iFeel

by Marissa Carmel

  When I start to come around, and snap out of my struggling rage, I realize just how close we are. He is almost completely on top of me; his fresh linen scent fills the closet, and the friction from his skin leaves warm prickles all over mine.

  He stares down at me with an intense glare. The worst is over, but I am far from ok. I still feel the energy rage inside me, but I’m able to put the crazy homicidal part of me at bay. My heart feels unsettled as I stare up at him, wondering what he thinks of me. I’m more than a little embarrassed; I hate anyone seeing me like this.

  I finally look away, and even though I am no longer flailing, he still holds me down. I’m not sure why, maybe he’s just being careful I don’t pull another punch.

  He lets go of one of my wrists and slides my bangs away from my face; they are the only thing concealing my frail emotional state.

  “You’re not the only one with a dark side.” I tell him in a small feeble voice.

  He moves my chin back to him, and despondent tears escape down my face. “You can fight it; you just have to be willing to try.”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know how to fight it. However, something in Justice’s eyes says he believes I can do it. He’s only known me for two days. He might be in for a rude awaking.

  I’m not strong or powerful. I’m powerless. And no matter how much faith someone has in me, my parents, Nikkee, or him. I know my fate. And it isn’t as some great warrior descended down from a powerful line of magic; it’s a slow painful death. We stare intently into each other’s eyes.

  When he finally pushes himself off me, a tiny voice inside screams for him to come back. To my surprise, he slides his hands underneath me and lifts me off the floor. I’m so tired from all the physical excitement; I am limp in his arms; I probably would have ended up sleeping in the closet if he didn’t move me. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  He carries me into the living room and plops me on the couch. I huddle in a ball trying to block the left-over sensations. He turns on the TV and pushes the volume all the way up. The sound of Samba music fills the room.

  “Watch this, try to distract yourself.” He tells me and walks into the kitchen.

  Does he think this is helping?

  Over the music, I hear strange sounds, the blender, and the refrigerator door slamming several times. Nice time for a snack.

  I constrict tighter into a ball; I just want it all to go away.

  Justice sits himself next to me and hands me a blended drink. A gray blended drink.

  “What is that?”

  “Just drink it, it may help.”

  “Did you lace it with THC?” I ask wearily.

  “No, just drink it.” He pushes the glass up to my face; it trembles in my hand.

  I take a sip and immediately spit out whatever the concoction is.

  “That’s just gross!” I brush my tongue with one finger. It tastes like bananas, peanut butter, and cayenne pepper. A lot of cayenne pepper.

  “No job at Smoothie King for you.” I’m disgusted, and forcefully place the glass as far away from me as possible. My spit is now splattered all over my coffee table.

  “You needed a distraction, and look; it worked; you’re not quivering anymore.”

  I pause for a second to feel myself. I’m not shaking, but I still have a headache, and my ears haven’t stopped ringing, and now my tongue burns from the pepper.

  I look around the room unsure of what to do next; I anticipate an aftershock, but it doesn’t come. I sit straight up on my couch for several heavy minutes before I finally relax into the cushions next to Justice. He just sits there patiently waiting for me to collect. I’m impressed with his tolerance this evening. I wonder if he’s been working on his virtues.

  “Better?” He asks, his body completely at ease; one leg crossed over another with his arms sprawled out on the armrest and top of the couch.

  “A little.” I confess.

  He lowers the TV and we sit there quietly, watching the graceful dancers on the screen.

  “You dance?” He asks after a short while, looking back at my free-standing ballet bar and worn toe shoes.

  “Yes, my whole life. My mother was with the New York City Ballet Company. It’s where she met my father.”

  “Both your parents are dancers?”

  “No,” I chuckle. “My father doesn’t have a rhythmic bone in his body. He saw her perform when he took my grandmother to the Ballet for her birthday. He was on leave from the Marines. He said she was the most captivating creature on earth, and he had to meet her. He went back every night until he finally caught her leaving the theater. It was history after that.”

