Brave (Healer) (7 page)

             
‘Arrow is doing a tracking spell today. Shouldn’t take more than a few days though,’ Oliver says then adds, ‘I can’t help but think it would be easier if Gabe still has his memories.’

             
Mentioning Gabe’s name sends my body into hyperactivity. My breathing is rapid, my body is shaking furiously and I feel like all of my insides are convulsing. ‘If he still had his memories.’ Oh God. I fight the tears. I am sick of crying. 

             
‘Is he okay?’ I break down. I can no longer pretend he doesn’t exist to spare my feelings. ‘Did Rose mention? What is he doing?’

             
Oliver holds me at arms length and looks deeply into my eyes. ‘She didn’t say.’             

             
I can’t decipher what that is supposed to mean. Is no news really good news like I so often convince myself? The vampire blood might not have been extracted properly and he could have turned. The spell might have been too intense or Arrow could have made an error. He could be dead.  The tears bite back harder and I can’t fight them off any longer. I start to weep. I throw myself on to Oliver, hold a fistful of his shirt and sob.

             
Without me knowing, Oliver moves me into his bedroom where he lies me on his bed and wraps me in his fluffy throw. My body is shaking intensely; he must think I am cold but, in reality, I am fiery hot with frustration. Between my wailing cries Oliver softly reassures me but everything sounds and looks blurry.

             
‘I can’t do it anymore, Oliver, I can’t be this sad forever,’ I say.

             
Oliver looks angry, ‘Don’t you dare give up on this, Cassie. It might seem horrible right now but very soon you will be with your family and your friends again. You won’t have to think about vampires or werewolves or witches ever again.’

             
What if I don’t want to leave this world though? I love my family, and my friends have been undutifully good to me, but a world without vampires, werewolves and witches means a lifetime without Rose, Gabe and Oliver. I am tightly bound to them. I look at Oliver and I know that it’s too late for me not to get attached; I don’t want to lose him like I have lost everybody else.

             
‘Do you hear me?’

             
‘Yes,’ I sniff. The height of my despair has peaked and I’m coming down now. I whimper, ‘It’s just so hard. It’s not fair.’

             
He lies beside me now that I have calmed down. ‘I understand. I know how it feels to lose everyone you love, to feel listless, to not have a reason to wake up in the morning.’

             
I look up at him with glassy eyes and tear stained cheeks and I feel incredibly selfish. Oliver is lonely too, probably much lonelier than me. He has nobody but June yet he is strong and caring and selfless. He has never once pitied himself; I could learn a thing or two about the way he carries himself.

             
Hearing him sound so low makes the sadness dissipate and instead all I want to do is comfort him. He shouldn’t be spending so much time trying to reassure me that my life will get better when he feels so dismally about his. I wish I could make him feel better. He deserves a reason to wake up in the morning. Without thinking I lean over, place my trembling fingers on the side of his face and give him the smallest, softest kiss I can offer.

             
His mouth stretches from a solemn pout to a wide grin. ‘What was that for?’

             
My cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. I shouldn’t have kissed him, I know that, but I was overcome by sympathy and a desire to rid him of all his sadness. I wish I could be that girl to fill up his empty life but I know I can’t. My heart belongs to Gabe, perhaps not wholly, but that is where my love lies.

             
I shouldn’t have kissed him. I have broken the seal that keeps things at a safe, manageable distance and in doing so I let the emotions rush in. Things will get complicated now and that is the last thing either of us need. It was just a kiss. It was only a kiss out of kindness. My lips barely touched his. So why am I shaking like this?

             
‘I don’t know. You looked sad,’ I frown.

             
He is still smiling, ‘Thanks.’

             
I am frightened that he might want to kiss me again. Well, I want to kiss him too. I liked the scratchiness of his beard against my skin and that I could still taste the rich chocolate cake on his lips. It was such a brief kiss; I would like to explore his mouth and discover what it would be like to really kiss him. I want all of these things but I am terrified that he will want them too. That’s when things could get dangerous.

             
My body is tense as I lie there. Conflicted. He is looking at me with that big, beautiful smile. If only I could just lean forward and press my lips against that heartwarming smile. Nobody would ever have to know, right? No. I can’t imagine how badly it would hurt at night to lie alone in that hut and think about Gabe, knowing what I’d done, knowing how I would feel if he was kissing other girls. I could argue that he doesn’t know who I am anymore but I don’t believe that. His love for me exists somewhere and until he realises it I will love him enough for both of us. That means I can’t kiss Oliver again even if it is killing me.             

             
The best thing I can do is change the subject before this romantic tension builds any further. ‘If you’re a wolf, some of the time, why aren’t you more aggressive? I always imagined werewolves would be moody bastards,’ I say lightly.

             
I hadn’t ever given much thought into werewolves or witches before going to Toulouse. The only ‘mythical’ creature which has outed themselves to the world is the vampire. They are in every magazine and on every television in America but witches and werewolves, goblins and fairies, remain lurking in the shadows. I have thought about them sometimes I guess. I wondered if they were real before I had ever even met a bloodsucker and wondered what they’d be like. Vampires were supposed to be elegant and beautiful and sensual. Were witches ugly and resentful? Were werewolves hairy, angry and smelly? Well, Oliver had the hairy thing nailed but certainly not angry or smelly.

