by Jessa Russo
“Ariadne has the same tattoo, doesn’t she? In the same place even?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, and not because of the vomiting episode. What a fool I’d been! “She’s more than just a silly ex-girlfriend, Toby. Nobody gets matching tattoos with someone they aren’t serious about.”
“No, Ever, it’s not what you—”
“Oh, please. No more of the it’s not what you think bit. And seriously, is this some sick attempt at angel of death humor?” Gross, I thought to myself. And so not funny. “Ugh, just go, Toby. Seriously. I need some time away from you.”
It was pretty safe to say I did not want to hear his explanation, whatever it was.
I was so grossed out by the idea that he could have once been that serious—maybe even in love—with someone like Ariadne. How could he love someone like her … and then love someone like me? The thought bothered me to no end. I didn’t want to look at him while I pondered what it said about me. Was I more like her than I realized?
But wait. Toby never really loved me. I reminded myself that our whole relationship had been a sham, and it didn’t make me feel any better, but it did make me stop comparing myself to her.
“Go, Toby. Please.”
I pushed past him and headed for the hallway.
He followed me to my room. “Please, Ever … please let me explain everything. There’s so much you don’t understand.”
There’s just something about someone telling me that I don’t understand. It’s got to be one of the most infuriating things in the world.
“Oh, please, Toby. I think I understand just fine. And if I don’t, then let’s just assume I don’t want to understand more. Now go.”
I shut the door in his face then turned on the TV, cranking up the volume to a painful level. I sat down on the bed, not sure of what to do next. Truthfully, I didn’t understand at all. Not even a little bit. But the last thing I wanted to do was continue looking at Toby. I needed to think.
A little while later, I turned the TV down—I wasn’t exaggerating; it actually was painfully loud—and as soon as I lowered the volume, I was startled by a knock on the door.
“Oh god, Toby! Go home! Please!”
“It’s me.”
Frankie. My heart jumped at the sound of his voice, and my breath caught in my throat.
So many feelings rushed to the surface. Love, happiness, confusion, fear … half of me wanted to throw open the door and fling myself into his arms, and the other half of me wanted to yell at him to leave me alone.
“Please, go, Frankie. I need some time to think.”
Open the door. Let him in. Touch him. Hold him.
No.
I didn’t do it. I needed to think, and I couldn’t let anyone distract me. Not even Frankie.
Part of my brain cried out that I didn’t know how much time I had with Frankie in his physical form, but the other half of my brain told me it didn’t matter. I couldn’t just continue behaving like a lovesick little girl. I had to figure out this mess.
I heard his forehead hit the door with a light thump. “Okay, Doll. I’ll be … in the kitchen, I guess.” His footsteps retreated down the hall, and my heart ached to be with him. But I stayed.
I pulled on my pajamas then sat down on the bed, intending to think. Even the best intentions can go to waste when you are as exhausted as I was, and I soon found myself drifting off to sleep. What a long, crazy day.
My birthday.
It was still my birthday. And what an eighteenth birthday it was. Adulthood welcomed me with quite a bang.
This was definitely one birthday I would never forget.
Falling.
I’m falling fast down a slick tunnel, wet with blood.
I reach out to grab for anything that can catch me, but my hands just slide down the wall, the blood smearing as I fall.
So much blood.
Now I’m in that white room again. Blinding, glaring whiteness surrounds me.
Nothing but whiteness. Except for all the red. The blood.
Frankie’s blood.
I slowly make my way to the center of the room.
As I walk, painstakingly slow as if I’m trudging through quicksand, a figure appears in front of me. A beautiful, graceful figure.
A woman.
She is dressed in red, a long flowing frock clinging to her body. At her knees, it fans out like a mermaid’s tail.
Who is she?
I walk further, closing in on her, trying to make her face come into focus.
Ariadne.
I stop. She’s immediately in front of me, those yards previously between us gone in a heartbeat.
