by J. L. Beck
I have every intention of doing nothing more than opening the door and pointing her in the direction of her room leaving her to figure out the rest for herself, but that’s shot to hell as I walk up to the front door and the figure of a female body comes into view. Even through the frosted glass, I can tell that girl is petite.
The doorbell rings again moments before I make it to the door. Annoyed as all hell since I’m already on my damn way to answer it I open the door using much more force than necessary, a snide remark on the tip of my tongue, ready to be used, but it never passes my lips. In fact, I freeze… shocked into silence. I blink, thinking maybe I’m seeing an illusion, but I’m not… it’s her. The mystery girl. What the hell is she doing here?
Blue doe eyes gaze up at me with an anxiousness that I’ve seen once before, red hair glowing from the sun like a sunset on the beach, flows freely down to her breast, while countless freckles decorate the bridge of her nose and cheeks, just as I remembered them.
“You…” she whispers, those blue orbs turning from anxious fear to shock.
“You,” I echo her. “What are you doing here?”
“I… my father sent me here. I think your father used to be his business partner…” Her meek voice trails off and it’s so fucking adorable I just want to make her continue to talk, but there are prying matters that we need to figure out, like why she is here.
“Wait,” I interrupt her, needing to piece this fucked up puzzle together. “You are Emerson?”
“Yes… and you must be Clark?”
I run my fingers through my hair angrily. Jesus fuck, she’s Emerson. The mystery girl. The girl I’ve been thinking about for weeks is standing on my front steps. Mystery girl is going to stay with us, in my house…so fucking close to me yet, so far away.
“Can I come in?” she asks after a moment of silence, her gaze on my lips rather than my face, just like that night. I stared at her for a long moment, taking in how tiny she is compared to me, how beautiful she is—
“I… I can leave if you don’t want me here,” she interrupts my thoughts.
Like an idiot, only then do I realize that she asked if she could come in. “Whoa wait, look I’m sorry. Come in, I was just surprised to see you here, that’s all. When we parted ways last, I didn’t get your name, so…”
I pull the door open all the way and wave her in, but then I realize the huge suitcase sitting beside her. “Here, let me get that,” I say as I reach for it swiftly. As if I’m about to attack her, she jumps back two feet, almost falling down the front steps in a haste to get away from me.
I look over at her dumbfounded as to what I did wrong. All I did was reach for the damn suitcase and she’s standing there with her hands clutched to her chest and a petrified look in her eyes. Anger ripples through me, not at her but at her fear of me. I must have really freaked her out that day if she reacted to me like this. I was sure I had made it clear that I wasn't going to hurt her, but obviously she’s forgotten that, either that or she never believed me.
“I’m sorry. I get startled easily,” she admits bashfully even though she looks more like she was about to have another panic attack then being startled. I’m certain if she knew how badly I wanted her here, or how much I’ve thought about her over the last couple of weeks, she would have more than a panic attack.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” I take her suitcase and start to pull it inside. “Let me show you around the house and to your room.”
She follows me through the house as we walk up the stairs in stranded silence. This is strange, everything about this feels strange, because Emerson isn’t like any girl I’ve ever met before. Most…okay, all…the women, minus Ava, end up on their backs, but that’s not going to be the case with Emerson, and I don’t know how to handle it. Pushing the thoughts away, I focus on my steps and not scaring the living shit out of the tiny girl walking with me.
My father told me to give her the bedroom at the end of the hallway, the most secluded, and farthest away from mine. Five minutes ago, I was jumping for joy over her being as far away as possible, but since discovering who my new sidekick is, that feeling has changed. There’s no way in hell I’m putting her at the end of the hall.
“Here, this will be your room,” I tell her, opening the door next to my own bedroom. Fuck what my father thinks.
“Where do you sleep?” she asks without a hint of flirtation in her voice, and I almost choked on my own spit at her question. She sounds genuinely curious where I sleep, and I can’t figure out why the hell she would want to know that?
“Next to you,” I answer without thought.
As soon as the words pass my lips, an image of her sleeping next to me pops into my head. Her soft body lying next to me in my bed… naked. Fuck. None of that nonsense… I tell myself though it’s tempting, I know without question Emerson isn’t like that. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I wait for her to make the next move.
“So, this is your room then…” She points at my bedroom door, her eyes curious, and completely oblivious to the double meaning of the words I just spoke.
“Yes, if you need anything, that’s where you can find me.” If she was any other girl, I would be having a field day with this conversation. I’d flirt so hard, her panties would fly off by themselves, but again, she is not like other girls. She’s off limits, off limits to everybody but most of all to me.
“Or downstairs in the basement,” I added. “I can show you…if you want. Or do you want some time to unpack, maybe eat some lunch? I just made myself a sandwich,” I keep rambling on. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t ramble. I’m a smooth talker, and yet here I stand, floundering.
“I would like to unpack if that’s okay?” She peers up at me like I hold all the power, like she can’t make a move without me asking.
“Of course. Whatever you want.” I pull her luggage in her room and start walking out when I tell her, “I’ll be in the basement now.”
