Vexed

by Kristy Nicolle

  “I’d die before I let that happen. She’s been through enough.” His words catch me off guard, and I exhale heavily, feeling the tension leave my body. “Upstairs, second door on the left,” he calls after me as I pass and step towards the hall.

  I glimpse his mother, rummaging in the cupboard under the stairs, presumably for the blackout curtains, as I stride through the doorway, and don’t speak, or smile. I merely climb the stairs and ascend into the shadow of the landing.

  As I am looking to the door Vex had instructed me to find, a voice calls out from behind me where another door lies open. I had assumed it was the bathroom.

  “Who the hell are you, beautiful?” I spin on my heel, eyes dilating to black as my Psiren instincts catch me off guard, and I come face to face with a pimple faced teenage boy. He’s standing in a black ripped t-shirt and boxer shorts, his figure scrawny. I scowl.

  “Your worst nightmare, pipsqueak,” I growl through gritted teeth, but the boy doesn’t flinch. He merely crosses his arms over the profanity scrawled across his shirt and stares at me, his expression dead.

  “Is my brother home?” he demands. I let my body go limp, trying to calm my raging instincts.

  “How should I know?” I ask, smirking as the sulky faced teen rolls his eyes and runs his hand back through his greasy black hair.

  “Whatever,” he replies in a grunt, pushing past me and making his way down the stairs. I pause to listen, the sounds of the two brothers reuniting easily audible through the thin floors and walls of the old house in a muffle of masculine greeting.

  Striding across the landing carpet with cat-like softness, I push on the door to Chase’s bedroom. I would say Vex, but the creature he’s become certainly wouldn’t be seen dead with the baby blue walls, posters of a so-called wonder woman, and the shark plushie at the end of the bed… or at least… I don’t think he would. Then again, how well do I really know him?

  Not at all. Clearly. As is evidenced when I turn on the light and pace around the room. He has books… stacks upon stacks of books. I don’t recognise most of the titles but finger the spines, finding myself more interested than I want to admit. His window looks out over the lopsided street outside, and I ponder how a house on a hill can be not the least bit tilted on the inside.

  As I’m inspecting some comic books on the desk by the far left wall, picking up and smelling cologne bottles and rummaging through his drawers without permission, I hear he and his mother talking as their voices float up the stairs.

  “Has he been back?” Vex asks, sentiment slightly muffled. I take a few steps toward the door, creeping for no discernible reason.

  “No, he’s gone. Don’t worry so much. He’ll never hurt me again. You know that’s why we moved.” His mother’s strained and yet unmistakably soft and comforting tone reaches me as I feel my heart falter slightly in its beat. I don’t really know her, but I can tell she’s a great mother, a good person, more than I ever could be. The thought of someone hurting her makes me feel physically ill, something completely out of the blue and abstract for someone like me.

  I stand in the bedroom, stone still, as I take a deep breath, unwillingly inhaling the scent surrounding me with unwanted fondness. This place… it’s a real home. With walls, a kitchen, tea and a hearth. It’s the kind of place where happy memories can take root and flower. Silly I know, but in the beige domesticity of this place, I find myself jealous and longing for something similar to call my own, even though I know it can never be.

  Vex’s footsteps sound on approach, the stairs creaking beneath his weight. I remain standing in the centre of the room, feeling like nothing more than a spare part unwilling to make herself at home.

  “You alright? Tristan didn’t give you any shit, did he?” Vex asks, his eyes widening with actual concern as he slips inside the room. I smirk.

  “Nah. Besides, I can handle myself against a scrawny teenager.”

  “I should bloody hope so. Little shit. He’s trying to make me feel like a fuck up for being away for so long. He has no bloody idea.” He informs me of this, like we’re friends, like we actually care about the stuff that happens in each other’s lives.

  “Yeah, well, he’s a teenager. Since when do they know anything, right?” I ask him, allowing my confrontational urges to fizzle beneath the surface. The dynamic between Vex and me has changed since I stepped into his family home, and I wonder what it is about being enveloped in someone’s nostalgia which does that to me.

