by H. S. Valley
‘Acceptable.’ He tips his own cup back, draining it, and sets them both on the wide wooden frame of the bed end.
I reach for his belt and he lets me unhook it, pulling the leather free and leaving it to hang so the buckle tinks against itself in the quiet. It sounds different tonight. More significant.
‘OK?’ he asks, and I nod, not trusting my voice.
It’s easier to kiss him than to think about everything I’m feeling. Easier to read into his touch than the way he’s looking at me. Easier to get us where we’re going if I just let my body take over and tread the familiar path into comfortable, instinctive oblivion.
I pull back and flick off the overhead lights, draping the room in darkness. My gut thrums a little, my heart thumps, and he drags me back in so there’s nothing but darkness and quiet and his mouth on mine.
Then there’s a soft tapping sound, the lock clicks, and the door opens with a squeak. Light floods in and suddenly we’re not alone anymore.
CHAPTER 16
BE MINE TONIGHT
We both turn and find Sam silhouetted in the bright light of the doorway.
‘Gimme a second,’ he hisses down the hall, gaze averted just long enough that Elliott has a chance to put some platonic distance between us before Sam turns his attention to the room. He startles when he sees me. ‘What the hell are you standing around in the dark for?’ he says. ‘I thought you were going to bed?’
A valid question when we’re both still fully clothed, but the lights are off. Shit.
‘Shush, we’re trying to settle Meggan,’ Elliott whispers before I can come up with anything. I admire his quick thinking – he’s turned to lean over the little purple cot, lending legitimacy to his claim and also hiding the fact his belt is undone. ‘Could you keep it down?’
‘Sorry.’ Sam raises his hands in surrender, grabs the blanket off the end of his bed and leaves, though not before shooting me a very curious look. I really, really wish he was a bit stupider – I’d be getting away with this a lot better. I also probably wouldn’t be doing quite so well in some of my classes, though, so it’s a double-edged sword. The door clicks shut behind him.
‘Did you not think to maybe lock the door?’ Elliott asks, and I hear the telltale sound of his belt being refastened. ‘That was very nearly very bad.’
‘I did lock the door. He still has a key.’
Elliott lets out a long-suffering sigh. ‘You staff kids are a law unto your own. I gave my key to Manaia, and I assumed you’d given me Sam’s. Nice of you to mention there was a third one.’
I wonder if I should tell him we all have master keys, Sam, Silvia and I. Not legitimately – we really, honestly, shouldn’t – but when you teach a bunch of teenagers to replicate small, inanimate objects and someone (Silvia’s mum) happens to leave a master key lying around (OK, it was in her handbag) then what do you expect? Maybe I’m better off distracting him.
‘Sorry. I have somewhere else we can go if you want. Somewhere a bit more private.’ At least, I think it is. I’m pretty sure Mum gave me the only key to those rooms. There’s still the masters, but at least no-one has any reason to go looking for me in there.
Elliott raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m not having sex with you in a tunnel.’
‘That’s not where I’m taking you. Come on.’ I get up and put my hoodie back on, wondering if we can get away with taking a blanket, since I don’t know what’s left in Dad’s rooms. I pull a light woollen one out of the wardrobe and hold it out. ‘If we wrap Meggan in this, no-one will question us taking it with us.’
‘Where are we going that we need a blanket?’ He scowls at me.
‘We can stay here and just go to sleep if you want.’ I shrug to prove I don’t mind, just in case he’s getting cold feet. I don’t know why I’m not. Maybe it’s too much to process now and I’m beyond normal feelings. Maybe Sam interrupting us made me realise how much I wish he hadn’t.
Elliott sighs again instead of answering, then gently scoops Meggan out of her cot and hands her to me. I see him lift his pillow, grab the sachet that’s still stashed under there, and slide it into his pocket. He eyes the backpack. I hope he’s not going to try bringing the 40oz of whiskey with us; we’ll get flayed if we’re caught, and it’s much harder to hide a bottle that size than a hipflask.
