Bulletproof (Healer) (9 page)

             
I didn’t expect him to answer but he shakes his head, “You look much better blonde.”

             
I blush, “Oh.”

             
Flutes of champagne and strawberries dipped in an assortment of chocolate lie on a decadent silver tray. I’m hungry now, remembering that the last I ate was the bran flakes and dried fruit I had this morning, my stomach growls. 

             
Gabe swallows down a glass of champagne in one large gulp. I wish Rose was here to look at him scornfully for drinking so garishly. “Help yourself,” he says, picking up a drink and thrusting it in my face.

             
“No thanks,” I say declining the champagne because what I really want is those juicy red strawberries. Some dipped in dark chocolate, others swathed in chocolate so light it looks like fresh cream. Fresh cream, I think and my stomach lets out another roar. 

             
Gabe must hear how angry my body is now and lifts the plate of sweet fruit, “Take as much as you want…” then he adds with a hint of bitterness, “It’s all for you, princess.”

             
The shocking sweetness of the ripe fruit is delightful on my parched tongue. Pink juice is squeezed out of the strawberries as I bite deep into them and it dribbles down my chin. I don’t even both to mop it up with the serviettes provided. The chocolate is sensuous and creates a thick river coursing through my mouth, sticking to my teeth and the underside of my tongue. I think of the strawberries planted in my back garden at home. The ones Bruce and Jana help Shannon pick every Summer. I can see Jana covered in mud, the same strawberry jam oozing out of his small mouth and down her face. I smile at the memory of my dad lounging, watching his children and young wife play in the mud. I watch from the window of my bedroom usually feeling ‘tired’ from a day in the hospital but that’s never true, I just don’t want to disturb their happiness. 

             
Gabe has finished my champagne too and poured himself another glass from the opened bottle lying in an ice cooler in our compartment. As I lick my fingers of all the sugary serum, I watch the fizzy bubbles rise to the top of the glass. Gabe does not take such care. He has drank the glass in two clean swigs, taking no notice of the opulence of our surroundings. Does he feel fortunate? I wonder. Or did he lead an extravagant life before working for Maurice so all of this is just kids play? The normal for people like him and Rose. No. People brought up so prosperously have better manners, I decide, when Gabe gives up on the idea of glasses and starts drinking from the bottle. 

             
The strawberries are all gone and I feel self-conscious in the orange silk shirt Rose chose for me. It clings to my bloated belly. I can’t wait to get into something more comfortable, something less Melissa Curele and more Cassie Mueller. 

             
Now that I am satiated, I look at the rest of the gifts to be found in the limo. “Are these for me?” I ask Gabe. There are about three small parcels all wrapped in matte black paper with silver bows on top. 

             
“Read the card,” Gabe asks then belches. 

             
Sure enough there is a clean white envelope tucked beneath one of the packages with my name written elegantly on the front. I open it quickly and feel bad for smudging my greasy pink fingers on the card inside. The card is also a matte black colour and depicts a starry night on the face. Silver crescent moon, piercing gold stars which seem to shimmer off of the page and into the dark cavern of the limo. The perfect setting for a creature of the night like Maurice. 

             
I open the card and the handwriting matches that of the letter I received in the post just this morning. I feel dizzy thinking that I only received Maurice’s letter this morning when it feels like months ago. It is written in silver ink, in keeping with the theme, and says:

Dear Cassie,

I hope you are well and had a safe, pleasant journey to France. I will be with you tomorrow evening where we will both meet at my country manor in Toulouse. I am eagerly awaiting our first encounter. I have trusted one of my assistants, Chester Wright, to deliver the gifts I have sent over from my current location in the north of Spain. Enjoy. Love Maurice.
 

              I clutch the card close to my chest and look down at the parcels screaming to be opened then look guiltily at Gabe who appears woozy from all the champagne. I hear Rose’s voice in my head. “I’m not dragging your sorry drunk behind to Maurice’s house.” I look at him and feel a pinching in my heart. Not anger or disgust. Sadness. I’m overcome with sadness for this drunk boy. 

