Forbidden Fruit (3 page)

Underneath a twisted old oak tree, students gathered around the two new faces, laughing hysterically.

“
And that’s why we can no longer attend Morningside Prep,” a charming, brown haired, blue eyed, guy said. He eagerly soaked up the subsequent shocked laughs, with a few scandalized gasps.

Lacy flipped her long, beautiful, silky hair over her shoulder, “Sounds illegal.”

The blue-eyed twin doing all the talking flashed her a mischievous, lop-sided smirk that promised many illegal, maybe even morally questionable things. She basked in the promise of a potential bad boy to shake up her predictable, little world.

When I breached the crowd line, my skin immediately began to crawl with the suspicion that someone was watching me. The feeling was no stranger to me. In truth, I had felt this way on occasion for as long as I could remember. At random times, I swore I could feel someone or something watching me. It used to scare the living hell out of me when I was a kid, especially in my room at night. I imagined all sorts of monsters in the closet and under the bed. You name it, and my mind created it. I knew looking around would prove nothing substantial, just my strange paranoia, but as always, I looked anyway.

And there he was, staring straight at me, with an unnatural assessment that defied all socially appropriate behavior. My skin went from a sensation I likened to a tingly crawl to a full-on, hair standing on end, uncomfortable feeling. It was the other twin. They obviously weren’t identical. The one who so easily entertained a group of complete strangers had the same skin tone and medium brown hair, though the quiet twin had dark brown eyes that were in direct contrast to his brother’s crystal blue. He was also shorter and stockier than his boisterous twin.

I broke the trance-like eye contact, knowing full well he was still staring at me, practically boring a hole through my skull. It was alarming. I found myself shifting in place, trying to find a comfortable stance in an awkward situation. I shifted my hair to hide my face, then turned around and pretended to be looking for someone in the parking lot, desperately wanting to retreat.

“
So Jason, what’s it like in juvi?” An enthusiastic Bailey asked. She was wide-eyed, hanging on his every word.

I never heard his story. I was so completely aware of the predatory gaze from the other twin, who I later learned was Derrick. I willed myself to focus on Jason, and found myself smiling and laughing when others did, though I had no idea what was funny.
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him
, I coached myself.

Damn it!
I looked. What did I expect? That repeated chant never worked. His stare was unchanged, just as creepy and unnerving as it was before. Why was he watching me? And why so intense? I didn’t recognize him, so he couldn’t know me. He wasn’t checking me out either. His eyes held an odd, completely detached expression, like a scientist observing the behavior of a rat. He was completely unconcerned with whether or not the rat died of the experimental injection, was just objectively curious of the outcome. He apparently had no concept of manners. My mother would roll over in her grave.

The bell rang.
Thank God
. I turned toward my first building without looking back, though I could still feel the disturbing presence of eyes on the back of my head.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough, I was my usual starving self as I ordered a sweet tea and sat with Bailey in the senior section of the cafeteria, or as the wealthy call it, the ‘dining hall.’ There were no long cafeteria-style tables with squeaky peg seats like my last school had (and most schools in America), instead we had posh leather booths with conversational style seating arrangements, fit to groom the rich youth for a lifetime of dinner parties and banquets. The only thing that resembled a cafeteria was the food line, but I suppose there is no other way to serve food than have servers and that would be downright ludicrous.

I opened my lunch box to find my favorite meal, a good old-fashioned sandwich. Nothing fancy, just turkey, cheese and mayonnaise. Sometimes I get the feeling Ginger knows me better than I give her credit for. She makes food that reminds me of home. I made a mental note to thank her for that.

I was smiling at my sandwich with a warm fuzzy feeling when someone slid onto the bench beside me. “Are you going to admire it or eat it?” a cocky voice laughed in my ear. I immediately recognized it as Jason’s, the new kid.

I became embarrassed the minute I registered what I must have looked like, smiling at a turkey sandwich. With flushed cheeks, I turned to him and said the first thing that came to mind, “I haven’t decided.”

He smiled. “Lily is it?”

I grinned an affirmative.

“
What a beautiful name for such a beautiful face.” His gaze passed over me with an admiring appreciation. My stomach executed a summersault, and my face heated.

I know what people think when they look at me. They see a pretty face, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. I look like the generic Barbie prototype, ‘it girl,’ which was a stark contrast to what I felt like inside. Jason was just another guy who would likely never get more than skin deep. Part of me liked the idea. There was comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t have to reveal my true self to anyone, then I would never have my heart broken. It would be like me laying in the middle of the road, letting the vultures tear me to pieces. I had already lost so much in my short life. I wanted to hang onto myself for as long as possible. So, I just gave Jason another smile.

He stared at me with an ever-increasing grin spreading across his face. I had trouble looking away. His eyes took in every inch of my features, until finally returning to mine. “We will definitely have to get to know each other,” he said, as he brushed back a loose piece of my hair, skimming my neck and shoulder as his fingers receded.

Then he walked away without another word.

I was left speechless. I mean, one minute, he looked at me as if I were a piece of candy he wanted to devour, and the next, he was walking away as if nothing ever happened, as if he merely stopped by to say ‘hi’ and nothing more.

“
Nice!” Bailey exclaimed, clearly having witnessed the entire ordeal. I glanced across the dining hall and met eyes with several others, including Lacy, who did not look at all happy about the new boy’s move.
Great
, I thought. The last thing I felt like dealing with was the psycho mean girl Lacy became when anyone stepped in her way.

Then I met eyes with Derrick. I squirmed in my seat under the scrutinizing look he gave me. What was his deal? Maybe he didn’t like his brother talking to me. Maybe I didn’t care. I raised my eyebrows in challenge to him, in a rare moment of bravado. He did nothing. He didn’t accept said challenge, he didn’t look away, he didn’t even change that incredulous expression. He just continued to stare, and my skin began to crawl. All courage gone, I left the cafeteria under the disguise of needing a restroom break.