  “And she made you take lessons?”

  “She gave me the lessons, in the basement of our house. She taught me to dance all sorts of styles. Going to school was torturous enough growing up, and she couldn’t bear to see me suffer. So she taught me at home. I really loved it. I used to dream about being Aurora in Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Do you still dream about that?”

  “No.” I curl my knees into my chest. “Some dreams you’re just meant to wake up from. Now I dream of making it through a manicure without having a nervous breakdown.”

  “I think you’re going to be fine,” Justice says casually as he slides a strand of my ponytail off the top of the couch. Even though his touch is removed from any skin, it is still able to light me on fire. “If you just listen to what Cross said, and stop fighting what’s a natural part of you, you’ll be able to do so much more than just get a manicure.”

  I look at him longingly. I wish his words true, but I have no idea how to do that.

  “Do you dance?” I ask him wanting to change the subject.

  “Not like that.” He hints at the TV. “But I’ve been told I can hold my own.”

  “I’d love to see that.” I giggle.

  “Maybe someday you will.” He smiles subtly.

  I settle back into the couch next to Justice, just close enough to feel the warmth of his skin without any physical contact. For some reason, I feel safe when he’s near, like he really is my own personal bodyguard, both emotionally and physically. I watch TV, but think about him. Surprisingly, I’m glad he came over, he chose to stay, and that I didn’t actually make contact with my fist.

  “Have you met other Empath’s before?” I ask him.

  “No, why?”

  “I was just wondering if maybe they were like me. If they never rode a Ferris wheel, or went to an aquarium, or even danced on a stage.” Or if agoraphobia was common among my kind.

  “Magical Empath’s are rare to come across. I imagine it’s because of the same reason I found you curled up in a ball tonight.” He’s sympathetic. “And even if they haven’t done any of those things, it doesn’t make them any less of a person.”

  “It’s a curse.” I conclude.

  “It’s not.” He disagrees. “You just have to get a handle on it, and then you will see your true potential.”

  “Oh ya? What’s that? A whole day of beauty?” I ask cynically.

  “No.” He rolls his eyes. “Empath’s are incredible healers. They can help those who are spiritually lost find a road back to redemption. They can even manipulate the feelings of others. That’s an incredibly powerful gift.”

  I find it ironic that Justice is calling me an emotional healer when I’m the most emotionally broken person I know. How am I supposed to manage any of that, when I can’t even manage myself?

  The stress of the night weighs heavily on me. I can’t tell you when I fell asleep, but I can tell you when I woke up, and where. A warm sensation streaks across my cheek. Justice’s thumb awakens me, and his face is unexpectedly close to mine. It seems my body has taken over the tiny loveseat.

  It’s late; the TV is off, and I am groggy.

  “It’s time for bed little girl.” He lifts me off the couch and carries me into my bedroom, gently resting me on the sheets.

  “How do you feel?” He asks as he pulls
the covers over me.

  “My head doesn’t hurt anymore.” I tell him, when really I have never felt so at ease in my entire life. However, I’m not ready to disclose that much information.

  “I’ll be back to check on you in the morning,” he says, and then he’s gone, leaving me with just the breeze in the windows.

  I try not to look too forward to it, but something in my bones can’t help but be eager for tomorrow.

  Blood and Chocolate

  My morning visitor is late. Usually by now Justice would have graced me with his presence, more often than not by sneaking in and scaring the hell out of me. He loves getting a laugh at my expense. Yet, I find myself looking forward to his visits, something I vehemently try to deny. Our relationship has morphed into something pleasantly platonic. As he spends his night’s hunting the Stalker, he spends his days with me. It has become something of a routine. Justice is convinced this is the calm before the storm; the Stalker plotting his sneak attack like a sleeper cell. And I am all too important to preserve (his words not mine) not to take the silence seriously. Sometimes he makes me feel like I belong in a glass case for safe keeping, being the first Vis Vires discovered in centuries.

