The girls drop me back at my petunia lined front garden, waving cheerily out the window as Chloe pulls away in her silver SUV. I turn, clutching my backpack like my life depends on it, walk down the garden path, and open the front door.
The house is empty, not even the sounds of snoring come from the bedrooms upstairs. I walk into the kitchen, only to find a note. ‘Gone to visit grandma and grandpa,’ it reads. I look over to the clock; it’s midday. Jeez, I’ve been in my own head. I didn’t even really enjoy the hangover cure fry-up Mollie cooked in the kitchen of the beach house this morning, even though she made extra bacon. Nobody mentioned the slap or Daryl, who it turned out, had left shortly after I had run off down the beach, and that was fine with me.
I sigh and put my backpack down on a kitchen chair. I then make my way upstairs into the bathroom and peel off the clothes I slept in before stepping into the shower. I find myself exhausted after tossing and turning all night, icy blue eyes fading in and out of my dreams in a subconscious taunt.
I sit down onto the floor of the bath, under the steaming water and begin to sob, emotion rising like a tidal wave, breaking and crashing down, destroying everything in its path. I cry for a good twenty minutes, so confused and unfamiliar with being human that I don’t know what to do. How can what I want conflict so much with what is logical? I do not do well with emotional baggage, perhaps because I’m carrying so much already, but this, the thought of relying on anyone, is unfeasible to me. I cannot let myself be let down, damaged, cracked, and shattered again. I will not be left, a hole in my heart like when discovering the death of my father, and I cannot be repressed like my mother. It may seem juvenile, but this fluttering beneath my skin scares me profusely, with each moment bringing me closer to heartbreak. I cannot go to meet Orion, I just can’t.
After the tears subside I castigate myself, sitting and crying over someone you’ve met once is not normal behaviour for someone who is now classified as a legal adult. I get to my feet, breathing in the hot water and set to washing my hair, feeling a lot better. Well, that’s something I guess, as pathetic as crying is, it does purge you of angst. After I’m completely cleansed of the night, I step out of the bath feeling a little more like myself. I feel more relaxed, having realized I don’t have to go back to that beach and see him tonight; I’m still my own person and still have my free will. I walk the few paces over to the mirror and smear away the condensation that has materialized upon its flawless, smooth surface. I wonder if Orion’s skin is this smooth; it looks that way. I gaze into the patch of mirror that is clear of steam and see myself. I’m … glowing. I may feel crappy on the inside but I’m practically pearlescent in appearance. I smile, wondering if the sea air did me good after all, and walk from the room, gathering my clothes from the wooden floor. Back in my room, I take my routine slowly, as though trying it on for size, feeling just like me again, not someone out of control or going crazy with emotion. As I get comfortable with feeling calm, I lay on my bed, where my mind begins to wander.
I’m imagining Orion towering over me. His arms swoop down to cradle my face, then his lips are on me and his large hands are stroking my cheeks. His lips send a fire through me, deep into my belly, and then I’m falling, falling to the floor. Having his weight on top of me feels good. Then he’s kissing down my neck, over my breasts, down my stomach until …
“Callie, we’re home!” My mother calls up the stairs, slamming the door behind her and shattering my fantasy. My eyes fly open and my heart is racing, my skin is humming. I think for the first time ever I’m feeling attraction for a man, and it’s scaring the hell out of me. I sit up on the bed, propping my chin on one knee and breathe out. What the hell is this guy doing to me? I wonder, before I spend an hour scaring myself with the possibility of going back and then terrifying myself with the idea of never seeing Orion again. By the time I fall into an unplanned nap as the night’s events catch up with me, I still haven’t made up my mind either way.
I wake a few hours later without an answer still, but knowing one thing for sure. That in the dream I’ve been reliving every night for years, the icy blue I want to writhe in, the glacial pastel that blazes so intensely, belongs to the gaze of the one man I can’t forget. It belongs to Orion.
It had been a day truncated by napping and distracted imaginings, thinking of all possible scenarios for the night ahead. I sit down at my desk and make lists of the pros and cons, towards whether or not I really should risk my own safety and emotional state by going back to the beach. There is just no way I can spin it, no possible series of words in the ‘con’ column of my now organised dilemma, that can silence the tiny voice in the back of my head screaming, ‘You’re going!’
I sit back in the unforgiving wooden chair and exhale deeply, rubbing my sweaty palms on my thighs. I look out the window where the sun is beginning to set, highlighting that my Sunday is drawing to a close. Then I remember; ugh, school tomorrow. I will have to face the fact that I have not texted any of my friends since my arrival home this morning, thanking them for the party they threw me. I haven’t responded to any of the messages I’ve gotten, mainly because they’re asking if I’m okay and the honest answer is that I don’t know. They claim I had seemed somehow more distant when we left the beach house this morning and of course, all of them are asking me about what really happened with Daryl.
