Authors: Kate Wrath
Eden (28 page)
"It changes how you feel."
Something in his voice makes me look up at him, meet his
eyes. There's no barrier, no hidden anything. Just concern and tenderness.
The person I've seen glimpses of, but couldn't keep. Now I can keep him. The
smile slips onto my face as I reach for him.
He pulls me into a hug, then moves past me, shoving the book
out of the way and dropping onto the bed. He has my hands, smiling, pulling me
to him. "C'mere."
I laugh as I drop beside him. He kicks off his shoes, then
tugs on mine. We scramble to right ourselves on the bed in a comfortable
cuddle. I'm lying with my head on the pillow, looking into his face. Our
knees are together. His fingers intertwine and fumble with mine.
“How did you even find it?” I whisper, my voice filled with
awe.
He shakes his head, his eyes moving away from mine.
“How?” I insist.
He sighs, and when his eyes find mine again, he admits, “I
had Kobee and Spec take a team and spend the night dredging the water.”
My fingers touch his face. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“It didn’t matter in the end.” His voice has gone soft and
low and sad.
“It matters.” Our eyes meet again, finding that connection.
His gaze has gone, once again, incredibly serious. I can
tell he's working up words, but it takes a moment for him to find his voice.
"I understand the loss," he murmurs, touching my cheek. "I do.
And I know it’s significant. But I'm going to tell you why it’s not."
I don't like the sound of that—part of me recoils—but I
frown and focus on his words, trying to hear them for what they are.
"For a long time, I thought I needed to find that past,
too," he says. "It nearly drove me crazy. Kept me on edge. I
nearly missed what was right in front of me." A smile touches the corner
of his lips, his fingers curling into my hair. "It was you who made me
see that I didn't need it after all. That I had become something different,
and that was OK."
I close my eyes, remembering sitting on that rock early in
the morning, with the forest around us, the sounds of birds, and the
sweet-smoky-wood smell of our glowing-ember campfire. Nostalgia—thick, thick
nostalgia—washes over me.
"I want to give you the same gift," he says,
turning his hand as he strokes down my cheek. "Eden," he whispers,
his eyes moving from mine to my lips and back, "if Lily brought you to me,
then I'll always be grateful for that." There are tears in his eyes, now,
and suddenly I'm seeing his face through a blur. "But whoever she was,
she's gone. We have to let her go. When I look at you, I see Eden.
My
Eden. Strong, and brave, and tender. Someone who protects everyone. Someone
who loves ferociously." The smile slinks back onto his face.
"Sometimes a goofball."
We laugh together, and sniffle together.
"Whoever Lily was," Jonas says, barely shaking his
head, "she can't compare to that. No one can compare to that."
His words swell in me over the span of a long silence. A
single tear has leaked onto the bridge of my nose, caught in a little pool at
the corner of my eye. And inside me is another pool—warmth and comfort, a
feeling that everything really is OK. I move my face a touch closer to his,
stroking the tips of my fingers from his forehead to his jaw, looking into his
eyes. "Thank you," I whisper. "You're perfect." My thumb
brushes his lips, my words trailing off. "...Absolutely perfect...."
That earns me the wide, unshielded smile, and as much as
I've come to love his seriousness, that smile sends flutters deep inside me.
My own smile is a grin. Warmth is bursting out of me, lighting up my eyes.
Happiness—pure, raw happiness that is almost too much to take.
He grabs me by the waist and jerks me toward him, making me
squeal in surprise, though it's muffled by his lips pressed against mine. An
awkward kiss, because we're both smiling and giggling. He pulls away to look
at me, laughing softly, and all the many things in his gaze make the giggles
evaporate like hot, hot sunshine on cold, cold mist. His mouth finds mine
again, ready this time, and our lips and tongues move against each other,
touching with all the longing of our souls. My body trembles against him,
filled with a rush of emotion that threatens to be too much for my physical
heart to handle. Complete overload. Complete exposure. Raw and painful and
scary in its breathlessness, but good. Deeply, deeply good.
