Authors: Carol Robi
“Please,” he urges. “I want to see your eyes again tonight, but I want it to be on your own accord.” I resist turning, even though the vulnerability in his voice almost breaks me.
“Please,” he calls again. He gives up, for I never once turn towards him. “I promise, I’ll not force you against your will again after tonight.”
And with that, I feel the relaxation that settles over my features, letting me know that he’s released me from the immobilising spell he had me under. I waste no time in leaping out of the car and bounding across the yard, screaming for my mother at the top of my voice, disbelieving the freedom that I have finally been granted.
She opens the door just as I make to throw myself against it. I sail through it, bumping into her and forcing the door shut behind me. My panic-stricken eyes causing her face to fall in alarm, her arms immediately embracing me protectively.
“What happened?” Mom asks panicked. “What did he do to you?” I open my mouth to tell her all, my body shaking in her embrace.
“We had dinner,” I surprise myself by saying. “It was a great date,” I proceed, and my mother pulls from the embrace to look at me puzzled, unsure of why I look so bewildered, yet my date went so well. I open my mouth to attempt to tell her exactly what happened, but all that spills from me are variations of just how great my date went.
“Oh darling! I am so glad to hear that,” mom says, embracing me even tighter. “Hush now. Don’t cry. Don’t be sad that you had a good time, okay? Don’t feel guilty. Dad would be happy. I want you to be happy. Now rush up take a shower, and come down. I’ll twist your hair for you while you tell me about your great date. Those curls have almost flattened out, and your hair is starting to stick out. Run along, my baby!”
I dread meeting him again. Any attempts to get out of going to school only seems to make mom worry.
I have attempted all communication methods to tell her or Tony of what happened, but each time, all that comes out are variations of just what a great date it had been. I tried writing a note, typing, gesturing, sending a text, an email- nothing. I am completely unable to tell the truth about my traumatizing date. He must have some form of mind control over me, that ensures I never once say anything.
Or it was that which he said before releasing me from his mind control.
Do not tell anyone about this,
he’d said.
Anyone asks you, you just say that we had dinner, and that it was a great date.
With those words, he’d mind-controlled me one last time.
For the first time in months, I am sleeping all night undrugged, and waking up without nightmares. At first I’d been too scared to close my eyes, not wanting to find myself lost in my nightmares again, but exhaustion had finally caught up with me, and blessed restful sleep followed.
Back at school, I am glad for contrary to my original fears, he does stay away from me. He sits at our table every lunch. My friends never once allow me to run away and seat elsewhere, much less my brother.
On days when I think I cannot take it anymore, I do sit elsewhere. This of course causes my brother to follow me and sit with me. Which then causes Mandy to follow him because she has a crush on him, and this leads to Dave following, because he has a crush on her. Mike then follows, as he is Dave’s best friend, and the two boys have more to talk about together than they do with Collin. Collin then follows them, with Jennifer in tow, which also means she makes sure to call Gauthier to join us the moment she sees him. So in actuality, it is impossible to avoid him. It is impossible to escape him. In school, in class.
Worst of all are the haunted eyes he keeps directed to me. Deep haunted eyes as though begging me to save him, to liven them. Unbridled longing eyes that cause everyone in my group of friends to ask me why I won’t go out on another date with him whenever he is yet to join us at the table.
“Poor boy is so in love with you,” Mandy starts this time. “Why don’t you just go out with him.”
“I already did,” I tell her curtly, tired of the repeated nagging.
“You said it went well. Why dont you go for a second date with him?” But I cannot answer her honestly, can I? Any attempts to refer to the disturbing experience I went through last time, or what I fear I might happen should I go out with him again, die unspoken in my lips.
“Leave me alone,” I say instead, turning to my food, as the topic of conversation joins us at the table, fielding cheerful hellos from everyone but me.
“Are you looking forward to this Saturday?” Mandy asks my brother. The same dreamy look is in her eyes, the look my friends held in my former school whenever they looked at him.
Tony shrugs absently in answer, running his hands over his neat cornrows. Mom was in her mood yesterday, so we both have very tidy hair today. My curls are fresh, as last night mom twisted my wet hair again, and I uncoiled them this morning. Tony’s previous wild curls were also reduced to neat cornrows last night by mom, and the positive effect is obvious as so many girls have stopped by our table to make small talk with him.
