Just Me

by L. A. Fiore

  His arms tightened around me before he turned me to him so his mouth could cover mine in a kiss that was slightly wild. My body crushed against his, my hands seeking the warm, bare skin of his back. His kiss made me lightheaded, his mouth pulling from mine way sooner than I wanted. A protest got stuck in my throat when I felt his lips on my collarbone. His tongue darted out and licked my heated skin. I'm pretty sure I moaned in response. He lifted his head and threaded his fingers through my hair.

  “You are so beautiful.” He whispered.

  I wanted him to kiss me again, and almost said as much, but Bastian's attention shifted to something just behind me. “My friends are here.”

  Friends, what are friends? I was barely able to hold onto a thought. How the hell was I supposed to communicate intelligibly with people? At that moment the best I was going to manage was Me, Lark. Lark like Bastian. Lark like kissing Bastian a lot.

  Bastian moved from me and approached three guys, the same ones I had seen at Alfonso's. I watched as they shook hands in greeting.

  “Guys, this is Lark. Lark, Kale, Caden and Duncan.”

  They clearly recognized me, because they were giving me the smile: the one shared among guys, the exact meaning of which was unknown to the female of the species.

  I attempted to read their thoughts to learn the answer for all of womankind, but was distracted from that when Caden said, “Nice to meet you, officially. Glad you could come out tonight.”

  “Glad to be here.”

  For the next two hours it was like I had entered another world. It took only a few minutes for me to get comfortable with Bastian's friends before they dragged me to the mosh pit. I overheated in my sweater, but the sweat, the screaming, the bodies—many of whom were of the guy variety, had removed their shirts—pressed up against each other—it was awesome.

  Bastian and I were at our table getting some water when he reached for the back of his sweater and pulled it forward over his head. The sight of his bare chest almost had me choking on my water. The perfect example of male beauty from his pecs to his washboard abs met my gaze, but it was the tattoo of the sapphire-colored dragon with ruby-red eyes, which rested right in the middle of his chest, that held my attention. Before I consciously knew what I was doing, I walked around him to see the body of the dragon wrapping around his side, and the tail travelling down the valley of his spine, getting lost under the waistband of his jeans. My hand reached out on its own as I trailed my fingers over his chest, down his six pack, and around his side to continue the slow journey over the rope of muscle that framed his spine and down that deep groove. How did he get a body like this?

  A shudder worked through him in response to my touch. His expression was not one I recognized, but the same couldn't be said of my body's reaction to it, since I experienced it every time I was in his presence: my blood started to burn.

  My voice might have cracked due to raging lust when I asked, “The dragon is awesome. Is that the last of your tattoos?”

  He didn't answer me at first, just watched me with a seriously sexy expression on his face. He reached for my hand and placed it on his bare chest. “I like you touching me.”

  “I like touching you, but you didn't answer my question.”

  He tugged gently on a lock of my hair, “Yes.”

  “No piercings?”

  His right eyebrow rose slightly in question, “No, why?”

  “I don't know, it just seems like tattoos and piercings go hand in hand.”

  “I'm not big on piercings. Why, you want me to get pierced?”

  “No, I like you just the way you are.”

  He drew me close, pressing me up against his hard body. “I like you just the way you are.”

  And then he kissed me like it was his job, and I sighed into his mouth before losing myself completely in the moment.

  Chapter Five

  By Saturday night my return to my aunt's tomorrow loomed. But for tonight, Poppy and I were staying up and chatting while giving each other facials. She’d rubbed some chocolate mask on my face, and it smelled so delicious I just wanted to eat it.

  We sat on the floor, resting up against the bed, as we ate popcorn while the movie Something Borrowed played in the background. Poppy was not paying any attention to the movie, because she was more interested in talking about Bastian.

  “You like him and don't bother trying to be coy about it. You are literally glowing and I'm not the only one to notice. Mom even commented.”

  It was true, I was falling hard for Bastian and I hardly knew him. If he occupied my thoughts as much as he did now, then what was going to happen when I fell completely for him? And I would; it was a foregone conclusion. “Honestly, I'm freaked out a bit at how much I like him.”

  She was genuinely curious when she asked, “Why?”

  “I can't stop thinking about him.”

  “I knew it, I knew it the first day of school. I'm so happy for you.”

  Poppy's enthusiasm was contagious, but I couldn't deny there was a small part of me that doubted Bastian and I were going to be together long enough for it to matter. His parents seemed quite determined to mold Bastian into the man they wanted. And despite knowing he had more than his share of self-confidence, even the strongest caved under the pressure of family. I was certain that if his parents ever met me, they would instantly take a disliking to me because unlike Kira, I didn't fit into the plans they had for Bastian's future. The thought was a thoroughly depressing one.

  “What are you thinking, Lark?”

  Now wasn't really the time to get into it. Bastian and I had only just started dating and I intended to enjoy every second that I was lucky enough to call him mine. “Nothing really, just enjoying the ride.”

  Poppy's smile was proof that she liked my answer, which she confirmed when she said, “Good plan.”