The new kid was a hot flirt, with an inclination toward me. His tag along twin brother was total creeper. Lovely.

There was no such thing as privacy in a school like this. By the end of the day, I had heard rumors that I was going to Eric’s party with the new kid, making our first appearance in public as a couple. No matter how many times I smashed the rumor, it seemed to not only not go away, but return with a new element of surprise and scandal. That was Legare Prep.

I perch on a branch of the huge Oak tree outside her bedroom window, hidden by mossy foliage. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t help myself, the same excuse I have given myself for thousands of years. If only she remembered like I do. Or better yet, if only I could forget like she does. Life wouldn’t be so lonely. Maybe I could be with another, no strings attached.

Who am I kidding? She is and will always be the only one for me.

Sometimes I think it’s better to have never loved at all, than to go through the constant hell of losing the one you love.

She is writing in that journal again. She pours all her thoughts and feelings into a book, because she has no one left to confide in. Rose is a poor excuse for a parent. She buys her things and lets her do pretty much what she wants, although I wish she were stricter. A beautiful girl like Lily can get into a lot of trouble if she isn’t careful. And she is innocent. God help her, she hasn’t a bad bone in her body. But that can change. The world can change her.

I wish I could touch her soft skin again, run my fingers through her blonde locks. I could be the man she needs, not just the man behind the scenes, pulling the strings. Those beautiful blue eyes that sparkle with life should be looking at me. And those lush, always slightly peach colored lips should be mine as well. Her features are perfect in this life, just as they originally were. Actually, she looks remarkably like her original self.

Life after life I endure this labor of love, of keeping her safe, albeit a self-appointed labor. It can be a job of great reward, like when I see her smile or laugh, or it can be a job of great punishment, like when she lusts after another. I hate my job then.

Tonight I’m left watching her sit next to the glow of a candle. Her hair is piled in a messy knot on top of her head, pieces falling randomly toward the open journal, as she bites her lower lip and writes.

Some habits die hard. Like this irresistible signature tendency of hers when she is either thinking hard or embarrassed. I know her by her soul, but if not for that, I would know her by the way she blushes. She bites that plump lip, long eyelashes nearly graze her high cheekbones and a rosy fever colors her cheeks.

She is beautiful in every life, but particularly in this one. She has no idea the effect she has on humans. Boys want her but intrinsically know to stay away. For this she is innocent of all things sexual, something I find perversely satisfying.

But duty calls, I can’t stay out here all night as I would like, admiring the view. I have orders that must be followed, and a job to do. I glance around, making sure I haven’t left any kind of trail that could lead anyone to her, and then I port myself far away from her.

Saturday afternoon I walked from Rose’s mansion on the battery to the shops on Market Street. It was a beautiful, sun kissed day, with sea breezes and salty air whipping down the old cobblestone roads. Most everything I needed in Charleston was within walking distance, and though I loved the Viper, it felt good to travel the old-fashioned way, with my own two feet.

The city of Charleston is beautiful, with its historically ornate buildings, cobled streets, and gas lit street poles. There are ordinances against uber-tall buildings and modern architecture, which many of the new comers found archaic and pushed for the industrial growth of the seaport. I was glad for the stubborn Charlestonians, who managed the board of…whoever was in charge around here. I had never seen the faces of those in charge but through cocktail parties and old-lady’s gossip, I assumed they were of old southern money. Even the politician’s faces people see plastered on billboards and television aren’t really in charge. They are simply lapdogs from whoever’s pocket they feed. Unfortunately, that’s the way of the world.

I was moving from store to store, racking my brain for what on earth to get the woman who has everything. I thought perusing the shelves of expensive boutiques would at least give me an idea, but instead, that ended up a fruitless endeavor. Most of what I found consisted of cheesy, over-priced trinkets meant for tourists with deep pockets.

My feet needed a break after two hours of walking down the dangerous sidewalks of the city. More than a couple times, I almost took a tumble over the sneaky tree roots, slicing and snaking their way through the concrete every few feet. It was quite a challenge trying to look for shops and simultaneously watch my feet every time I took a step. In this regard, I was still an outsider. I’ve heard many Charlestonians find it amusing to watch unsuspecting tourists trip over the root-infested pavements, and then look around and pretending nothing happened. It happened to me at least once per week.

I decided to take a detour at my favorite coffee shop to recharge my batteries. It’s a little place called Kaminsky’s. They specialize in incredible deserts and great coffee. I had a sweet tooth after all the walking and scanned their display of decadent deserts, from cakes to scones and pies. I ordered a chunky slice of lemon cake and a medium regular coffee. I loved coffee. I was especially fond of good old-fashioned brewed coffee with lots of sugar and cream. I never got into the wild flavored stuff, it just seemed wrong somehow.

I devoured the cake faster than I meant to and was savoring the last bite when a newly familiar voice sounded from behind, “Well, if it isn’t the beautiful Lily.”

I stiffened at first and then relaxed, recalling the delicious face that went with that voice. Before I could spin around, Jason came into view, sliding into the seat right next to me. “Well, hi there,” I greeted his grinning mug.

“
Lemon?” He asked, “I would have thought you’d be a blueberry girl.”

Weird comment
, I thought, but I went with it, “Because of the car or the book bag?”

A smile slowly crossed his face as he stared for a few awkward seconds before responding, “Actually, it was the eyes.”

His bore into mine as if he could see something I couldn’t. Yes, of course, I have blue eyes, but he was looking at something different, something I couldn’t quite figure out, something I didn’t know.