by S. L. Naeole
I took one look at my twin sized bed, and turned to face the mirror on my dresser, seeing myself for the last time as the awkward and unaccepted girl who had lost and gained more than anyone deserved. With a sigh, I headed towards the door, closing it behind me and shutting out the past.
FIRST NIGHT
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
I nodded and allowed for a small smile to form on my lips before I felt the gentle press of a kiss against them. Robert pulled away and then left, his call taking him away from me on our wedding night.
With a groan of disappointment, I began the task of unpacking my boxes, thankful that the shelves that Robert had removed in anticipation of our leaving for Europe were now back. He had not replaced his CDs or other objects, instead leaving them bare for my things, and I gladly stacked what little I had on them, the books and movies that I had collected over the years barely taking up one shelf.
The clothes that I had brought with me were placed neatly into the drawers in his dresser that he had cleared out for me, and a closet located near the bathroom was now empty, awaiting the few garments that I had that actually required hanging. I placed my toothbrush in the little urn that sat next to his sink, and left my hairbrush at the edge of it, noting that I’d probably never need it again now that we were living together.
I looked into the large shower and smiled when I saw the bottle of shampoo there that was the exact same brand as mine. By the time I had emptied out the last box, the sun had long since set, and the darkness in the house was emphasized by its emptiness. Feeling hungry, I rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat and found a tray of prepared salmon.
After dressing it with a bit of lemon and ginger, I threw it into the oven and prepared a salad while it baked. I ate alone, sitting at the kitchen counter with a meal for two sitting before me, making me feel utterly pathetic. Knowing that Robert wouldn’t return hungry—and probably not at all—I wrapped the fish in foil, and cleared away the dishes, washing them and placing them in the rack to dry.
With a pitiful sigh, I gathered my things and prepared to take a shower. The water was hot, steaming, and it felt good to wash away the dirt and grime and residue of the past twenty-four hours. I washed my hair twice, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself up in a thirsty towel while my hair dripped down my back. After brushing my teeth, I got dressed in a pair of boxers and a ratty t-shirt and reached for my brush, pulling it through the mess of tangles that rested on my head.
I drew out the brushing for as long as I could, hopeful that at any moment, Robert would appear and finish it for me. But, in what I assumed was just the first of many nights like this to come, he did not show. With disappointment flowing through me, I put the brush down and turned off the bathroom light.
The four-poster bed held clean, crisp white sheets that felt smooth against my skin. They were cool, and helped to stave off the unnatural heat I felt charging through my skin. I looked over beside me and the empty space brought me further into a depression; the smooth, unwrinkled sheets acted like a siren that blared to anyone who could hear just how alone I was.
“Some wedding night,” my cynical voice mumbled to the air. “Why did I think it would be any different?” I turned to my side and grabbed the book that I had placed on the nightstand, flipping the pages until they came to a dog-eared section and fell deeply into the story, forgetting everything but what the words on the pages revealed.
This night repeated itself, over and over again, until almost a week had gone by. Shawn’s graduation party was tonight, and I was determined to go, even though Robert had said with dismay that he could not. Graham arrived at the house with Lark to drive the three of us there, and for the first time in a week, I felt…happy.
Robert’s return in the morning had brought little for us in the way of any private reunions. I had started summer school immediately, my days spent trying to recoup what I had lost in biology class. It came as a big surprise to me to see that Mrs. Deovolente was teaching the class, her inexperience in the subject obvious to the four of us in the classroom with her.
I was relieved when I saw that my fellow classmates were few and of the sort that did not look down on me for having met the same fate as they had. On the contrary, they felt bolstered by it. If I had failed, then it was surely because of Mr. Branke, and not because of my grades, and they saw that as the cause of their failures as well. It didn’t matter that they could not grasp the concept of the subject—not that Mrs. Deovolente’s teaching methods helped any—because they felt vindicated, justified in their failure.
At the end of class, while they filed out to retrieve what time they had left of their summer vacation, I lingered behind to speak to the confused teacher, whose face showed embarrassment after having been corrected on her terminology twice—by me.
“Can I ask you why you’re teaching a subject you obviously know so little about?” I asked her after that first day.
“I needed the money,” she replied succinctly.
“But why couldn’t you teach psychology instead? Why did you get stuck with biology?”
“Because no one else wanted to take this class; they offered a third more than they did for the other positions, and I needed the money. It’s not that difficult to understand, Grace.”
Her auburn hair burned a deep burgundy under the florescent lights above, and her eyes were a sharp green that glittered as she took in the amusement in my face. “I’m sorry. I know as much as you do that you don’t belong here, just as I don’t belong here. I’d much rather be at home with my cats, curled up with a good book and a cup of tea, just as I’m sure you’d rather be off with that handsome boyfriend of yours, hanging out at the pool or going shopping for college supplies.”
I choked on my reply, instead nodding and allowing her to finish up while I left. Each day, I started a conversation with her at the end of class, each time learning a bit more about her until I learned that she was divorced, and lived with two cats named Isis and Iago. She loved to read graphic novels, was a fan of Neil Gaiman, and had everything that he’d ever done. She was an avid fan of dark horror, and had seen Rocky Horror Picture Show over a hundred times.