She gives me a shy nod before I exit the room. Shaking my head, I walk down the hallway. I don’t know how this is going to end but something is telling me that her being here is going to flip my world upside-down.
◆◆◆
It’s been three hours, three fucking hours and she still hasn’t come out of her room. I spend most of the time in the basement fighting myself on whether I should go upstairs or not.
I can’t get her eyes out of my head, whatever I do to try to distract myself, I just can’t get the blue orbs to leave my mind. They haunt me, their beauty and sadness draw me in and won’t let me go. Maybe it’s the sadness that stuck with me. So familiar to the despair I used to see in my mom’s eyes, different in a lot of ways but also similar. I think the hopelessness is what resonates. That’s what they have in common.
Seeing that hopelessness again in someone sparks memories of my mother, of that night… a night I’ve tried so very hard to forget.
“Mom? Mom, where are you?” I call out for her, but no one answers. I’ve already looked in the garden and the library. Going up the stairs, I make my way to her bedroom, calling her name as I go. “Mom?”
I knock softly on her door before I push it open. She is in her bed, the covers draped over her, and I think she is just sleeping at first. I take a few steps toward the bed, noticing how peaceful she looks… too peaceful.
Stepping up right next to the bed, I take her in. She is pale, her lips slightly blue, and her eyes are not closed all the way. Her normally hopeless eyes staring emotionless into nothing.
I know she is dead before I touch her cold hand before I see the empty bottle of pills on the nightstand. She is dead, all life has left her body. Her pain, her suffering, it’s all gone, and she went with it...
I close my eyes, willing the memory away. When I feel something wet on my cheek, I wipe the escaped tear away. I can’t remember the last time I’ve cried. The girl upstairs is stirring up feelings I thought I had long buried.
When I finally
give in and decide to walk back up, my feet can’t go fast enough. I sprint up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. I shouldn’t care what she’s doing, but I do. I care so much it’s almost frightening. There’s this magnetic pull between us, and ever since that night in the alleyway, I’ve been unable to shake her from my mind.
I don’t know what’s come over me, but when I reach her room, I grab the knob and twist it, pushing the door open without announcing myself. It’s almost like I need to know what she’s doing, if she’s okay, which is insane since I don’t know anything about her. Nothing other than she’s adorable as fuck and is scared easily.
On the other side of that door, I find her sitting on the bed, her legs pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. How is it she looks so incredibly tiny on that bed? She stares at me in shock, her eyes impossibly wide, flickering with fear and dread.
“Fuck, damnit. I’m sorry. I should have knocked,” I blurt out as her sweet floral scent that has already filled the room hits me. It fills my nostrils and seeps into my lungs. I’m so intoxicated by it that I almost don’t realize how weird it is to see her sitting like that. Is she hurt? Afraid? In pain? Why is she just sitting on the bed, curled in on herself?
“It’s okay,” she murmurs once her initial shock has passed, the emotions flickering in her eyes diminish, and I think back to that night, how she felt in my arms, the panic that resonated in her eyes. I’ll never forget the way she looked at me, like I was going to hurt her. Never again do I want her to look at me like that.
“Why don’t you come downstairs? We can watch TV or I can make you something to eat,” I offer. “If you don’t want me to cook, I can order pizza. It doesn’t matter to me.” Again I’m carrying on, and I can’t imagine how pathetic she must think I am.
There is something wrong with me, seriously. I need to shut the fuck up. I’ve never had to try this hard with a girl before, never, usually they’re all over me, talking to me, flirting with me. Fuck, I don’t know how to handle this, her. I feel like I’ve crash-landed on a new planet.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” she admits, while perfectly straight white teeth sink into her plump pink bottom lip. The look is seductive as fuck and of course my cock starts to rise in my jeans.
Bother me? If only she knew how little of a bother she is.
“You’re not going to bother me, and I will not let you spend all weekend in this room. Come on, let me show you the rest of the house.”
Her brows furrow, scrunching together in confusion. She doesn’t move at first and for a moment I think she’ll refuse, but then she slowly starts unfolding herself and climbing off the bed.
Her movements are timid, unsure and her eyes never leave mine, as if she has a hard time keeping her eyes off of me, but not in a sexual way. It’s almost like she needs to know where I am at all times. I don’t understand her apprehension or fear, all I know is that I don’t like it. I want to see her smile because I bet she has a killer fucking smile.
“Is it just us staying here?” she asks out of the blue as we walk back through the house.
“Yeah, this weekend it’s just us. It’s just me and my dad normally and he isn’t here right now…”
She stops mid-step, taking me by surprise.
“When is he coming back?”
“Monday morning… why?” I ask, not missing the weird tone that takes over her voice.
“I’m just… all of this is a lot for me. My father didn’t tell me much when he sent me here. I wanted to go to college, but my dad was scared of sending me off on my own, then he told me that he found something that might work, but he didn’t elaborate. All he said was that he trusts the people I’m staying with. So I wasn’t even sure who exactly you were, and well, you know already, but I… sometimes I have panic attacks and honestly, I was scared of coming here…like really, really scared, but I didn’t think my dad would pay for my college if I wouldn’t do it his way…” Now she’s rambling, heat rising in her cheeks.
