Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1)

by Bartsch, Carina

  “Elyas,” I said. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a wee bit? I’m not nearly as mean to you as you pretend. And whenever I am, you’ve duly earned it.”

  “You’re not as mean to me as I pretend?” he repeated in a high voice. “Emely, I think you have no clue how mean you are sometimes. I admit I have on occasion earned it. But that whole thing at the lake was definitely not fair.”

  Was I really as bad as he was claiming?

  “Fine, maybe the lake incident was a little mean,” I granted.

  ”Oh, a ‘little’ you say, huh?”

  “All right,” I said. “Maybe moderately mean. But what do you want? I already said I was sorry.”

  “You did no such thing!”

  Whoops. Now that he mentioned it . . . “You’re right. OK, all official-like: I apologize. Satisfied?”

  “Yes, and you’ll be sorry if you do something like that again!” He crossed his arms, but I could only smirk.

  More silence.

  “Say,” I said, breaking the quiet. “Why didn’t you warn me about Domenic before?”

  “I did warn you,” he said. “Back at the club that night. Should I remind you how you laughed in my face?”

  It was a couple of months back already, and I’d almost forgotten. You may be too naïve to notice, he had said, but that guy just wants to get you into bed.

  “You can’t hold it against me that I laughed at you for that.”

  “OK,” he conceded. “In view of the situation at the time, your reaction was justified.”

  The situation at the time? Nothing had actually changed since then. Or—

  No, of course nothing had changed. I was just being a typical woman, overinterpreting everything.

  “What would have happened if I had gotten involved with him?”

  “We would have seen each other again at your funeral.” He didn’t sound like he was joking, but I couldn’t help half-smiling.

  The rain was easing up, and with the full moon shining through the thin rain fly and roof of the tent I could make out the contours of Elyas’s face. I rolled onto my stomach and rested my cheek on my crossed arms. Elyas was on his back, staring into space.

  What was going through his head?

  I would never admit it, but I liked lying next to him, listening to his voice. I recalled his describing why playing the piano meant so much to him. I had been fascinated and could have listened to his stories for hours. Whenever he played, he’d said, he could clear his head and forget everything around him, no matter how crappy he was feeling.

  The idea of not having to think sounded terrific, and I envied him. I had never found a way to shut things off like that. Reading helped, but I still took little thinking breaks because very few stories let me disengage from what was on my mind.

  “The thing about three months without sex isn’t exactly true, incidentally,” he said into the quiet.

  I sighed. It was evidence that it was sometimes better when he didn’t talk. “Why am I not surprised?” I mumbled.

  “It’s only three months if we exclude the recent cheek kiss. Three months and a week, to be exact.”

  Now he was speaking my own thoughts aloud to me. If you can hear me now, get out of my head, Elyas!

  “Very funny,” I said.

  “Do you think I’ll ever have a chance to experience that a second time?”

  “Doesn’t look good,” I replied. I had to smile, and unfortunately he noticed that.

  “Not even in ten years?”

  “In ten years you probably won’t be able to remember me anymore.”

  “In ten years you’ll be pregnant with our second child,” he corrected me.

  “Hardly!”

  “See, you’re doing it again!” He looked at me grimly.

  “What?”

  “You’re being mean without noticing it.”

  I grinned. “No, I’m being realistic. And don’t pretend you were being serious.”

  “Emely . . . at some point . . .”

  “At some point?”

  “. . . I’m going to duct-tape your mouth shut!”

  “Ditto!” I laughed.

  We debated which of us deserved practical jokes more, and though Elyas made a good effort, he couldn’t punch any holes in my arguments. Win by knockout, so to speak.

  “Can I ask you something, Emely?” he said after a while.

  “I feel like it’d be smarter to say no.”

  “Who is Luca?”

  “Oh, I knew it!” I moaned, burying my face in my hands. Alex had no idea what fury she had unleashed.

  “Well, who is he?”

  “No one,” I said.

  “Is it someone you . . . like?”

  “Elyas, I’m not going to discuss that with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s none of your business.”

  He smoothed the outer material of his sleeping bag. “I think it is my business.”

  “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

  “If you’re writing e-mails with someone behind my back, then it’s my business.”

  My mouth fell open. Had he said “writing e-mails”?

  “How do you know about that?” I burst out. Then I realized: Alex! “God, I’m going to kill her! I swear it: this time I’m going to kill her!” It was only a question of what the most painful method would be. Ripping out each of her hairs, one by one? Beating her to death with her own shopping bags? I could break off her fingernails or sever her vocal cords. Or better yet: I could combine all of those things and then wring her neck.

  I lowered my face as my breathing grew labored. “All right, Elyas. Bring it on. Get it out of the way. Go ahead, make fun of me.”

  “I wasn’t planning on making fun of you.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “So what is in store for me then?” I said.

  “I just wanted to know if you like him.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Just because.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If I tell you, will you let it be, then?”

  He nodded and met my eyes.

  “Yes, I like him.”

  “A lot?”