‘The rum, not the whiskey,’ I say, and he grunts in reluctant agreement, fishing around for it before nudging the backpack under the bed. He turns around with it in his hand and looks down, hopelessly, at his pockets. He’s too skinny to hide anything even that small under his clothes, and going out in an uncharacteristically baggy jacket is just going to look suspicious. I hold a blanket-swaddled Meggan out to him. ‘We can hide it in my pants, my jumper will cover it.’
I’m expecting him to take the baby, but instead he reaches for my waistband, manages to grab both my jeans and my underwear, and unceremoniously shoves the slim glass bottle down the front.
‘What the hell?’ I gasp as my ardour withers. The glass is bloody cold and I could kill him. ‘You could’ve warmed it up first, you bastard.’
‘That’ll teach you for lying about the key.’ He pulls my jumper down over the bump and turns for the door.
‘I didn’t lie,’ I say, following him into the corridor. ‘It was an omission.’
‘Your benefits will be an omission if you do it again.’
I let it go – we’re almost in earshot of the student lounge. I give Silvia and Sam a nod in passing as we walk through.
‘Where are you going?’ Silvia calls after us.
‘Taking Meggan for a walk; see if that helps her settle,’ I say, and hope they don’t notice that she’s completely silent right now. Or notice when we’re gone for an hour. Or two. Or however long it takes, what would I know?
She looks appeased, even if Sam doesn’t, quite. I try to act normal and just keep following Elliott. He speaks again once we’re alone in the corridor.
‘So where are we going?’
‘Staff wing. I have a key for my dad’s rooms.’
‘Won’t your mother be there?’
‘What? No, he had his own separate rooms as well.’
Elliott’s quiet for a moment. ‘Why?’
‘I guess he got offered them and said yes? Dad wrote textbooks and articles and stuff, so he used it as a quiet space to work. Plus, the apartments are pretty small – they probably appreciated some time away from each other.’
‘Sounds healthy. I can see why their relationship was so successful.’
‘Shut up, Elliott.’
‘This is the worst date ever.’
‘It’s not a date,’ I say, but I’m not sure of that now that I’m saying it.
‘Well, then, it’s the worst one of whatever you think it is.’
‘Let’s just have a look before you get your knickers in a twist. It might be fine.’
‘“Fine” sounds so romantic. I can’t wait.’
I stop walking. This isn’t how I’d pictured it going. He takes a few more steps before he realises I’m not keeping pace with him anymore.
‘What now?’ he says.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask, pushing my own frustration down. If he’s being snarky, it might be a sign, and I don’t want to be that guy. My mum didn’t raise no peer-pressuring sleazebag. ‘Seriously. We can just go for a walk and get a tea if you want. Try again tomorrow. Or later. Whatever.’
He takes a breath, not meeting my eyes. ‘It’s fine, let’s just get this over with.’
‘I don’t want to get it over with.’
An announcement about extracurriculars comes over the tannoy just as Elliott opens his mouth to respond, and he glares at the tinny old speaker until it stops. ‘Can we stop having this conversation in the corridor, at least?’ he says.
I shrug, and we walk, and neither of us says another thing until we’re behind closed doors, in my father’s living room.
‘Te Maro … are you sure he’s gone?’ Elliott asks, and when I
don’t answer immediately, he corrects himself: ‘Sorry. Tim, are you sure he’s gone?’
I have bigger things on my mind than what he’s calling me. Like why my dad’s lounge still seems to be furnished, and full of his stuff, including his wall of books and his couch and his computer perched on his writing desk. My heart stutters and I hold Meggan a little tighter. Comfortingly, there at least seems to be a noticeable layer of dust on everything, so I’m not imagining that he left. There’s just … something else going on, maybe.
‘Doesn’t look like he lives here anymore,’ I say.
‘Yes, but it does appear that he left everything behind.’
‘Yeah.’
It’s very, very weird, but I try to focus on the fact that something of him is still left here for me. A Dad bubble. I might actually be able to use the space without crying – this is far less depressing than a completely empty room would’ve been. And his books might be useful for studying. Maybe it’s even evidence that he and Mum might get back together, eventually – proof that he knew there was no sense in moving all his things. I can’t help smiling at the thought and, honestly, it would explain a lot of things about how it went down with them.