As I stand before her, I realize her gown isn’t red at all.
It is white. Had been white.
White silk, ruined with blood.
So much blood.
She smiles and looks down at the source of all the blood.
“You can’t save him, Ever.” Toby’s words, but Ariadne’s voice. “He is mine now.”
I follow her gaze.
Frankie.
When I woke up screaming, Frankie was there again. But this time, solid hands shook me awake. Solid, warm, living hands.
I opened my eyes, and Frankie’s face was only a few inches above mine.
I threw my arms around his neck, terrified I was going to lose him, terror still gripping me from my dream world. As I held him, the fear didn’t fade as it usually did upon waking. Instead, it grew as I quickly recapped what I’d just been through.
Frankie. In solid form.
Ariadne. Trying to win Toby back.
My mom. Dead to the world.
Toby. A soul collector.
Frankie. In solid form. Being this close to him—to a solid Frankie—was strange and unfamiliar. And yet, completely natural. I pulled back, my hands flopping down to the bed on either side of me. I felt awkward, as if hugging him was wrong, or I was overstepping some invisible line. We stared at each other for a few very long moments, and I watched as realization hit him.
The sudden closeness.
The possibilities.
A hungry intensity filled his eyes. I bit my lip, scared of what I might do if I didn’t. My heart rate increased, and my thoughts raced. I actually felt his breath quicken with mine. I felt each of his quick exhalations on my face, his mouth just inches away from mine. The fear eased. The awkwardness ended. Something else filled me entirely.
Need.
He licked his lips and brought his hand up to my face. His thumb lightly brushed my bottom lip. I closed my eyes. My mouth parted on a quick intake of breath, and the impossible happened. He kissed me. A fevered, hungry kiss that sent shivers through my body. A kiss that I had told myself over and over again would never, ever happen. A kiss that had for so long been … impossible.
A kiss that was impossible no longer.
My lips ached with the pressure of his mouth, and my body screamed with joy. My arms ached to hold him, so I wrapped them around his neck once more, pulling him closer to me, reveling in a moment I’d waited so long for. It was almost too good to be true. A tear slid down my cheek.
He wrapped his arms around me in return, holding me the way he’d never been able to before, and my heart rate sped up even more, excitement filling me. He slowly crawled on top of me, his body crushing mine, the thin sheet between us. Everything I’d ever wanted was mine. Finally. He pulled back for a second, looking into my eyes, and then his mouth was back on mine. Electricity shot through me. Our tongues tasted each other, a caressing, playful game, and I didn’t want to stop kissing Frankie for as long as I lived. I’d waited far too long for this moment.
He sat up, pulling away the sheet. He pulled his shirt up over his head, and my breathing picked up rapidly. His body was just as perfect as I remembered—lean with lightly defined muscles, his alabaster skin a beautiful contrast to his dark hair. I couldn’t help myself—my hands had ached to touch him for year
s. They had no restraint now as they explored his chest and arms. He slowly lay down again, half on top of me, our legs tangling together, his body melding with mine like two halves of a whole.
Without the blanket between us, I felt the warmth of his skin where my tank top had slid up, exposing an inch or two of my stomach. It wasn’t enough. I needed to feel more of him.
As if hearing my private thoughts, Frankie’s hand slid down to my waist and up underneath my shirt. He didn’t stop kissing me—never breaking contact with my mouth—assuring me that he’d waited as long as I had for this moment to happen. His hand slowly explored my chest, his touch eliciting sensations I’d never experienced. It had me both nervous and excited, those sensitive parts of me never having been touched before. He tugged at my shirt, and my arms lifted in response, acting on their own accord once more. Slowly, he slid my shirt up over my head. I’d never been this naked with anyone before, and yet, I was completely comfortable. I was not afraid. He looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. When he lay back down, our chests pressed together, and I reached up to hold him to me. We turned slightly, both of us now lying on our sides, pressed tightly together. This closeness, this heated moment, our bare skin touching … it was everything all at once. Happiness, fear, lust, love … .
