“There is nothing you can or will do to hurt me!”
“You delusional fool! Are you truly that obtuse?” Smug self-confidence merges with the rage to envelope her essence. “You may pretend to have no idea of why you are hesitating, but I do not suffer from the same affliction!”
There is an undercurrent to her words, which tugs at my soul. “What are you implying?” falls like stones from my mouth, each word weighted with anxiety.
“I’m implying that erasing you wouldn’t hurt you, but there is something that will. Her!”
A boulder falls into my gut, and I collapse under the weight. I look up into her face, a face twisted with demented intent. “You wouldn’t,” I gasp, desperate to dig my way out of this chasm I now find myself in.
“Oh,” and her eyes dance with malice, “you of all people know very well that I will.”
The confirmation is a knife wound to my heart. How did this happen so fast? I wonder, though, in truth, wrapping myself around Charlotte’s little finger has been five years in the making.
“Hurting her, will hurt you. I cannot kill her. My orders were clear. She still has a role to play, but they cannot be together or our fight will be futile. Funny how so much hinges on so little. But, pain I can deliver. And, trust me, her pain will be immense, unless you man-up and protect her, which shouldn’t be too hard, since it is the job you are supposed to be doing anyway!” She pauses for a moment to catch her breath. “Now get your ass up and call her! The date will be this weekend, or I’m going to start entertaining myself with the people closest to her!”
Chapter 7
I was terrified to ask you out that first time…
Damn the creature to hell! The empty threat rattles inside my head, and it’s pointless, anyway. We both consider life on this planet our own personal hell, and even though I start this fierce plea with a curse, no omnipotent being is going to listen to me anyway.
Class is out of the question. I may have until this weekend to go out with Charlotte, but Alyssa’s unspoken command to accomplish the asking part immediately, resounds in my ears. I snatch my bag off the ground and sweep it onto my shoulder as I head toward the frat house, and therefore, a phone. There’s no need to concern myself with the gaggle of student spectators our argument acquired. She’s already busy erasing the memory from their minds with a penetrating stare into their eyes and a few melodic words.
The route I take doesn’t register, as I move on autopilot at this point. “Brothers” call to me as I race through the house, but I don’t even spare them a glance. All that is on my mind is calling Charlotte and getting back on mission.
It never occurs to me that she may not be in her room until the phone rings three times with no answer. I glance at the clock. It’s eleven in the morning. She’s in either a class or hanging around camp–
“Hello?”
My heart leaps into my throat at the sound of her voice, snuffing out my greeting in return.
“Hello?” she repeats.
I clear my throat. “Charlotte?”
“Henry?”
The question of my identity mixes with her excitement, and a thrill dances down my spine. Oh, yeah, I finally admit to myself. Right around her little finger!
“I hope you don’t mind me calling,” I use the most colloquial opener ever known to man. I drop my head and knock it against the wall of my bedroom in the frat house in shame. You’re better than this! “Um, what are you up to?” That is not an improvement!
The bed squeaks, and I can only assume she flopped down on it. “Nothing much. Just got back from my last class for the day. You?”
Last class? How long did it take me to get across campus? I glance over my shoulder at the alarm clock sitting on my desk. Eleven-seventeen. “Seems early in the day to be done with classes.”
Her melodious laugh trills in my ear. “Wednesday is a light day for me. Honors English is four hours on Monday with a two-hour session Wednesday mornings for group study. There aren’t any Wednesday/Friday only options out there.”
“Wow, Honors College, huh?” I’m impressed. I don’t know the exact numbers, but I do know that not many get accepted into the Honors Program. “What are you doing rooming with Alyssa then? Shouldn’t you geeks be sequestered together?”
I melt listening to her laugh. “I take it I lost cool points?”
“No,” I argue, meaning it. “If anything, you earned more.”
“Oh.” Such a small, simple word, yet it carries her proud surprise and relieved joy. “And, as for Alyssa, I went potluck for a roommate. She’s what I drew.”
Or, more than likely, what she manipulated.
“So, why’d you call, Henry?”
I run a nervous hand through my hair before leaning into the wall and crossing my free arm over my chest. “I think you know why, my dear,” I say in the deepest octave my husky voice will go.
Her voice drops in response. “Oh, do I?”
My mouth waters as my mind paints a picture of her lounging on her bed in the pervy, college boy fantasy, panties and maybe a tank, twirling her hair. Her phantom bedroom eyes beckon me from across the campus. I jolt from the shock of my imagination. I’ve never been one to be tempted by sins of the flesh.
“Why don’t you end the suspense and tell me what we’re doing.”
“You want to study together, say in the library in about half an hour?” spills from my lips as my instincts kick in to snuff out my attraction. Anywhere private or romantic is out of the question.
“Oh.” It’s that simple word again, except this time it’s drenched in disappointment.
I hate walking this damned tightrope with her! Keep her interested. Take her out. Don’t get attached! Don’t fall in love! “You did challenge me to prove my worth, right?” I’m bouncing all over like a pinball. It’ll be a wonder if she goes on more than one date with me.
