Made to Love

by DL Kopp

The kid grunted, but slipped further down the bench.

  I put my tray down and plopped into the empty space. That was, of course, after I fell into Octavius and got a strong whiff of his musky, masculine smell. My eyes fluttered, and Octavius brushed back an errant lock of my hair.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I replied, but I was practically dizzy with the idea of him.

  Luckily, Octavius noticed and propped me up. “Guys, this is Calliope. Calliope, the guys.”

  The guys grunted, then looked back down.

  I took a glance at my sorry excuse for food. I had no appetite for anything but the man beside me, so I pushed my tray away. It bumped a colorful folder in pink, and the guy next to me grabbed for it. I was faster, so I picked it up and took a close look.

  “Wow, this is pretty,” I said.

  It was. The background was a swirling gradient of rainbows, and in the foreground, a beautiful horse reared and shook its mane. Or that's what it looked like; the picture didn't move.

  Or did it?

  The horse tossed its head, and I caught a glimpse of a horn on top. It wasn't a horse after all; it was a unicorn. It nickered and looked me in the eye. I reached a finger forward to stroke its soft-looking muzzle.

  Octavius nudged me, and I blinked. The unicorn was still, just like it had always been.

  “Like it?” Octavius asked. “It belonged to Kenny's sister. We use it for lyrics.”

  The guys around the table snickered and kicked at the guy sitting next to me. That had to be Kenny.

  “Yeah,” I said. I handed the notebook over, and Kenny snatched it, looking sullen.

  “Calliope's in my poetry class,” Octavius informed the table. Then he looked at me, and the room spun again. “You must have some great poems already, right?”

  “Sure,” I replied. Normally, I wouldn't admit to anything of the kind, but I felt I could tell him anything.

  “Maybe I could have a look sometime?”

  I couldn't refuse him. I didn't have it in me. “Yeah.”

  He pat my shoulder, and my skin scorched with his touch. His voice was low, intimate. “Great.”

  We sat like that until the bell rang, and the student streamed out of the cafeteria. I shook my head to clear it, and when I came back to myself, the table was empty.

  I practically floated to my next class.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time I got home that evening, my bedroom – and most of the house – was done being set up. There were still a lot of boxes stacked all over the place, but the main furniture had been set up. The entryway was populated with the same big chairs that had filled my childhood home, but the sheer size of the house dwarfed them.

  Mom followed me into the house. “So… did you make any new friends today?” she ventured, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs as I made my way to the second floor.

  I thought of Octavius and blushed. “No.”

  “Do you need help with any homework…?”

  Ignoring my mom, I went down the hall to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I dropped the backpack on the floor and stripped, pulling my night gown out of the top drawer of my armoire – the place the maid was always supposed to put it – and changed into it.

  It felt nice to unwind after such a stressful day, and I flung myself upon the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling with my hand resting on the pillow by my head.

  Did you make any new friends today? Octavius’s face swam through my head.

  I sure as heck hoped so.

  There definitely was plenty of homework to do and months of class to catch up on. I had even found a nice spot in the room at the top of the tower where I could do schoolwork. But fatigue overwhelmed my body, and the thought of getting up and moving was unimaginable.

  Maybe I would take a quick nap. Just for a few minutes.

  Heavy with sleep, my eyelids dropped shut.

  I dozed.

  Dreams flitted throughout my half-consciousness. I soared above the vast, barren ocean, arms spread at my sides. The swollen moon changed above me, and a crescent of shadow swept across its surface. The stars darkened, winked out of existence, and I could no longer see the surface of the water.

  I plunged into its icy depths and found myself in the orchard behind the house. The trees towered above me, dark and oppressive.

  The shadow was coming for me.

  And then… a light. A new star amongst the trees, coming toward me.

  Calliope…

  Consciousness rushed into my body, and I sat straight up, sucking in a hard breath.

