Redemption (10 page)

“Damn, damn, damn!” I cursed as I came closer to the Abbey, my voice rising with each word. God it was hot! Which didn't improve my mood any. I hated September weather in the South. Southern weather was as temperamental as its people. Hot one moment, chilly the next. But rarely ever cold. Forty degrees was enough to make every person in the street complain it was freezing. And on the rarer occasion it snowed, the whole town shut down. Today was a humid one and sweat trickled slowly down the side of my face. I swiped at it.

“Damn!” I screamed one last time.

 It was childish and utterly foolish to challenge this sacred place with words of condemnation, but I was well beyond frustrated and it made me feel better. Simple as that. I kept my eye on the prize as I marched.

The door of the Abbey grew larger, and I was panting by the time I put my hand on the knob. I paused and looked up at the building, the dark stone walls hovering over me ominously. I saw something move in my peripheral vision, and I backed up slightly. What was that? Leaves rustled in a nearby magnolia tree, and I moved back to the door as a cloud rolled in front of the sun. The day went dim. Spooked, I pushed at the door again, cursing the old hinges when it didn't open immediately. The vision from the school consumed me, and I shivered. I turned the knob.

Voices moved down the hall from the refectory as I opened the door, but instead of moving toward the dining hall, I turned instead to the stairwell. I wasn’t hungry.

“Dayton?” a voice asked as my foot hit the stairs. I paused. Amber. She looked up at me worriedly.

“You okay?”

 I was having a self-pity moment, not because I’m the type to wallow in despair but because I was tired of having to accept these strange new changes in my life without knowing why. I kept my back to her and began to climb. I was withdrawing again. Why did I find it so hard to ask for help? She didn’t call after me, and I was glad she didn’t.  I was
not
okay, I was
not
happy, and I was tired of pretending I wasn’t angry, confused, or scared.

 I stormed into my room, slammed the door as hard as I could, tore through my desk for a dumdum and shoved my desk chair into the wood. Damn! My room turned into a gym full of punching bags, my imagination supplying me with a million different outlets for stress. I took them all. Damn! Something cracked as I hit my cheap plywood dresser. Let Aunt Kyra replace it!

“To hell with this crap!” I cried out, loud enough I hoped the whole Abbey heard.

 I screamed so much and lashed out so vehemently that it wasn’t until exhaustion hit me that I realized I was crying. My cheeks were soaked with tears. I swiped at them angrily. I hated them for making me cry. I hated them all!

“I won’t let you do this,” I murmured as I moved to close the curtains on my window. I was determined to shut out the world.

One week. That’s all it had taken to make my already unstable world flip over. I was tempted to rip the fabric I held fisted in my hands into shreds. My fingers tightened on the violet material. What would it help though? The twilight outside beckoned, and I stopped to stare a moment. How long had I been fuming? I leaned closer to the window.

Eyes met mine from the semi-darkness outside.

My need for solitude was forgotten instantly. The eyes that stared back at me blinked. Real eyes, not a reflection. I fell back against my dresser, the wood cracking again. Something fell apart and hit the floor. Pain blossomed along my back. Oh my God! I began to shove away from the wall, my mouth opening in a scream as the window behind me began to lift. I could hear the squeal of metal against metal. I backed away toward my bedroom door. The scream wove its way up into my mouth.

“Dayton, no! It’s ok! It’s Con,” a voice cried out.

The scream got stuck in my throat, and I choked on it. Conor? Jesus! A hand materialized from around the curtains, and I swore under my breath.

“A little help here,” he grunted as I swore again. My adrenaline levels dropped as fast as they had risen, leaving me drained and faint.

“Are you kidding me?” I whispered loudly as he pulled himself over the ledge.

I moved to the side of the window and glanced outside. A ladder was propped up against the building.

“It was already in the garden,” Conor explained from beside me.

I turned around and, without a second thought, hit him as hard as I could in the stomach. He barely flinched. It was like hitting rock, and I cradled my fist in pain.

“You asshole!” I yelled.

 If humans could have nine lives, I’d just lost most of mine. Conor shrugged somewhat sheepishly. At least his shirt was in one piece this time. I didn’t need a reason to get distracted.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed.

 He moved to sit on my bed, folding his six-foot frame as best he could into the small cubicle I called my bedroom. He grunted as he sat down, his gaze sweeping the room with a look that reeked of disgust.

“What? They make you sleep in a closet?”

 I ignored him. The living quarters were meant for contemplation, not for comfort.

“What is this? How did you find my room?” I asked him, my previous question not forgotten in the least.

He looked up at me, didn’t seem to like having to do so, and stood so that I was the one left glaring up.

“Monroe," he answered

I grew still. Monroe? Conor moved around a bit, shifting papers that were hanging off my desk and picking up the dumdum lollipop I’d dropped when I backed into the dresser. He lifted a brow in my direction.

“Sugar is a sin, you know,” he joked, the innuendo not lost on me.

I snatched the sucker out of his hand and threw it back into my desk drawer.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him a second time.

He took a step toward me, his expression changing.

“To check on you."

 His eyes stared directly into mine. The same look I’d seen in Philosophy class filled his gaze. It was something I hadn’t noticed in them before this week. It unnerved me.

“You worried us, Dayton. Seemed appropriate someone make sure you were okay,” he said calmly.

 I was glad
one
of us was calm. He had moved closer during his explanation and my heart stopped. My neck hurt from looking up. Did he have to be so dead-blasted tall? I was used to Conor’s presence, even his familiarity outside of the Abbey, but in my room . . .