  “You alright to take the floor?” Vex asks, throwing me a blanket from the top of the stack of fabric in his arms.

  “Yeah. I prefer to sleep on something hard anyway.” I relinquish this information and Vex’s eyes caress me with surprise as the beginning of a dirty comeback flickers behind his pupils.

  “Why’s that then, Love? I thought you’d pout and demand the bed,” he jokes as I roll my eyes.

  “I prefer not to sleep too heavily, dreams and all.”

  Why did I just tell him that? I wonder, the rage, which had been burning so deep in my soul for him just an hour ago, dissipating like cold spray off the surface of the sea in the height of summer.

  “I’ve had those… well, weird dreams anyway. Ever since that night with Poseidon,” he admits, and I tilt my head at him, sitting down in the chair at his desk as he goes to hang the new pair of curtains across the narrow window. I don’t reply, and as he starts to hook the thick fabric over the curtain rod, he gazes back to me with hooded lids.

  “Of course, we don’t have to sleep at all. I’m sure there are many ways to pass the daylight hours.” His gaze becomes salacious, a flicker of that arrogant prick that I know him to be still remaining despite the return to his origins.

  “Vex. Shut up,” I sigh, mentally drained from the journey. I don’t really want to sleep at all, but the thought of making more small talk with him for twelve hours is just plain intolerable, so I guess I’ll have to settle for the shitty, guilt ridden dreams.

  “I meant reading. Don’t flatter yourself, Love.” He finishes putting up the drapes and then moves over to the bookshelves, which rise in dark wood from floor to ceiling. He runs his fingers along the spines as I had done only moments before and then pulls out a particularly hefty looking leather-bound edition. I glance at the cover.

  “The Bible? What? You going to try and save my soul?” I give him a deadpan expression as he opens the book and shows me the interior.

  Where the pages had once been whole, he’s carved out nearly the entire middle section, leaving only the margins of each page intact. In the gap he’s created, a small bottle of tequila, a packet of cigarettes, and a lighter sit, hidden from prying eyes.

  “Crafty.” I snort at the schoolboy trick.

  He empties the contents of the book and offers me the bottle, but I shake my head. “No, I don’t drink,” I reply, and this time it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

  “Priss. Shame you’re not in one of those little catholic school girl uniforms with that kind of resolve.” He winks at me, as if my sobriety is turning him on.

  Unscrewing the lid, he moves to sit on the windowsill, observing me as he takes a swig before placing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it with an audible click from the solid steel lighter in his palm.

  “Do you have to make everything dirty?” I ask him, and he shakes his head, opening the window beside him a crack.

  “No, Love, it’s a choice. Though, sometimes, non-sexual behaviour can be the most erotic of all…” he explains, and I frown.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demand, and he puffs on his cigarette, exhaling out of the window before jumping down onto the floor and moving back over to the bookshelf. He takes off his leather jacket, slinging it over the desk chair as he bends down and selects another book before pulling it free and throwing it at me. I look down at the cover as it lands in my lap with a dull thud, the impact dislodging dust from its jacket.

  “Pride and Prejudice?” I read the title aloud,
and he nods, inhaling the scent of the smoke deeply as he returns to the window, exhaling the fumes out into the cold night air yet again.

  “Yes, one of my favourite and least favourite books all in one,” he informs me, putting his foot up on the sill and letting the other one dangle against the radiator beneath.

  “Because?” I enquire, flicking through the pages.

  I’m surprised. The print is small, and the language is eloquent. Who knew Vex was literate? He certainly doesn’t act like it.

  “Because Mr. Darcy is arguably one of the biggest assholes and still one of the most desirable men in English literature. He’s a complete dick… and yet… hot as balls for absolutely no reason. It’s where I got my name you know,” he announces, proud, and I feel my eyebrow cock.

  “Chase?” I smirk, feeling the way it rolls off my tongue as wrong with regard to whom it’s referring. The name really doesn’t suit him. It’s far too refined.

