One (8 page)

A void.

I close the book.

* * *

The night is young.

I wish it were done
already.

Sleep is a ghost I feel
but can't touch. No matter how long I lay or how hard I squeeze my
eyes shut, slumber taunts me; so close, and yet not close enough.
Finally I decide to get up and go for a walk. Slipping on my jeans
and hoodie from earlier I leave my room. Sounds of music and laughter
drift from several directions, alerting me to the number of parties
going on tonight.

My tennis shoes barely
make a sound as I pass by. A few groups of people walk toward me, but
I sidle closer to the wall, and their strides don't break. They never
see me. This is such an engrained part of me I wonder if there was
ever a time I was different. I flittered through high school the same
way, a shadow people rarely noticed, but might recall because of the
strange boy who hovered over like a watchdog, protective, alert,
careful.

Obsessive.

He wasn't always like
that. Or maybe he was, but I was so desperate for someone I made
myself blind to it. I wanted a brother. I wanted a friend. I wanted
someone to understand the way I was sure he could.

But he wasn't a
brother. He wanted to be more than a friend. For a time he was my
boyfriend. He never left me, not even when Grandma did. For his
loyalty I felt obligated to let him touch me, to let him absorb my
softness as if it could be his own.

He didn't disappoint me
the way my parents did. For his constancy I let him take me away. I
let him pretend the life we led was normal. I let him pretend
we
were normal.

He was a constant in my
life, the only thing that never left me. But in the end I dealt him
the ultimate betrayal.

I fled.

He might try to look
for me, but the rest of them wouldn't, not with everything that
happened that night, not with what I did. If they were to look for
me, they'd start with New York where I led them to believe I had a
dream of going. Then they might branch out to the other cities. They
might think I want to hide in the big city. They would never think to
look for me here, right under their nose; attending a school I never
had any intention of attending. The money Grandma spent years saving
was enough for one year of tuition and housing. Next year I would
need to apply for financial aid. Next year, I may only be able to
attend one class or maybe two.
It doesn't matter,
I remind
myself.
One step at a time.
If I graduate college, I will be
the first Hendricks woman to do so.

I will be the first to
have succeeded in society.

The thought should
cheer me, but it only serves to remind me of how high each obstacle
is, how much I have to overcome.

The night air isn't as
chilly as I thought it would be. There's a group nearby.
Automatically, I walk around them, stepping onto the sidewalk. I see
lights and bodies. I hear laughter and bits of conversation carried
by the wind.

"Cheers…so she
said…"

"Dry humping all
over the streets…"

"Hey!"

I keep my head down,
wondering how far I have to walk before my body becomes as tired as
my mind.

"Hey!"

I think about Maddie's
and how I have to be there at ten tomorrow morning. Will Alaina be
there?

"Hey!" A hand
grasps my arm. "Someone so small shouldn't be allowed to walk so
fast. Isn't there a law of physics against that or something?"

I have to blink twice
before I can believe who's in front of me. Pax flashes me his
signature one-dimpled grin. "What are you doing out here by
yourself?" he asks.

"What are
you
?"
I counter back.

He laughs. "I'm
with the guys, actually. I saw you walk by and followed you."

"Worried I'm going
to roll down the sidewalk?"

"I figure you
learned your lesson the first time," he answers with a familiar
amused glint in his eye. "But it's better to be safe than
sorry."

"I had a little
too much to drink that night," I admit.

"It happens,"
he shrugs. "One time during my sophomore year I got drunk and
hid in a tree for three hours. The guys only found me because I dozed
off and fell down."

I gasp. "Oh no!
Were you hurt?"

"A couple
stitches. A dislocated shoulder. Nothing a big tough guy like me
can't handle," he winks.

"I'm sure."

"You know what I
just realized? I don't know your name. I know you lose buttons on
your shirts when you drink-"

I gasp, as a shade the
color of strawberries covers my face. "That- that was an
accident! Someone did it on purpose to me. She told me I'd thank her
later…" I drift off as I realize how ridiculous I sound.