  Although we found a comfortable level of camaraderie, there are still those moments where an accidental brush of his skin will light my soul on fire, sending liquid wrought iron coursing through my veins. I fight it with every fiber of my being; it isn’t an emotion meant for us to share. It is mine, and mine alone, and it’s so wrong to feel it.

  Justice is so far out of reach, he might as well be a star in the sky; something to admire from a distance, to appreciate the beauty of, but know it is never attainable to touch. He walks along a different earthly plane, one perpetual and everlasting; while I shun away from the world counting the minutes until my cessation. I can’t love him; I won’t let myself; that emotion will stay buried inside me locked away with a missing key.

  My stomach growls from being neglected; all that occupies it is an early-morning cup of coffee. Working for the family business has its perks, like telework; as long as I’m armed with an iPhone and an iPad, I’m accessible. The one down side is my father’s complaints about my office desk collecting dust instead of Post-It notes.

  I inspect the refrigerator, leftover Chinese, strawberries, and chocolate cake are my choices. I need to do some serious food shopping. My decision is a no brainer. The chocolate cake seduced me.

  I grab a dish out of the cabinet and am about to slap on a healthy slice of cake when my phone goes berserk. Shoot! I drop my head back towards the ceiling “I’m starving!” I whine and hurry out of the kitchen. I take no more than two steps into the living room when a figure sneaks up in my peripheral vision. I drop the plate I forgot I was holding, and it shatters it into large jagged pieces at my feet.

  “Jesus Justice! You need to wear bells!” I clutch the fabric over my heart that is beating right out of my chest.

  His jovial expression quickly turns grim. I watch as his eyes peer down my naked legs to the floor. “Liv?” He says with concern.

  “What?” I follow his path, at my feet a pool of blood is quickly forming; one of the plate pieces has sliced my ankle. “Uh oh,” my head begins to feel light.

  “Oh no! Don’t tell me you faint at the sight of blood?” Justice asks as he swiftly moves towards me.

  “Ok, I won’t,” I tell him as I start to see stars.

  I come to in Justice’s arms. He’s trying to prop me up on my kitchen counter.

  “Keep your head down,” he tells me; I have no objection to his order. I groan from the uncomfortable nauseous feeling. He drapes a cold wet cloth over my neck and applies pressure to my torn ankle, blood still dripping from my heel.

  Justice attends to me patiently as I come around. “Aren’t you glad I’m not a vampire now?” He asks lightly.

  “Very.” I answer sickly. “You have got to stop sneaking up on me like that,” I say rubbing my temples, “or else the Stalker is going to be mad you beat him to the punch.”

  “That’s not funny.” He scowls, “but I really am sorry; I don’t mean to do it.”

  “Ya right.” I call him out for lying.

  “Can you hold this?” He asks looking down at the bloody dishcloth that is wrapped around my ankle. “I need to get the first-aid kit.”

  I take over the pressure. “It’s-” Before I can tell him where it is, he has come and gone, pulling out disinfectant and bandages.

  He pulls away the bloody rag and inspects the damage carefully. He cradles my bare ankle in his cashmere hands.

  “It doesn’t look like you need stitches,” he observes, the bleeding has stopped slightly, but not enough for just a Band-Aid.

  “This may hurt,” he warns as he applies the antiseptic.

  “Ouch!” I jump from the sting. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”

  He immediately blows on the burning wound, cooling the pain. I become queasy again and grab hold of the counter top for support. This time it not the sight of blood that affects me. Star in the sky, star in the sky, I repeat the mantra in my head.

  He wraps my ankle perfectly; it’s obvious he’s no stranger to first aid.

  “All better,” he confirms and looks up at me with sparkling turquoise eyes. Our stare snags, and I quickly find myself falling into his glistening gaze. Star in the…

  His warm breath comes dangerously close to my face as my heartbeat goes berserk. The queasiness from before holds no candle the head spinning moment I’m caught in now. I’ve finally found something more seductive than fudgy chocolate cake.

