So no–picture of two people kissing–yet??
Oh my god, I’m going to bed. I toss the phone toward the end of the bed. It’s early too go to sleep, but I’m exhausted–two plates of catered turkey dinner will do that to a person. I force myself to brush my teeth and shower before crawling into bed half an hour later, shortly after ten.
I’m an unseen presence, hovering over the scene from above. A short man with a balding head and a beard trying to eat his face stands up in a diner, cheeks red and blotchy. His body says he is scared, but his olive eyes look fearless. This is a man who has nowhere left to go, nothing left to lose.
There is another man nearby, tall and skinny with pockmarks plastered to face. He is holding a gun. When the short man shouts, the gun presses into his sweat-stained shirt. I watch as the life abandons his face and his eyes glaze over. They remain open as I am pulled away from the scene, following me as I go.
My throat is raw from screaming, but no one can hear my panic.
Suddenly, I’m back with the pockmarked killer. But he is different, changed. There is a new light in his eyes as he is laid neck-down on a splinter-coated guillotine. It looks homemade, a sick invention meant to remove not only the head, but any dignity remaining. A group of men stand around him, each wearing a mask to hide their face.
My heart is beating so fast it is going to explode.
He is going to die. They are going to kill him.
They behead him like he is an animal. To them, I guess he is. Only I can tell the difference between the murderer and the man laid bare over the splintered wood.
We are in a hospital room. His skin is black now with thick muscles lining his every curve. He would be beautiful if he weren’t so sick. His eyes won’t open. It is almost the end. I don’t have to wait long before the monitor flat-lines and he is taken from me again. The moment is peaceful compared to the last. These eyes do not haunt me as I go.
If I could feel my face, my hands would come away salted and damp.
My breaths come out ripped and ragged as I look down at the cool metal of the train tracks. Not this one. I can’t do this one. I will myself to wake, but the dream holds me captive like a hand around my throat.
The light from the train is drawing closer, but my leg is stuck, my foot twisted in a broken slat. Trees line the edges of the tracks, blocking my view of anything but the light of the train drawing near. The train is approaching, but it isn’t my pending death that summons my scream. He is standing before me, his body wrapped around mine like a cloak, shielding me from the blow. It shouldn’t work. I should die.
But I do not.
I watch as he runs his fingers into my hair, his hot breath on my face.
He is clearly homeless, a complete wreck. His body shielded mine from the blow, but it is broken, cracked beyond repair. He is dying, leaving me again and I can no longer breathe and my heart won’t stop beating and–
I jolt out of bed, my face dripping with sweat and tears. Oswald is crying next to me, his fur coated in my sweat.
The clock reads 3:26 a.m.
No matter what I do, my heart won’t stop pounding, threatening to burst right out of my chest. It was T.K. I know it was him with every piece of my soul, just as I had when he walked into Mr. Okar’s class all those months ago. I may not have been certain then, but I am certain now. As improbable and crazy as it might be, I know what I feel.
I’ve been free of the dreams for months. They mean a lot more to me now.
I look around my room. I can’t be here. I need to be somewhere else, far away from my bed, my dreams, and thoughts of T.K. I remove Oswald from my lap and head out of my room and down the stairs, not bothering to change or put on a jacket or even grab my purse. There is nowhere I need to be. I just need to be away.
Slipping on my boots, I grab my car keys and walk out the door, nonplussed by the frigid air or the remaining swirls of snow pelting my face.
I drive.
Turning up the heat and cranking the music, I make my way toward the only part of town I know has a long enough stretch of road that will allow me to speed without worrying about turns or stops. My heart slows with each thump of the music from the speakers and with each notch further right on the speedometer.
I don’t know how fast I’m going when I hit the ice.
I barely even register my Honda spinning in circles, slicing through the rails of the bridge. When the car splits through the layer of ice coating the water, I finally notice.
A scream consumes my body as I begin to sink, nose first, toward the bottom of the water. I expect the water to fill my lungs, but all I feel is the echo of my scream bounce off the walls of the car.
I let the darkness take me.
CHAPTER 15
I open my eyes when a knock, muffled by the water, sounds on my window.
Outside the car, visible by the light of the headlights cutting lines through the water, T.K. is swimming, his hair a golden halo around his head.
At the same time, I notice my feet are cold. The car has begun to fill with water.
T.K. motions to the ground, then back at me. He mimics putting his hands over his head. I do what he commands, although I see no point. There is no way he is going to smash through the window while the car is submerged.
I’m going to die underwater, like my dad.
After driving off that bridge, like my dad.
As I lift my head, the window falls in.
Although the glass is tempered, I still manage to cut myself. I watch in amazement as my blood floats around us in a smoky crimson cloud.
T.K.’s arms brush my body, grabbing and pulling, trying to maneuver me out of the small window. I begin to struggle for air. The need for oxygen is everything until I begin to worry he will lose air as well. He has been underwater longer than I have, and it is freezing.
I am not worth dying over.
I think my worry comes off as a struggle. I twist and shake my body, trying to swim without his assistance, but the cold is paralyzing. I feel the ice eat away at my skin, tearing me this way and that way, nipping at my bare legs and arms.
