One Kiss: An Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy (Transmissions from The International Council for the Exploration of the Universe., #1) (5 page)

I took the pills, but they didn't help. When Megan and I ran, I didn't take them with me. And since I'd left the north behind I'd been fine. Until now.

I sprinted all the way home, and when I got through my front door, I slammed it shut and forced the deadbolt into place. My heart felt as though it wanted to escape my body, would beat its way out. I wanted to escape.

Walking into the living room, I dropped my violin and purse onto the couch then continued to the kitchen. Turning on the tap, I grabbed a glass and filled it. I chugged it down standing in front of the sink, water leaking out the sides of my mouth and dribbling down my chin. It felt cool and refreshing but I drank it too fast and some went down the wrong way; I coughed and sputtered. Dropping the glass into the sink, I held onto the edge for support while I fought to catch my breath.

My eyes filled with tears, and I looked down at my hands. My vision was blurred and my lungs hurt as I struggled to gain my composure. What was happening to me? I swiped at my eyes, clearing them; and refilling the glass of water, I passed back through my living room and opened my balcony doors.

Megan had always dreamed of living in this neighborhood and having a balcony where we could grow a small garden. I stepped up to the railing. The small space was lined with plants, and the smell of them comforted me. The wind rustled and leaves bent and swayed, brushing against me.

I could feel the energy rising from the street below. Dinner hour was coming to an end, voices were growing louder, instruments were being tuned. Soon the street would be filled with people, with revelers; music would blare, feet would stomp, and the heart of Crescent City would beat right under my feet.

It hadn't, before that moment, occurred to me to leave. Megan needed to be able to find me. But as I stood there looking down at the people milling beneath me I realized I couldn't stay. Without Megan, I was bound to be gripped by madness.

"
So what did you do?"

"I took a sleeping pill and drank a big glass of wine before passing out."

"Did you often use substances to sleep?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I still do," she answered, picking up her beer again.

<<<<>>>>

A
t first the knocking sounded far away, but as I rose to consciousness it grew louder. Pushing the blankets aside, I listened and heard banging on the door and a male voice calling my name. I pulled an old robe on over the T-shirt and cotton shorts I'd slept in. "Coming," I yelled back as I opened my bedroom door.

"About time," the voice responded and I recognized it as Michael's. Oh Jesus, I thought, what's he doing here? I didn't think I could take getting yelled at. But when I opened the door he was smiling. Michael was holding a beer; Emmanuel stood next to him, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Hey," I said.

"You're still sleeping," Michael said, his eyes running over my body, taking in the stained robe. He smiled. "It's two in the afternoon."

I leaned against my doorjamb. "What can I do for you boys?" I asked, looking at Emmanuel.

"Get dressed, run a brush through your hair, girl; it's band bonding day," Michael said with a grin. Emmanuel cleared his throat and Michael looked over at him. Emmanuel raised his eyebrows; Michael sighed. "Also," he said, turning back to me. "I'm sorry." He looked down at his feet. "I didn't mean to be so hard on you." Michael looked back up at me to see how his apology was playing.

"Thanks," I said, feeling my throat constrict, tears filling my eyes. "Come in," I offered, turning back into the apartment before my emotions got the better of me.

"Great place," Michael said, looking around the living room; it opened into the kitchen, with the old-fashioned pocket doors pushed aside.

"Thanks," I said. "I'll be out in a minute."

Leaving them lounging on the couch, sipping their beers, I went into my room and dressed quickly into a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. After brushing my long hair I braided it into two plaits, then wrapped them up around my head and secured them in the back with a couple of bobby pins. Sitting on my bed, I buckled on a pair of leather sandals. I pulled my comforter over my pillows and made the bed. I checked myself in the mirror.

My green eyes, framed by long dark lashes, looked huge and filled with a longing I'd never seen there before. My cheeks were flushed and I looked almost fevered. Hunger gnawed at me as I examined my reflections. I decided to change tops because the v-neck of the white shirt was too much. I put on a sports bra and a dark blue button-down blouse with yellow bunnies on it. Even with the sports bra the buttons strained to contain my chest. Despite my conservative outfit and sweetly braided hair I still looked wanton. That's what my stepfather would have called it. I shook my head, blocking him from my memory.

Both of the boys stood as I came out. "You look nice," Michael said with a smile.

"Thanks," I said. He was obviously trying to make me feel good, and I appreciated his effort.

"Yes, beautiful," Emmanuel said, his voice quiet. I looked over at him and he held my gaze. Something about the way his eyes lingered on me made my throat constrict.

"Where we headed?" I asked, crossing to the kitchen and filling a glass with water.

Michael followed me. "There's a parade a friend of mine is in. Should be fun. Want a beer?"

I gulped down the water and left the empty glass by the sink. "Why not?" I said, turning to Michael with a smile.

****

B
y the time we'd biked over to where the parade was supposed to begin I'd finished off a beer and eaten nothing, but I felt good. Michael was charming; he told funny stories about gigs gone wrong and told me my bike was cool. It was an antique Megan had bought me for my birthday the year before; it was bright red with a basket on the front and a big leather seat. I loved it, and the compliment made me feel good.

As we locked up our bikes I looked over at the small group gathering for the parade. "Not a big showing," I said, eyeing the smattering of people outside of the bar. It was mostly men, what Megan called "green meanies". Green because they were so dirty that their skin and clothing seemed to take on a brown-green tinge. Mean because they got in your face if you didn't give them money when they begged on the street. Megan and I worked the streets when we first arrived—playing and singing, though. I've never worked so hard as that first year in Crescent City. It pissed Megan off when the "green meanies" begged for money without offering anything back.

