by S. L. Naeole
I started to stutter, the words unable to form anything but incoherent sounds in my mouth. I looked at him and saw the pained look in his eyes. I had hurt him. I quickly turned my head away as I tried desperately to climb off the motorcycle without killing myself. I walked towards the front door and fumbled with my key ring—it looked ridiculous and plainly obvious that I was stalling since only one key occupied the ring—my heart was pounding a thick and heavy beat as I felt his shadow cross over mine, blocking out what little light there was from helping me see what I was doing.
“Grace, don’t run away from me,” he said, his breath blowing across my ear; he was a lot closer than I thought.
I turned around to face him, knowing that I’d never be able to open the door or avoid answering him. “I’m sorry,” I managed to say in a low mumble. I stared down at my boots, afraid of seeing any more hurt in his eyes and knowing that I was the cause.
His hands cupped my face and lifted it, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t need you to apologize. I just want you to be honest with me. I know this is difficult for you, but I’m not going to hurt you for being honest. I love you. I’ve always loved you, even before you existed.”
The warmth in my cheeks flooded his palms and he smiled. I sighed at the sight. “Okay, truth?”
He nodded his head. “Truth.”
“I think this is ridiculous, since you already know; I hate today because today is when my mom died. I hate the decorations, hate that every single year it looks like someone’s throwing a party on a day that I think should be reserved for mourning.”
I shut my eyes, hoping to block out the painful images of seeing my mother’s last moments before she died—moments that I had altogether forgotten until Robert helped me to remember on my urging.
“I can usually push it out of my mind and forget about it, but sometimes the blatant reminders just make me want to curl up into a ball and hide until February fifteenth. Today is the day I became Grace the Freak, the day I’m at my most freak-like, and I don’t know how to be anything else.”
Robert sighed softly as he pulled me against him, his arms wrapping securely around me. “You’re not a freak, Grace, and no matter how many times you try to attach that label to yourself, it’ll never stick. Not to me, anyway. I guess that’s one reason why we’re so perfect for each other; we both loathe this day, and yet, we’re both tied to it for some inexplicable reason, although yours has far more merit.”
I sighed into Robert’s chest. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
His arms wrapped around me tighter, his chin resting atop my head. “You don’t have to apologize for this. I understand your reasons, and support you. I just wish that you could trust me enough to tell me anything.”
“I’m working on that,” I mumbled, inhaling the intoxicating scent that was starting to overwhelm me.
He laughed as he felt my mood change and pulled away slightly. “So where is your dad? Janice?”
I turned around in his arms and finished opening the front door, pulling him inside and quickly shutting the door behind us with my foot. “Dad is where he always is on this day; he’ll be at work until four, and then head off to the cemetery until it closes at six. I don’t know where Janice is, but if she’s with Dad, they both won’t be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”
“So we’re alone, then?” he asked, his mischievous smile turning my stomach over deep within me.
“Um…I don’t know. Graham might be coming home, soon,” I said nervously, silently praying that I was wrong. Oh so very, very wrong.
“He won’t be. His shift started five minutes ago,” came my little miracle answer.
“So we’re alone, then,” I whispered, marveling at the idea.
Robert brought my hand against his lips, his breath against them causing the faint hairs on my arms to stand at attention. “What do you want to do now that we have this house all to ourselves?”
“I-I…” I couldn’t say anything. I looked at the stairs, wondering if saying that we could go to my room would seem too forward.
With blinding speed, Robert scooped me up into his arms and raced up the stairs, my door opening and closing so quickly, I would have sworn we walked through it.
“What makes you think we didn’t?” he chuckled as he set me down on the bed, lying down next to me. “You have so much faith in me; I don’t know why.” His fingers pushed aside a fallen lock of hair from my face, his thumb brushing the outside corner of my eye, tickling my lashes. “I often wonder what it was that I did to deserve you, to be so blessed with you, with knowing and experiencing you.”
“I do the same thing,” I whispered. He had moved his hand to my neck, his fingers grazing the pulse-point and slowly dipping into the hollow at the base of my throat.
“Yes, but my kind views blessings far differently from yours. We have so much in the way of abilities and power. When you take into consideration what it is that we’re capable of, and what it is that we do, there really isn’t much that humans possess that can give us cause for appreciation.
“But with you, whenever I’m with you, whenever I’m able to touch you and smell you, hear your voice, your thoughts I feel like I’ve never truly known what being blessed was. And when I hear this, feel this-” he laid his head on my chest, directly above my heart “-I understand what it means to experience a miracle.”
We remained that way for some time, his head pressed against my heart, his hand against my throat, feeling the pulse there as the journey of the life that my heart pumped into each vein repeated itself over and over again.
“Robert,” I said softly as the sunlight that had been shining through my window started to recede. “Is…is this all that we’re going to be doing until it’s time to leave?”