“I did.” Her tone is lighter, but still heavy with apprehension. “You want to meet out in front of the library in half an hour?”
You know what she wants and it would still be public. I hesitate in offering, not because I’m not looking forward to spending even just the fifteen more minutes walking with her. I hesitate because I am. Man up! You have a job to do! There’s nothing wrong with enjoying certain aspects of it along the way! You’ve done it before!
Which is true. My past is littered with an infinite number of encounters where I indulged in the carnal pleasures of humanity. A little bedroom tête-à-tête with a willing participant can help erase the eternal loneliness for a few minutes. But, my targets in the past, while maybe not always older than the woman on the other end of the phone, were always more worldly. They had some sense of what they were, what they could do. They used those skills to manipulate people, like this boy, Wesley, whom Alyssa is in charge of controlling. I’m not convinced this girl has any clue how easily she can wrap anyone she wants around her pinky finger, myself, most certainly, included. It wouldn’t be hard for her.
When it comes to her, though, it isn’t about sex. There is something chemical about muses; their pheromones ignite the part of a person’s mind that controls their desires. Dreaming becomes a drug, and very few know who the supplier is. A muse doesn’t need sex to get what they want, yet many use it. Veiled hints dropped as whispers during pillow talk can start a war, or in Charlotte’s case, stop one before it ever begins.
Have I dreamed of what it would be like to sleep with the woman she is destined to become? I’m embarrassed to admit that I have. Yet, what is even more embarrassing is admitting that what I dream of most is true companionship, a true partner, in every sense of the word.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby of your dorm in about five minutes.”
Chapter 8
Getting to know you introduced me to a man I didn’t know I could be…
My heart stops when I enter the lobby of her dormitory. I expected her to be waiting out front on the steps, enjoying the relatively cool, fall day. Instead, sh
e is inside, sitting behind a grand piano, playing the soft melody of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The notes ensnare my mind, and I follow them as they draw me to her.
“I didn’t know you played.” The comment crosses my lips before I can think. How is there something about her that I don’t know? I’ve been watching over her for five years!
The keys clang from the surprised jolt of her hands. “Henry!” she exhales and turns wide eyes up to me. “I didn’t even notice you!” She leans over to unzip her backpack before reaching for the piano book.
I slide onto the bench next to her and capture her wrists. “What are you doing?”
Confusion swarms into her emerald eyes. “Aren’t we going to the library?”
The library? I wonder. Why would we be going to the library?
“Henry?” Her head cocks to the side as her eyes search mine. “Everything alright?”
I blink and focus back in on her. Damn it! I need to stop getting lost in my thoughts with her! “Yeah, Charlotte, everything’s fine,” I lie. “Change of plans.” Each word is clipped as I force myself to say just about damn near anything.
“Oh–kay,” crosses her lips slowly. “What do you want to do instead of study?”
The image from my bedroom floats like a specter in front of my eyes. “Will you keep playing for me?”
A small smile lifts her cheeks and she nods her head. “I’m not very good,” she says before beginning.
I close my eyes as I listen to her purposeful notes. She plays not like a beginner, but not as skilled as anyone proficient in the art. Not that it matters. The fluid melody of the opening adagio sostenuto whisks me away, back to the early seventeenth century, when Beethoven himself premiered the movement. It is one of the few blissful memories of my existence.
She stumbles on the allegretto, the notes not natural to her fingers. My hands move with a mind of their own and replace hers on the keys, finishing the movement along with the presto agitato. The last notes linger in the air, just as Beethoven’s memory floats behind my eyes. The awed silence, after he finished, filled the pristine venue. Not a soul knew what to say after witnessing such genius. Millennials have no such admiration for true works of art.
Their applause accosts my ears, drowning out the music in my mind. Anger flashes inside me, and I grind my teeth in frustration. But, it all fades away when I open my eyes. Charlotte’s genuine reverence for the purity of the moment I experienced puts everything back into perspective. It doesn’t matter what any one of these children think of me. It doesn’t matter if they approve or not. What matters is her opinion, her approval.
Tears sit on the rims of her eyelids, but do not fall. Her hand is pressed to her heart and her mouth is slightly agape. “Henry,” she exhales, her voice saturated and strained with her admiration. “I have never heard anyone play it so beautifully.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until the pads of her delicate thumbs brush the tears away. “I’m sorry,” comes out gruff with emotion. “I don’t kno–”
A finger lays over my lips. “Please don’t ruin this,” she whispers. “People aren’t true anymore, and this was. Let me revel in it.”
Her request astonishes me. Girls her age and of this century aren’t meant to feel so deeply about intangible gestures. This isn’t a flower she can press into a book or dry out over the next few days. It isn’t a love note to be stored in a shoebox as the years pass by. I didn’t set out to give her the gift of music, this piece of my favorite memory. The idea of giving her the memory, planting the scene inside her mind, is hard to resist. To do so would require a deep-seated trust that she would understand the truth of what I am and accept it. There is no way that she can, and even if she could, there is no way that I can tell her. The knowledge of that particular truth is a one-way ticket to the proverbial gallows, for both of us. But, gazing into her eyes, I realize the truth isn’t required. This moment will stick with her throughout her life, just as the scene of Beethoven playing clings to me.