  “What kind of stupid questions are these, Elyas?”

  “They’re not stupid questions,” he replied. “I’d just like to know if it makes sense to even keep pursuing you.”

  “It’s never made sense, but that hasn’t stopped you so far.”

  “So you like him a lot?”

  I sighed. “Yes, I like him. But I can’t say much more because I’ve never met him in person. Satisfied?”

  “Almost.”

  “What does ‘almost’ mean?”

  “It means I can’t understand why you like someone you’ve never seen more than you like me.”

  “Elyas, I like pretty much anyone more than you, regardless of whether I’ve seen them or not,” I replied, noticing a half smile on his lips. God, why didn’t he ever take me seriously?

  “So he’s different from me,” he inferred.

  “You might say he’s the complete opposite.”

  “But maybe you gave him a chance to show you what kind of person he is. Something you deny me.”

  “I don’t deny you that; I already know you.”

  “You think you know me.” He sighed, looking me in the eyes again. He paused, then opened his mouth, only to shut it again and look away.

  Neither of us said anything, and with each breath I became more and more aware of how close we were lying to each other. His scent. It tasted like honey as I breathed it in, nearly making me lose my mind.

  I closed my eyes. For months, I had been obsessed with what cologne Elyas wore. Last week—and I would never admit this t
o anyone—I had walked past a boutique selling perfume and cologne, and before I knew it my legs had carried me inside. I sneaked from shelf to shelf like an undercover agent, looking over my shoulder every five minutes. After an hour or so I had smelled every product that might in any way be made for men. I had even checked out a men’s energizing Q10 skin cream and a light-blue bath gel for babies. And for what? Nada. Leaving the boutique, I felt I had both struck out and reached a new low in my life.

  I had only two options to resolve it: either I beat Elyas unconscious and hauled him to a laboratory to analyze his scent, or I mustered all my freaking courage and just asked him!

  I liked Option 1 substantially better, but its implementation would entail complex planning. So I decided on Option 2, and after twenty deep breaths, went for it.

  “Say, Elyas, what kind of cologne is that you wear?” I twiddled my fingers.

  “Hmm?” he asked, distracted. “Why do you ask? I don’t use any.”

  “Very funny. I smell it all the time.”

  “No, really. I don’t use one,” he insisted, frowning at me. “I basically never use cologne or aftershave. You must not be smelling me.”

  “Where does that smell come from then?” I asked.

  “What smell? I don’t smell anything.” He pulled his T-shirt to his nose and sniffed. “Maybe you mean my laundry detergent?”

  Wait a second . . . Something was wrong here . . .

  “Or my deodorant? I’ve been wearing a new one for a couple days,” he continued.

  I ducked deeper and deeper into my sleeping bag. Was I the only one who was hearing bells? Yes, alarm bells. Not good . . . not good . . . not good at all. God, could it be true? Now I wasn’t lying next to Elyas-with-the-nice-cologne. No, I was now lying next to the I-naturally-smell-good jerk.

  “Why do you ask? Do . . . do you think I stink?” he asked, surprised.

  Ha, that’d be nice. His smell was practically driving me insane, and he was worried I thought he stank.

  “A little,” I said.

  “A little?” he repeated, alarmed.

  I giggled.

  “Come on now. Seriously?”

  “No. Calm down. You don’t stink,” I said pulling the sleeping bag back down.

  I could see the relief in his eyes. “But?” he asked.

  Oh, great. What had I gotten myself into?

  “That’s all. You just always have a . . . smell,” I answered.

  “And what, may I ask, do I smell like?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “Hard to say. Somehow tangy and sweet.”

  Elyas smelled his T-shirt again. “Sweet . . . ,” he mumbled, not seeming to know what I meant.

  Maybe he didn’t actually smell, and I was just imagining it? Phantom smells? Was there such a thing? No, dammit. I was not imagining it. I had smelled him, just now. How could someone naturally smell like that?

  “Did you know,” Elyas said, “that I think you smell good?”

  Shivers went down my back. “Elyas,” I said. “Drop it.”

  “Why? Because you don’t want to hear it, or because you won’t believe me anyway?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I was breathing hard and he rolled onto his side to face me. “You’re never going to believe anything I say, huh?”

  I looked into his turquoise-green eyes, which suddenly seemed so close, and my palms suddenly felt sweaty. “I’d love to believe you,” I said, surprised at my own honesty.

  “So why don’t you?” he whispered.

  Because I cannot wrap my brain around the idea of someone like you being interested in me.

  My throat was dry, and I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t trust me, is that it?” His voice sounded thin.

  I shrugged.

  “Emely,” he whispered. “I don’t lie to you. What I say to you, I mean.” He hesitated a moment. “Even before, around the campfire.”

  “That you think I’m uptight?”

  He chuckled. “No. I meant when I said I like you. To be exact, I like you a lot, Emely.”

  All the hairs on my body simultaneously stood on end.

  “Do you believe that?” he said.

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “And if I were to swear it’s true?” The soft timbre of his voice enveloped me like a veil of mist.