  ***

  The following day, I returned home only to be greeted by Carol and Deena, who spent a good hour with me sharing stories about their trip. It felt really nice, their attempt to include me. The same could not be said of my aunt, who ignored me as usual. My uncle said a quick hello before he locked himself in his office, so he could get caught up on some pressing work.

  Later that night, I sat in my room doing homework when there was a knock at my door. When my uncle entered, I felt myself tense. My concern must have been clear on my face. A slight smile touched his lips.

  “Don't worry, your aunt and the girls are grocery shopping. May I sit for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  He settled on the edge of my bed and I couldn't help but notice how handsome he was with his thick blond hair and dark brown eyes. Even in his forties, he was still in excellent shape.

  His words pulled me from my silent study. “I know you weren't invited to join us, only learned it while we were on vacation or I would have invited you Lark, would have insisted that you join us. I am so sorry. Your aunt is a good woman, but she does have one major flaw. She's a very jealous person, and it is her jealousy that fuels her behavior toward you. I'm not making excuses for her—her behavior is wrong but I would like to share a bit of our past. I realize I should have told you long ago, but part of me hoped your aunt would come around and part of me wanted to wait until you were old enough to understand.”

  “Okay.”

  He took a moment to choose his words and when he spoke his voice barely registered. “I was in love with your mother.”

  All the blood rapidly left my head. A wave of dizziness swept through me. My uncle, clearly seeing something, reached out to place a steadying hand on me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I just wasn't expecting that.” I think my heart actually stopped.

  “Do you want me to continue?” He asked.

  I had the sense that he needed to share the story as much for himself as for me. “Yeah.”

  “Dylan was the love of my life and had been from the very first moment we set eyes on each other. I loved her to distracti
on and I knew she felt the same.”

  Shifting in my chair to face him I asked, “So what happened?”

  “I don't know. I've thought a lot about it over the years and I still can't seem to make sense of Dylan's behavior. I was going to school and working a lot, and for a time I thought it was the lack of attention that pushed her away. But she had her own ways to stay busy, like working as a receptionist for one of the local businesses in town. Not to mention she had never been the clingy type. She did change, though. She used to be the life of the party, but it got to the point that she refused to leave the house. Before long she had withdrawn from every aspect of her life, became a shell of who she had been, that I hardly recognized her. I tried to talk with her—offered to get her professional help, but she wouldn't accept it. She wouldn't even let me near her anymore.”

  “Eventually she moved away and I was devastated. So was your aunt, because she just idolized her sister. We found ourselves comforting each other, and eventually we fell into a comfortable life.”

  “It's hard on your aunt to see you—you look so much like Dylan and there's still pain and anger in her for the way Dylan just pushed us out of her life.”

  “It hasn't been ideal living here and I know I should have done more to make you comfortable. I am truly sorry.”

  I didn't really know what to say. To learn that my mom hadn't always been the train wreck I had always known her to be was a surprise. What had happened to her to make her change? I wanted to know. And though I understood better what motivated my aunt to treat me the way she did, I still agreed with Bastian. She was a douche to take out her own problems on me. I was tempted to say that, but I didn't.

  “Mom was self-destructive. Whatever sent her down that path haunted her right up until the end. I would have liked to have seen the woman you described, because the mom I knew was broken.”

  Tears shone in his eyes. “I wish you had known her that way too. I'll go start dinner. Please join us tonight. It won't be the same; I promise you that.”

  “Okay.”

  The door closed behind my uncle, but I barely noticed his exit since my thoughts were on my mom. The woman he described was not the woman I grew up with. To know that there had been a time in her life when she was so much more than what she became, broke my heart.

  What happened that caused her to lose her way? How could they have lost her so completely? And where had my aunt been through all of it? Had I a sibling, I had no doubt that I'd move hell and earth to ensure their health and happiness even at the risk of my own life. Why hadn't my aunt done the same for her own sister?

  A short time later, I joined the family for dinner. I didn't miss the surprise on my cousins' faces to see me taking a seat at the table nor the barely veiled anger that twisted my aunt's expression.

  My uncle placed a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs in the middle of the table. “I made this for you because I know how much you like it.” Our eyes met. “Thanks for joining us.”

  Emotion rose up my throat and nearly choked me. I could only nod my head. Attention shifted when Deena started talking about her day. Affection gleamed on my aunt's face as she looked at her daughter.

  “I made the cheerleader squad. Mom, I need to bring the money for the uniform to school by the end of the week and practice is Monday, Wednesday and Friday until five, so I'll need a ride home on those days.”

  “Absolutely. I'm so proud of you, Deena. Anything you need sweetie, you've got it.”

  My uncle saw my reaction to my aunt's unguarded response to Deena. Not once had she ever shown that kind of affection to me even though I knew she was capable of it.

  “So tell us Lark, what are you painting now?” My uncle asked.

  “The chapel in town square.”

  “You favor oils, right?”

  “I do, but charcoal is a close second.”

  Carol chimed in from her spot across the table from me, “Have you tried a self-portrait yet?”