This strange feeling overtakes me, and I reach for her, cradling her cheek in my hand, forcing her to look at me. Her skin’s soft, so soft, and I gently move my thumb across the skin, across her freckles. Peering down at her it’s like I know what to do to make things better, what to say, which is strange because I’ve never felt more out of my element in my life.
Chapter Two
Emerson
His hand is cradling my cheek and like a lightning bolt, an electric current runs through my whole body, leaving the skin burning where his fingers touch me. I don’t understand why it feels this way, it’s definitely never felt like this before. Normally when people touch me, I freak out, start panicking, but Clark’s touch has a different effect on me, and one I’m not sure I like yet.
Staring right at me, he says, “When I told you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, I meant it.”
The words echoed through me and just like they did that night, they soothe some of the crippling fear wreaking havoc on me.
Before I can revel in his touch, he drops his hand and I almost wince at the loss of contact. What the heck is wrong with me? I’m alone in a house with a guy I barely know, and he’s touching me. If he was any other man, I would already be on the ground suffering a full-blown panic attack, but he isn’t just anybody.
He’s my knight, the only person I know who can calm me down, who can keep me from spiraling out of control. He holds my demons at bay when they are seconds from dragging me down. It’s like he knows me, even though we’ve only met that one time before.
Now the only question is… why? Why does he care, why does he try? Everyone else, including my father, overlooks me, sees me as an inconvenience, but not Clark, at least not yet anyway.
I don’t understand how he has this weird control over my emotions, how I feel safe with this stranger when I haven’t felt safe with anyone in years. And then there is a whole other set of questions burning inside my head, like why is he being so nice to me? What is he expecting of me? I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this is all too good to be true.
We start walking through the house, me following closely behind Clark, watching, and listening as he randomly points out rooms. By the time we make it to the basement which Clark calls his cave, I have been shown eight bedrooms, an office which I’m told never to go into, a pool, and a kitchen that surprisingly seems pretty standard minus the chandelier and white marble. The house is massive, about twice as large as the one I was living in back home with my father.
“Let’s order some pizza and watch a movie,” he suggests, pulling his phone out of his well-worn jeans. I force myself to look away. Yes, he’s attractive, ungodly attractive, but that doesn’t change anything. Nothing will come from this, whatever it is. I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me and it’s going to stay this way.
“Anything you want or don’t like?” he asks while dialing the number. I can feel his eyes on me, the heat of his stare piercing through my skin. He sinks down onto the couch with the phone to his ear.
“I’ll eat whatever, I’m not picky,” I respond, picking a spot on the sectional a little ways away from him. I listen to him make the call, ordering two large pizzas. I wonder how much he thinks I’m going to eat. Or maybe I’m underestimating how much he is going to eat? I recall seeing the baseball trophies in his room when he opened the door and showed me it earlier. I can’t imagine he would eat that much pizza if he was playing? Then again, I know nothing about sports or the people who play them. If anything, I try my best to avoid all of them, sports and people included.
Hanging up the phone, he turns to me and asks, “What kind of movies do you like to watch?” The question catches me off guard and I shrug, watching as he grabs the remote from the cushion separating us.
“I’ll watch whatever,” I murmur, settling into the overly cushioned couch. I try to make myself look like I belong here, but it’s hard. This is a new place, new environment with new people and I’m not quite comfor
table with it yet.
“So you don’t care about what you eat, and you don’t have any opinions on what you watch?” he questions me, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Already I don’t like the way he calls me out on my shit. I’m used to being seen and not heard, used to walking through life, never fully living for the day and I get the feeling Clark isn’t going to let me do that here.
“I’ll tell you what… I’ll pick out three movies and you make the final decision. Sound good?”
I blink slowly, trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing. Without waiting for my answer, he gets up and grabs a huge DVD case, one that can hold at least two hundred disks. He folds open the black case, flips through it for a few seconds and pulls out three disks.
He puts them down on the couch right in front of where I’m sitting. I look down and inspect the three movies. Forrest Gump, Cast Away, and The Green Mile.
“Do you have a Tom Hanks fetish or something?” I ask.
Clark grins and, Jesus, that smile is breathtaking. “She speaks,” he teases, two dimples appearing. “For a little while there I was worried I had said something, and yes if you must know I love Tom Hanks.”
“Well, Forrest Gump and The Green Mile are out. They’re both ugly cry movies.”
“Cast Away it is then,” he announces and pops the movie into the DVD player next to the large flat screen TV.
“I’ve never done this before…” I mumble, picking at the hem of my t-shirt.
“What, moved in with a stranger or watched a movie?”
“Well, both, I guess. Though I was talking about watching a movie part. I mean I’ve watched a movie before obviously, just not with someone…and especially not a boy.”
“I’m not a boy,” he responses cheekily and I instantly regret saying anything. I don’t know why I said it in the first place. I should just keep my mouth shut. I don’t want him to think I’m flirting with him, but it’s hard because even in the short time I’ve been around him I’ve already become comfortable with having him here.