             
“Go on, open them,” he slurs. I want to say something kind to him. But what? Tell him I don’t blame him for being an arrogant drunk? Offer some sort of reassurance that I won’t tell Maurice, his boss, about his lack of hospitality? Or apologise for not trying harder to be his friend? Perhaps I should try a bit of all three but I don’t say anything at all. 

             
I tuck my fingers under the neatly folded paper. There is not a single unwanted crease or bump in the wrapping like the presents I receive at Christmas time. These are clean cut and professional looking, I feel almost guilty for plucking off the tape that keeps it together and unveiling my gifts.

             
My heart sinks when I see the first gift. A small box with an image of a phone of the front. Not just any phone like the brick I used at home, the same one I handed over to Gabe on our way to Manchester, but a top of the range, extremely expensive phone that only celebrities had. And it came in a designer Swarovski crystal case which was mostly except for some clear crystals which made up the shape of the moon and stars like on the card. I smile at the lovely flow of the Maurice’s display of affection but feel ashamed at how lavish and unnecessary these gifts were. Was I being bought? I had to remind myself why I was here in the first place. Besides having little choice, vampires get what vampires want, the real reason was not for smart gadget phones that were voice controlled among other interesting features exclaimed in capital letters on the front of the box. I want to meet a vampire, I remind myself, I don’t care about these things.

             
But it’s hard not to feel like a kid in a candy shop when I open the box up and hold the phone in my hand. If technology can be physically attractive, this is the Kate Moss of the phone world. The crystals are so fragile looking that I am scared of what I will do to it, being so clumsy. Having a basic phone was dad’s idea because although I could survive crashes, broken bikes, trips and falls galore - fancy phones might not. Although the phone is lightweight, it feels heavy in my hand.

             
“What else?” Gabe asks, urging me to open the next present but I can barely accept the extravagance of this first gift. I don’t dare look at Gabe when he speaks because I don’t want to see the hazy look in his eyes while he doses in and out of a drunken stupor. 

             
The sharp corner of the wrapping on the second present cuts my thumb. I curse under my breath but it only stings for a second and when I look down again there is no trace of the injury. Gabe didn’t notice. He knows about my miraculous ways but he has never witnessed it in action and most people run and hide when they watch a wound heal instantly before their eyes like I’m a zombie or a witch.

             
Underneath the black curtain of paper the second gift is revealed to be a jewellery set: a necklace and earrings. I sigh a hearty breath of relief to see no ring. The symbol of infinity, no escape. I am surprised, and pleased, at the breathtaking simplicity of the jewellery. The necklace is a dainty silver chain so thin that I swear I’d break it just putting it around my neck but the pendant is eye-catching. I laugh. A curved moon dusted with fair crumbs of crystals. I place it around my neck and the crystalline moon dips into my cleavage. It is striking and I feel proud to wear it. The earrings are small circle diamonds. Shining like stars Maurice plucked them from the black sky and put in my ears for safekeeping. I wonder how much my frosting cost and touch the moon charm self-consciously. 

             
In this box, Maurice has written ‘Wear this when we meet. M’ The way he demands me annoys me at first. I am not his slave. I’m not his employee like Rose, Gabe or Chec. Or am I? Instead of paying me with money, I am saturated in diamonds and crystals, eating chocolate strawberries in a limo. I may not be his employee but with these offerings I am somewhat in his debt and obliged to fulfil his simply requests. 

             
I open the last parcel with the most care, drawing out the anticipation as long as possible. The swirling, nostalgic feeling of seventeen Christmases are being brought to the surface, bubbling away so I feel a bit nauseous. I am very conscious to the fact that Gabe is boring a hole in my skin with his intense glare. He’ll be back to being too drunk to keep his eyes open in a minute, I say to myself as I peel a piece of tape from the last binding on the gift. What else can Maurice possible offer me? 

