The Lebrus Stone (23 page)

"Where did you have in mind?" I said, as evenly as I could.

"I was hoping we could take a walk." His voice was far from even. After what happened on our last kind of walk, I was glad he at least doubted my answer being a yes.

"…I don't think that's a good idea."

He leaned forward. I breathed in his spicy cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and secretly enjoyed it.

"I won't be offhand," he said, his voice all the more huskier. "I just need to talk, explain a few things."

I risked a glance at him. Out of the shadows, he was pale and withdrawn. The skin around his eyes was faintly dark as if he hadn't slept in a while. They seemed sorrowed, and desperate for me to say yes.

Without giving myself time to think about the consequences, I broke my defense and blurted, "Okay."

He smiled, or maybe it was a grimace, I couldn't quite tell. He was probably against how easily I caved in as well.

He let out a long sigh. "Are you ready?"

I nodded, letting him lead the way.

~ * ~

My hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It wanted to reach out to him, even if it wasn't supposed to. But Cray wanted to talk, a major first.

The blossom tree on top of the hill felt like the ideal place to sit and talk. I might have needed a scenic surrounding to calm me. And although Cray had spoken little since we left the house, I wanted to bring more out of him like he had practically promised.

We sat and I looked up at the sky turning a slate gray. The woods became a smudge of black. It was just the late afternoon, but daylight was somehow minimal.

I kept hoping it wouldn't rain as Cray gazed into the woods, his eyes concentrating on something in particular. I chose to ask the question that had been on my mind the most.

"Why did you kiss me if you didn't want to?"

Silence.

The instant pinch above the bridge of his nose told me something perhaps twisted into the tightest knot in his chest.

"Why did you push me away?" I went on bravely.

Still silence.

"Okay. Well, if you can't tell me why yet, maybe you can at least tell me why you left and disappeared for so long?"

He inhaled a deep breath. "I thought it would be best. I still do."

"Then why are you here now?"

"I didn't say I wanted to leave." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "The fact that you're even talking to me after the way I behaved, makes you an exceptional person, Crystal."

The way he said my name again with deep-rooted meaning gave me the shivers in a good way. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, focusing on making it stop.

"Compliments won't make me forgive you that easily," I teased to lighten the mood.

He kneaded the grass, lost in thought.

I delayed asking my next question. I wanted this private moment to last a little longer than the previous time he initiated talking to me. But I got the feeling he was relieved by it, so we talked about everything and anything that came to mind to diffuse the tension.

He told me he was taking extra performing arts lessons. It was safe to say he had the movie star looks down to a T, as well as a face that could grace the silver screen and dine at the Ivy or the Chateau Marmont. I wasn't about to tell him he had that kind of potential; wooden acting or not, I was sure he knew how much he was far from average.

When the conversation moved onto a deeper level, casual but definitely friendly, he told me how he had once owned a dog named Cromford when he was five and how he had his tonsils out at seven, how he had his first crush on a girl with buck teeth when he was ten. He even told me how he had been skiing in the Alps, not camping in Vermont, last fall, which had been a well devised plan to make Isobel call him less, or not at all.

His confiding in me only made me all the more aware of him, my heightened spirits bounced like a mad ping pong ball. Still, my heart beat easier, connecting with the trees that seemed to hum from behind me. I wondered if he felt it. If he felt as whole around nature, if he somehow felt my spirit moving through the rustle of leaves to reach out and touch him, even for just a second. It didn't matter now why he kissed me and pushed me away, all that mattered was that he was changing, and for the better, and that eventually, when he was ready, he could explain. I knew he had to have a valid reason for his distance. I always had.

Eventually, his easygoing way of conversing gave me the courage to tell him about myself, including my time at the group homes, my fateful meeting with my best friend, Sal, at one of my foster placements, how she had recently gotten engaged to start a new life in Florida. I even told him how my love for art had shaped my goals to pursue a career in fashion, and talked about my part-time job at the bookstore, and of course, Jared and T.J. Usually, I wouldn't have revealed so much so early in any relationship. Not that I had previous experience wanting a boy enough to have considered it.

"I'm sorry about your folks," he muttered. "That mustn't have been easy." He leaned his shoulder against mine. Not too much, but enough to make me zing all over. "If it's any consolation, I haven't had any real parents. Mother isn't what you can call the most affectionate, and as you probably know, my father died when I was five."

I knew now why I could tell Cray was the type who needed his independence, how he was someone who steered his own destiny and crafted his own way without a helping hand or a pat on the back. He stood strong on his own because that was who he counted on: himself.

Learning about Cray's life also put mine into perspective. It wasn't necessary to have parents to have a happy childhood. In some cases it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. It sounded like I had a better upbringing than Cray. I had nobody to feel disconnected with. I only hurt myself. I was quite fortunate in a weird way. Guilt gnawed at me for always thinking that I wasn't.

"But Isobel cares," I insisted.

"I know. We just have a hard time showing it."

I nodded, understanding. "I'm glad you had at least one decent parent." I said, playing with a piece of thread fraying on my top when he began staring at me.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he said.

I looked up. His eyes were dull, yet still magnetic. It took all my strength to look away. As for what he was about to say, it made me tremble, my shoulders tense. Zella had told about his dating track record, but I wasn't ready for him to tell me himself. Maybe keeping his distance would have made things less complicated. "My relationships haven't lasted more than a couple of weeks," he said, his voice just as sad.

