Living Violet (19 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

Tags: #Young Adult, #Fantasy, #Romance

BOOK: Living Violet
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“I'm a guy, Sam. Of course I miss it, but not enough to put a woman in danger.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It's a great stimulant. Scratch that—it's one of the best—but there's something even better.”
“What?”
“Feeding. Words can't describe it. Sex is more a physical thing, where feeding is far more intimate. I'm taking in life, the physical, mental, emotional blueprint of existence. It's intense; so much is coming at you at once. It's like you're dying and living in that exact moment. The rush is better than anything that you will ever know, which is why my celibacy hasn't driven me crazy yet.”
Seeing the elation in his eyes, I could only imagine the thrill that came with the act. This man literally got high on life, and I wanted to become his supplier. I wanted that look to remain on his face whenever he saw me.
“When was the last time you fed?” I asked.
“Last night.”
“How is that going, anyway?”
“Pretty good. I try to feed twice a day, but I haven't gotten around to it today. Being near you doesn't help.”
I shrugged, offering no pity. “You invited me over.” “I know you're worried about what would happen, but is there any way it's possible for us to kiss again?” Biting his lip, he stared at me with the eyes of a naughty child who promised to behave.
“I don't know. I'm still freaked out over the last time.” I hesitated, not sure how to get the words out. “But, if you need me ... you can have me.”
His eyes fixed to mine, trying to find meaning in my statement and any sign of objection. I answered him with silence.
He reached for my hands and dragged his lips across my wrist. “The pull isn't nearly as strong this way, but you may feel a little light-headed.”
His moist lips, his hot breath, the stubble on his chin wreaked havoc on my nervous system. The warmth traveled up my arm to my vertebrae. During his slow exploration up my arm, every movement illustrated the need for control, which only heightened the excitement.
Closing my eyes, I presented trust and vitality as an offering, a gift that he handled with care. My thoughts flew back to our first kiss in the bookstore as the pulling sensation returned—the numb weightlessness, the icy tickle of static on my skin. Textures and heat I never knew existed invaded my body, assailing all reasoning. Not just touch, but all the senses fostered pleasure. I relinquished all purchases of self for the sake of the moment, for the sake of the pull. The longer the contact, the more of me bled away.
Feathery strands tickled my cheek when he reached my shoulder. His breath shivered against my throat. “Sam?”
“Huh?”
He tipped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “What do you see?”
I stared into the vast plane of lavender and saw the life behind the world, that uncharted territory never seen by the living, where the flesh could never endure. I alone could see his eyes that way, which secured our bond long after all things of this world ceased.
Touching his face, I whispered, “I see joy.”
 