“I didn’t know you played,” I repeat to break the hold she has on me.
And break it, I do. “Why would you?” Her face scrunches up in confusion. “I could say the same about you. I didn’t know you played, though I’m not sure why it sounds as though you are accusing me of some secret.”
I have to watch what I say with her! She isn’t a creature to be trifled with! The images of being with her, the desires of letting go and discovering the man inside the monster, flood my mind and make it hard to think. I take a deep breath before answering, using the time to focus on seducing the girl in front of me instead of being seduced by her.
“My apologies,” I whisper in an effort to stall since my mind refuses to cooperate and help me work my way out of this mess.
She giggles under her breath at my formality. “A thinker and a gentleman. Oh, what a lucky girl I might be.”
“Might be?” I counter, hung up on her last words.
She bites her bottom lip in that shy manner of hers, and her fingers fidget with the ends of her hair. I want to lean over and kiss her, and that’s the exact reason why I don’t. Pursuing a romantic relationship with this particular woman, this muse, is too dangerous… for me.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to leave. Not only would doing so get me killed, but the idea of seeing her with another man, especially the boy, enrages me.
“How about that date I owe you?” I ask as I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Say this weekend?”
Her smile deepens, bringing a flushed rose to her cheeks and twinkle to her eyes. However, the slow shake of her head from left to right to left confounds me.
“Why not?” The plea is evident in my anguished tone. What have I possibly done that would make her say no?
“How about right now?” Her answer shatters what I once thought were impenetrable walls around my heart. “I think playing the piano for me is a perfect way to start our first date.”
Chapter 9
I will always treasure that first date…
“And how shall we continue it?” races from my tongue, eager for her answer.
A wicked half-grin lights up her face. “Why, the library, of course!”
My jaw falls slack as I gape at her. Laughter echoes off the walls of the dormitory lobby as she tosses the music book in her bag. She stands, hovering above me with her backpack slung over one shoulder. A hand slips around my bicep and tugs. I don’t move.
“Come on, Henry. Upsy daisy.”
My brows furrow at the direction. Upsy daisy? The confusion must be written all over my features because she reads the question clearly.
“On your feet,” she clarifies, giving my arm another tug, to which I remain immobile. The corners of her mouth drop into a disappointed frown. “Good Lord, but you are solid. Will you please,” her annoyed tone offsets her manners, “get up?”
I chuckle and comply, for once not finding the one strap of my backpack idiotic. “You’re telling me you want to spend this beautiful day studying inside?”
“Will I be with you?” she challenges with an arched eyebrow as she takes my hand.
My heart thrums an erratic beat in my chest. I’ve steered her clear of the boy. I’ve partnered her in dance classes as a child. I was even her first kiss at the tender age of fourteen, but I have never held her hand. There is something so right about how it fits in mine. Almost as if, they were made to fit together.
You designed this body, moron, the darker side of my conscious counters. This was no coincidence, no twist of fate!
I sigh as we walk out the door into the warm, yet not so humid, air. She peers up at me out the corner of her eyes. “I know a study date isn’t the most romantic way to begin, but I do need to study today and I would rather do it in your company. I presumed that we’d grab some lunch on the way and maybe dinner afterward. That is, if you want to spend the rest of today with me?”
Her insecurity baffles me. “Didn’t I call you?”
“Only for the stud
y date.” She locks her eyes on the ground and refuses to look over at me.
I freeze and play anchor to her momentum. She stops, toes digging into the dirt below her feet, yet her gaze remains downcast.
“Charlotte?” I squeeze her hand when she doesn’t respond. My feet erase the few steps between us and I put my lips to her ear. “Do you question my interest?”
A shy shrug is her only reply.
“Why would you think that?”
Those emerald pools, which are a gateway to her soul, peek up at me through her lashes. I could search them for the answers I seek. It would only take a moment to dive inside those eyes and riffle through her mind, cataloguing all her insecurities and making note of all her deepest fears to use later. I’ve done it before; in fact, it’s what I’ve always done before, muse or not. Get in. Get close. Extract and seduce. Manipulate and direct. I’m nothing more than a puppet master, pulling the strings of the mind to bend people to my will. Yet, I have never dived into her head; never altered her thoughts or memories. Why? I ask myself, but refuse to answer.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she whispers. “You didn’t exactly seem happy about me purchasing you. Other than the football game last weekend, I haven’t seen or heard from you.” She pauses for a breath, her cheeks filling with the air of courage. “I’m hoping for more than one date.”
That damned bottom lip is caught in her teeth again, and she needles it between them. If I were human–
Which you are not!
But, if I were–
Get back on mission! You date her! You give her what she desires, all to keep her from him! You don’t fall in love with her!
I don’t know if I can do that. Not with he–
“Henry?”
A human boy would have kissed her. I am no human boy, on either count. “Let’s grab lunch and head over to the library.” The words come out rushed, and her face falls at the deliberate way I ignore the implications of her confession.
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