  I stared at the room around me, momentarily confused. I had closed my eyes to gloomy daylight, but I opened them now to the darkness of night. The clouds had parted, and the half-moon’s light shone dimly through my bedroom window.

  Leaning over, I found my hot dog alarm clock had been plugged in and set up on my bedside table. It was already almost midnight. I had been sleeping for hours.

  “Ugh,” I groaned, scrubbing my face.

  I had to do homework at some point, but my brain felt like mush from sleeping at a weird time. I stumbled to the sliding doors, shoving them open, and took a deep gasp of ocean air.

  Something – someone – wailed in the distance.

  I froze, holding my breath, but the sound immediately disappeared.

  Had I imagined it? Was it just a sound of the wind through the rocks? Or…?

  And then the wailing arose once more. It was a cry of anguish, such pain and suffering that it tore at my heart. I gripped the railing, staring down the coast along the fields surrounding the manor.

  It sounded like it was coming… from the house.

  Even in the late spring, the bite of the air inside was cold. Such an old place had too many drafts to wander around in a night gown. I shrugged into a long sweater and slipped into the hall, hesitating by my door. My parents wouldn’t want me up and about at this time of night – they still treated me like I was seven, rather than seventeen – but their bedroom was far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear me walking.

  I could still hear the wailing in hall, but it was fainter there. I hurried down the stairs, hugging my sweater around me, and slipped out the tall front doors to the lawn.

  Circling around the house, I tracked the cries with my ears. It was definitely coming from inside the manor… but where?

  Following the side of the house led me back to the orchard. I remembered my dream and shivered.

  A dim light flickered in a frosted window near the ground, not far from the back door leading into the kitchen. That must have meant there was a basement—but I had never seen a way down. Unless that’s where the locked door led.

  Crouching by the window, I squinted through the glass. I could make out some shapeless forms—nothing moving. But the wail was loudest here.

  Someone was crying in our basement.

  I moved to knock on the window, but there was a new sound from within—a thump, a scuffle, something moving. The wail abruptly cut off.

  Silence. The light disappeared.

  I hugged my sweater around me and stood, confused. What in the world had that been?

  Shaken, I returned to my bedroom. The night was frighteningly silent without the wailing. On impulse, I pulled my armoire in front of the door. I would definitely need a lock for the door.

  I got into bed and pulled the covers around me. It was warm in my bedroom, but I shivered anyway.

  The rest of the night was long and sleepless.

  Chapter Nine

  “Did you sleep okay, Cal?”

  I looked over at Mom through bleary eyes. “What do you think?”

  “It takes some adjustment,” my mom said. “New places.”

  “Yeah.” I pretended to focus on my plate, although I watched my parents through my bangs to gauge their reactions. “I have to get used to the crying thing in my basement.”

  There was a clatter, and I looked at my dad. He'd dropped his fork
on the plate, and he was exchanging a worried look with my mom.

  “What are you doing down there, Dad?” I asked. “Who keeps crying?”

  His clenched hands shook with fury. “I told you to stay away!”

  “Dad! What--”

  Before I could finish, he got to his feet and stormed out of the room. I pounded my hands on the dining room table, and the dishes rattled. Mom put a hand to her forehead.

  “That's not a constructive way to solve things,” she said.

  Tears streamed down my face. “I need to get out of here!”

  “It's a little early for school--”

  “I don’t care!”

  My mom got to her feet and grabbed her car keys. I snatched my backpack from where I'd put it by the front door and stormed out the front door, sniffling all the while. I climbed in the passenger's seat and slammed the door, then stared at nothing as Mom climbed in and started the car.

  We went a block before she spoke.

  “It's not like he doesn't want to tell you,” she said. “He just can't.”

  “Why are you defending him?”

  I thought I saw a flash of fear on my mom's face. But I was so tired, she could have been making faces and there was no way I'd be able to tell.

  “Here we are,” she said. Apparently, she'd been lost in silence longer than I thought. Maybe I'd fallen asleep.