“I love you.”
I gasped. The words just came out of my mouth. I hadn’t meant to say them. Shit. I’d ruined the moment. What is wrong with me?
His eyes widened ever so slightly, and he brought his mouth back down on mine. His kiss was even hungrier than before, if that was possible. He slid his hand down my body, settling on my hip. Tightening his grip on me, he pulled me closer. One of his legs slid between both of mine, and the pressure of it brought an intense heat to my body. The warm feeling started in my stomach and moved outward, inching its way through my veins. I was overwhelmed with the closeness of him, this guy I’d loved for my entire life.
He leaned away from me slightly, breaking our kiss long enough to look me in the eyes and smile that slightly crooked smile I adored.
“I love you, too, Doll. I’ve loved you since that day you fell out of my tree house.”
“What?” The memory of that day flew to the front of my mind. I could picture it like it was yesterday. My cheeks flushed. “You laughed at me. You called me a baby.”
“I was nine. What do you expect?”
“You love me?”
“More than I could ever put into words.”
I couldn’t help it. Tears streamed down my face, pooling on my pillow. He wiped them, but they didn’t abate. He loves me. He resumed kissing me. My tears continued to slide silently down my cheeks—happy, relieved tears of absolute joy. I wrapped my arms around him once more and dove into his kiss. The skin-on-skin connection between our bodies was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. His kiss—the way it sent shivers and heat through my body simultaneously—was unlike any of the kisses I’d … .
Toby.
My mind whispered the name to me, my conscience determined to ruin my life. I tried to ignore it, but my heart pinched at the thought of him. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t this girl. I couldn’t go any further with Frankie—no matter how long I’d wanted to, or how much I loved him—when I was still technically with Toby. Our relationship hadn’t been real, I knew that now, but I could still be the better person.
Ugh.
Angry at my own conscience, but unable to ignore it any longer, I stopped the kiss, putting my arms between us and pushing Frankie back just a little.
His lips were red and flushed from the pressure of our mouths pressed together, his breathing coming fast and heavy. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to say ‘to hell with right and wrong!’ I wanted to hold him forever, now that I finally could.
I’d wondered if he felt the same way for me all this time. I’d begun to think so, but now I had my answer. And it didn’t matter. Not yet anyway. There was too much to figure out. I couldn’t just rush into making out with Frankie and ignore all the things I’d learned in the past twenty-four hours. I couldn’t ignore the fact that just last night I’d been in bed with Toby.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Damn. “Yes, Frankie. But it’s not … it’s not what you’re thinking. It’s … it’s all of this. I just need some time to sort through everything.”
He sat up and slid away from me, sitting a little further down on the bed, putting distance between us for reasons I imagine mirrored my own. The closer we were, the more we’d need to touch each other. The distance left my arms aching to hold him, but I restrained myself. I reached for my shirt then slid it back on, catching the slightest hint of a frown play at Frankie’s lips.
“Okay,” he said, and I knew he understood me as always, and that he’d be patient. He knew me better than anyone.
I looked at the clock. It was almost morning. I’d slept a few hours, and I knew I should sleep more but didn’t think I could.
Picking up as if we hadn’t just been half-naked together—a fact I found incredibly difficult to ignore with his lean chest still exposed—Frankie asked about my nightmare.
“Can you remember this dream, Doll?”
I nodded.
“Care to share?”
I wanted to. I did. But when I tried to form it into words inside my head, it sounded so crazy. First it was Toby who killed Frankie. Now it was a dream about Ariadne killing Frankie. It just didn’t make sense. Especially now, when Ariadne had done the exact opposite of killing Frankie; Ariadne somehow gave him life. And aren’t dreams supposed to be metaphorical? Weren’t these just the silly conflicted nightmares of someone who was struggling with her feelings for two different guys? Like, subconsciously my mind was telling me that by being with Toby, I would lose Frankie.