On a more immediate note, the big leather couch in front of us is going to be miles better than the shitty couch in the workshop, or being interrupted again.
Elliott is apparently thinking the same thing. ‘Why didn’t we come here the first time? Instead of the workshop?’
‘Wasn’t really ready to see it without him in it,’ I say, and he nods, accepting that without saying anything else.
Instead, he walks over and opens the nearest door, revealing a small bathroom that’s almost identical to the one at my mother’s, and in the same position as hers too. I’d imagine all the staff rooms are pretty similar. Hanging on the wall between the vanity and the shower I can just see an orange hand towel, and its presence seems superfluous if my dad isn’t planning on coming back. Another good sign.
Elliott moves towards the next door along and I find myself following, curious to see what the bedroom holds since I know Dad never slept here. Curious if there’s a bed and if it has sheets and everything or if it’s just a rusted frame and a moth-eaten mattress, leftover from whoever lived here years ago.
I’ve often wondered what this place was before it was a school, but Mum just looks at me funny when I ask, even though there’s a whole wing that no-one goes into because it just feels wrong. I’m getting a similar feeling now, deep in my gut, and I’m almost scared when Elliott wraps his hand around the doorknob and twists.
I needn’t have been. It looks like a completely normal bedroom, if a little sparse. There are boxes stacked to one side, a dresser with nothing on it, a heater and a neatly made bed. The bedside tables are completely barren except for a layer of dust. No lamp, no books, no generic box of tissues, nothing. I look up. There’s not even a lightbulb in the socket. I take the rum out of my pants and turn the heater on one-handed, Meggan still held close. The boxes are full of more books, of course. Typical Dad.
‘Looks like an abandoned motel room,’ Elliott says. He pulls out his pale, flat piece of rose quartz and places it on the corner of the dresser. He taps it and the room glows pink. ‘Give me your hand.’ He reaches out and wiggles his fingers at me.
‘What for?’
‘I’m going to do a spot of dusting,’ he says.
He scoops at the air in front of him with his other hand, trapping some in his fist. It’s a familiar move, but not one I expected to see him using as a Minder – it’s Elemental magic. Curious.
I take his hand, but I hold on to my own magic as he says the unfamiliar incantation and blows across his closed fist. The gesture makes sense for what I know of Elemental magic, and magic in general. We use gestures a bit in Defence, like recently with shielding, but that’s advanced stuff; we’ve only been learning it this year, so it seems odd that he’d know it. Learning magic from other Specialties isn’t against the rules, it’s just really, really uncommon, since the teachers don’t have time for free lessons outside of class. It relies very heavily on another student being capable of teaching you: you both need the time, and to be good enough. I wonder if Elliott could teach me things …
I let my magic go. His gentle eddy of wind immediately picks up, the bedspread rippling and flapping, the pillows flopping over, a visible whirl of dust forming over it, spinning and twisting. A part of me feels itself curling through him, exploring all his corners and being drawn into his hands, directed by his intentions. It’s nice. He’s calm and confident and my magic feels safe in him.
He reaches behind us, pulls a drawer out of the dresser and holds it against the edge of the bed, pulling on my magic to coax the little tornado across the mattress until it’s dropped inside. When the swirling dust slows and flops down into a small pile in the bottom of the drawer, he turns again and slides the whole thing back into the dresser. He drops my hand.
‘Where did you learn that?’ I ask. His control seems well beyond what a non-Elemental should be able to achieve, and he did it while messing about with the drawer as well.
‘Manaia.’ He shrugs.
‘It seems pretty advanced considering it’s not your Specialty.’
‘We’re both quite clever.’ He smiles. ‘Besides, most of our other friends were expelled, so we found ourselves with a lot of free time this year,’ he says, bending down to take off his shoes. ‘Had to fill it with something.’
‘Fair enough.’
He looks up at me from under his lashes. ‘I could probably teach you,’ he says, and that’s what I’d hoped for so I can’t help smiling.