  I scowled. “I hate you both.”

  The car hadn't even stopped completely when I stormed out of it. I stumbled, but there was no one around, since I'd gotten there so early. Perfect.

  I ran into the cafeteria and curled up in a corner, then propped my head on my sweater. I napped until the bell rang, at which point I ran to my first class.

  To make matters even worse, Octavius didn't have any of the classes that I had that day: Advanced Catalan, Advanced US History, or Advanced Chem Lab. And he wasn't at lunch, either, even though the rest of his friends were at the same table. I was so miserable I wanted to be dead, and every minute I didn't die became a further disappointment.

  It wasn't until I went to my locker after school that I heard his dulcet tones, and he snuck up behind me.

  “Hi,” I breathed. My heart started to pound.

  “Hey,” he said. His eyes seemed to glisten in the florescent hallway lights. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  I shrugged. “Homework?”

  “I figured.” He leaned in, and I leaned in, too. My eyes closed. “My band has practice. Why don't you come listen?”

  Butterflies bounced against the walls of my stomach so hard I thought it would rupture. “That sounds great.”

  “Great,” he said. “Follow me.”

  We left the school through a north entrance that I'd never seen. It didn't go into the main parking lot, but a smaller gravel area that had broken down cars.

  “This is the auto shop area,” he said. “It makes it easier to get out at the end of the day.”

  He pulled me around a twisted wreck, and I saw his mode of transportation.

  A motorcycle.

  Octavius approached and pulled two helmets off the seat. He tossed one in my direction, and it fell to the ground at my feet.

  “You...had two helmets?” I asked as I picked it up.

  He flashed me his perfect white teeth. “I was hoping you'd come with me.”

  In a smooth motion, he straddled the bike and beckoned me forward. I walked toward him like I was entranced.

  When I was standing next to the bike, he took the helmet from my hands and plunked it on my head. I swung my leg over the back and sat on the bike. It felt so small.

  He reached an arm back and felt for me. “You have to press up against me,” he said, tugging me forward. “Get real tight, and don't let go.”

  I complied and felt a rush of heat through me. Apparently, snuggling so close made my temperature rise, even in Oregon. I wondered why.

  He started the bike, and we jumped forward onto the road.

  Chapter Ten

  His band practiced in an old warehouse not far from my house. Of course, in Coos Bay, nothing was far from my house. Octavius led me in by the hand, and I tried desperately not to sweat from my palm.

  The ride on the motorcycle had left me exhilarated and flushed, but when I saw Octavius’s band mates, my heart only sped faster. He was introducing me to his friends. Like, officially. Outside of school. Distantly, it occurred to me I hadn’t told my parents that I wouldn’t be home after class, but I didn’t care. I just reached into my pocket and turned off my phone to make sure they couldn’t bother me.

  “Hey, guys,” Octavius greeted.

  “Hey!” the guitarist called. The drummer was already playing, headphones over his ears, but he grinned at them silently when they entered.

  “The loser with the guitar is Allen,” Octavius said. “The Asian kid at the drums is Paul. Don’t bother trying to talk to him. He’s half-deaf from not using ear plugs enough.”

  “We were just saying we need more work on ‘Crying Dark,’” Allen said. “I’m not feeling the melody, you know?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Octavius said. He pulled a dusty chair from against the wall and I sat, clutching my backpack to my chest. “I hope you like my song.”

  He went to the mic, fiddled with the dials on the amp, and then they performed. They were right—the song was kind of rough, but I didn’t think it was the melody, or any lack of talent. At least not on Octavius’s part. He was incredible, as expected. But the lyrics fell flat.

  I watched him sing, the flexing of his arms as he squeezed the microphone stand, the dark glimmering of his eyes. He was so dreamy.

  When they finished, he smiled. “What do you think?”

  “Buh,” I said intelligently.

  “I have to admit something to you, Calliope. I didn’t just bring you here today to watch us play.”