  Anger pulsed off my aunt at the fact that the conversation centered around me, but I ignored her and allowed myself to engage in the banter with my uncle and cousins. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I really enjoyed myself.

  ***

  Monday afternoon found me working on my painting. My thoughts kept returning to the dinner I had shared with the family. Notwithstanding my aunt staring daggers at me from across the table, it had been very nice. Another thought that preoccupied my mind was my dad. When had he come into my mom's life? Had they dated or was it just a hook up? Had she even remembered him? Did he remember her? Was it possible that for a time my mom had been happy despite the secrets that haunted her? I truly hope that was so. Ms. Whitney interrupted my thoughts.

  “Lark, could I have a minute, please?”

  I wondered what was on her mind because I knew she didn't generally like interrupting a painter at work. It was something she found intolerable when others did it to her. Placing my brush down, I joined her at her desk.

  “Please have a seat. There's something I would like to discuss with you.”

  I settled in the chair, but I was nervous. Luckily, she didn't make me wait long before she just got right to it.

  “Have you heard of the Logan Dupree scholarship?”

  “No.”

  “It's given to one graduating senior every year: a full academic scholarship to any school of your choosing.”

  “Wow, that's quite a scholarship, but isn't it a little late to apply?” Ms. Whitney and I had already applied for pretty much every art scholarship out there, but I didn't remember this one.

  “Well, I'll get to that in a minute. The recipient is required to mentor with Logan Dupree, and due to his wife giving birth this summer, you would have to move to Harrington, Maine the last week of April. I've already discussed this with your teachers. They have all agreed to give you your exams early. You would miss the senior prom, though.”

  She acted as if I had already won the scholarship. “I don't understand.”

  “I applied for you—submitted a portfolio of your work—but I didn't say anything because it was a long shot, but such an incredible opportunity if you did win it.”

  She reached over her desk and took my hands into hers. A smile spread over her face. “Lark, you won the scholarship.”

  It took me a minute to understand what she said and another few minutes to process it. Two weeks ago I would have accepted it immediately, and it was stupid to even ponder not accepting it, but now there was Bastian.

  “A scholastic opportunity like this comes only once in a lifetime.”

  “I know. How long do I have to make my decision?”

  “February.”

  “Okay, so I have time.”

  “Yes, but I do so hope you take it.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Whitney, for applying for me.”

  “You are very talented. Despite what else is happening in your life, please don't lose focus on that. Think of David Cambre and the joy you feel when studying one of his sculptures. Now imagine if he had gotten sidetracked and deprived the world of his art before he died. Your gift should be shared.”

  “You're right and thank you. I'll let you know.”

  ***

  I was distracted for the rest of the day and ended up skipping lunch to spend the time Googling Logan Dupree. Damn, the man was talented. Having an opportunity to mentor under him really was a once in a lifetime chance.

  His wife, Saffron—cool name—was expecting their second child in July. He sounded like a dream. He had learned to have both a family and a career, and so it wasn't just art I could learn from him.

  My thoughts turned to Bastian. He was the reason for my hesitation and for good reason because deep down I knew he felt for me what I did for him. It was crazy, this attraction between us, but it was real and something I really wanted to explore.

  I headed for my locker when the final bell rang, but I was so lost in thought, I didn't realize Bastian was waiting for me until he said my name
.

  “Lark, are you okay? You've been kind of out of it today.”

  “I just have some things on my mind.”

  “Your conversation with your uncle?”

  “Partly that.”

  “I have soccer practice now, but I can skip it if you want to go somewhere to talk.” He said.

  “You should go to practice, but would you mind if I watched?”

  “Mind? Hell, no.”

  “Do you guys play shirts against skins?” I asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Please make sure you're a skin.”

  His chuckle rumbled through him. He kissed my forehead. “For you, anything.”

  ***

  As I watched practice, I realized Bastian was good, in fact, he was really good. Why wasn't he pursuing a career in soccer? Was soccer not an acceptable occupation in the world according to Mr. Ross? It was baffling, how the Rosses saw their son. Ignoring his obvious attributes, he was exceedingly bright, breezing easily through his honors and AP classes. Whether he was talking to guys on his soccer team or members of the faculty, he was equally comfortable with both. What he could do with a car was as impressive as it was enviable. And to top all of that, he was just a really good guy. How anyone could look at him and see anything but perfection just pissed me off. And more, the fact that he didn't allow it to get to him—the neglect at home—and could live his life despite having to do so on his own, showed his incredible strength of character. It was just one more reason why I was so completely drawn to him.

  Kira and a few other Cheers were on the sidelines, drooling shamelessly, but they tried to camouflage their lusting behind a weak attempt at cheerleading practice. I wanted to call over to them and say they weren't fooling anyone, but then I was ogling too.

  A few times Kira actually engaged Bastian in conversation despite the coach shooing her away, and even from my distance, I could tell there was an easiness about the exchange which I guess would happen when you'd practically grown up with someone. I wondered what he was like at six or ten, or fourteen? Was he always as confident as he was now? Did he always have such a strong sense of who he was?