Shades of Darkness (15 page)

“We're presenting our theses at the same time. Solidarity in insomnia, you know.”

Jason chuckled. “I know that one.”

Conversation drifted into the usual small talk as we ate the sushi—how were classes, how are your projects going, plans for the summer, etc. The entire time, I was acutely aware of Chris's glances over. But he was sly about it, never quite making eye contact, passing it off as looking to Jason. No one mentioned Mandy, though it was clear from the stretch of silences that that was what everyone was thinking about. I could practically feel her, watching. Every time I looked out the window I expected to see her hovering there, translucent, begging through silent lips to—what? She'd committed suicide. That was that. There wasn't any avenging that needed to happen.

I didn't have anything to do with it.

A crow flew past, and I knew, in that moment, that I probably, somehow, did.

“Still unhappily celibate,” Jason said, and I realized I had no idea what the start of the conversation had been. I glanced over while he talked to Chris. “What about you? How's the love life?”

Chris had the decency to blush. But he also had the indecency to look my way. I know Jason caught it, but he at least was able to hide most of his grin.

“Single,” Chris said. He took a sip from his tea and didn't say anything else. Ethan's smile would have given the Cheshire Cat's a run for his money.

“I see,” Jason said slowly. Thankfully, he didn't let the moment linger. “So what's on the agenda for the rest of the day? I can't imagine you guys just lounging around all afternoon.”

“Dunno,” I responded. It felt more honest than anything else I'd said today. “Maybe wander a bit. Just don't want to be back on campus.”

“I don't blame you.” He paused, considered his words. “Did they tell you what happened?”

I shoved down the images that flowed through my mind like pumping blood—
red on white, blood on concrete, crows of shadow
—and took a sip of tea. It was cold, and it tasted like raven feathers.

“No,” Ethan answered for me. “Just that she . . . yeah.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

I stared into my teacup and my reflection stared back, ripples distorting my face, making me pale. Wavering. Ghostly. The room tilted.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. But it wasn't his voice.

I looked over as if in a dream. Blond hair, brown eyes, tan skin, blood dripping from his lip, smeared on his hand.
Brad.

I screamed. Legit, top-of-my-voice screamed, the teacup falling from my grip and shattering on the floor. The moment it hit, it was just Jason staring at me. Kind, gay Jason, his hand quickly darting from my shoulder to his lap.

“Kaira, are you—”

“I'm fine.” Too quickly. My blood pulsed the lie through my veins. “Just . . . on edge. Sorry. I shouldn't . . . I'll be right back.”

I pushed out of the chair, nearly toppling it over, and ran to the bathroom.

“It's okay, he's gone. You're just stressed. He's gone. He's gone.
He's gone.
” My words were a furious whisper the moment I pressed my back to the bathroom wall and squeezed my palms to my eyes and tried to block out his words, his laughter, the feeling of his hand on my shoulder, the memory of the cold stall door against my back. I couldn't stop shaking. I couldn't stop the tears.

“Kaira?” someone asked. Not Brad. Of course not Brad.
He's gone.

Ethan opened the door and stepped inside, but I didn't open my eyes. I didn't move as he walked over and slid down next to me. He didn't touch me. I could feel the static of space between us.

“Kaira?” he asked again. “Do you need to talk?”

I didn't answer. He didn't move.

The silence stretched, but no one else came to check on us. The tears stopped. Finally.

“It's just stress,” I whispered finally. “I don't know. Too much at once, you know?”

“I do,” he replied. His voice was grave, like he knew it all too well.

“What happened?” he asked.

I took a deep breath. It felt like coming up from drowning. When I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around me. It didn't feel like Brad. Ethan never felt like Brad. Ethan felt like safety. Like home.

“Too many ghosts,” I finally whispered.

He sighed.

“And in times like this, they just get louder.” He squeezed me and went silent. He didn't tell me to pull myself together or that everything would be okay. He knew better than to lie.