I look down at the piece of paper in front of me, knowing I should feel guilty but unable to help the feeling that I have more growing concerns. The ‘cons’ list looks longer, but the ‘pros’ list lacks the things I dare not write. These include, ‘He’s completely gorgeous’, ‘He said you’re beautiful,’ and ‘When we touched, I felt something I’d never felt before’. I’d written a load of rubbish in all honesty, things that left little feeling and were swimming in denial, such as, ‘Possibly make a new friend,’ and ‘Have someone to talk to about male stuff’.
I rise, crumpling the piece of paper and tossing it toward the trash beside the desk, missing the basket; I leave it there, unable to find the energy to care enough to pick it up. I go over to my bed and grab Bunnyboo from under the pile of unmade blankets; I hold him to my chest and inhale from the top of his raggedy-eared head. I hear Orion’s voice in my mind, above and over doubt and reason: “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” I gather myself and move to my feet, heading downstairs. In the kitchen my mom and Carl are sitting at the table not talking, they’re both reading magazines. I breathe deep, puff out my chest, and ready myself to do battle with the step-monster.
“Hey guys, I’m going out tonight if that’s okay?” I ask, holding my breath.
“Callie, it’s nearly sundown and you have school tomorrow. Will you be gone long?” My mom asks, cocking her head disapprovingly, her gaze is split between my foe and me.
“Yeah, and it’s for a test I have tomorrow, actually. It’s a mock for finals and I was going to meet up at the library with Mollie and Manda; you know they’re way better at physics than me.” I whine, trying to get what I want. I hate playing the whiny teenager angle, but I wonder if somehow it’ll melt the ice wall between me and mom long enough for her to throw me a bone.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Can’t you just do one of those online study groups you girls have been using this year? You went out last night.” She whines back, clearly not in a bone-throwing mood. Then it happens: Carl steps up to the plate, armed and ready to piss me off.
“Look Callie, me and your mom were real nice about you going out and doing one of your girly gossip nights last night, or whatever, but you’re going to stay in tonight, okay? It’s late and as your mom said, you have to get up early for school. You won’t want to be tired for that test now, will you?” He snarls and his upper lip curls in triumph and they both return to reading what I assume is ‘How to be a crappy parent digest’ and ‘Step-monster monthly’. Not that they need it, they’ve got this crap down cold. Rage bubbles through me again, and I want to thump my fist down on the table and sma
ck that sneer right off Carl’s face. I’ve been denied going out privileges before, but this is different. How dare he keep me from Orion? I am so affronted that rather than shout like I want to, I walk silently from the kitchen up to my bedroom, quietly shut my bedroom door and stand for a moment, fuming soundlessly before hurrying over to the window. I look downward, then across at the giant willow that sits among rows of petunias. It beckons; will it be strong enough? I don’t even care at this point; I’m so fuelled by desire. I’m going to do what I want for once; I am an adult now after all.
I turn to look in the mirror that hangs above the chest of drawers, which stands next to my door. I look as though a wave of wickedness has drenched me in its sensual, seductive glamour. My hair is scraped back into a high ponytail, my turquoise eyes are framed by smoky shadows and liner, and my lips are polished by a rouge gloss, which tastes like cherries. I smack my lips together; they’re the colour of the blood racing under my pale chilled skin. I’m wearing my leather jacket over a low cut, black corset I never wear because Carl doesn’t approve. This means that, now, my mother doesn’t either, even though, comically, she liked it when she bought it for me a few years ago. I look down at my bottom half: a small black skirt, too small in fact, but anything Carl would sniff at, I’m all for right now and therefore I’m feeling a bit more confident in it. I’m wearing black suede, knee-high boots that are flat, so they will manoeuvre the sand more gracefully than heels. I grab my small, leather, black bag off the desk and throw in my window key, phone, and some emergency money just in case. I take one last breath before vowing that I will never regret the decision I’m about to make.
The sun has just lowered over the horizon and, once again, shadow is descending upon the world where the moon has not yet risen. I slide open my window, grabbing my car keys off the bedside table and step out trying to balance. As my first boot-clad limb meets bark I’m regretting my short attire as I imagine what anyone beneath me would see should they look up. Once free of the window, I lean back artfully and slide it shut before locking it; I don’t want to leave any trace of my escape route as I imagine this may result in the window being barred, or maybe even nailed shut.
I edge my way towards the central trunk of the tree, glad its weeping branches are eclipsing my figure as I pass the window and see Kayla playing with her tea set on the living room carpet; I swear that girl should have been born in Victorian England. I smile to myself as I reach the ground, crouching as I scramble to my car and then jump into the driver’s seat. In this moment I’m really glad I left the top down. I place my keys in the ignition, slam the gearshift into reverse and push down on the gas, hard. I could have tried to be quiet, but in a vintage that will not happen, so I opt for fast, reversing and halting to a stop as I see the front door open in lieu of the racket. I yank the gearshift forward into drive and slam down on the accelerator, speeding away into the night as a heavy orb of full moonlight rises into the sky.
