The Last Superhero (26 page)

“
Hey,
I've known you since you were a kid. It surprises me we're not more
acquainted.”

“
I've
been known to be a bit of an antisocial.”

He laughs. “With a
mother like yours it's hard to believe.” Grins. “If
anything comes up, you know where to find me.”

Shake his hand, get a free
hug. Walk out of there with a purpose, a goal.

Take time, give time.

For things to unfold.

26

Twelve days.

Almost two weeks.

Two hundred and eighty-eight
hours.

And
I'm standing at the shore of an ocean of
beeps
and hushed screams.

And my father's eyes watch
me, silent, as I try with all my might to stay with him.

She's too weak. Mom.

They turned off the
ventilator.

They gave her time to
breathe on her own and she was okay for a while.

And I told her I was sorry
and that I'd make it all better.

But that only lasted a
little more than ten hours.

Before her lungs began to
act up again.

And the nurses rushed in and
the doctor came by and I was given a leave I couldn't take.

Because I'm not the little
girl scared of the monsters under the bed anymore.

Because I wanted to stay
here, near.

Because maybe my thoughts
have strayed to a place I didn't want to let them go.

And I wasn't letting Steven
tag along with me because I was afraid Ross wouldn't be able to deal
with the guys upstairs if he kept being seen.

A fucking blur of a life,
this, where no hugs were enough.

Because maybe my mind was
already making plans for that inevitable future I so many times
foresaw.

Simon would take me down to
the cafeteria and try to talk to me, ask about Steven and stuff.

Steven.

Running through my fingers
like fucking sand.

He's angry at me now because
I keep trying to get into his nightmares and I won't let him visit
Mom with me and he says he'll stay up all night just to hold me, but
I can't let him do that, it's not fair. It's creepy as hell and so
not fair.

And I won't take his money
and once he came by my apartment and saw the letter tucked under the
TV stand where Mr. Brownstone not so gently reminded me of what I
owed. And an argument broke out and escalated, riding up and in
through our nostrils like fucking smoke until I exploded. Anger and
frustration and everything in-between.

Millions of firecrackers
going off. Thousands of thoughts bursting to and fro.

None had to do with him or
with the hazel eyes that showed such hurt while I went on and on.

Internal combustion.

With my tanks, and my bombs,
and my guns.

Daphne tried to talk me down
the next day.

Wyatt visited the shop and
asked if I was okay.

I haven't seen or talked to
Steven in four days.

Haven't breathed or slept
for that long either.

Moping like some pathetic
fool. So immature.

Because, deep inside, I
always thought my mother dying would finally set me free from a
prison I now realize I built myself.

So horrible, so
undaughterlike to think that.

Dad pries me from the room,
coaxes me to come out, and I'm left with Simon in the corridor.

“
Do
you need anything?” Simon asks.

“
I'm
selling the bookstore,” I answer.

No guilt, although I should
feel that at least.

“
What?”
Surprises him.

“
Liquidating.
Can't keep it up anymore. Been looking at going back to college or
getting a full-time job as an editor until I can get my wheels
turning, you know?”

“
You
always wanted to start your own digital book company.”

“
I
could go for that. Daphne wanted me to start with her works since I
already edit them. All digital, which translates into a minimal
investment.”

He smiles, sincere.

I've been thinking about
this for a while and only now it has resurfaced.

A plan.

“
Juliana
would be proud.”

No, she would be dead. Set
the truth straight.

Am I free or am I tied up?

“
We're
nothing but animals, are we?”

He frowns. “Life's a
cycle, Giana. It's just that some people's are shorter than other's.”

“
How
did you become so wise all of a sudden?”

“
I
had two great teachers. Two people who saved me from myself and
taught me this life was worth living. Oh, and they happened to own a
bookstore and a house full of books so it was kind of inevitable.”

Can't help but smile at
that.

That's why I hate owing him
so bad.

“
Once
it's sold I'll give you your part.”

Shake of the head. “No
need for that and you know it.”

“
I
prefer to pay what I owe.”

“
I
owe
you
all I have. I owe your mother, even your father, and will keep on
owing you for the rest of my life.”