She was, to my surprise, exactly how I pictured I would have turned out before Robert.
“So, are you going to Shawn Bing’s party tomorrow?” she had asked me yesterday as I helped to close the windows.
“Yes. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll you there,” she announced before disappearing into her office.
It was that knowledge that kept me from feeling any more disappointed when Robert again informed me that he wouldn’t be joining me that night at the party. I had come to expect it, and instead told him to not worry about me, that I’d be with his sister and friends who wouldn’t let anything happen.
“I know you’ll be fine. That’s Lark’s call, remember? She’s not going to let anything happen to you that you don’t let happen.”
So, dressed in a pair of jeans and a blouse that I had borrowed from Lark’s closet, and wearing my trusty boots, I entered the Bing house and was led through a hallway and down into a basement that had been decked out in Christmas lights and balloons, a large banner reading “Congratulations Shawn” covering part of the facing wall. Beneath it, a DJ bobbed to the thumping beat of the music that blasted from the equipment he had in front of him, a fast techno rhythm with electric notes that caused the frantic gyrations of several people who had gathered in front.
Shawn was standing off to the side, speaking to a young, blonde girl with glasses. On his head was his graduation cap, the tassel blinking with multi-colored LEDs that had been affixed there, a modification that I did not recall seeing at graduation.
“Shawn!” I called out, waving as he turned towards my voice. He grinned and rushed toward me, his arms thrown haphazardly around me before quickly pulling away and sobering up as the blonde sidled up beside him, her hand claspin
g his arm possessively.
“Grace! I’m so glad you could make it! I see Lark and Graham over there, hey guys!” He waved to the two figures that stood off to the back behind me, and then returned his gaze to mine. “Grace, this is Heather, my-uh-”
Heather shoved her hand in front of me, her fingers stiff as she finished for him, “I’m his girlfriend.”
I took her hand and shook it, noting that she was gritting her teeth through her smile, and I knew that I had not made a friend in her. “It’s nice to meet you, Heather,” I told her with a pleasant smile on my face, as though to demonstrate how it was done.
“So you’re the one he took to prom”
“Yes. Are you the one who dumped him?”
My question surprised even me, and her sputtering and dagger-laced looks before she stormed off told me quite clearly that she had been. Shawn looked at me apologetically before rushing after her, his pleas falling on deaf ears as she moved through the crowd and disappeared.
I turned to find Lark and Graham and saw that they had disappeared as well. Sighing, I walked over to the refreshment table and poured out a glass of punch. It was there that Mrs. Deovolente found me. She was wearing a miniskirt and flashy sequined top that tied around her neck, her back completely exposed and revealing a large tattoo of a cat’s silhouette.
“Wow,” I breathed. “That’s a lot of ink!”
“Isn’t it?” she replied before downing the red liquid in her clear, plastic cup. “It hurt like hell, too.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Since I was eighteen.”
I admired the sleek lines of the feline’s body, the profile of the slinky back and long, curved tail making her seem taller somehow. “I don’t think I could sit down and let someone attack me with needles like that.”
“Oh, I didn’t sit down for it either. They had to hold me down to get it done.”
This admission caught me off guard, but she walked away before I could ask her what she meant by that. To my surprise—and to pretty much the surprise of everyone around her—she stepped into the throng of kids dancing and began to move along to the rapid beat, her hair flying about her head like a cloud of red smoke.
Feeling the need to speak to her, a need to know more, I forgot where I was and followed. I began to move awkwardly to the thumping and pulsating sound, leaning my head towards her ear so that she could hear me as I asked, “Who held you down?”
“My sister,” she shouted. “We kinda made a pact to get the tattoos together, but I chickened out after she had hers done. She wasn’t going to let me get away with it so she held me down while the tattoo artist scratched away at my skin until the pain in my back numbed and I simply gave up.”
“That’s awful!”
“Is it? It was my fault—I’d agreed and then reneged on the plan.”
As the music grew louder, the tempo increasing, I saw that she kept up with it, her smile widening on her face, her eyes closed while her body moved to the music, as though she were in a trance. I couldn’t keep up, my clumsy feet and useless hands unable to find any sort of rhythm to grasp onto.
“I’m going to get something else to drink,” I said out loud, and didn’t wait for a response before turning away.
I walked around the basement, surprised at how large it was, and searched for Graham and Lark. As I rounded a dark corner, I saw them, clasping onto one another in a tight embrace, oblivious of the world around them, their bodies and their minds attuned only to each other. I felt a pang of jealousy then. No, not jealousy. Envy. I envied them their freedom to be together, to be with each other without fear of consequences or intrusion from an outside source.
I wanted that. I’d been married for a week and hadn’t so much as spent a night sleeping beside my husband. I’d barely seen him, and every moment that passed forced me deeper into the depression that had begun that first night. Knowing that I couldn’t take it any longer, I turned away, needing to leave the close confines of the basement, the smell of sweaty bodies and spiked punch too much to take now that I had lost all reason for being here in the first place.