“They're going to think I'm crazy,” I finally said.

“No,” he said, just as stoic. “We've always known.”

I laughed, and it was almost a sob, but I nudged him in the ribs anyway. He kissed the top of my head.

“I love you, Winters,” he whispered into my hair. Tears welled up again, but I forced them down. Down to where Brad waited, along with the blood and the raven feathers. Down where I shouldn't see or feel or hear them.

“I love you too, Davis,” I said. “Even if you are an ass.”

•  •  •

“So,” Chris said from his seat beside me. We were in T'Chai Nanni, which was pretty much the antithesis of 326's empty interior. The teahouse was swamped with patrons, Veronica and the other waiter flitting between wicker tables and rocking chairs and sofas with trays of mismatched teapots in their hands.

“So what?” I asked. We hadn't even opened up our portfolios to work; Ethan's and my usual table was taken by hipsters talking about Foucault or something like that, so we nabbed a bench in the corner. At first I had no clue why the place was so crowded, then I saw a band starting to set up in the corner. Great. Acoustic shows always meant a crowd, even if—or
especially
if—the music sucked balls.

“So tell me about yourself, Kaira the Conundrum.”

I laughed and sipped my tea—Russian caravan t'chai, which was dark and earthy and reminiscent of woodsmoke—as I peered at him over the thick cup. Ethan was on the front porch, chatting on the phone with Oliver, though I don't know how being outside in the wind and snow was quieter than being in here.

I think he just wanted Chris and me to be alone.

“I'm a conundrum, am I?” I asked.
Well, I suppose that's better than being a freak.

“At the moment,” he said. He gave me a grin, like he was totally okay waiting for my puzzle to complete itself, however long that took. Neither he nor Jason had said anything when Ethan and I came out of the bathroom, Ethan holding my hand like he could keep all the shadows at bay. I'd felt embarrassed at first, until Jason began talking about his latest failed date that involved learning he was seeing the ex of a guy he'd almost hooked up with last year. That was the blessing of artists—everyone had their demons, and they knew not to press when yours were becoming too loud.

Being in here made me feel better. Safer. T'Chai Nanni smelled familiar. In here, surrounded by so many strangers, it was easy to drown out the words that whispered in the silence.

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Where you're from, for one. And why you came to Islington. I'm doubting you're one of those celebrity kids Ethan mentioned.”

“Wouldn't you feel like an idiot if I was? I could have my secret service off you in the bathroom.”

“Are you?”

“Nope,” I said. There wasn't much space on the bench, even without Ethan there. My arm and hip brushed against Chris. My gut clenched at the thought of leaning in closer, at how it would feel if he put his arm around me. Brad's face shot through my mind, that grin he used on me time and time again.
It's okay,
he'd say,
we can go slow.

I leaned away and took another sip.

“Well,” he said after a moment. He must have noticed my move; he sounded a little sad. “Where are
you
from, then?”

“Outside of Minneapolis,” I said.

“Ah, is your family still back there?”

“
Adopted
family,” I replied, maybe a little too quickly. “But yeah.”

“Gotcha.” He didn't, of course. But I appreciated the attempt at empathy. “And why did you come here?”

“I enjoy being a workaholic.”

“Seriously,” he pushed.

I sighed and looked at him. That was a door I wasn't going to open. Not here, not now, and not with Mandy's shade hovering over my shoulder and Brad's sneer behind my eyelids.

“Because I wanted to be here,” I said. And then, because he looked like he was going to push the subject, I added something I hadn't even really told Ethan. Ethan knew when not to ask for more. “Because I couldn't stay there anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” he replied.

“Not to be rude, but I kind of doubt that.” It came out a lot bitchier than I'd intended, but this wasn't an area I wanted to tread through right now. Not with Brad's touch still lingering on my shoulder.

“Everyone has a past, Kaira,” he said. His eyes didn't waver from mine when he said it. His face was so close, I could smell the cardamom on his breath, feel a tinge of static. “You're not the only one with ghosts.”