Finally, I begin to sink.
∆∆∆
I must not be out long, because when I open my eyes I’m still drenched in ice water and frozen solid, but now there is air. I gasp, drinking in as much of it as I can even though it burns my lungs.
“What the hell were you thinking?” T.K. says. His voice is low from exhaustion and laced with furry, making his chest vibrate with each syllable. He is carrying me in his arms, my body tight against his, our clothes wet, mingling together as they freeze.
I try to say it was an accident, but my voice seems to be frozen solid as well. I close my eyes and nestle into his neck, not fully conscious of what I’m doing, but knowing it is what I need to do to survive. T.K. makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat as he carries me to his car, which is parked discreetly at the opposite end of the bridge. The engine is still running.
The seats are leather and heated; they feel like fire-doused metal against my frozen skin. I let out a cry of pain as I’m placed on the seat. “You’re okay,” T.K. says, holding my cheek for a moment before drawing it back. “I’m going to take you home and get you warm and you’re going to be okay.” When I don’t answer, he says my name in a panicked whisper.
I mumble some sort of assent, my teeth smashing together.
“You’re going to be okay.”
The words are for himself.
∆∆∆
T.K. drives me home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting against my leg as though he is worried I’m going to jump out of the passenger’s door. Were I not so cold, I would call him an idiot. He has wrapped me in a sweater and about a thousand blankets, not that they are doing much to warm me. His smell clings to each of them, encasing me in his scent.
When he pulls into my driveway, I notice my mom’s car is gone. I can’t remember if it was there when I left. I don’t think he
r being here would stop T.K. from carrying me in through the front door, but it may stop him from bringing me into the bathroom and turning on the faucet, filling the tub with hot water.
Somewhere nearby I can hear Oswald mewling, but the sounds of his cries soon blends in with the water rushing into the tub.
I’m sitting on the cool tile floor, my body still shaking. I probably have hypothermia. I should be in a hospital, warm and snuggled with doctors fussing over me, not here in my frigid bathroom.
“This is probably going to burn like hell.” Before I realize what he is doing, T.K. laces an arm under my knees, the other supporting my back.
Then he puts me in the water.
It sears through my skin like a blow torch, igniting my nerves and melting my flesh.
After a few minutes, rational thoughts began to drift back into my mind. Rage boils my blood. “You shouldn’t have put me in the tub, idiot!” I hiss through my teeth as I attempt to stand. T.K. catches my arms and helps pull me up. His body is like ice, even though he’s wrapped in a blanket. I immediately draw myself away from him, never wanting to be in contact with the cold ever again.
T.K. misinterprets my anger for embarrassment.
“Relax, it’s not like I was looking,” he says in such a way that makes me think he was looking. Instantly, I am aware I’m wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, both of which are a pink so light they may as well be white.
“Give me a towel.” Each word comes out as a command, my voice holding just the right amount of venom to convey I don’t care if he sees me practically naked.
He takes ten heartbeats longer than necessary to pass me the towel. With him looking at me this way, his green eyes pouring into every part of me, it is near impossible to think I will ever be cold again.
“For the record,” I say, determined to keep my cool, “you shouldn’t have put me in the water because had I been hypothermic, that would not have helped. You’re supposed to gradually apply heat. Gently. And you should have brought me to the ER, not my bathroom.”
T.K. gives me an awkward look I can’t decipher, like he wants to say something, but he can’t find the words. He is both angry and uncomfortable, but without his words I have no idea why.
“How did you do that, anyway?” I call over my shoulder as I leave the bathroom behind. I head to my room in search of clean, non-see-through clothes. My head is still clouded and frozen, not working properly, but it’s working enough to know I need better coverage.
As I enter my bedroom, Oswald darts around me, his grey fur sticking to my damp leg as he goes. He is evidently content with my safety for the time being.
“Do what?” T.K. asks, as though there is nothing weird about him finding me at the bottom of a body of water at four in the morning in the middle of a Manitoba winter.
“Hulk the window open. And what the hell were you doing driving around at that time of night, anyway?”
“You want me to step outside while you change, or can I watch?” He completely avoids my questions, nodding at the fresh pair of pajamas in my hand–long sleeves and completely opaque.
I glare at him, deciding. For some reason, I think if I let him out of my sight for even one second, he will vanish. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take. “Close your eyes,” I say, dropping the towel to the floor. T.K.’s eyebrows shoot up briefly before he smooths out his features and closes his eyes. “If you open them, I’m going to castrate you,” I warn, peeling off my soaked top.
“It’s okay, I have a good imagination.” I take pleasure in the fact his voice isn’t as sure as it usually is. For some reason, I like knowing I intimidate him.
When I finish changing, I toss the wet clothes in the garbage–I want no memory from this night to remain. “You can open your eyes,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hall.
“Are you taking me to your secret lair?” His grip tightens on my hand, reminding me who I am dealing with. I snatch it back for a second before grabbing his wrist instead.
“I need to find you not-wet clothing, and frankly, I think if I let you out of my sight you’re going to disappear.”