I was still repeating the word relationships, in my mind. Hoping he meant nothing beyond first base.

"With you, it feels…different, though," he said, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn't fathom, perhaps just sad regret. "I don't know. Maybe if you gave me half a chance I would experience something…lasting."

I blinked a few times, wondering if I was imagining everything.

"The moment I dreamed of you, I knew what was missing in my life, and always would be," he said, all too quietly to himself.

"Me?" I gasped.

He smiled bashfully.

I was shocked. Was I really causing an effect on him?
I could admit I was pretty. My exotic, half Spanish looks had often been admired. But I never would have considered myself in Cray's league. Guys that seemed as visually perfect as him didn't seem real enough to enter your life. Suddenly, no one else existed and time stood still. All that was left to feel important was him and what he was about to say.

He picked at the grass, or what was left of the patch beside him. "I've dreamed of you since I was a child, Crys." His smile lifted to become all the more prominent, causing the dimple I had missed to appear.

Had he noticed he had shortened my name? My heart thumped so hard I could hear it. I tried to breathe to slow it down so that I could hear the rest of what he had to tell me.

"I was eleven when you first appeared." His eyes glazed over with the memory. "Your hair was violet and streaked with yellow. Your eyes were gold with hints of blue. I could see right through them, into your mind. You were always willing to share with me, yet careful not to give away too much"

I wasn't sure why he dreamed of me that way. It was exactly the way I had envisioned myself in some dreams. I wasn't sure what it could mean, either. But I recalled the beings Elandra had described, how they had looked in my dreams as a child. They had colorful hair. Maybe Cray had heard the story throughout childhood and it had been reflected in his dreams. It still didn't explain how I dreamed it, or how he knew how I looked.

"What did my mind tell you?" I asked, confused and excited.

He cleared his throat. "That you felt different, incomplete. An outsider, even when you were accepted. I understood."

"What does this mean? Are you…psychic?"

He laughed; the sound was literally music to my ears. "I don't think so, though maybe I'm just linked to you in some way."

That conclusion seemed to please him more than me. I wanted us to have more than just a link. His smile was relaxed, carefree, even whimsical.

"But I'll probably ruin every expectation you have of me," he said.

"You won't," I said, feeling certain. "Not if you always talk to me like this and tell me how you feel."

"I don't think I deserve your patience." The glint in his eyes was no longer strong and identifiable. He frowned. "Why are you so willing to forgive me?"

I needed only a second to reply. "Because I know you'll be worth it."

He lowered his gaze with another shy smirk. "I knew in time you would appear, Crys. I knew you existed. I just couldn't face you yet."

It wasn't an off chance now. Cray was shortening my name, making us more acquainted. A smile brimmed on my lips, wanting to spread wider, prouder.

"It's f-fine," I stuttered.

"I can't promise you anything," he answered, his glumness returning.

"I'm not asking you to."

"Then what are you asking of me?" His eyes lifted cautiously to mine.

"I just want you to let me get to know you."

The bridge of his nose pinched like before, he seemed to be struggling with that one simple request. Was it really too much to ask?

"I might disappoint you."

I never would have guessed he would be so insecure. I doubted it was because of me, but that same egotistical side of me was yelling that it was.

"You won't." I wasn't surprised by my certainty, only him.

"I hope so."  He smiled. "I hope you never regret me."

His hand rested on mine. I pulsated against his touch, warming against the incredible softness of his skin gliding up to my shoulders before stroking the length of my arm. Goosebumps rose like imbedded seeds on my skin. I warmed beneath the surface as his hand reached my hand again, circling my palm and gliding his thumb to the end of my index finger. There he paused, barely touching the end of my thankfully manicured fingernail. He flipped my hand over to inspect every inch of my diamante encrusted nails, smoothing his thumb over each one before turning away to stand.

I took the moment to retrieve my breath, swallow hard before I said something I'd regret.

He ran his hands through his hair, or maybe he was tearing at it. Whatever he was doing, it looked painful.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. He actually flinched. "I shouldn't have said those things." His voice sounded distant, empty. "It was wrong of me to initiate all this."

"But—"

"I think it's time you went back." His breathing was ragged, like he was finding it difficult to speak.

"I'll go back to the house when I'm good and ready," I retorted, coming back from the feelings he inappropriately brought out of me.

"I mean home to Utah. Go and don't come back. It'll be for the best."

Why did it hurt me so much to hear him change so suddenly and say that? Why did it puncture through me and tear at my heart like it would stop beating? Like I would rather end than go back home and never see him again?

This was all too much, too soon, even for someone who had once believed they had been dealt one the hardest lesson of all and come out displaced of reason, but stronger. There had been no suicide attempts, no living on the edge. Yet here I was, wanting to give in, perish along with the piece of me that was falling apart every time he pushed me away.

"You…don't mean that. You said —"

"How many times do I have to tell you? You don't know anything. Not what you should."

The muscles of his arms tensed as he tightened his fists.

I bit my lip to keep the tears from falling. I felt sick, tormented by too many mixed feelings that couldn't be washed away. I couldn't just leave. I had to bring him back to the way he was only moments ago. I had to make him…mine. Please, Cray, I thought. Please, don't leave me, not like this.

As if he'd heard my internal begging, he turned and faced me. He brushed back my hair and fingered my lips. He was listening, sensing somehow that I needed him. He was coming back to me. I couldn't describe my relief.