As he draws slowly away, his breath tickling my face, I open
my eyes to gaze into his, and the truest words I have ever spoken usher from my
lips, as though they have spoken themselves. "I love you, Jason."
Joy and shock pass rapidly over Jonas' face, then are hidden
away behind a mask of calm. He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, but says
nothing. He tries again. Nothing.
I'm shaking my head, realizing the mistake—horrified by it
myself—but he's already pulling away. Rolling away off the bed.
I reach for him. "Jonas." My voice is hoarse.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
His gesture silences me, waving me off as he begins to
pace. I hold my breath. He stops and faces me, opens his mouth again. Begins
to turn away, but turns back as though he's fighting with himself about which
way to go. He clearly doesn't know. His knuckles go into his mouth and he
bites them as he finally looks at me. Three, four, five long heart beats, and
he says nothing.
I feel a stuttering, staggering explanation panicking to get
out of me, but I don't know where to begin. He must see it building, too,
because he shakes his head, warning me off it. I bite my lip and keep silent.
Finally, his hand drops, he sighs, and he comes to the edge of the bed to sit
next to me.
We sit, shoulder to shoulder, and say nothing.
I want to cry. I feel like I've desecrated something. But
no emotion makes it to the surface. So I sit slumped beside him.
After a while, he touches my shoulder, trailing his fingers
down my arm. When I look at him, he's turned slightly toward me. I still
can't seem to speak.
"This is why I held back," he says, as though the
words are painful for him. "I knew this. I convinced myself it would be
OK. But I knew this. I should have been more careful."
Now my gaze moves to his eyes, and his own sadden at my hurt
expression.
"Don't do this," he whispers. "Don't be
sad. It'll be OK. We'll get through it."
"Through
what
?" I say, flinging my hand at
the open air in front of me. An edge has come to my voice, anger rising within
me. "Some psycho girl invading my head? Haunting my life? My
self-inflicted brain damage?"
His fingers grip my arm. His voice trembles with emotion
but rings with determination. "Whatever it is. We'll get through
it."
I deflate with a sigh. "Easy for you to say," I
mutter. "Jason didn't fuck with
your
head."
"No." His soft admission douses the rest of my
anger.
I look at him, and we share a purse-lipped frown.
"Look." His voice is so soft and calm, his gaze
so steady. "It doesn't change things. Not really. You're the same
you've always been, as long as I've known you. You're just working through
some things, and that's OK. We'll work through them together." He offers
me a sweet smile, touching my cheek. "It's all OK. See?"
I manage a nod, trying to grab hold of those words and
believe him, but I keep replaying his face... joy moving to horror. And then
the mask that I thought was gone. My eyes search his face, and I can't be
certain, but I think there are a lot of things he's not displaying for me to
see. Maybe he's trying to protect me, but I hate that barrier.
Nonetheless, I take his hand in mine. "OK."
A quick sigh of relief, and he pulls me into his arms,
hugging me tightly. "OK," he says. "OK."
We go through the motions of dinner and getting ready for
bed, very few words in between. Then we lay in the dark, holding on to each
other tightly but motionlessly. We're like corpses who died that way, clinging
to each other, and now that rigor mortis has set in, neither of us can let go.
I lay awake in the dark for a long time, thinking the thoughts of the dead. OK
is not OK, no matter how many times he might say it. He's upset, but he's
buried that part of him where I can't touch it. And me... what am I playing
at? I fixate on a thought I had a long time ago, that seemed to be true:
Jason
and Lily are dead.
I was wrong though.
Jason
is dead. Lily is
still alive, and her grief could be the end of me.
***
I stand on the terrace watching the last sliver of sun slip
behind Wynwood's buildings. As it sinks, the very last piece of it is lit so
softly, like a dying ember. Maybe the sun really dies every night and is relit
like a lamp in the morning.
I sigh, standing in the almost-night, the dusk, the dying
day, feeling a kinship with the fading world. I run my fingers across my
eyelids. Why am I so tired?