"'Accident' and
'on purpose' don't usually go together in a sentence. Did you drink
tonight?" he teases.

"No," I
protest. I shake my head for emphasis. "It was my first time,"
I reveal.

"So now I know
you've only drank once in your life, you work at Maddie’s, and you
had one night of spontaneity. That's four things," he holds up
four fingers. "What's your name?"

I hesitate, debating
whether I should tell him or not. After a few seconds I decide
there's no harm in it. "Julianna Hendricks."

"Julianna
Hendricks," he repeats, tossing it in his mouth. I watch his
lips move.

"People call me
Jules."

"Jules," he
echoes. "I like that."

There's a full moon
tonight, and we're right underneath it because I suddenly notice how
thick Pax's eyelashes are. My eyes follow the way they frame his
eyes, how they seem to make his pupils appear darker even though I've
seen the light green flecks up close.

"Hmm?" I
murmur. Of course the universe would give lashes like that to men
like Pax who couldn't possibly know how to appreciate them. The
universe is ironic like that, giving and taking on a whim.

"I
said
are
you staring at me?"

That jerks me out of my
thoughts. I bite my lower lip, alarmed and embarrassed he's caught
me.

"Because if you
are," he continues, "it's only fair that I get to stare,
too."

If my mind were a TV,
there would be nothing but static right now. I can't think of a
single reply. He steps closer, seeming to enjoy my discomfort. This
should spur more of a rise out of me, but I've noticed his eyes
haven't left my face- not even for a second. Abruptly I feel like an
antique someone analyzes before purchasing. I don't know if I feel
anger or outrage… or interest.

"I'm an artist,"
I blurt out. "I- I draw things and people sometimes and that's
why I was…"
staring at you
, I finish silently. I can't
bring myself to admit it out loud.

He raises an eyebrow.
I'm not sure what that gesture means. "That's impressive."
Slowly, he grins, an indolent smile that reminds me of lazy mornings
and breakfast in bed. "Was that your way of asking me if you can
paint me?"

"What?" I
sputter. "No."

"I'm not shy."

"No," I
repeat, red in the face. Why isn't my voice firm?

"Actually, I think
it's a great idea. It would give you practice and I'd get to spend
time staring at you."

"
What?
"

"You have a really
interesting face. Your expressions are priceless. Have you ever tried
drawing yourself?"

Instantly, a picture of
the girl with the hole flashes in my mind. "I don't-"

He puts an arm around
me, and my words stop. "Jules," he says huskily in a voice
I've never heard him use before. It sends tingles down my back. It
makes my pulse jump erratically. He bends until his mouth almost
touches my ear, until I hear his breathing like it's my own. "Are
you up for the challenge?"

Do you know that
feeling when you want to say "no", when your mouth begins
to form that word, but then "yes" comes out instead?

That's what happened.

"This is against
the law."

"Not
particularly." Pax opens the door for me. "Not if we don’t
get caught."

"Haven't you read
1984
? There are cameras everywhere," I tell him
seriously, pausing at the doorway.

"Look, my friend
is a TA for the Arts program," he explains as he places a hand
behind my back, gently pushing me in. Pax steps behind me into the
darkness. "They don't use this room past eight p.m. He always
leaves the key underneath the flowerpot. We're safe."

"Is this really
necessary?" I counter as I struggle to see in the blanket of
blackness that stretches before me. Walking forward, I make a sound
as I almost stumble over something.

"Easy," Pax
says softly, as he grabs my elbow. I feel his hardness behind my
back. Instantly, I'm aware of how close we are, of how every hair on
my body is suddenly standing on end. "You okay?"

"Yes." It
comes out as a squeak. My face turns crimson, and I'm thankful the
blackness hides that. Swallowing a ball of nerves down, I repeat,
"Yes," my voice more even.

"Maybe I should
stay close by- just in case." There's warmth to his voice that
makes my breath catch in my throat. I move away, letting air fill the
space. He doesn't follow me, and I can't stop the pang of
disappointment that pierces me when I hear him move to the other
side. I shake my head to clear it, confused about why I want to be
near him when I clearly
don't
.