It sounded pathetic in my head—or crazy—and I didn’t want Frankie to think either of me.
I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him.
He just nodded, always so understanding. It was time to change the subject.
“Frankie? What happened?”
I didn’t have to clarify. It was the elephant in the room, after all. Frankie sighed and turned, both of us now sitting cross-legged on the bed and facing each other. He picked up a pillow and smoothed the creases on it, searching for the right words to begin. I had no idea what I would learn when he finally found the right words. Would he tell me how he met Ariadne? When he met Ariadne? Would he tell me how long he’d loved me?
“What has he told you?”
My stomach turned at the thought of repeating Toby’s earlier admission, and since I hadn’t eaten anything since last night’s vomiting episode, the bile burned. I realized that maybe—just maybe—I didn’t want to know quite yet. Maybe I just wanted to enjoy Frankie’s presence a little while longer.
Maybe I was being a coward.
I had a strong feeling that learning the truth from Frankie, and soon learning more of the truth from Toby, would shake my world to its core. And I figured that could wait a little bit longer.
“Never mind, Frankie.”
He looked up from his repetitive pillow smoothing.
“Can you just hold me for now? We can talk tomorrow.”
He exhaled a relieved sigh. “Absolutely, Dollface. Absolutely.”
We lay down together, my back to his chest, and his body curled up around mine. His face was pressed into the top of my head, and I had the feeling he was breathing me in again.
Somehow, even after everything I’d been through, sleep managed to find me once more.
I fell asleep under Frankie’s watchful eyes as I often had before, but this time I fell asleep in his protective embrace as well. The arms that held me felt safe, familiar. As if I was finally home.
I was alone the next morning. That much I felt before even opening my eyes.
My room was empty, and it was well after ten. My stomach churned, but it was from hunger, not anxiety. The few additional hours of rest helped me feel better both
physically and emotionally, and I was ready to tackle the task at hand.
Well, at least a little bit ready.
There was a note from Frankie on my desk, telling me he was going to the store. I imagined what he must be feeling leaving the house for the first time in so long, and I tried to ignore a little pang of sadness that he hadn’t wanted me to come along. I wished he had woken me up.
Something else struck me as odd: I hadn’t seen his writing in so long. He had neat writing—his mom used to get so mad at him for writing in all caps. She worried his teachers would chastise him for it. She’d eventually given up.
Seeing his familiar penmanship was such a trivial thing, but a flood of emotion accompanied it. There were suddenly all these little things to notice about him, things that had been lost while he was in ghost form. Things I took for granted before that were now new again, exciting in their very existence. Like the faint smell of cigarette smoke in his breath in my face last night … the tight safety of his arms … the warm pressure of his lips when we kissed … the taste of his mouth on mine … .
Whoa! That’s enough of that!
I had to focus. I had a huge mess of a puzzle in front of me, and I had to get to the bottom of it. There were questions—so many questions—and it was safe to assume they were not going to answer themselves.
There was also the nagging issue of Toby. I wasn’t ready to see him yet. My anger was too fresh, too overwhelming. What he’d done … what he’d brought into my life … and the lies … I didn’t know if I could forgive him. I needed to stay away from Frankie for a little while as well, though moving forward in my quest for answers seemed daunting without him by my side. But he and Toby were distractions, and if I thought it had been bad before, now that I’d kissed them both, I was really in a heap of confusion.
What a mess.
In addition to being distractions, I was a bit scared to hear what they’d have to say. Or, more honestly, what they possibly wouldn’t say, either in the name of soul collector secrecy—geez, that sounds so ridiculous!—or to protect me. I really wouldn’t put it past either of them to hide some of the truth if they thought it would protect me. So, the thought occurred to me that it might not hurt to find out a little on my own before I went to them. If that was even possible, of course. Only time would tell.