If I had any doubt before now that I am sitting on the most popular table, I don’t anymore. The presence of Gauthier, Mike and Tony has made our table the grand station for all
pretty
girls in the school, and the fact that they are still single, and are yet to express an inclination towards any girl in particular have most girls hot and bothered.
I have always known how beautiful Tony is. I grew up with him. Watched him getting fought for by girls since I was seven, so I am not entirely new to it. It’s Gauthier’s beauty that has me on edge, and rightly so. He is stunningly good looking. Because he is not my brother, I am not shielded from being affected by it, not even with the traumatizing experience that was our date. Maybe even more proclaimed because of that. The knowledge that he is something else, that he could hurt me, or cause me to hurt myself or anyone for that matter, by just whispering simple words of command has me enthralled. The memory of how his father had blown my breath into his lips, and caused the burning fire in his eyes to thaw to cold ice blue; and to remember how much he’d been affected, the sheer bliss that crossed his face, the longing with which he often gazes at me- causes me to shudder with weakness.
Against myself, despite my wishes, his gazes are slowly softening my resolve. I at times surprise myself by catching myself studying him when he’s turned away. And not studying him with anger and fear like I had in the weeks right after our date, but with curiosity now. Often have I caught myself sometimes doodling the outline of his face, or puzzling over his lips. The latter has become a very annoying obsession of late.
“What about you, guys?” Mandy turns to Mike, Dave and Gauthier, when it’s clear that my brother will not answer.
“I know I’m looking forward to the afterparty!” Dave rushes to say.
“Of course you are,” Collin says, lifting his head from kissing Jennifer. “Because you won’t be playing,” he says and the guys begin to laugh at Dave’s expense. It annoys me even more when I see Gauthier smile at the mean joke.
“Stop it now!” I surprise myself by saying curtly. Seven pairs of eyes turn my way curiously. “I hate this! I hate it when people constantly put someone down. Yes, Dave may not be as talented as you, Collin. Or you Mike and Gauthier,” I do not cower from his dark eyes. “That does not mean that he doesn’t love the game and deserve your respect. When I left Hamilton, I told myself that I would stay away from friends such as you. Popular teens that think it’s okay to say mean things to their friends, to tear them down. It’s all your fault Tony that I am here sitting with them,” I say, now turning to my brother. “You and your perfect looks and athletic profile.” He looks completely surprised, and very apologetic. But there is a weight pressing against my shoulders, and I am yet to finish relieving myself of it.
“I want good friends for once,” I proceed to tell him. “Kind friends, caring friends- friends that aren’t monsters.” That might have been directed at Gauthier. “Please let me walk away and sit at a table without you following me, so that your entourage isn’t forced to follow me too,” I finish, rising to my feet and walking away before anyone can stop me, rushing to the back to sit across the girl with the head brace that always sits alone over lunch.
I am still fuming when my brother walks over to me. I groan inside when he sits next to me. I guess I always knew he will follow me. We eat in silence, the girl studying us with curiosity over her meal.
“I’m Amelia,” she eventually says.
“Hi Amelia. I’m Tony,” my brother puts in, stretching his hand to shake her pale feeble one. “This is my sister Sophia. She’s normally kinder and would have introduced herself, but at the moment she’s fuming.” I cannot help it but laugh when he says this.
Cheerleading practice is awkward after that little tantrum, but luckily everyone just pretends as though nothing happened. There is a chilly air between us though, but the angry exchange of words is luckily dissuaded for the moment.
I guess that balloon will explode another day.
“Go angels, go!” I call at the top of my voice, my voice barely discernible over the shouts of the rest of our home fans as we cheer on our team. We are leading, with the score at 72:54, and just three minutes to go.
The whole gym is wild as it’s the first time the Angels, our school’s basketball team, is winning against the Rangers, our rival high school in more than seven years. Everyone says it’s because of Tony and Mike. The two guards, Tony playing the shooting guard, and Mike the point guard, are an unstoppable force.
A while back, I noticed that Gauthier had arrived at the games. I know where he is, at the back right corner of the gym. He never once stands since arriving, keeping his eyes forward, appearing to be watching the game, but really he is watching me.
I am constantly aware of his gaze fixed on me. My raised goosebumps despite the humid warmth of the tightly packed gym is evidence of how much his gaze affects me. Try what I may, it is nearly impossible to tear my eyes away from his direction. So we spend the near three hours that the game lasts staring at each other.