The next three hours took place in Caleb's arms on the sofa. I rested against his chest, counting the spaces between each heartbeat and inhalation of air. I gave in to the moment: a feeling so convoluted, so pure, it was blinding. The slow descent from the clouds made me drowsy, and the fall settled me into a warm embrace that greeted below. Light fingers dragged across my arm and neck, coaxing me into sleep.
“What did you learn about me this time?” I asked.
His fingers coiled around my hair. “People gray early in your family. When you found a streak, you dyed it white and red in defiance.”
“Wow, I never told anyone that.”
“I know. I like it. I also learned that you trust me.”
I lifted my head. “Oh yeah?”
“I'm glad. I promise to keep that trust intact.” He held me tighter as if his security blanket would be taken away. Though I couldn't see his face, I knew something bothered him. Before I could mention it, he asked, “How are you feeling? You need some more orange juice?”
“You made me drink a whole carton.”
“It helps you recuperate faster; you won't get that hungover feeling.”
“You should have told me that the last time.”
He rolled onto his side and pulled me to him. “Must've slipped my mind.” His lips brushed my forehead; his hands drew me closer. It seemed that we couldn't get close enough. I wanted to merge with him, graft my skin to his. He smelled like the inside of a bakery, warm and sweet, just like him.
Before I dozed off, I heard him say, “It doesn't take much to make me happy, but the simplest things are sometimes the hardest to get. But when it finally arrives, heaven help those who try to take it away from me.”
21
T
he first week of August was an entertaining one.
Mia and Dougie broke up that Monday on account of a pregnancy scare. Maybe she found death a turn-on, because the day after Garrett's funeral, Mia and Dougie finally sealed the deal. After three years of dating, they figured it would cement their bond as destined soul mates. Folly it was, considering she broke up with him the second her period ran late.
Dougie called, begged, even camped outside of my house the day of the test, so Mia had to park a block away and enter from the back porch. As we waited for the verdict to read from five home pregnancy tests, I told Mia the latest on me and Caleb—minus the demonic possession, of course.
She seemed happy that I was stepping into the relationship field, a feat thought impossible from all sides. Mia gave me crap the entire time, which served as a good diversion from her own problems.
“So, let me get this straight. Caleb likes you, but instead of declaring his love verbally, he hands you bus fare?” Mia rolled on my bed in another fit of laughter.
“Well, if you put it like that, it sounds pretty lame. We're both weird about couple stuff, and we're allergic to corny. Can you really blame us?” I joked.
She must have taken it seriously. Her face set in a line of brooding introspection. “Every time I ask myself if being with Dougie is even worth it, the answer is always yes.”
“Then why do you fight with him all the time? One of these days he's just gonna leave and not come back.”
Her honey-brown eyes narrowed. “I know. He can do a whole lot better than me. And he can leave at any second. That's why I have to be the one that ends it, not him.”
“Why end it at all? He's not going anywhere. You two are crazy about each other, so the only fighting going on should be to stay together. Stop being a little bitch.”
“Gee, thanks, Sam.”
“I'm not gonna hold your hand and coddle you when you're in the wrong. You sure as hell wouldn't do it to me. So what are you gonna do about Dougie?” I asked.
“Time will tell.” Mia stood at the sight of the clock on the nightstand. “And my time is up. Let's see the results.”
Thank God it was a false alarm. I couldn't see Mia bringing a life into the world. People say children change everything, bring one's priorities into focus; but none of my friends were equipped to test that theory.
That Friday, Mia's monthly visitor dropped by, and she and Dougie made up just in time for Robbie's party. Being surrounded by my friend's relationship, my siblings, and my crazy mother served as an efficient chastity belt; however, time spent with Caleb weakened my armor.
Caleb survived Master Lu's orientation class by a thread. He stretched across his couch like a limp rag doll for two days, begging for someone to shoot him. Muscles he never knew he owned made their objections known. Soon he would be one mean fighting machine, and I was tempted to sign up for a class myself, especially if it could give me abs like his.
It wasn't fair that he could pig out and not gain one ounce, but if I walked past a vending machine, the button of my jeans popped. I conquered the freshman fifteen in eighth grade and it was a constant struggle to keep from backsliding. Caleb didn't seem to mind, if his relentless petting provided any clue. He told me that I felt better than the softest pillow. Though it was complete BS, I gave him points for effort.
Aside from having his ass handed to him twice a week, Caleb spent most of his time mixing on his turntable and seducing me after work. He kept his music selection under wraps, wanting it to be a surprise for Robbie's party.
Meanwhile, Mom decided not to let the speed-date fiasco bring her down. Jumping back on the saddle, she continued her online search for her better half. She was working on date number three, and I barely even noticed.
This Caleb makeover occupied every ounce of free time I owned, but I had to pump the brakes when Mom came downstairs wearing something backless and not very age appropriate. Apparently Mom's hunger strike had paid off, and the result had me doing a double take.
Picking my jaw off the floor, I asked, “Where you going, Miss Thang?”
“I told you all this week that I had a date tonight.” She strutted—yes strutted—through the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone off the charger.
I leaned against the kitchen island. “You did? With who?”
“He's a retired engineer for the military, and he's gorgeous!” Mom squealed.
“Uh-huh. What else? Where are you going? What's the address? And what's his Social Security number?”
“Samara, I've already checked him out, and he's fine.”
Not wanting to be upstaged, I said, “Okay then, have fun. I've got plans, too.”
“Oh yeah? You hanging out with Caleb?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Am I really that predictable?”
“Nowadays.” As Mom drew closer, her expression turned serious. “Samara, you're almost eighteen and you're old enough to make your own decisions. But some decisions are important, and your choices can change the rest of your life. Now if you and Caleb feel the urge to become intimate—”
“Mom!” I covered my ears.
Omigod, not the sex talk. Not the sex talk.
“Samara, sweetie, you need to be prepared for any situation.”
“There is no situation. We just hang out.”
Her stare pinned me still. “I see how he looks at you. He's a bit older than you and has worldly experience.”
“Two years, Mom. That's all. And he's not using any of his ‘worldly experience' on me, that's for sure.”
“All I'm saying is that you have a bright future ahead of you. I don't want you ruining any opportunities over a summer fling.”
“It's not a fling. We just—”
Mom spied the microwave clock behind me and jumped. “Honey, can we talk about this later? I'm running late. Just remember what I said. I'll see you later.”
I followed her to the door, hoping her skirt didn't ride any higher. “Okay, Mom. Have fun.”
 
