Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) (25 page)

             
He had gotten a kick
out of it
when I told him about
my tree house
. “Can’t say it’s structurally sound
‘cause
it sways a little when it’s really windy, but yeah, I built it myself. I’m sure you’d laugh if you saw it in all its rickety glory.”

             
“No, I wouldn’t.” Jack’s fingers suddenly begin massaging my neck. I didn’t even hear him approach. At first, I’m completely wound tight by his touch, but once the kneading relieves the ache in my muscles, the tension resides. There’s
something
satisfying
about his touch, and I’m not sure what that means. I like the way his fingers move rhythmically across my skin, tickling me from the inside-out, even way down in my tummy. And I like that it’s
his
fingers doing this to me.

             
But that’s crazy
!
He’s a faerie. I’m a pixie. Our species don’t intermingle anymore. Even if I
can
get the hell out of here, we
can
never even be friends. So I sort of wish we could be the same species too. Because he’s right. If we had been born the same, I think we could
have been really good friends,
just hanging out in the forest having fun.

             
I’m left to ponder that sad realization quietly, but enjoy every second Jack’s willing to massage and ease my discomfort. I laugh internally, and I’m glad the smile spreading across my face is hidden. Maybe laying across his lap wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all…

             
Eventually his hands move to my hair, rubbing my oily roots in a circular motion. He detangles my long strands by stroking his fingers through it
repeatedly
. After what I’m sure is at least half an hour, he says, “I think that’ll do it. At least as clean as it’s going to get with this wash.”

             
My body twists so I’m sitting on my bum, and my head rotates so my hair trails along my back, water flowing down my body in several streams. I moan, the stiff pain in my back, shoulders and neck really hitting me now that I’m moving. Jack squeezes the excess water from my hair and fingers through it, separating most of the tangles. I never felt my scalp tingle, so I’m guessing my roots are still pretty dirty, but as I reach
up
to stroke my hair, I can tell it feels cleaner than the last time I touched it wet. My hand accidentally grazes
over
Jack’s, and he yanks it from my hair fast. Weird…

             
I twist my hair and use the length to secure it in a
loose
bun on the back of my head. Jack’s hands resurface on my shoulders. There’s a slight hesitation, but soon he begins kneading my muscles once more. No one’s ever rubbed my shoulders and neck before…and I’ve got to say, it feels
really
good. My neck gently sways in every direction, trying to elongate the muscles he’s kindly stretching out for me. I give in to the relaxation and lean back on my hands. When I do, my arm gently brushes his leg, and I can tell he’s sitting directly behind me on his knees. I let loose a long sigh, which practically comes off as an embarrassing moan.

             
Suddenly, Jack abandons my shoulders and jumps to his feet. He almost seems uncomfortable, rocking back and forth on his feet, looking at everything in the hole but me. “Are you okay?” I ask. I sure am after that rubdown, still feeling all dazed and tingly inside.

             
“Do us both a favor,” he says, his voice shaking a little. “If Finley shows up, drench your hair with water and tip over the bucket. That way your hair will still look all oily and it’ll look like I threw the bucket at you.”

             
With that, he takes off, rocketing straight up and out of sight before I can even figure out what the heck just happened.

             
“Jack?” I call. No answer.

             
Did I do something wrong? I’m not exactly cultured in the ways of faeries, so I’m not sure if what’s appropriate for my species would be appropriate for his. Did I do something
offensive
?

             
In his haste to leave, Jack left the lantern behind, so I can only assume he’ll come back some time later today. After all, his shift pixie-sitting me just started.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, or for how long, but when I awake, there’s food and a fresh bucket of water. Also, the lemon-honey water has been dumped, leaving the bucket available for its original purpose. The lantern’s still here, barely illuminating a weak glow, close to burning off the remaining oil. I don’t have much time until it’s completely dark again.

             
“Jack?” Still no answer.