  I close my eyes readily, and then explode them back open as my cell phone crudely interrupts us. Justice quickly reverts back into his stoic hole as I think of several different ways I can obliterate my interrupting device.

  With uneasy tension, I glance down at the shards of plate still in the kitchen doorway, “I can’t get into the living room,” I tell him breaking off the uncomfortable silence. Jagged edges are not conducive to bare feet, as we can plainly see.

  He evaluates the damage then lifts me into his arms. He carries me over the hazard and lays me down on my brown suede couch.

  Without a word, he cleans up the mess; it’s amazing to watch him move so inhumanly fast. When he’s done he rests himself on the coffee table across from me. He is so numinous he makes no disturbance to the glass at all.

  “All safe.” He grins.

  “Thanks,” I am completely uncomfortable from the near kiss miss that would have been a monumental mistake the moment our lips touched. So much for admiring from a far.

  Regrettably, though, I can’t shake the disappointed feeling I’m having.

  He eyes my sprawled body from head to naked toe. “Do you feel better?” He asks in a soft seductive voice, I’ve never heard him use before.

  “A little.” I answer.

  My head feels light, but I’m not sure if it’s from the blood loss or adrenaline rush. Or maybe it’s from the way his hungry eyes are looking at me. I feel totally exposed; my morning was so hectic I didn’t even have time for a shower. My hair is in a messy bun, and I’m wearing the clingy grey t-shirt Nikkee gave me for my birthday. My ratty boy shorts don’t exactly put me in my sexiest outfit.

  “Can I ask you something?” Justice’s tone is still soft and alluring.

  “Yes,” but I secretly beg for it to be anything than ‘what just happened.’

  “Are you ever going to leave the house? I mean for anything besides food shopping and manicures?”

  Well, except for maybe that….

  “Not if I can help it.” I answer honestly.

  “I’ve come to realize that.”

  “Don’t forget highlight appointments.” I add to the short list.

  He shakes his head at me.

  “I know, pathetic, isn’t it?” I curl my lip.

  “A little.” He agrees. “I’ll admit, when I first met you, I thought I was going to go crazy trying to keep you out of trouble, but s
urprisingly, I find myself being completely bored.”

  I just love it when he’s brutally honest.

  “Sorry I don’t amuse you.”

  “Oh you amuse me; it’s just in a different way than I was expecting.” He smirks, his eyes dazzling.

  I raise a brow, “want to elaborate on that?”

  “Not really,” he says flatly. “Do you feel up to leaving the apartment tonight?” He changes the subject.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Come on, you can’t stay locked in here forever,” he tries to persuade me. “Don’t you want to get out and live a little?”

  I think therein lies the problem; I don’t know what scares me more, living or dying.

  “What did you have in mind?” I hate even asking the question.

  “Dinner at The Cliffs.”

  Dinner? “But you don’t eat anything?” I pointedly point out.

  “No, but I do drink,” he grins a devilish grin. “Come on,” he pushes, seeing the blatant hesitation on my face. “It will be good for you. You’ve been shut in here for days,” he drags out the word.

  I hate to admit he is right. The one plus about being around the Seraph’s is that the only person I can feel in the room is me. At least, I won’t have to worry about any unsolicited emotions invading, so my living would be watered down.

  “I would like a little fresh air.”

  “All the more reason to get out,” he said, further dazzling me with his Caribbean eyes. “You can’t hide in a bunker forever,” he painfully recapped. “And you especially can’t hide from destiny, it always has a way of finding you. Just remember, you’re not mental, you’re magical.”

  “I suddenly feel Confucius in the room.” I say cynically. “Do you have any idea how I go about taking that advice?”

  “Well,” he thinks, “start by separating what your head feels from your heart. Look for boundaries.”

  “That’s easier said than done.” I say skeptically.

  “I am fully confident that you can do it,” he pulls me to my feet. “If your head is anywhere near as smart as your mouth you’ll be just fine,” he grins down at me.