The moment hangs there between us, my impressed affection adding itself to the mix of emotions, seeping into the confusion and longing of being in my father’s space. The weirdness of finding his rooms like this can wait; he left and he’s certainly not here now, but Elliott is, and so am I, and half an hour ago we had a solid plan.
‘Teach me later,’ I say, and reach for his hand again.
The pink light makes his skin look warmer, richer, and his hand feels comfortable in mine, and I kind of want to just push him down into the mattress and kiss the living daylights out of him. I still don’t know how he’s feeling, though, and we need to find somewhere to put Meggan, and it occurs to me I’ve completely forgotten to bring condoms with me anyway, so that puts a cap on that. I can still kiss him, though. So I do.
Meggan is a hard lump between us when everything else about his kiss is warm and sweet; more like the first time we kissed than the last. It’s not long before he steps back, turns and opens a different dresser drawer, gathering up our daughter and placing her inside. He touches the piece of rose quartz for a moment and the light dims. He comes back to me, pressing close, one hand sliding into my hair and his mouth soft on mine. His fingers find their way under my jumper and they’re cold, but I don’t care.
‘Do you want to talk about anything?’ I ask between kisses, and he answers by grabbing me by the shoulders and shoving me down on the bed.
‘Nope,’ he says, and climbs up after me, following me as I shuffle back towards the pillows. ‘You?’
‘No.’ My heart is pounding, partly adrenalin. ‘I’m all good.’
‘Good.’
‘I forgot to bring condoms,’ I blurt.
He smirks, reaches into his pocket and brings out the lube and a Durex three-pack – the sort I’ve only ever seen in petrol stations. Things click together in my head. The Coke and the random declaration of my thirst suddenly make more sense. I almost laugh, but he kisses me again and I lose my hold on time.
We might be there for hours, slowly shedding layers, retreating under the covers when we get too cold, systematically covering each other in hickeys like we’re stalling for time. His skin is warm and the fabric of his boxers is smooth under my fingers. I still find myself marvelling at the sharp angles of his body, the light stubble on his jaw. The coarse hair of his legs is still a thrill
even after all the time we’ve spent tangled together in my bed. And all the while, our little stash of supplies burns bright in the periphery of my senses. This is different from the other times and we haven’t even really done anything yet.
He sighs above me, pushing his hips down, and my heart pounds deep in my chest at the blatant display of want. His forehead is damp against my own, and he’s still for a long time, just breathing. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the dimness, I can’t stop looking at him. I wonder if this might be it for the night, but I’m wrong.
‘Are we doing this?’ he whispers, kissing gently along my hairline, licking my temples, nipping softly at my brow.
Probably. I don’t want to not do it, I just don’t want it to be scary. And this is different from Lizzie, because Elliott doesn’t love me – so he’s not going to instantly forgive me if I’m crap at it, or if I do something wrong.
‘This might be a good time to talk about the next bit,’ I say, my voice sounding too loud as my hands find the small of his back.
‘I have no complaints so far,’ he says, flexing his hips again with a sigh, eyelashes fluttering against my cheek.
‘“No complaints” is not consent.’
‘Well, then.’ He threads his fingers into my hair and pushes it back so he can look me in the eye. ‘I consent. How’s that?’
‘Very clear, thank you.’ I say. It’s awkward, but his smile is warm and fond and comforting in just the right way. A rush of warmth sweeps across my skin. One look from him and I’ve gone from worrying I won’t be any good, to worrying it’ll be too good. Despite the number of problems Lizzie and I had, that wasn’t one of them. Kind of telling in hindsight.
The whole time, I keep noticing all the other ways he’s not like her. All through the awkward bits and the awesome bits and the times I can’t even string thoughts together. He’s not passive, he’s not leaving everything up to me, he’s not holding back on what he wants. He doesn’t treat any of it like he’s indulging me, or doing me a favour, or like we’re not completely equal in every moment. I kind of love it. I mean, yeah, of course I do, but I swear it’s never been like this before – honest and careless and easy. The freedom is like a drug, the comfort a welcome surprise, and the bonedeep satisfaction on a level entirely new to me. All I can think is, this was definitely a good idea.