“You could have just called.” I said softly, my hand moving to the cell phone I had stuffed in my blue jean pocket.

Conor glanced down briefly, following my hand with his eyes before looking again at my face. His usual grin lit up his features, his dark blue eyes flashing with humor.

“What fun is there in that?” he said while lifting his brows suggestively. It was such a Conor kind of move.

 I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. It was like having someone look you in the face and asking you not to smile. It was impossible not to.

“Whatever. As you can see, I’m fine. You can go back the way you came now,” I said, pointing determinedly back toward the window. Conor’s gaze moved between me and the opening, but he didn’t move.

“After all that work? I think not,” he said before sitting down on my bed again, patting the empty space next to him. The stubborn bastard. I stared at his hand a moment apprehensively. This was insane.

“I don’t bite,” he said, one brow lifted and a corner of his mouth turned up. I swore under my breath.

“Said the spider to the fly,” I told him pointedly when I finally sat down.

He laughed a moment, his arm resting lightly along the back of my shoulders. It didn’t feel like it should with us being alone and all. He seemed to realize this, and he dropped his hand subtly, his palm coming to rest on the comforter a few inches away from my tailbone. I tried not to squirm. I stared hard at my knees.

“What happened to you today?” Conor asked suddenly, his tone serious.

I noticed a small stain on my jeans and I picked at it. The vision fell over me, and I shivered. I just wanted to forget it.

“Is it smart for you to be here?” I asked. “I mean, what is this really?”

I knew the question was rowing us into uncharted, dangerous waters, but I asked it anyway without regret. I didn’t want to discuss the vision. At all. Conor smiled.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Red?”

 I glared at him.

“Honestly?” 

My tone was serious. Conor quit smiling. He leaned closer.

“I wanted to see you."

 I stared up at him, realizing in that instant that his face was entirely too close to mine. He smelled like peppermint. He loved mints the same way I did dumdums.

“Why?” I whispered. Conor didn’t move away.

“Because I’m worried about you." He leaned closer. “More worried than maybe I should be.”

His statement was unexpected, and I leaned away slightly.

“Oh."

The hand he had lying behind my back moved closer. My spine tingled. I was feeling closed in.

“Monroe suggested I ask you out,” Conor revealed suddenly.

This took me by surprise, and I almost stood up. I fought the urge. What the hell? My gaze shot to his. He grinned.

“Th-that’s ridiculous," I stuttered.

 Conor shrugged.

“Maybe. I used to think so too,” he said. I searched his face intently.

“What do you mean?” 

Conor ran one hand through his hair restlessly, leaving it disheveled and in need of a comb.

“I’m not quite sure, Red. You’ve never known me to skirt an issue. And today, when you started to come out of whatever trance you were in, when your nails dug into my skin, I realized something I think I’ve just been avoiding for a long time.” Conor said slowly, taking his time as if he were afraid I’d be like one of those girls in the movies Monroe and I liked so much—the kind that swooned. I wasn’t that type. 

“What’s that?” I asked instead, my eyes wide. Conor shook his head.

“I realized I wanted you to give me your pain. I wanted to take it away from you. It was an interesting moment for me. I've known you a long time, but this past year . . . I don't know. I-I’m beginning to think that I’ve been using my flirtation with girls as an excuse to stay close to you."

 I stared at him, my gaze frozen. I spent minutes without blinking.
Now
I felt uncomfortable. The space between us was suddenly way too small, way too claustrophobic. He noted the reaction.

“I’m not here to make a move on you,” he said, his gaze moving steadily over me.

I felt suddenly self-conscious. My jeans were dusty and ripped at the knee, I had kicked my shoes off at the door earlier as it was my habit to do so, and the oversized black dolman I was wearing had slipped off one shoulder to reveal a pink bra strap. My hair was frizzy and curled up from the walk earlier, and I ran my fingers through it nervously. Money was tight at the Abbey, and my aunt believed heartily in teaching humility. I didn't own a lot of clothes and the ones I did were usually outdated. I mentally slapped myself. Why should I care about that now? I fidgeted. This was different. Conor had never made me feel nervous before.

“I’ll be honest though. I’m not having good boy thoughts right now. And if you think that surprises you well . . . hell, it surprises me just as much,” he said.

He had always been too blunt for his own good.  I found I couldn’t speak so I just kept staring instead, leaving my face open to interpretation. Whatever he read there made him move away slightly. My breathing came easier.

“What happened to you earlier, Red?” he asked me again, changing the subject smoothly.

 It didn’t rid the room of the buzz I could feel between us now. But this time I didn’t skirt the issue. The vision actually seemed a safer topic at the moment. Who would have thunk? I leaned back slightly, pulling the sleeve of my dolman back onto my shoulder as I did so.

“I think, but I’m not one hundred percent sure, that I had a vision,” I said uncertainly.

Conor watched me quietly, his gaze frozen on the shoulder where I had just readjusted my shirt. I was tempted to slap him.

“Who’s Marcas?” he asked huskily.

He didn’t question my vision theory. This made him more sure of it than I was. I shrugged. The dolman fell again, and I rolled my eyes. Ugh! Fixing it would just bring more attention to it. I left it alone.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

The name and the man filled my mind instantly. I could almost taste his name on my tongue. It was a warm feeling and more than a little strange.

“The vision was about two men. They were arguing. I don’t know. I-I’m pretty sure one of them was referred to as Marcas."

 I didn’t include the part where the aforementioned Marcas was stabbed. Conor nodded slightly, his gaze finally moving back to my face. His eyes had darkened.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I sighed.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Was I supposed to be okay? No, I wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to fall apart either. Conor shifted.