A stupid question, really. A painfully obvious answer. My
mind has been racing all day. There is a question—a really good question—one
that's been somewhere in the back of my mind all along. Now, standing here,
I'm not sure why I haven't asked it yet. Maybe I wasn't meant to. Or maybe
sometimes we hide obvious questions from ourselves, shrug them off, because
asking them would be uncomfortable. And yes... maybe that's what I've done.
But suddenly, undeniably, the question is there, and I am dying to ask it.
Footsteps, heavy and even, come up the terrace stairs. I
already know it's Kobee from the sound of the steps, but I turn my eyes toward
the stairs anyway. He emerges with a bag, rummaging inside it as he gets to
the top. He pulls out something wrapped in cloth, closes the distance, and
hands it to me. Steam warms my hand through the bundle.
"Jason wanted me to bring you some of these," he
says, looks in the bag, and shoves it toward me. "There's sauce."
I accept the bag and set it on the wall, unwrapping the
bundle to reveal tortilla. It smells of meat and onion and something spicy.
"Thanks."
"He said to make sure you ate something."
"I'll eat."
Kobee looks at me like he's waiting to see if I do.
I humor him and take a bite. Not bad. I didn't know how
hungry I was. But I chew quickly, swallow, and squint up at Kobee, trying to
phrase my question.
"What?" he asks flatly.
Fine. "Tell me about Lily. And Jason. About
everything. I want to know everything." And no, I didn't phrase it as a
question.
His lower eyelids twitch. He licks his lips and looks away
impatiently. "Seriously," he says. "What do I look like? The
entertainment?"
"I need some answers," I say, ditching the burrito
and putting my hands on my hips. "If you're really on our side you can
damned-well give them to me."
His chin jerks up in reaction and he turns away. "Oh,
that's nice," he says, talking to the sky, or the air, or anything but
me. "I see you still have your charm, too."
"I must have learned it from you. Now fucking tell me
about—" I gesture randomly, "—stuff."
He turns around and gives me a look. "Stuff."
"Yes. Stuff."
He sighs, his eyes on my burrito on the wall.
I pick it up and hold it out. "You want it? Tell me
stuff and it's yours."
"Did you just seriously offer me a half-eaten burrito
in exchange for information? Do I look like a stray?"
I toss the burrito back down on the wall. "Then just
tell me. You don't get anything."
Kobee's jaw works. He takes a slow, deep breath, and lets
it out even more slowly. Then he looks at me expressionlessly. No.
Calculatingly. After a moment, he says, "I'm not good at telling
stories. You want to know about you and Jason? You asked the wrong person. I
never got involved in all that shit. Celine. Ask her."
I nod curtly, though something inside me is quavering.
Uneasy. "Fine." I manage to keep my voice steady, though it doesn't
sound as full as I want it to. "Send her to me." I gesture
dismissively toward the stairs.
Kobee turns and strides away like following my commands is
nothing. But the muscles in his back and neck are taught, his gait not as
smooth as usual. He's uneasy, too.
No stopping it now. I've set this all in motion. I look
out over the darkness and try to steady my breathing while I wait.
***
"What'd you do to piss Kobee off?" Celine laughs
lightly as she swishes toward me across the terrace. She leans one hand on the
wall, cocking her hip, and favors me with that cat-gaze, that half-curled
smile.
I open my mouth to answer, but she's talking again.
"Whatever it was, he's gone for good. And the boys are
away." Her mouth opens into a grin, her white teeth catching a sparkle of
moonlight. "Time for us to play."
It's almost convincing. Almost. And certainly intriguing.
Calculatingly distracting. I want to ask what sort of adventure she intends.
But no. I'm not falling for that. "I'm not going anywhere until I have
answers."
She laughs, whapping my arm, turning away. Her voice is
light as she wanders a few steps across the terrace. "Don't be so boring,
silly. There's plenty of time for that later."
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms, as my eyes track
her. "There's plenty of time for it now."
She stops, back to me, and her shoulders heave in a little
sigh.
"Kobee told you why I sent for you." I keep my
voice steady and firm. "I want to know everything, and I don't care if it
makes you uncomfortable. You're going to tell me."