Is he as affected by me as I am by him, I wonder? Has he really been waiting for centuries for me? If so, then how old is he really? What is he? He is clearly a supernatural creature of sorts. He doesn’t fit that mold of mythological vampires or werewolves, shifters or metamorphs. He is something else, I don’t know what.
He is fully dressed even today, all his skin but his face covered. He has on a pair of well fitting jeans and a longsleeved muscle shirt under the jacket he wears. I know without confirming from this distance that the leather gloves he wears would be tacked in under the long sleeves of his well fitting top, and that the jeans he wears are tucked under his designer boots. He is always impeccably dressed. I can’t remember a time I looked at him and didn’t like what he wore, or the light scent he wears. Right then I almost miss a step because I remember that light scent I love to inhale despite myself. Aiki scowls at me because I’d have dropped her in my momentary distraction, and I look at her apologetically, deciding to pay better attention.
Forty two seconds to go and the scoreboard reads 80:63 in our favour. We all know that this game is won, but the crowd is still hungry for more baskets, a bigger margin, so on we cheer.
I once again forget my decision to pay attention to our cheering and my eyes drift his way. He is an oddity, that is for sure. If he wasn’t so good looking and always so impeccably dressed, driving that sportscar, oozing good breeding, old money and tons and tons of mystique, all qualities that automatically make him an honorary member of the high school jock club, I suspect that people would have tried to bully him. Those gloves, and the incessant desire not to be touched would have made him a perfect candidate for bullies. I shudder to imagine the defensive measures he’d have taken to keep the bullies away.
I scream at the top of my voice with glee as the final whistle is blown, rushing out to the court to throw myself into my brother’s arms, only stopping for Mandy flies past me into his arms and presses her lips onto his. I cannot stop my laughter right then, for Tony appears even more bemused than I am, looking questioningly at me over her head as her lips remain locked to his for a few moments longer.
When Mandy finally sets my brother free, I step in to give him a quick hug, as the coach is calling all the players to him. We cheerleaders then have a quick meeting, the usual, before we are set free, as everyone is excitedly looking forward to the afterparty.
I rush to mom after the meeting, the excitement of the win driving me into an excited mood, and mom cannot help but laugh happily at the joy on my face.
“You were great!” She exclaims, hugging me tight to herself.
“Are you sure you don’t mean Tony?” I ask her teasing.
“He was great, but so were you,” she say proudly, placing a kiss on my cheek.
“I have to rush off to work now. Tell Tony..”
“Tell Tony what mom?” Tony calls, stepping up from behind me and enveloping mom in a tight hug. I realize once again just how much Tony has grown, for he is now as tall as mom, and mom is a very tall woman. Soon he’ll be as tall as dad had been.
“That you were great,” mom says, pulling out of his embrace and pressing a kiss against his cheek too. “Have fun at the party,” she says. “But not too much. I’d hate to have to come break it off,” she adds chuckling, before enveloping us into yet another hug together.
Tony pulls me forward as mom walks away, and I am forced to skip over the bleachers as quickly as he does as he is excited, rushing to meet up with his teammates at the center of the court. Gauthier is also now at the center of the court, commanding as much attention as the basketball team members.
“Come on, Tony,” Gauthier says. “You two can drive with me.” I’m attempting to pull Tony back, needing to warn him, but he is in too good a humor, too distracted, to feel my reservations.
“I’m coming with you guys!” Mandy adds excitedly, cutting in to hook her hand into Tony’s other hand, and I get the feeling that she wants me to back off.
I am his sister!
I want to scream at her, but I choose not to, holding on to my brother’s other hand.
I am glad when Tony senses my inhibitions against seating on the front passenger seat and he seats there instead, despite Mandy’s cooing for she’d hoped that the two would sit on the back seat and cuddle or whatever. Tony slams his door shut, but my heart races when Gauthier stands beside me with eyes dark as night, waiting for me to slip into the back seat before he closes the door after me. An unwanted gentlemanly gesture.
The party is as wild as expected. I really hope mom doesn’t come to break it off. A keg or more find their way here, and I see no reason why I shouldn’t have some fun too. It isn’t my first time drinking, but I drink faster than I normally would, probably because I have no friends to distract me this time.