His head lifted and he smiled at me, a heart-stopping, breath-catching smile that would have made me forget what I had just asked had it not also sent my stomach into a fit of urgent dancing. “This is all that I trust myself to do, Grace. I feel very roguish, being all alone with you in this house, laying here like this knowing that there isn’t anyone around to walk in. It tempts me to do…other things, but I know I have more control than that.”
I felt my heart stop when he said “other things”, but I also knew that no amount of cajoling was going to get him to do anything more than this. It was more than I expected, and enough to make me realize that I was doomed if I ever had to choose between self-control and letting go when it came to Robert.
“You’re silly,” Robert laughed, his fingers moving towards the bottom of my chin, tickling me and causing me to giggle. “And I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He raised his head and shifted his body so that he was nearly fully on top of me. “Really?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, really. You know when I’m lying. You proved that today.”
“True. I guess I was kind of hoping that you’d say something utterly human like ‘how can I prove it to you’ or something along those lines.”
I stared at him, at the incomparable and undeniable perfection that was Robert, and started laughing. “You wanted me to do what?”
“What? It’s been my experience that when questioned about what they say, human girls will go out of their way to prove it to be true. I was just hoping that perhaps you’d simply follow type,” Robert said, laughing along with me.
“And what exactly were you hoping I’d do?”
He placed his hand in mine, lacing his finger with my own and pressed them onto my pillow above my head. “I was hoping that you’d go more into detail about wanting to hold me forever.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “It was a figure of speech, Robert. I’m not planning on living forever.”
He leaned his face closer to mine, nudging my nose with his as his breath caressed my face. “Are you sure?”
I took a deep breath, inhaling the perfumed aroma of his skin, his breath, everything that I imagined made him what he was. “Y
-yes,” I replied, ignoring the wavering in my voice.
“Is there anything I can do to convince you to change your mind?” he whispered as I felt his mouth graze over my cheeks, the loose wisps of his hair brushing across my lashes, causing me to blink rapidly. “I’m open to suggestions.” His lips traveled to my ear, and I knew my eyes crossed when I felt his mouth find the soft flesh of my ear, felt his teeth nibble and pull at it gently, each tug loosening any resolve I might have had…
“No,” I managed to say, grasping desperately to the last shreds of my willpower.
Slowly, almost unbearably, he left a trail of small, almost feather-soft kisses along my jaw. He stopped when he reached my mouth; I felt him smile against my chin as he felt my body tense, saw me lick my lips in anticipation. “Nothing at all?”
I wanted to say no but I couldn’t remember what it was that I was saying no to. Robert’s mouth was poised directly over mine, his breath blowing across my lips in a teasing dance that tempted me to succumb to their owner’s wishes. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing to give him whatever it was that he wanted if only he’d finish what he started.
“Ahh…” Robert sighed, victorious. “Ahh, bloody hell.”
My eyes flew open.
“Lark, you have incredibly horrible timing.”
I peered over Robert’s shoulder and felt the blood drain from my face. “Um…hi, Lark,” I squeaked, mortified to have been caught in such a compromising position.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked sweetly. I detected a hard edge to her tone despite the softness in her voice and I groaned.
“Yes,” Robert growled.
“No,” I mumbled as I tried to sit up. Robert looked at me, disappointment flooding his face and I felt it wash over me, leaving me equally disappointed. Perhaps more so.
“Never more than I,” Robert said with a sigh and helped me up. “I guess I’ll be going now. I’ll see you tonight.” He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead and disappeared, the slight wisp of midnight smoke slowly fading from my window.
“He’s right. You have really horrible timing,” I grumbled as I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “I’m finally making headway with him and then you show up. How did you get in here anyway?”
Lark remained silent as I completed my rant, her face impassive. “Are you done?”
“I am now,” I snapped.
“Good.”
“Fine.”
“Are you done acting like a third grader?” Lark asked, the mocking tone to her voice emphasizing the same hardness that I knew was still there.
“That depends on whether or not you’re going to tell me what’s going on. You walked away today, didn’t tell me anything about Graham’s-”
She held up her hand, cutting me off. “I didn’t tell anyone about Graham’s gift. And how did you know it was from him?”
My eyebrows raised in surprise. “Because only Graham could possibly know what you would do with something like that.”
“Oh. I thought that he told you in advance.”
I shook my head. “He hasn’t told me anything lately.”
She looked at me skeptically and then sighed. “He probably thinks that whatever he says to you will end up getting back to me. If only he knew that you don’t have a choice.”
I glared at her. “You know, if you’re that interested in what he thinks, why don’t you just search his thoughts instead of mine? Cut out the middle man entirely. That way I don’t get blamed when you say or do something that tips him off.”
Lark looked away from me, but not before I caught a flash of anger in her eyes. “You think it’s that simple, do you? Would you have wanted to look through his mind after he dumped your friendship for Erica? Would you have been able to?”
“No, of course not.”
“Of course not. See, it’s simple for you. You don’t have to fight it, it’s not a choice for you. I’m constantly struggling to keep from hearing Graham’s thoughts because I don’t want to see him thinking of being with someone else. And I hate the fact that that someone else happens to be Stacy.