A few moments later, a
bright light floods the space around us. I blink a few times, seeing
spots as my eyes adjust. Soon, I see shiny wooden floors that look
like they've just been mopped. Pristine, white walls surround us.
Each side holds several paintings and drawings. My eyes are drawn to
a particularly colorful painting depicting a clown on his head. His
face is upside down, but his eyes are right side up, laughing at the
contradiction.

"How do you know
about this place?"

"My friend may or
may not have been drunk when he showed me this room," Pax grins
as he walks toward me. "And we may or may not have all crashed
here at one time or another after a wild night." He shrugs
mischievously. "I also may or may not have let him think I've
forgotten about where this is."

I raise an eyebrow.
"That's a lot of mays and may nots."

"It's all true,"
he swears with a false exaggeration of innocence.

"Is this where you
bring girls?" I half joke, looking around. The instant the words
are out I regret uttering them, wondering why I asked it, hoping he
doesn't think I care. I pretend to examine the painting in front of
me more closely.

"Nope, you're the
first," Pax answers cheerfully as he starts pulling a canvas
stand forward. I notice several are gathered to the side opposite
from me, each covered with a piece of thin fabric. Bottles and cans
of paint are stacked neatly against one wall and on top of a large
sink.

His fingers are long
and lean as he flips the canvas covering over, letting it fall to the
floor softly. "Do you paint?" I ask.

"Sometimes. Here
and there. Not enough to make a career out of it."

"Me too," I
confess. "It's just a hobby."

"It can be
therapeutic," he comments. "When I broke my leg, it was
hard to stand so for a long time I had to stay in a sitting position.
I learned to do a lot stuck like that. Painting was something I did
occasionally to pass the time."

"What else did you
do?" The question slips out.

"Oh, you know, I
did a lot of sitting up and lying down. It involved a couple girls, a
camera…"

It takes me a moment,
but I get where he's going with it. "Gross!"

Pax keeps a straight
face as he faces me. "Hey, that was a genuine career option I
had to consider. What if I never walked again? At least my other
muscles were still
full
and functioning."

I grab the covering on
the floor, and throw it at him. He dodges it, sprinting toward me.
"You're in for it now," he warns me right before he jumps
on top of my body. I scream, unable to stop the laughter that tumbles
out like grass flittering in the wind. We fall to the floor in a
heap, and he climbs over me, using his athletic legs to pin my hands
to my sides. I thrash, using my hips to dislodge him, but my attempts
are futile, like a mortal playing with a god. He's got a big grin on
his face as he lifts his long fingers over my body, hovering over my
neck. "I'll tell you what," he begins. He waits for me to
become still before he continues. "I'll let you go if you
promise me something."

His fingers are almost
to my chin. I lash out, attempting to bite them. "Whoa!" he
bursts out laughing, but his body remains unmoving like hard cement.
"Feisty," he says it almost like a praise, and I can't help
how pleased I feel.

"Why don't you let
me go first and then we can negotiate?" I suggest in my best
persuasive voice. It's the same voice I used on Grandma, but it never
worked for her. Still, I'm hoping for better results with Pax.

He pretends to think
about it. "I can't let you do that," he finally says. "What
if you go back on your words?"

"I won't," I
lie.

"Should I trust
the pretty girl who tried to bite off my fingers?" he asks, his
bright eyes capturing mine. He bends until his whole face is mere
inches away. This close I can smell the scent of a minty aftershave.
Inhaling deeper, I pick out a smell, musky and masculine that is
uniquely Pax. If sexy had a smell, I imagine it'd smell like this.
His firm body is lying on top of me like bricks over a flowerbed. My
heart starts a painful kick in my chest. I've never felt anything
like it, not even when I was kissed for the first time, or when
Braidon held me in his arms and whispered his declaration of love.
The kick inside me is a storm, and the longer I stare into Pax's
eyes, the harder the storm sways, pulsing, vibrating until my
breathing is rocky and uneven.