Tony is the center of attention, often turned upside down chugging beer, or guffawing loudly with the guys, a bevy of cheerleaders seeking his attention, Mandy attempting to monopolize most of it. It’s funny really. It makes for good entertainment.
Cheerleaders don’t talk to me anymore. Not after my freakout, and unfortunately Amelia hadn’t come to this party. I did invite her, but she cited that this just isn’t her scene. I’m also starting to doubt if it is my scene.
I spend most of the time sipping my beer and walking through the crowds, leaning against the wall and watching something funny or other unravel in Mike’s house where we are holding the party. His parents are out, so we are unchaperoned.
I blame my reduced attentiveness due to the drink in my hand, or the captivating amusement unravelling before me, as the reason why I bump into him.
The warm heat emanating from his long-sleeved muscle shirt where it comes into contact with my right hand holding my beer cup cuts through me, and I feel myself noticeable weaken before he shakes off the mixture of shock and pleasure that crosses his face and steps back, his eyes now a burning orange, that he immediately turns away from me. I suddenly realize that I am brave enough to want an explanation.
“What..” I start.
“Don’t touch me!” He interrupts my question by exclaiming in a near frightened cry, as though in fear rather than detest.
“Why?” I ask, aggravating him further by attempting to reach out to him, my bravery brought upon by my poor judgment from intoxication.
His cry not to touch him had not been delivered as an order my body couldn’t deny. He said he’d never do that again, take my will from me. He had just warned me not to touch him. I am free to touch him though, should I want to. I raise my hand toward him again, and notice the fear that crosses his face before he quickly starts moving away. My sudden sense of adventure that I also blame on my intoxicated state, causes me to chase after him.
“Please stop,” he begs when he is forced to stop, because of the wall of people pressed behind him not allowing for anymore receding without coming into contact with them, and my blocking of his only way forward.
He is now at my mercy. The fear evident in his face lets me know that I have the upper hand in this case, and for the life of me, I just cannot stop myself from attempting to touch him again.
“Please, Sophia,” he begs as my hand edges even closer, and he has nowhere to go. “Please don’t touch me.” It is said in a whisper, but even with the loud music and shouting around us, I do not mistake the pleading in his voice. It rings true and clear in my ears.
“Why not?” I ask with surprising bravery. The almost amused look on my face lets him know I am enjoying this turn of tables, being the one torturing him- scaring him, like he’d scared me.
“Because..” he draws to a stop.
“Because what?”
“You’ll get hurt.”
“Really?” I ask in disbelief, wondering why the prospect of my getting hurt could have him so scared. I call his bluff. I watch his eyes brighten from dark pupils to mesmerising golden glows as my hand edges closer to his face, and their colour intensity deepen to a burning orange glow when I am just an inch away. His burning eyes plead with me to stop, but I do not stop myself this time until my fingers are just a fraction of an inch from touching his face.
The mixed look of bliss, pleasure and worry cross his face as a burning sensation sears through my stretched out fingertips, and I feel the surge of energy rush from me with such thick waves, that I think I see it floating from my fingertips and fusing into his skin.
“No!” He immediately calls in a harsh whisper, reaching out his gloved hands to wrap around my wrist and pull my hand away, just as a reciprocated wave of bliss hits me back, even as I weaken so much that I sag against his arms. He releases my wrist just as soon, but it still burns where his long gloved fingers had held me.
“What..?” I start to ask, slumping weakly against the cool wall beside me. “What was that?” I manage to ask.
“Don’t you touch me again!” Is all he whispers back harshly.
“If you don’t explain it to me, I’ll touch you again and again,” I tell him, realizing that any demise I experience will be worst felt by him. Hadn’t he said he’d been waiting for me for a very long time? Centuries, his father had said. He needs me to be safe, and it is that knowledge that now gives me an upper hand.
“I can’t tell you yet.. Okay! Okay!” He calls in a ragged whisper, forcing me to stop my hand just short of touching him again so as to honor the deal. I fear though that this time I’d have traced his lips rather than just attempt to touch his face as before. I cannot stop thinking about those lips at the moment.
“You’ll tell me?” I ask. I am slightly wavering but am not sure if it’s because of the energy I’ve lost upon touching him, or its because of the many cups of beer I’ve had tonight.
“I will,” he says. “Let’s go outside first.”