lion next to the other cars which pose majestically in a line.
I want to run my fingers along the smooth paintwork, the slick metal bodies but I'm afraid that my palmy skin will mark their immaculate condition. A red ferrari, a dark green jaguar, a charcoal Aston Martin. Green dollar signs are flashing in my eyes, Maurice certainly has accumulated a lot of money during his immortal life. I suppose what is the point in living such a long life if you can't enjoy the perks?
My eye is caught on the dainty silver Porsche convertible. It's not the most exciting or dangerous car here but the Porsche feels right. Small and quick, it says unpredictable, it says I'm more than you think. So I point to it and like a child in a candy shop or picking a toy from the Argos catalogue I say, "That one. I want that one."
It's a musky, hot day and I feel the dry air sting my well scrubbed skin. The heat makes the leather seats in the car tacky. I inhale the new car smell and close my eyes. I grip my fingers firmly around the steering wheel, press my foot against the pedals and I turn the key in the ignition. The car jolts forward, the gears make an awful grating sound and the engine cuts out. I turn red.
"Don't get ahead of yourself. Maurice won't like it if you go killing yourself," Gabe says.
Gabe instructs me on how to drive - speaking slowly and methodically. This isn't as exhilarating as I anticipated my first adventure behind the wheel to be. I want fast and furious but this is drab: Gabe speaking through a clenched jaw telling me when to press each pedal.
"Harder on the gas," Gabe says so I push my foot thoroughly to the floor and the engine roars.
"Not that hard," Gabe rolls his eyes. His mocking tone is making it difficult to concentrate. This should be an enjoyable experience but Gabe's presence is infuriating. My thoughts flit frantically between loathing him, hating how he patronises me and all the pain he has caused me, and then desperately wanting his attention and praise. I ease off the gas and take a deep breath, trying to regain some composure.
This is my time, I remind myself, don't let a good memory be tarnished by his smug face. "Press down heavier!" he says exasperatedly. "I should never have agreed to doing this…" he adds under his breath and I slam my food hard against the break, our bodies heave forward from the quick stop. I open my door and turn to look at his perplexed face and say, "Was that hard enough? Huh?" and I storm off.
I start walking in the direction we drove from, back to Maurice’s mansion. The heat is disorientating and there are no distinct marks to indicate that I am going the right way. Only trees, the blinding yellow sunlight and a relentless, dusty road. I don't know if Gabe is following me, probably not, and if he does it won't be because he cares that he has hurt my feelings but only out of contractual obligation.
I start to cry. The tears soak into my palmy cheeks. I hasten my steps, I just want to be home. Real home. I want to go back in time. The past is a place where I don't know Gabe, where I never have to feel this twisting agony at the pit of my stomach, a gaping hole in my chest. I would forfeit Paris and Rose and the beautiful crystalline gifts. I would even give up ever having met Maurice if it meant I didn't ever have to feel the way I did when I was around Gabe.
My silent tears become heavy sobs, intertwining with the sound of my feet crunching in the gravelly road. Then another sound can be heard. A rhythmic thud of running. Gabe is coming now. I don't want him to see me crying again. He already knows he's gotten deep under my skin, I can't let his ego get any bigger. I rub vigorously at my face trying to rid the signs of crying.
I try running faster but my body feels so dense that my legs don't seem capable of carrying it. My head is a deadweight on my neck, my joints feel rusty and unused. I never feel like this. I’m always fresh and healthy but all these erratic emotions are heavy.
I give up.
The sound of his footsteps are close now. I can feel his dark aura filling the air around me. I always know when he is there, his existence is like a vacuum, sucking the air out of my lungs. I turn round and there he is. Effortlessly handsome, aggravatingly so.
"Cassie…" he reaches his hand out to me but this time it is me that pulls away. I remember his face, full of revulsion, when I offered my help to him in the hotel in Paris. "Cassie," he says again.
"Don't touch me. Go away. I hate you," I say, each word rolling messily into the next so my sentences sound like one sloppy slur.
"Won't you just listen to me, please?"
"Why should I listen to you? You've made it your job to make me as miserable as possible. I should be enjoying this," I throw my arms to my sides to gesture at the beautiful surroundings, "Why won't you let me enjoy this? Toulouse and driving fancy cars and meeting vampires? I'm realising my dreams, Gabe, but you're so selfish. You're a moody, stupid boy,” I shove at his chest, “A silly little boy and you don't want anybody else to be happy because you aren't happy. You're sad and lonely so you want everybody else to be sad and lonely too! Well guess what? I will not be like you!" My
words surprise me. I am panting exhausted by their harshness.
Gabe stands there filtering what I have said and looking hurt. I am crying again but I am indecisive as to what these tears mean. Am I angry? Or relieved that the words have finally come out? Or saddened by the expression on his face?
Gabe opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. He does this two or three times before I start to walk away again, unable to bear the silence. Then he tugs at my sleeve, I ferociously turn on my heels and growl, "Don't touch me if I disgust you so much. Just leave me alone, Gabe, that's what you want, isn't it? For me to disappear? So just go away!"
"Is that what you think?" Gabe asks, his voice serene.
I nod, "That is what I know, Gabriel. You walk around me like I'm dripping in poison."
"You don't understand, Cassie," he says scornfully; he is treating me like a little girl again.
"Make me understand!" I exclaim. “For once would you stop being so cryptic and just tell me what you are feeling? You are such an enigma and it is killing me, Gabriel! I can’t take it.”
When I'm looking in his eyes and feel the fiery heat raging between us and hear the many words being hurtled but thousands remaining unsaid I suddenly know why it hurts so much and why my body is riddled with pain whenever I look into his dark eyes. It is because I love him. I am in love with him.
It's stupid. I don't even know him. He keeps his world hidden away from me. I don't know anything about his past, about Claire, why he works for Maurice when he clearly hates him, why he is an alcoholic youth with bad manners and a permanent scowl on his face. He won't open up to me and I shouldn't love him but I do. It's the only thing that explains why I so badly need to feel the relief of Maurice’s company. He numbs the agony of this unrequited love. Gabe abhors my existence and that is far scarier to me than any vampire or fast car could ever be.