  “Why…?”

  “You’ve got amazing poems. I was kind of hoping you might let us use some of them for our music. You can tell we need a little help.”

  I ducked my head. “Oh, no. No way. They’re not that good.”

  “Let me see,” said Allen.

  Reluctantly, I pulled my notebook out of my backpack and passed it over. “Just… look at the top page, I guess.”

  He slid the guitar over his shoulder and sat on the amp, scanning the page. “Seething pain, a wicked bite, I don’t know if I’ll make it home tonight…” Allen read the rest silently, and then met Octavius’s eyes. “This is a whole lot better than what you write.”

  Octavius laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “You see what I mean? It’s great.”

  Allen passed the notebook to Paul, who gave it a quick scan and started tapping his foot on the pedal. “We could do this,” he said. “Why don’t you give me a riff like the one from ‘Crying Dark’?”

  Nodding, Allen began strumming. They set the notebook on the amp where he had been sitting so they could both see. They changed up the tempo, and I sat back, half-interested and half-mortified Octavius would be subjected to more of my poems. What if he didn’t like them?

  “Come on,” he said, gesturing to me. “You know your writing best. Why don’t you help us by singing?”

  “Me?” I asked, eyes widening. “I don’t know…”

  “Come on,” he said, pulling me from the chair. He wrapped his hands around mine and brought them to the microphone. “Just try.” Once he was sure my hands were in place, he slid his down my hips, pressing himself against my back. I tried not to swoon.

  I had never been much of a singer, but with Octavius’s hands cradling my hips, I was pretty certain I could give even Hayley Williams a run for her money. I took a deep breath, nodding at Allen.

  They started over on the riff, and I gave it a measure before singing. “Seething pain, a wicked bite…” The melody flowed from her vocal cords, smooth as silk. “I don’t know if I’ll make it home tonight, baby.”

  Paul did a drum roll, and Octavius began patti
ng a rhythm out on my right hip. My nerves began to fade, and I took a deep breath, emboldened. “I see you there, your shadow in the door. I could give you my heart now, forever more.”

  The rhythm sped. Allen ripped out a short solo, and Octavius leaned forward to the mic, his cheek brushing the top of my head. He picked up the poem where I left off. “Against this darkness all alone, the black firmament chills me to the bone.” His voice was… amazing. Without even thinking about it, I leaned back into him, swaying with his body’s rhythm.

  Together, somehow knowing the right notes, we sang: “A new world, a prison of stone. Free me, sorrow’s sympathy. Don’t leave me alone.”

  I turned a little to look at Octavius. His dark eyes were glimmering, and our lips were just inches from each other.

  “You’re not a bad singer,” Octavius murmured in my ear. I trembled.

  Allen and Paul stopped, giving each other looks. “Not bad?” the drummer said incredulously. “She’s great.”

  My cheeks heated.

  “I’m not as good as you, Octavius,” I mumbled, stepping away from him and taking a seat once more.

  He winked at her from underneath his bangs, and then turned back to his band. “That wasn’t bad, but we can do better. Come on, let’s show Calliope what we can do…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Band practice ran so long that we didn't get back to my house until after dark. And even then, with the light coming from the basement, I didn't want to go in.

  “What are you doing now?” I asked Octavius as I hugged his back. His leather jacket smelled like life itself.

  He shrugged. “Sleeping, probably. We have school tomorrow, after all.”

  “And I was supposed to do homework this afternoon!” What I didn't tell him was that I had done all of my homework at lunch when he hadn't been around. I hadn't had anything better to do, after all. “You should see my apple orchard.”

  “I can sleep some other time,” he said.

  I pulled him off the motorcycle and to the trees. They didn't look nearly as scary now that I had Octavius with me. I also hadn't noticed the delicate white flowers that were starting to bloom on the branches; they shone under the moon, almost like they swallowed the light and pushed it back out through the fragile petals.