Upstairs, the pounding base could be felt through the floor, and I wormed my way outside into the fresh night air, thankful when my feet could finally find ground that didn’t vibrate.
“Why aren’t you inside?”
“Oh!” I uttered, startled by the voice and then by the face of the person who stood beside me.
“I’m sorry; I scared you. Lark’s attention has been drawn elsewhere at the moment and it fell onto me to make sure that you are safe.”
In the lamplight of the street, it appeared as if a deep purple halo surrounded the angel who stood before me, his hair pulled back with a leather tie. “Lem. I didn’t know you were watching me.”
“It’s my turn. Sera, Ameila, I and a few others rotate between you and your father. He’s at the hospital right now, just in case you were wondering.”
He was dressed in black, causing him to almost disappear into the shadows, but it was impossible to miss the glint in his eyes as they twinkled when he smiled at me. “You keep your thoughts sheltered from me. I completely understand. After what happened between you and my son, I would keep my thoughts safe from everyone, including myself.”
“I-I’m sorry about what Sam,” I said softly.
“Do not apologize for what could not be avoided. His path was chosen for him long before he took a single step.”
My brows pulled together at this and I frowned. “You knew he was going to die?”
He shook his head and a half-smile formed at the corners of his cynical mouth. “I only know that whatever happens to us is what was meant to happen.”
“Do you think that way about all deaths?”
An auburn brow rose above a silver eye and his mouth completed the curve as his teeth slipped past his lips, revealing themselves in a pleased grin. “You want to know if I think your death can be prevented. I think that when it comes to humans, your lives are as much tied to ours as ours is to yours. If you’re meant to die, I do not see how it can be prevented. Postponed, maybe, but stopped altogether? No.”
“What about those that have turned? Haven’t their deaths been stopped?”
A small burst of laughter passed through him and his hand reached over to his shoulder to dust off something that I couldn’t see before he turned to answer me, his demeanor suddenly serious. “Those that have turned are no less susceptible to death than those that have not. Humans are still humans, no matter what they’ve been turned into. Their core is still the same.”
“You don’t like humans much, do you?”
His head cocked back, obviously stunned by my question. “I love humans. I feel that human beings are the most blessed creatures on this earth, and I will do everything in my power to keep them safe. I only feel disappointment in those that would give up the joy of appreciating life to live forever in a body that never ages, that never allows them the benefit of understanding just how wonderful it is to change, to grow old and become someone new, someone wiser. A lifetime of knowledge and experiences given up for a perceived eternity of pleasure is something that I cannot understand.
“Pleasure fades. Humans get bored very easily with things and are simply not capable of appreciating what it means to be immortal. They want change, constant, constant change and for us, for my kind, change is non-existent. We don’t change who we are, we don’t change what we do. We can’t. It’s why, when one of you promises to love someone forever, to be with someone forever in order to turn, it usually ends up being a lie.”
An intake of breath filled up the silence that followed that last statement. It was mine, and it was one in offense. “I didn’t lie when I said that I would love Robert forever.”
“That is debatable, Grace, since you haven’t allowed anyone but those closest to you to delve into your thoughts and see for themselves whether or not your words are true, and how they feel about you would skew their opinion towards yo
u, regardless of the truth.”
“You don’t think I’m trustworthy, do you? You think…you think I’m like my mother.”
A flash of something passed through his eyes, but it faded too quickly for me to guess what it was. When his mouth turned down, and the angle of his shoulders dipped down, his posture drooping, I guessed it was pain.
“I loved your mother, but she couldn’t love me. Her heart had already been promised to someone else, even if he did not exist yet, and I cannot hold that against her; it wasn’t her choice.”
The woeful look on his face caused an ache within me, and it surprised me to know that I had something in common with him, this unrequited love that he had felt.
“I loved someone who couldn’t love me back,” I confessed, my voice quiet as my heart remembered the sting of rejection, the burn of it slight, a mere memory now but still able to cause that ache inside of me.
“And what now? Has he realized the error of his ways? Does he regret turning you away, knowing what he has lost?”
I laughed in spite of myself and shook my head. “Yeah right. He’s in love with someone who’s crazy beautiful. Even if I still wanted to be with him, I don’t stand a chance.”
“I don’t see how anyone could be more beautiful than you are.”
An awkward silence passed between us and I struggled to find something to say, something that wouldn’t acknowledge this odd compliment. Fortunately he realized his faux pas and corrected himself. “I’m sorry. I see your mother in your face and for me, no one else could be more beautiful than Avi; please, forgive me.”
His embarrassment was clear, and I did the only thing I knew how to in situations like this.
I punched his arm.
“Ow! Holy hell, ow!”
My fist—or what was left of it—lay clutched against my chest, my fingers bent at odd angles, twisted and bruising rapidly before my eyes. The expression on Lem’s face showed nothing but shock as his eyes bounced from my face to my hand, up and down, until at last he settled on my face, too surprised to say anything while I whimpered at my quickly swelling hand.