             
‘Regarding temperament, I am less of a wolf and more of a labrador,’ he is still smiling and I can’t help but think it was my gentle gesture that is making him grin like a goofy twelve year old. Then he adds, ‘Is this question time now?’

             
I resent that I never got the chance to know every inch of Gabe. I wish I’d asked him all the countless questions that popped into my head when we were together. I will never know about his childhood, was it happy? I won’t get to hear stories of his time with Claire and falling in love. Was he smart at school? Did he stick in and try hard? Of course not. What were his dreams for when he was older before the vampires stole his future? Was he a cat or a dog person? What was his favourite movie? I will never, ever get to find these things out. They are gone forever. Maybe Rose can fill in some gaps but it won’t be the same.

             
‘I guess,’ I shrug speaking sad and quietly. I won’t let Oliver slip away from me. One day, possibly soon, I will have to leave his world and return to my own and I don’t want to regret not knowing every facet of this man. I won’t let that slip away like with Gabe. Although I’m fearful that exploring what makes Oliver so great will only make me fall for him more and make that urge to kiss him deeper.

             
‘My turn?’ he says. His smile fades now and his face relaxes into a warm, peaceful expression. ‘When is your birthday?’

             
‘October first,’ I reply quickly. I can’t believe it has been a month since I turned eighteen. I thought the last six months had dragged in slowly but in reality this year has flown by.

             
I remember my party so clearly. Yet another event where I had to pretend to be happy and normal. I wore a new dress, black, gothic and lacy, and I curled my long blonde hair. I remember Jonathan telling me repeatedly how sexy I looked and how lucky he was to be with me. I remember what Lucy and Kate were wearing. Lucy, who looks like a little imp, had on a pair of high waisted black jeans, a chiffon shirt and her eye make up was dramatic. Kate was the girly girl of the group. Her face was bright pink from the blusher and lipstick and her dress was so sparkly it could have blinded me. They came over before the party and we drank champagne and giggled. I guess for that night I was sort of normal and I had liked it but when I blew out the candles I was wishing for Gabe.

             
‘Where’s your head at?’ he asks. I have noticed he likes to get inside my mind a lot but if he really knew what was going on there I don’t think he would want to spend a minute inside.

             
‘Oh a lifetime ago,’ I sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’

SEVEN

             
Three days pass sweetly. I’m stuck in between throes of longing for Gabe and my guilt over these rapidly growing feelings for Oliver. The tension between us doesn’t die down but it’s bearable enough that I don’t lunge across the living room and throw myself on him. We watch movies, we laugh over the delicious meals June prepares, lustful glances are exchanged but, ultimately, ignored.

             
There are no more phone calls from Rose or if she does call it is when I am fast asleep. Oliver stays with me in the hut until I fall asleep but now when I wake up he is gone leaving me with that familiar sense of emptiness when I open my eyes.

             
I want to kiss him again. It doesn’t seem right that I could want anyone’s lips except Gabe’s but there is a waiting comfort to be discovered in Oliver’s kisses. I want to taste the saltiness of his lips even though I know it is wrong. I think he wants to kiss me too, although I’m not sure what reason he has to.

             
In three days, Oliver has awoken my heart which had been hibernating for the past six months and, in three days, I learn and memorise the contours of his face and the roughness of his hands.

             
Our favourite game is still ‘question time.’ We are constantly quizzing one another and discovering new facets of each other’s lives and as I feared learning more about Oliver’s life only deepens my admiration for him. He is funny and tender. He talks about his parents and how his mother died of cancer then his father died from heartbreak. He doesn’t elaborate on his parents’ death any further. He seems forlorn but at the same time he talks about his family with a fondness rather than sadness. I wish I had enough memory of my mother to talk about her. All I know is that she was a Healer too and died at the hands of Maurice, like I’m going to.

             
We are lying side by side on Oliver’s bed again facing the ceiling which is decorated with carved wooden beams. The questions range from our favourite things to the absurd. When we lie here laughing like children it’s easy for me to forget the stupid kiss ever happened. I sink into the laughter which eases the raw sensuality he exudes. He makes everything seem so easy which is very hard for me. I know the reality is that the more we laugh with one another, the more hours we spend lying here together, the harder things will be when I have to say goodbye but Oliver seems to be blissfully ignorant or doesn’t care about it. To him, only today exists. I wish I could live like that. I can’t stop living in the past or the future.

             
‘Would you rather jump from an aeroplane or... eat a worm?’

             
‘Easy,’ I laugh. ‘Aeroplane.’

             
‘Not much for fine cuisine?’ he tilts his head and raises a thick eyebrow at me.

             
I stifle my giggles, ‘Nah, I’m just... I mean I used to be a bit of adrenaline junkie.’

             
I ignore the fleeting signs of surprise and then admiration that make Oliver’s eyes sparkle. I push away the realisation that Oliver might be as besotted by me as I am by him. Every time I say something funny he laughs more than necessary or if I say something bad about myself his frown is deeper than you would expect from an almost stranger. I clear my throat, ‘You can be any animal in the world, what would you be?’

             
‘I don’t know,’ he hesitates. ‘A bunny rabbit?’

             
A burst of laughter escapes from my mouth at top volume. Okay, this whole finding each other remarkably hilarious thing is a two way street. ‘A bunny rabbit? Seriously?’