             
Once Jack left, and the wonderful feelings he’d embedded dissipated, I came to my senses and realized why he bailed. How, oh
how
, could I
have been
so stupid as to moan in front of him? No wonder he flew out of here. He departed so fast I’m surprised there wasn’t a supersonic boom upon takeoff. Here he was, doing a nice thing by massaging my cramped-up muscles, and I allow
ed
myself to overindulge in the feeling and actually moan over it!
Stupid, stupid, stupid!

             
Now he’ll never come back and let me apologize.

             
And why the heck did I moan anyway? Sure, it was nice to have his fingers massaging my muscles, caressing my skin.
No, not caressing! Mother Nature, Rosalie! If he meant the movement to be caressing, he wouldn’t have fled from you like you were a flippin’ swarm of bees!

             
The last of the oil burns off and my prison slowly fades to black. Too bad my humiliation can’t fade with it.

I’ve been in darkness for several hours now…I think. Usually I’m only in darkness during the night, not during the daytime. Finally, a glow creeps toward me, the lantern’s flickering light licking its way down the rocky walls. I keep my gaze set to the floor, even after Jack’s feet make contact. I’ve gone over in my head a hundred different ways to apologize, but now that he’s here before me, I’m too cowardly to face him.

             
“Sorry I left you in the darkness. I thought there was more oil than that.”

             
If he hadn’t said that with a softened voice, I’m not sure I could’ve found the courage to look up and say, “It’s alright.” It was my own fault, after all, him running out of here like that.

             
We stare solemnly for a moment, neither of us sure what to say. Once again he’s creating a stir of feelings within, but this time it involves a sickening twist in my gut. He trades out t
he filled lantern for the dried
out one. I’m afraid he’ll disappear again, so I blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

             
“For what?”

             
Mother Nature, please do
n’t make admit the details.
“’
C
ause I made you leave. And then made you disappear all day.”

             
“Yeah…
about that. I just…didn’t feel well. I really just needed to get some fresh air.”

             
I huff, and in my mind I bitterly reply,
w
ell, that must be nice
.
My huff speaks louder than words, and he replies, “Rosalie, don’t be like that. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I. This whole…situation…it’s just really screwed up.”

             
Got that right. This flippin’ faerie is making me feel all sorts of weird things. It’s awkward. And worse, I know I’ve made him uncomfortable. It’s not right for me to like his touch. Not a faerie’s. Maybe that’s why he ran…because he could tell what I was feeling. I didn’t mean it really. It just happened. Maybe I got excited over realizing how we both prefer nature to our societies. You know, finally finding someone t
hat appreciates my way of life.

             
He sighs deeply. “Tell you what. I don’t think either one of us wants to have this conversation. Why don’t we just say goodnight and start over again tomorrow?”

             
I nod in agreement, too chicken to look up. Oh, why did I have to be so obvious earlier? Even if I did have a moment of weakness and enjoy his hands on my skin – which I did – I never should have allowed my body language to show it. Now I fear he’ll avoid me…because I’m the pixie that likes to be touched by a faerie.

Today comes too soon. I welcomed sleep last night, although my dreams teased me with several scenarios of me being free and having Jack in my life in some form or another – even one where we were more than friends. In tha
t world, it didn’t feel wrong, w
asn’t wrong. I’m not one to dwell on such dreams, but I wish the real world
can
be that easy. Then I
won’t
have to chastise myself for feeling an interest here or there for Jack. Because it wouldn’t be forbidden.

             
Come to think of it, I wonder what happened between our species that made them officially segregate. I believe we always lived separately, but what was the final nail in the coffin that drove us apart indefinitely? And why do the fae frown upon intermingling? Is it really that bad for Jack and me to be friends? Maybe they’re afraid of creating a new fae species. But faeries and pixies are so much alike already. What would it matter if a couple were to join and create a new fae? The only differences will probably be the blending of heights and skin tones. Right?

             
Regardless, I’m not in my dream world. Technically, I’m not even in the real world right now, lost in a dark, dank hole where no one will ever find me. And I’m pretty sure Finley has no intention of ever letting me out again, not even to work the line with the other stolen pixies.

             
I’m still a little ashamed when Jack descends my hole today, and I’m trying to force my eyes upward so I can determine his demeanor.