  “I . . .” I nestled down into my sleeping bag again. “I mean . . . What are you trying to say?”

  He looked at me for a while. “Give me a chance, Emely. Just one,” he whispered.

  Nurse, we need the defibrillator!

  My pulse stopped for three seconds, and the feeling in my gut intensified.

  “Emely, what do you have to lose if you try to believe me? Just give me the same chance you give everyone else. Give me a chance to prove that you can trust me, and stop assuming everything I say or do is bad. Give us a chance to really get to know each other. That’s all I want.”

  What did I have to lose?

  Not much. Just one totally trivial, minor thing.

  My heart.

  I looked at my hands. Elyas seemed so sincere, so honest. Did I really have such a mistaken image of him? Was I the one ruining everything because of my never-ending mistrust?

  Maybe . . . Maybe I should at least try to believe him? Give him the chance he had so sweetly asked me for?

  Despite my fear, everything pointed to yes. I finally made a decision that was almost impossible to let pass my lips.

  “Don’t screw it up,” I said.

  I could only hope and pray that he even partially grasped how much trust I had just placed in him. A smile swept over his face, finally reaching his eyes, which danced. “I won’t,” he whispered, quietly but resolutely.

  His gaze was so penetrating I felt an invisible band I couldn’t resist draw me closer and closer to him, although I wasn’t moving an inch.

  I nodded.

  “Can we go to sleep now?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said, smiling.

  “Well, then . . . sleep well, Elyas.”

  “Sweet dreams, sweetums.”

  I looked at him for a moment, and then rolled onto my side, turning my back to him.

  Sleep.

  I suspected I wouldn’t sleep.

  Lying in the tent awake for more than an hour, I tried to force my body and my mind to relax—for nothing.

  I even tried counting sheep, but the sheep alternately had brown hair, turquoise-green eyes, or tender hands that wanted to massage my back instead of just jumping over the stupid fence.

  Unlike me, Elyas had evidently found his way to sleep, no problem. He hadn’t moved for ages. The rain had since eased up, and the only sound breaking the quiet was Elyas’s soft and regular breathing. I couldn’t explain why I thought so, but it was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard. Just the simple sound of breathing in and breathing out. Something any human being did thousands of times every day. But when Elyas did it, it seemed more meaningful somehow.

  And some people hide behind a mask because they’re afraid of being hurt. Sebastian’s words echoed, and I wondered whether he had been referring not to me or Alex, but to Elyas. Were all of his brazen advances and jokes ultimately hiding genuine feelings?

  No way.

  Or?

  I tossed and turned through my thoughts, never coming to a resolution. The only thing I felt for sure was a strong urge deep within, and if I gave into it, I would be lying in his arms in a split second.

  It was crazy—and I couldn’t get around it. I wanted to cuddle up to him.

  He probably wouldn’t wake up if I did, but I didn’t dare. As long as there was the least chance he might catch me, the risk was too great.

  I tried to suppress what I wanted, turned my b
ack toward Elyas, closed my eyelids, and rededicated myself to the fruitless enterprise of trying to fall asleep.

  After a while I heard a soft rustling next to me. Before I could figure out what it was, it fell silent again, but I listened for it anyway. Then it started again. This time it didn’t stop. It came closer, as though Elyas were scooting closer to me. I lay motionless, unable to move.

  When his stomach touched my back, I held my breath. Slowly, and almost imperceptibly, he pressed the rest of his body against mine. His knees nestled in behind my bent knees, and my heart pounded in my throat—every second, I was afraid Elyas would hear its loud pumping. Instead, he gently laid his arm around me and held my hand, which rested on my chest. The spots where we touched turned warm. The warmth flowed over me, seeping into my skin through my pores and down into the deepest parts of me.

  His face snuggled into the back of my neck, and I felt his nose stroke my skin as he took a deep breath. My body was paralyzed. I lay there pretending I was asleep, lying in his arms, absorbing every moment of it. A sense of well-being flooded me, rushing through all my cells, building in the middle of my chest.

  There was only one other moment in my life when I could remember feeling this same kind of warmth, this tingling weightlessness in my veins. Seven years ago, it was a feeling unleashed by none other than this same person cuddling behind me. I realized there would probably never be another person who could make me feel this way.

  So many people spend their whole lives searching in vain for their other half, the missing half who completes them. But since it was easier to find a shadow on a cloudy day, people settled for what they could get, over time suppressing the idea that something deeper might be out there waiting for them.

  I had resisted Elyas. More than resisted, actually. But my resistance never had a chance—I couldn’t steer clear of something I had no power over. It was fate, and sooner or later I would have to bend to it because Elyas was exactly that person for me. I felt a deep-seated, supernatural, almost magical connection to him. Whenever I looked into his face, I knew who I was. And when he looked into my eyes, I turned into the person I always wanted to be.

  There was only one thing more depressing than not finding one’s missing half: finding him but fearing you would never have the same meaning for him that he has for you.