Not having an invite to the party brought me to Robbie's doorstep, demanding retribution. He told me that I was always welcome and no invitation was necessary. Though the response made me blush, some type of notification of the event would've been splendid.
The party was the epic milestone and fond farewell to civilization as we knew it. Robbie wasn't the balloon and cake type of person, but he was into performers of the clothing-optional variety. The turnout was ridiculous, proving that there was no such thing as bad publicity. Finding a dead body at a party shot one's popularity into the stratosphere.
The house was a fire-code violation with nowhere to stand, let alone sit down. But no one wanted to sit once Caleb's magnum opus invaded the speakers. Bodies swayed and bent like wheat in the breeze, contorting to the will of the elements. Movement and sound occupied their own cosmic string.
Mark stood in awe at Caleb's orchestration in the deejay booth. Every track blended with the other with customized precision, without any pause, or interference. Each song set a new mood, from panic to euphoria, all falling into a rib-rattling accordance with each other.
Caleb closed his eyes, letting the beat absorb into his pores, drinking the energy surrounding him. I watched him draw in the crowd's adulation. He waved to everyone and they returned the acknowledgement with reverence. It was now clear why so many chicks got hot over the deejay. They brought energy to the scene, but Caleb took it right back.
Caleb's eyes held mine prisoner as the last song of the night violated my body. His look revealed that he, as well as the song, was dedicated to me. I had never heard the tune before, and it was a good thing we were in public. Though devoid of lyrics, the sensual rhythm bordered on indecency. The beat alone would surely make a woman out of me.
This was the song that held planets in orbit; it was where babies really came from, and it wouldn't surprise me if it was on God's playlist. Smiling in gratitude, I lifted my head and allowed the music to steal my soul.
After the party, I went to Caleb's house for a bit. Mom must have been having some fun of her own since she hadn't called me about the time, so I figured another half hour wouldn't hurt. He needed a sound opinion on a new set he had compiled for Mark. I sat on Caleb's couch watching him work his magic on the turntable. His eyes came alive with activity and absorption. He definitely found his element and it showed through every cell of his body. He looked better, too. His skin had a healthy glow and he carried a spring in his step. Though Capone had begun to behave himself, women still huddled around Caleb at work and whenever we went out. They kept their advances nonviolent, but they stood oblivious of my presence. It took saintly grace to withstand that amount of disrespect.
Then there was the sex issue. I wasn't a prude; I just never found a guy worthy enough to go that extra mile. Caleb was a good candidate, but the risks overshadowed the reward. Everyone was entitled to their past, but the thought of him sleeping with other girls made me ill. He never gave an exact body count, but even
one
partner was enough to tie my stomach into knots. They partook in a joy I couldn't have, a gift only I could appreciate.
Shaking those negative thoughts away, I got up and moved to the kitchen.
“So do you like it?” he called after me.
“Huh? Oh yeah, it's great, Caleb. The girls are gonna hunt you down over that last song.” The comment came out sharper than intended. He must have caught on, because he removed his headphones and followed me to the kitchen. My path to the fridge was intercepted by Caleb's body trapping me against the counter.
Frowning, he read my face like a map, examining the hidden flaws in the typography. “Jealousy is never healthy.”
“I'm not jealous.” The reply came out quicker than necessary.
A smile pulled at the side of his mouth as his thumb stroked my bottom lip. “No, but I am. Every guy who's kissed you, I envy.”
“You don't have to.” I sucked the roaming digit into my mouth and nibbled lightly.
His eyes darkened at the invitation. Just as he leaned in to kiss me,
The People's Court
theme rang through the kitchen. Trust Dad to kill the mood.
Caleb searched around in annoyance. “You might wanna consider changing your ring tone.”
“Or just turning off my phone.” I went for my bag. Caleb tried to hide his disappointment as he followed me to the living room.
Once I flipped open the visor, Dad yelled through the phone. “Samara, where are you? I tried calling you at the house.”
“Dad, what's wrong?”
“Your mom's at the hospital.”
I wasn't sure if I heard him correctly, even as he repeated it twice. “What?”
“They just brought her in. She collapsed outside a restaurant parking lot. She had a heart attack.”
The bottom dropped from under me, and all the blood drained from my body. Somehow, I managed to keep the phone to my ear. “Are you with her now?”
“No, she's in the ER now, but I'm on my way.”
“Thanks.” After Dad gave me the hospital information, I ended the call. Hurling my bag over my shoulder, I went to the door, but I couldn't quite reach the knob. I tried a second and a third time, but all I caught was air. Something prevented my left arm from extending forward, a light resistance that originated at the elbow. Examining the limb, I realized a large, white-knuckled hand held it in place. I followed the hand toward the man who stood next to me with fear in his eyes.
“Samara, what's wrong?” His low, muffled voice seemed to come from another room. He rotated my shoulders in his direction. His eyes focused on every movement, every intake of breath. “Sam, talk to me. What's wrong?”

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