“Sorry,” I said. I looked down to my cup. “It's just . . . it's been rough. This sort of thing hits a little too close to home.”

“I know,” he replied. “It does for me too.” He paused, sipped his tea. When he spoke again, he seemed unsure. He didn't look at me at all. “Thanks for taking me in,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I've only known you a few days, but I appreciate how kind you guys have been. Especially in light of . . . I mean, it's been really nice. I like you. Both of you.”

I'd never met a straight boy who was willing to talk about emotions. It was a complete one-eighty from Brad.
Everything about him is a complete one-eighty from Brad.
And then I looked at him—really looked. The strong profile, the scruff, the hazel eyes so intently fixed on the table of chatting college kids. That, and the little things I hadn't noticed before: the slight slump to his shoulders, the way he bit the inside of his lower lip, the lithe fingers wrapped around his teacup. He wasn't stoic and distant and attractive in that self-assured way.

He's not like Brad,
I realized.
And he never will be.

I don't know why I wanted to open up then. Maybe I was too raw from the breakdown. Maybe I just wanted the idea of comfort. Or maybe Ethan was right—maybe Chris
was
my type. Maybe I just hadn't let myself see it.

“You're not too bad yourself, kid,” I replied.

He laughed. His eyes darted to me, and yes, my chest felt warm as my stomach flipped and I had to look down to my cup to keep from blushing.

“You say the weirdest shit,” he said.

“I know,” I replied. “You'd better get used to it.”

“Already am,” he replied. I looked over, caught just the edge of his grin, and I knew that look—that tentative slight lean.

And I don't know why I wanted to lean in, to close that gap, to connect to the gravity. Maybe it was masochism or something else, but I felt the desire take hold, snaring me somewhere behind my heart, pulling me forward . . . at least until Ethan came over and sat down on the cask we'd reserved with his portfolio.

“It's real shitty out there,” he said, either oblivious to or ignoring the way Chris and I quickly leaned back from each other. “In case you were wondering.”

“How's Oliver?” I asked.

“He's all right. I mean, okay, he's panicking about his upcoming solo performance. In his words, he's ‘worried he isn't interpreting the piece the way his composer expects.' Whatever that means.” He sighed and picked up his mug of tea, which was still steaming. “Sometimes I swear my conversations would make more sense if I was dating another visual artist.”

His eyes flickered between the two of us, not at all discreet. I could have slapped him.

“Then you gotta worry about artistic competition getting in the middle of things,” I said. I couldn't tell if I was trying to snub whatever potential Chris had or what, but the situation was suddenly way too awkward for my liking.
I need to have a talk with that boy.

“I dunno. Could be kinda hot,” Ethan said with a grin. He looked at Chris. “What do you think? Date within the field or no?”

I knew Ethan was just trying to heal things the way he worked best—by making light of them. He knew I'd dated back home, knew that it had gone horribly wrong and that was why I wasn't dating anymore. And he knew that was why I had the panic attacks, the moments of sheer terror. This was his way of saying he understood and it was okay. But he didn't fully understand. I couldn't move forward—I couldn't pretend it was okay. All I could do was try to ignore it. Brad had burrowed his way deep inside me, and the memory of him wouldn't let go. Now that the strange moment between Chris and me was over, I couldn't believe I'd actually almost leaned in and tried to kiss him.

Rule number one: Never fall in love.

“I dunno,” Chris said after a moment. “Guess it just depends on the situation.”

Ethan nodded sagely over his cup at me.

“Love is strange,” he finally said. “I hear it heals all wounds.”

“That's time,” I replied. “And that's also an outright lie.”

He was so lucky the place was crowded. Otherwise, he'd have a bruise to explain to Oliver.

•  •  •

The rest of the evening was spent chatting about school and faculty and what we missed about being a normal teenager—mainly, being able to leave the house after ten, and not having your Internet shut off at eleven. And not always being stressed about homework.