"That sounds like a threat." Her voice is
lilting, playful. Her face turns slightly to the side, but she does not face
me. "How are you going to get it out of me if I refuse to tell you?"
"I'm not playing these games with you." I shift
slightly, but keep my focus on her. "Either you're my friend and you're
telling me, or you're not and you're not. Make a choice."
She turns on me now, anger rising behind her eyes, but her
face is still a picture of amusement. "That's not very nice of you,
Eden
.
You're asking me to disobey orders. To go against my tribe."
"Orders," I blurt out incredulously. "
Whose
orders?"
She raises her palms to the sky. "Who do you
think?"
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and sigh. Take a
moment. Swallow. Open my eyes. "Whatever Lily was thinking," I say
calmly, slowly, "she failed. Did you
see
her book? Did Jonas show
you?"
Her shoulders fall, her expression going with it. She turns
away again, and there's a long silence.
I stand there, looking at her back, and my heart is heavy.
Every part of me believes that I am looking at a friend, and I hate the
distance I'm feeling between us. If I could just reach out... If I could just
connect.... "
Please
, Celine," I whisper. "I need to
understand."
The slightest movement of her frame acknowledges my words. Another
long span of silence follows. Then she's moving, pacing. "I don't
know," she whispers, and I have the sensation she is talking to herself,
not me. "I just don't know." I watch her move back and forth across
the terrace, her hands threading through her hair. She hasn't exactly fallen
apart, but this is as distraught as I've ever seen her. It's too dark to
really see her face, but I have the feeling that her eyes are filled with
tears.
I've caused this, and that makes my stomach turn and twist
with guilt. I'm torn between pressing onward and taking it all back. Maybe
she's right. Maybe I shouldn't be asking these questions. What if the answers
are all wrong?
I turn away, looking out over the darkness that has swept up
Wynwood. My hands rest lightly on the roughness of the wall, but I'm focused
inward. The sensation of nausea is moving up my throat now, into my head.
This is all wrong. My brain throbs. I want to take everything back, but I
don't know if I can.
Behind me, Celine makes a little noise in her throat, then
is silent. She's not pacing anymore. She says nothing. I turn around to look
at her, and my breath catches in my throat.
Her eyes are wide, face startled, mouth closed, chin tilted
up slightly to accommodate the silver blade that presses into the white skin of
her throat. The figure behind her has one arm twisted behind her back.
Moonlight gleams off of pale blond strands of hair that fall around his face.
I blink. Apollon? No. But I've seen this guy before.
My fingers twitch toward my own blade.
"Don't," he warns, pressing his knife into
Celine's throat.
Her whimper makes me freeze. I'm holding my breath,
shaking. She's only a few long steps away. There has to be a way to save
her. Our eyes lock across the distance, her gaze filled with trepidation, and
longing, and something else. She opens her mouth to speak, but an adjustment
of the blade cuts off her words before they make it halfway up her throat.
"Look," I begin very calmly, determined to find a
way to save her. It's about me, isn't it? The chip in my head? And I don't
give a damn about myself right now. I will happily exchange my life for hers.
"Just let her go, and—"
"Tell her," the man hisses, adjusting her arm and
his knife. Celine, bent awkwardly backward, struggles the slightest bit before
surrendering. "OK," she whimpers. "OK."
He eases up enough for her to speak.
Celine's eyes meet mine. "He's your friend," she
whispers. Another nudge and she adds, reluctantly, "You trust him."
Then her expression changes suddenly to alarm and she blurts, "Eden, you
have to know—" The handle of his knife connects with the back of her
skull. Her eyes roll up and she slumps. He eases her to the ground and lets
go, then straightens. We look at each other across the terrace, both of us
frozen.
Finally, as if he only just realizes it, he puts his knife
back in its sheath, making each movement carefully, obviously. He shows me his
empty hands. "It's OK," he says. "I would never hurt you,
Lil." He walks slowly toward me. "I wouldn't even have come
here.... I had to. I wish things were different, but...." His voice
trails off, filled with pain. The same pain shines in his blue eyes as he
looks at me.