             
When I expose the last gift I gasp. A top quality laptop with a crescent moon imprinted on the lid in crystals again. This put my slow, but steady, computer at home to shame. The sleekness, the gentle curves, the soft silver cover. 

             
“Flowers would have sufficed,” Gabe scoffs.

             
He is right. This is too much. The phone, the jewellery and a laptop too. Add in the limousine, all the clothes Rose had bought me and my mouth goes dry. Maurice had easily spent thousands of pounds on me in less than a week. For what? A very romantic gesture. But one that made me feel faint. This was a message, I thought, running my fingers against the smoothness of the laptop. I’m itching to use it now. But this was a message. A declaration of Maurice’s ownership over me.

SEVEN

              When we arrive at our hotel for the night, Gabe is too far gone. I’ve never seen anybody drunk in my life before other than in movies but the sight of Gabe’s green pallor and glassy eyes is enough to put me off alcohol for life. What escape does this provide for him? There surely is nothing satisfying about it. I imagine it is similar to the feeling you get when you’re dip your head underneath the water in a bath. Your vision bleary and everything you hear is a distorted warble and in this underwater world you doubt you’ll make it up for air. 

             
Chec helps me with my suitcase and my new load and tells me to sit in the lobby while he sorts Gabe out. For a second, I like this red faced man but then he winks at me and mutters profanity about Gabe under his breath. 

             
Maurice hasn’t scrimped on the hotel. The lobby is grand with a high, ornate ceiling looming above me. I sit on a plush love seat which is uncomfortable to sit on but I think this is intentional. Everyone around me is beautiful or rich or both. I am suddenly very grateful for Rose’s makeover as I would have felt totally underdressed in my usual jeans and top combination. I just wish my hair wasn’t sticking to my scalp like a cap. The air conditioning is overpowering, the coolness making the hair on my arm stand on end so it creates a thin layer of fuzz. I shiver. 

             
Chec has Gabe’s arm wrapped around his chubby neck as he drags him along the marble floor. All of the snooty guests turn and stare at Gabe in his leather jacket, smelling strongly of champagne. They are speaking French mostly but I can tell that their whispers are complaining about the rubbish they let into the city nowadays. I have a strong urge to defend him. He looks so helpless when Chec rests him beside me on the couch that I almost forget this is self-inflicted. 

             
Gabe can barely keep his head up straight. It lolls about until finally his neck gives in and his head is resting on my shoulder. Chec stands there, uselessly, and shakes his head disapprovingly which only further my annoyance at him. I’m sure Maurice would like to hear how much help he’d been but I couldn’t inform him of Chec’s hopelessness without getting Gabe into trouble too. I figured Gabe deserves a break. 

             
“I’ll check you in since Gabe is… otherwise engaged,” Chec screws up his face until it almost disappears inside his puffy cheeks and walks off to the long mahogany desk that stretches along the back wall of the lobby. There are several employees dressed in what can only be described as traditional American bellhop uniforms. Their outfits make me think of Disneyland. A caricature of themselves. 

             
The weight on my shoulder isn’t easy to ignore nor is the stench of alcohol on Gabe’s breath. I try to remain passive but eventually I give in and stroke the top of his head like I do with Bruce and Jana when they are feeling ill. There is something vulnerable about Gabe that makes me want to protect him. But that’s stupid. He doesn’t need saving. He’s supposed to be
my
bodyguard. I just can’t ignore that there is a softness buried beneath all the menacing stares he gives that reminds me of a small child. I think of how when I walked Bruce home from school, I would always tuck him into my right side when walking beside a busy road so I would create a barrier between him and the passing traffic. It was irrational. A car wasn’t going to swerve and drive along the pavement. But with my bad luck, was that really so far fetched? I couldn’t protect my little brother forever but this was my small contribution to his safety. Somehow I was extending his happiness with this action and this made me feel useful. That’s what I want to do with Gabe.