  “No. Vexus. Mrs. Bennet, the heroine’s mother, is constantly saying how vexed she is by Mr. Darcy and his bad reputation. I wanted to be that guy.”

  I laugh at him, feeling a genuine smile cross my lips.

  “So, you wanted to be the guy that pisses everyone off? Well, you can put a big tick in that box. You have definitely not failed,” I insist, and he puckers his lips.

  “Oh, you love it though. I see you, the way you get all hot and tingly when I…” he begins, but I cut him off, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms across my chest.

  “Vex me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I think you’re deluded. Maybe all the drinking has melted your brain. I think you’re an asshole,” I remind him, grabbing a pillow from the end of his mattress and creating a make-shift bed on the soft padding of the navy carpet. As I lie down, I get a sniff of the smoke which is blowing back into the room. It makes my skin rise in goosebumps, which I promptly ignore.

  “But I’m your asshole,” Vex persists, and I roll my eyes yet again, exasperated by him as usual.

  “Okay, conversation over.” I put a stop to his crap right here, right now.

  “Hey, you know what’s nice?” I ask him, changing the subject as I put both my palms underneath my head, staring at the sloping ceiling of the room.

  “What?” He sounds bored at the conversation changing, but I push on, undeterred.

  “The fact I haven’t had a vision since this trip started,” I relinquish, and he nods, raising the glass bottle to me and then to his lips.

  “Cheers to that. It’s almost as if the Gods and Goddesses don’t give a shit about our little trip into your past,” he exclaims. I laugh, the sound echoing out of me in cold, unfeeling reverberations.

  “That would be because they don’t,” I bite out, my continual sniggering becoming ever more bitter on my tongue as it spills into the increasingly stagnant air of the room.

  “They’re not as bad as you think. I had one in my head you know.” He defends them, and I snort, wondering when he got so stupid.

  “You were essentially used as a human dummy for Poseidon. That doesn’t make you special you know; that makes you his little play thing here on earth.” I inform him of the facts, and he sighs, snorts, and then exhales heavily before taking a relaxed puff of his cigarette as he leans back against the frosted window pane.

  “I guess it does.” He doesn’t argue with me but continues to smoke and drink as we let silence fall over us.

  I think on his mother and realise that I have the wicked urge to make him uncomfortable.

  “Who are you so scared will find your mother?” I demand, prying even though I know I probably shouldn’t. Do I care about the answer? Perhaps.

  “My dad,” he replies curtly, and I do a double take.

  “Wait, your mother is afraid of your father?” I’m surprised.

  “Yeah, he used to beat the shit out of her. Until I was old enough to get in the way. Then, I used to take his rage instead. In a way I sort of wish he’d show his face, I’d love to take him on as a Psiren. I’d bloody massacre him.” He gets a dreamy look on his face, and I smile. If I were in his shoes, I’d do exactly the same thing.

  “Well, if you need any help with that, you know where I am.” I offer my services, the one thing I know I’m apt at, and he smiles.

  “Thanks, but I think I can handle one asshole alone.” He balls his fist visibly, and I can tell it deeply affects him. I don’t reply again, taking in the information.

  Leaning over from the window, he picks up Pride and Prejudice from atop the silver duvet where I left it and opens the cover. He begins looking through the pages as he lights up another cigarette, and I watch him with half interest. Suddenly he speaks.

  “Angry people are not always wise.”

  “Excuse me?” I exclaim, confused.

  “It’s my favourite quote from this book, the truest if you ask me, Love.” He continues to flip through the pages as I ponder this.

  “Do you think that’s why the Psiren’s are untameable? Too much rage, not even a speck of wisdom?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.

  “I think that you need to be the wisdom for all of us.” His reply makes me shudder at my core, and I pull the blanket around myself as I turn onto my side.

  “I don’t have any wisdom left to give, and even if I did, nobody would care enough to listen,” I mutter, irritated that he’s brought up the situation yet again.