Dad's making his way to us
and I know that face, the 'try and don't spend so much time here'
one.

I get the cue, I get the
sign, and once I've stepped into the sidewalk, into the sun, into the
light, I pull out my phone and press the button on the name that
sends a shiver down my spine once the voice on the other side answers
with a: “Please come over.”

And I haven't gotten out of
my car when a pair of arms are yanking me out and carrying me through
the gates, the door, devoid of effort. And there are no words as our
wills collide and the senses take over.

Ow
s
and giggles.

Set the still broken glasses
on the lamp table.

Mmmm
s
and wriggles.

Slide that shirt up over his
head, trousers down his legs.

Agh
s
and nibbles.

Bring a chair closer with
your power and throw me face first against it, fist my hair and pull
on it. Not too much, not painful.

And feel the loss, how it
slips, how it shows in the way he's making my control join his...
wherever it's gone.

Feel the force and the anger
and the frustration gathered.

Feel the need and the want
and the possession in every thrust.

It's blinding and hurtful
and is making me dig my fingernails into the velvet of the cushion
and the wood of the arms because I can't cry over my own hissing.

And I feel him bending over,
his chest to my back, reaching for my shoulder and about to sink his
teeth into my flesh again when, out of nowhere, comes an apology for
how he's behaving.

Slows down and I stifle a
whimper.

Halts. His hands sliding to
rest on my hips.

Glance back and see how
confused he is.

Reach for his hand, entwine
fingers, smile.

He takes a deep breath,
closes his eyes, starts to move again.

Calculated. Measured.

Sense the control. Sense the
pulling of his own reins.

Almost agonizing.

But, hey, if it works for
you, then I guess it should...

Oooh, yes.

Works for me.

Definitely.

And it's like nothing
happened and we've found the rhythm to this song we're singing with
our tandem moans.

Brave a peek, see the glare
and the grunt that manage to come out before he goes stiff and it's
gone.

So he lowers himself and
this time it's his lips that brush my spine and his warmth that
envelops me and that deep yet so low voice that thanks me for
understanding.

Come to think of it, I feel
it's the other way around.

It's mutual, really. As
mutual as the need to call Daphne and tell her to close the store
when her shift's over 'cause I won't make it there and, instead,
spend the rest of the afternoon playing hide and seek under Steven's
bedsheets.

“
I'll
hide you.” My finger retraces his jaw line. “We'll hide
together from the world and live our own life.”

His arms pull me tighter to
him. “We don't have to hide.”

“
But
I want to. I don't want anything or anyone bothering us.”

He chuckles. “No one
will. No one can.”

That you know.

“
I'm
selling the bookstore. It's over.”

Constrict me against you,
tuck my head under your chin and breathe, hard.

“
Gotta
go my own way, don't I? That's what she wants. That's what she's
waiting for.”

A hand runs down my back, my
derriere, under my thigh and the back of my knee to be able to pull
my leg up over his hip.

“
Is
that what
you
want?”

Kiss the stubble on his
chin.

“
Right
now...”

See how the eyebrow arches
up.

“
All
I want is to stay like this forever.”

See how the teeth nibble on
the lower lip.

“
You're
going to be the death of me.”

“
I
won't stay so you can recover.”

Naughty grin.

Let the bodies sing that
song again that renders us deflated.

Let the moment take us over
until we are both sated.

And when we finally make it
out of the bed, to the bath, to the kitchen, to the clothes, and the
goodbyes, another song, this time my phone's, pops the bubble we've
created.

27

Lift a finger for Steven to
let me take the call and he walks away, back into the kitchen.

“
Ross?
What is it?”

“
Giana,
are you in there with him?”

“
In
there? Where? What are you talking about?”

“
We're
outside Steven Waldorf's house and I see your car here. I need you to
get out now.”

“
What
the fuck?!” I run to the closest window and peek through, but
it's dark and all I see is the wall that surrounds the house. “What
the fuck are you doing?”

“
Giana,
listen to me. He's been visiting a Juliana Moran at a nearby hospital
after visiting hours. A nurse caught him and she called the police.
Now there's a SWAT team ready to go into the house.”

“
That's
my mother!” I try to keep my voice low as I shut all the
curtains.