“What would give you that idea?” I lead him into the spare room where we keep all our miscellaneous items. In the closet, there are boxes on top of boxes of my dad’s old clothes. I pull out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that look like they will fit.
“Call it female intuition.” I cross my arms over my chest, not even daring to blink.
“Uh, a little privacy?”
“I don’t trust you not to vanish,” I say coolly, narrowing my eyes at him. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the dreams or the near-dying, but I can’t shake the feeling there is something off about T.K. I’m not letting him go anywhere without a full explanation.
I am not crazy.
T.K. sighs as he looks at the clothes I’ve set on the guest bed. Annoyed, I watch as he pulls back the covers and climbs in the bed. He tosses his wet pants at my head. “Seriously?” I shy away from the cool fabric. His shirt comes next.
“Sorry to disappoint, beautiful, but with all this near freezing to death, my better parts aren’t quite as impressive as usual. I’m sure you understand.” I watch with pursed lips as he struggles to put the clothes on under the sheets.
“That was unnecessary,” I say as he straightens out the bed.
“So is thinking I’m going to vanish out of here like a ghost. You’re nuts, you know that?”
“Wouldn’t you, though? It’s not like it would be the first time you ran away.” Not waiting for a response, I begin pulling him toward my room. He sighs in frustration as I tow.
When we arrive in my room, I force him down onto my bed and stand facing him, my eyes glowering. “Okay, talk.”
“What do you want me to say, Raye?” He raises his palms, trying to feign innocence I know isn’t there.
“I want you to be honest, because I know something is going on. Who goes for a drive at that time?”
“Uh, you? What the hell were you doing out there? You almost died! Or was that the point?” His anger is so sudden it manages to catch me by surprise. “I mean, off a goddamn bridge! Isn’t that what your–”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice breaking enough to give away how traumatized I am. T.K.’s whole face softens. He motions to take my hand, but thinks better of the gesture and returns his arms to his sides.
I try to compose myself. I will not break apart. “I would never do that. Ever. So don’t ask me that again.” I’m proud I’m able to speak with so much passion. It isn’t an emotion I’m accustomed to; it feels weird on my tongue.
“When I saw your car go in, I swear my heart stopped beating.” His voice is so low, I’m not sure he’s actually speaking to me until he lifts his head to look into my eyes. “Why were you out there?”
I don’t know what answer to give, so I give the truth. “I had a nightmare. I was upset. I needed to clear my mind.”
T.K. looks at me with such intensity I’m certain it will break me apart. “What kind of nightmare?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I say, my body suddenly flushed. I will not tell him about the dreams. It’s bad enough I’m crazy; I don’t need him thinking I’m crazy over him.
“Raye…” He stands, hovering over me. “Are you…?” He takes a deep breath as he mulls over what he was planning to say. What it was, I will never know. I see the moment he changes his mind, his face hardening. “So, you went for a drive and ended up at the bottom of a frozen lake. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Raye, you’re the most dramatic person I have ever met. The bare minimum is never enough for you–your reactions to things are constantly exceeding my expectations. You’re the only person I know who handles emotion with such aggression.”
He thinks I’m dramatic? How few teenagers has he met to accuse me of being dramatic? I’m the least dramatic person I know. �
��I’m not going to sit here and let you change the topic. I want to know why you were following me and how you smashed through the window so easily.”
T.K. kicks his feet up on the bed, the perfect excuse to avoid eye contact. “I like to take nighttime drives. They calm me.” Liar. He senses the argument before I speak it. “Fine. Tell me what answer you’re looking for, Raye, because I have no idea.” More lies.
“You’ve been lying to me. I’m not blind, T.K. There’s something about you that isn’t right. I can’t explain it, but it’s there.” The dreams. I know they’re my biggest arguing point. All of this started with the dreams and I’m sure it ends with them. Yet, for some reason my pride holds me back. I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing what he does to me. “I know you’re lying about something,” I say instead, my voice filled with betrayal. “I want to know what I’m missing. You say you care about me, that you want a chance, but you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. What does that say about our potential?”
I know it’s cruel to play off his feelings for me, but it works nonetheless. I see the moment T.K.’s resolve crumbles, his eyes filling with warring emotions. He refuses to meet my eyes, afraid to see my reaction to what he wants to say.
“How about you start with how you were able to punch a hole through a tempered glass window without even hurting yourself?” My voice is gentle, coaxing. I sit down on the bed beside him, reaching for his hand.
Cruel.
I can feel his resolve collapse. His hand becomes slick with sweat, his eyes focused intently on our entwined fingers. “You want to know how I smashed you out of that car. Well, I’m pretty strong. Fast, too, if I want to be. It’s a perk.” He gestures to himself from head to foot. When he turns his body toward me, I want to retreat, but I can’t make myself move. “I can manipulate the energy around me to a certain extent: manipulate speed, disable power sources...”
The lights in my room flicker before turning off completely, submerging us into darkness. Unease spreads through my body as my brain tries to process what my eyes are seeing. He didn’t move from his spot, his body firmly planted next to mine. “It’s something in our DNA that reacts to the molecules on this planet, and other planets like it.” He turns the lights back on.
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