  “You have to make them listen. Especially the council. That’s why Poseidon chose you. Because you’re fierce enough to make them hear you above their own afflictions.” Vex’s voice breaks, like what he’s saying is an inner truth he’s been concealing for longer than any of us have known.

  “And what would these afflictions be exactly?” I query him, genuinely interested despite myself, and he smirks as he finishes his cigarette, flicking it out of the window before drawing the curtains and casting the room in uninterrupted black.

  “The affliction of all of those put in positions of superiority, Love. Pride and prejudice.”

  I don’t know what to say to this, so I say nothing. Instead, I choose to sleep away the day rather than listening to the advice of someone much more irritating than I…but also, apparently, wiser and surprisingly more well-read than I will ever be.

  Chapter Five

  A Grave Business

  He trembles, tied to a simple wooden chair, naked.

  Taking several strides forward, my tongue slipping between my lips, lapping up the salt of his sweat and blood-soaked skin as I caress the side of his face with my mouth.

  I feel desire pool in my stomach as I raise my pearl strung whip, leaping back onto the balls of my feet and lashing the side of his neck with an expert command of my favourite weapon. My heart is pounding in my chest, blood rushing around my metallically strong muscles. Dilating with dark power, my eyes take in the victim of my violence as his head hangs down low, and the last cry of his agony fades to nothing against the rusted iron of the warehouse walls.

  “Why are you doing this?” he whimpers, looking up at me as his damp, dark fringe falls over the desperate fatigue of his limpid green eyes.

  “Why? Does there have to be a reason?” My voice is real, cold, honest. The truth is, I’ve been bored for days now, and as Titus has been busy trying to obtain the Trident of Poseidon, for a reason that is hard to discern as separate from his vanity and pride, I have become restless. The shadow stirs within my mind, shifting like a tide readying to tumult with the power of a storm, which has been brewing since long before dawn.

  I tighten my grip around the hilt of my whip, feeling excitement clutch at me before I lash out at him again. This man has done nothing wrong. Not really.

  I’d picked him up in a bar, lured him back to an empty warehouse with the promise of sex, and now he will suffer for assuming I could ever even come close to being used for his pleasure.

  “Aghh!” he cries out, and I feel my lips pull back over my teeth in a feral smile, this being the first joyou
s emotion to penetrate my armoured hide in as many days.

  I startle awake, disturbed not only by the guilty hammering of my own heart, but also by the stark, white light being cast down upon me. Vex has opened his laptop on the desk where he’s now sat, towering over me as I stir beneath the blanket, too hot.

  “Evening, Love,” he calls back over his shoulder as his fingers tap audibly on plastic keys.

  “What time is it?” I murmur, and he looks back over his shoulder at me momentarily before spinning the desk chair to face me.

  “A little after four in the afternoon. It’s now getting dark. Good dream?” he insists, and I scowl.

  “Not really.” I sit up, avoiding eye contact with him as the familiar guilt of such a dream falls over me. Most people would think that it was the act of torturing someone that continues to leave me guilty, and yet it isn’t. It’s the fact that I desire to do it all over again. I don’t regret it. Not even close. I’m aroused by the mere prospect of reliving it, of giving into those urges which I know are forbidden. I know, though, that I must restrain these desires, wrangle them in a stranglehold, even if it breaks me to do so.

  “Could’ve fooled me. You were moaning something bloody fantastic.” He winks and I roll my eyes.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, changing the subject. Sitting up with continued and fluid motion, I push myself up onto my feet, stretching as he licks his bottom lip and his eyes trace where my shirt pulls up, exposing my bare midriff.

  “I’m seeing if I can get a hold of some of the death records for Lincoln from the sixteen hundreds. Might make tonight’s search a little easier,” he explains, and I peer over his shoulder into the stark light of the screen.

  “I thought you knew where the grave was?” I exclaim. He looks at me like I’m insane.

  “I know it’s in Lincoln. I don’t know exactly where…” he admits, tearing his gaze away from my stomach too slowly as I slap him on the arm.

  “You asshole! Why did you even come here with me? I could’ve found Lincoln on a map!” I exclaim, and he shrugs.