I park my little red vintage a few yards from the edge of the sand. My ears are cold from the wind, which had whipped past them as I roared down the highway, cursing as I tried to remember the route Mollie had driven only the night before. I step out of the car, the wind blowing around my legs making them chill. I’m beginning to regret my skirt decision. I sigh inwardly and apply the steering lock which was thankfully not applied when I made my get away from Fort ‘Carl-is boss-here’. It clicks into place and I turn away from my getaway vehicle while slipping my car key into my bag and then throwing it into my glove compartment. I step onto the sand and discover that walking is more awkward than I anticipated, even in flats. I unzip my boots quickly and chuck them a little too aggressively into the back seat, still feeling drunk on the adrenaline buzz from my escape.
I walk up the beach a little way, calming my nerves with deep breaths. The wind nips at my knees and as I get closer and closer to the shore, his silhouette comes into view. He is ripped against the moonlight, fully packed with muscle but slimming down into a small waist and tight tummy which flow artfully into two gorgeously long legs. I breathe inward.
As he turns, as though he can hear my breathing from such a distance, the moonlight hits his chest and I realise once the shadow has evaporated that he is bare-chested, wearing only jeans. My lips creep sneakily, and against my will, into a smile. Then I remember my suspicions. Why is a guy I’ve only met once standing bare-chested on a beach, I wonder? Perhaps it’s because he’s intending to make me so speechless I won’t scream as he rams me into the trunk of his car? Perhaps it’s because he thinks I’m stupid enough to fall for his good looks and charms, and give myself willingly without knowing anything about him? ‘Or perhaps’, my inner hope whispers, ‘it’s because he’s trying to impress you’.
I walk slowly up the shore, with the waves lapping at my bare feet, leaving them with delicious cooling tingles. I finally reach him and the moon throws shadows onto his face, causing each line that projects his masculine beauty to define and accentuate further.
“Hi.” He breathes simply and I think I may swoon, but I stop myself, inwardly willing myself to play it cool.
“Hi.” I reply back, smiling sweetly, trying not to come across as too intimidating.
“How have you been?” He asks cocking his head and piercing me with his, somehow warm, icy blue eyes.
“Concerned.” I admit, shrugging my shoulders and holding his eye contact. He brings up a hand and touches my left arm with gentle reverence. I feel the electricity though my leather jacket.
“Oh … why don’t we sit and you can tell me all about it? I’m a good listener.” He explains, taking my hand and walking me a little way further up the beach before helping me gracefully down onto the sand. I stretch my legs out in front of me, guessing that crossing my legs in such a short skirt would be nothing less than whorish.
“So tell me. What’s wrong?” He asks with more caring and understanding than I could have ever expected.
“You freaked me out … how did you know my name and when my birthday was and stuff?” I ask, feeling like a child.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you, Callie. That was never my intention. I’ve wanted to meet you for some time in fact.” He explains and rather than easing my fears, they become heightened.
“How come I’ve never seen you before? How come you haven’t ever approached me?” I ask him, now piercing him with my gaze as though I’m interrogating him for some heinous crime.
“I saw you when you were at school, but you were always surrounded by your friends.” He replies, looking saddened by the memory and then continues. “I have finally, it would seem, found the courage to talk to you.” I know I’m blushing scarlet as I feel the blood rush to my cheeks so I look down at the sand.
“Where do you go to school?” I ask him, wondering if he comes from one of our rival schools, perhaps Diego Central or Coastal Cape High.
“Actually, I don’t go to school; I left quite a while ago.” He enlightens me and an immediate lump forms in my throat. He seems to be rather a lot older than me now that I look at him, making him a definite no in the department of parental approval.
“So what? You just roam the beaches of San Diego looking for girls you randomly spot out of car windows or something? Hoping for what exactly?” I ask raising my eyebrows sceptically; this guy is just too much of a puzzle. I hate puzzles.
“No, I know about you through a friend.” He confirms and I, overtaken with paranoia, wonder if I’m being set up. I look around for Manda, Mollie, or even more likely, Chloe …
“What are you doing?” He asks looking around too, suspiciously.
“Checking for my friends standing with a video camera somewhere …” I confirm, still craning my neck and peeking into the darkness.
“Not Amanda, Mollie, or Clara …”
“It’s Chloe.” I correct him abruptly; feeling satisfied he hadn’t got every detail of my life locked away in his brain.
“It’s another friend, which one
doesn’t matter, trust me, okay?” He asks me placing his large hand on mine. I tremble slightly, looking at my hand, nope it’s not jacked into a car battery, this man, Orion, can really do that to me with just the touch of his skin to mine.
“I don’t do that.” I whisper, closing my eyes and enjoying the trickling pleasure that his touch brings me.
“What, trust people?” He questions me, looking deeply into my eyes and bringing his body closer to mine, slowly closing the gap between us.
“Not usually.” I murmur, pulling away slightly as I open my eyes. His gaze drops and he looks disappointed.
“Couldn’t you perhaps make a tiny exception for me?” He pleads and I can see in the asking of this question, that this man has not been as damaged as I have. A spark of hope lingers in his eyes as I get out my metaphorical fire extinguisher, prepared.
“What makes you so special?” I demand, but rather than the spark dying away it erupts into a jolly flame of expectation.
The Kiss That Killed Me (The Tidal Kiss Trilogy Book 1) Page 6