“But the hardest part, the worst part is knowing that there might be a part of him that is thinking, not about Stacy, but about me, and knowing that there’s nothing that either of us can do about it. If you’ve ever wanted to hurt me, Grace, forcing me to sift through Graham’s thoughts would be it,” Lark explained as she tried very hard to mask the crack in her voice. She failed.
“Why don’t you just tell Graham about how you feel? Tell Stacy? What exactly is keeping you from telling them the truth? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do anyway?” I said sarcastically.
Two soft thumps alerted me to the fact that something had changed. My eyes traveled down to the carpeted floor and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Two small, teardrop shaped crystals lay at Lark’s feet.
“I’m sorry, Lark. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Oh dear, oh dear bananas, I’m sorry,” I stumbled, reaching to grab a tissue and hand it to her.
“And what exactly am I suppose to do with that?” she wanted to know.
I brought my hand back, staring at the tissue dumbly before tucking it into my pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t have been much help. I’m sorry, I’m not used to this. I’m usually the one crying, so giving tissues is kind of an automatic response.”
“Of course it is. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that you’re human with human sensibilities,” Lark acceded. “I’m not used to all of this…emotion. And the worst part is that I don’t even know what it is that I’m feeling! It’s maddening, not being able to understand what’s going on and yet having to control it so that I don’t let it overtake me.”
My head cocked to the side. “What do you mean, you don’t know what it is you’re feeling? About Graham?”
She waved her hand in the air, as if to brush away my question. “No. I know what I feel about him—it’s not that difficult to figure out considering Robert went through the same things. It’s what I feel about Stacy, about not being honest with her. I cannot explain it. It’s not painful. It’s more…confining, like I’m stuck in neutral; I can’t go forward, I can’t go back, and the worst part is I can’t make it go away because it just keeps growing.”
The need to be supportive crushed down my desire to laugh. “What you’re feeling is called guilt, Lark. You’re feeling guilty for not being honest with Stacy about your feelings for Graham.”
She scoffed at my simple answer. “Guilt? I give you insight into the unknown emotions growing inside of me and you give me guilt as the explanation? Is this some human trick to make me feel incompetent?”
“I’m sorry, but when was the last time you were human again?” I questioned sarcastically. When she didn’t answer me I continued. “You’ve never been human, never known what it means to feel emotions that are a result of disappointing someone because you’ve never had to until now. You’re feeling guilty, Lark. There’s no science to figuring that out.”
Lark slouched to the floor, her head pressed up against the wall beneath my window. “How do I get rid of it? What do I do to stop feeling like this?”
The frown on her face as I told her the answer did nothing to mar her beauty, but did a great deal to leave me with questions of my own. What would Stacy do when she found out, if she found out? Would Lark actually find it in her to do what was right? More importantly, was telling Stacy really the right thing to do?
“It’s nearly six. Stacy will be here in a couple of minutes so we’d better get going,” Lark said with a sigh.
“Great try on changing the subject. Very human of you,” I joked as I dug around my backpack for my wallet. Finding it, I shoved it into my back pocket and headed towards the door. “I suppose you’re going to make some kind of comment about how you wouldn’t stoop to that level, huh?”
I turned around to see her reaction but she was gone.
“Hurry up, slow poke!” I heard her call from outside. I rushed to my window and l
ooked outside. She was standing by the curb, a hand resting impatiently on her waist. “Well? Are you coming or not?”
“Show off,” I mouthed.
I heard that.
THREE BLIND HUMANS
Stacy showed up ten minutes late, her face sweaty and pale. “Sorry guys. Practice ran late today—you’re going to make up for missing it tomorrow, Grace,” she called out from her car as she pulled into my driveway.
I swallowed the fear of what it was that Stacy would put me through for missing practice. I had honestly forgotten, but that wasn’t an excuse according to Stacy and my shins usually paid a price for it. Lark pulled the front seat of the car forward so that I could climb into the back, a smirk plainly visible on her face.
“Oh sure, you smile now,” I quipped, glad that at least someone was amused.
As soon as Lark was seated and the door closed, Stacy was gunning it towards the theater. “So, are we eating out after the movie’s over or are we heading to someone’s house to eat?” she asked as we rounded a corner. “I’ve got to call my mom and let her know so that she’s not worried about me being out with serial killers or something.”
“We could eat at my house,” Lark announced, ignoring the serial killer comment. “I’m not exactly a fantastic cook, but I’m sure I could get my mother to make something.”
I wrinkled my nose at the prospect of eating anything that Ameila made. “If she’s as adept at making dinner as she is at making jello molds then you might as well be out with serial killers..”
“What was wrong with my mom’s jello mold?” Lark snapped.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on! That thing was harder to chew than an old belt. And it was JELLO!”
Lark turned around in her seat to glare at me. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about; I was able to eat it just fine.”
“Oh sure. You were. Humans don’t have the ability to chew through rebar, Lark, and we don’t especially like testing that theory out either.”