"Don't worry, more will join us on the route," Michael said. "Those losers stuck with day jobs don't get off for awhile." He came up next to me and offered another beer. I took it and popped the can open. Michael threw his arm across my shoulders. I could smell him, a mix of body odor from our ride and beer from his breath. His touch warmed my back and I felt hungry again.

"Hey, Michael?" Emmanuel said from over by his bike. "Can you help me with the lock? It's stuck again."

Michael sighed, and smiled, giving my shoulder a squeeze before releasing me to go and help Emmanuel. I took a long slug off the beer and tried to shake the emptiness that touching always seemed to engender in my breast.

"Come on," Michael said once Emmanuel's lock was secured. "We have time for a shot before the parade begins." He led the way to the bar, a single-story building with a door that swung both ways, and tinted windows filled with neon signs for beer brands.

"Are you hungry?" Emmanuel asked me as we walked into the dark space that smelled of stale cigarettes and spilled beer.

"Yes," I said, my mouth watering as I looked at him. His shoulders were the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

"How about a slice? I'll go grab you one. There is a pretty good place down the block," Emmanuel offered as we reached the bar.

"Pizza?" Michael said. "The breakfast of champions. I'll take a slice too. Thanks man."

Emmanuel smiled down at me. "My pleasure," he said.

"I can come with you," I offered.

He shook his head. "I'll be right back."

Michael ordered three shots and another round of beer. "But mine's still full," I said.

"Finish it up then," Michael countered. He leaned against the bar, his T-shirt rising up showing off his obliques, the muscles defined, skin smooth. My stomach stirred, the hunger rising into a nausea. He pushed the shot in front of me. “A toast" he said, holding up his own shot. "To our band."

I picked up the glass and clicked it against his. "Yes," I said. "To the band."

He downed the drink in one go. I tried to follow suit but could only swallow half. My eyes burned and I coughed. "You're alright," he said, waving the bartender over for another round.

By the time Emmanuel returned with our pizza slices I was one and a half shots in. I devoured the cheese pizza without really tasting it. "Here," Michael said, pushing two shots toward Emmanuel. "You've got to catch up." Then he bit into his slice, grease escaping down his chin.

Emmanuel handed him a napkin and then gave one to me. I wiped at my face, realizing I was acting like an animal. Placing the crust on the paper plate, I resisted finishing it off in two quick bites. Instead I nibbled on it while enjoying my beer.

By the time the brass band arrived I was basically drunk. "Come on," Michael said. He tried to take my hand but Emmanuel distracted him by asking for help with figuring out the bill.

"Here," I said, pulling out my wallet. Then I remember I didn't have any money since I'd spent it all at the cemetery. That made me laugh, and both boys turned to look at me. "Sorry," I said, suppressing my smile.

"You don't need to apologize for laughing," Emmanuel said.

"Yeah, it's nice," Michael said. "Just what you need."

I shrugged.

"Don't worry about the tab," Michael continued. "It's our treat. Band bonding day, right?"

"Thanks," I said, returning my wallet to my purse.

A loud trumpet sounded and Michael looked up from counting money, a smile on his face. He dropped the cash and grinned at us as he turned for the door.

I hopped off the barstool and had to put my hand out to steady myself. Emmanuel stood close to me but didn't reach out to help. On the one hand I appreciated how quickly he'd realized touching affected me, but at the same time it made me nervous that he could read me so clearly.

I squinted against the sun as we walked back outside. Michael was chatting with a couple of the guys in the band. One of them wore a tuba; it wrapped around his body like a thick, gold snake. The tuba player laughed at something Michael said.

"Everyone likes him," I said to Emmanuel. "Don't they?"

He looked over at Michael. "Sure, he's charming, good-looking, talented. What’s not to like?"

I smiled, the shots and beer making me feel loose, and unafraid. "Sometimes he's mean," I said, looking up at Emmanuel.

He pursed his lips as he looked down at me. "Sorry," he said.

"I deserve it," I said. "I've been sucking."

"You'll get it back," Emmanuel said. "You've just got to let the music back in."

"Sometimes when I'm talking to you, when your hair falls over your face like that, and you're looking down at me, I feel like no one else can see us," I said.

Emmanuel smiled. "Me too," he said. I grinned up at him as the band began to play a marching song I recognized from other parades.

We all followed them down the block—the green meanies, a new collection of girls in short skirts, a family that looked like they might be tourists, two drag queens with a cadre of fans, a man on one of those antique bicycles with the giant front wheel, and the three of us. Everyone was dancing, placing one foot in front of the other with pizzaz. The beers and shots in my system ran rough shod over the pizza, and I danced with the rest of the crowd, throwing my hands over my head, feeling the beat, like a second heartbeat, as if it was a part of me, something that could not be ignored.

Michael passed me another beer, the tab already popped, and I sipped from it. Emmanuel pulled a flask from his back pocket, and tipped his head back, drinking it in. I reached out for the flask and he gave me a crooked smile before handing it over. I raised it to my mouth, feeling the cool metal against my lips. Inside was something smoky and hot, burning my mouth and raging down my throat. But I didn't cough. I drank it down and then I handed it back, did a spin, and danced forward.

As the sun set, more people joined us, coming down off their porches to dance for a minute or two. Two old ladies, with big smiles on their faces that pushed their cheeks up, making their eyes mere slits, came down their front steps holding their skirts in their hands, swishing them back and forth, reminding everyone that life ain't over till you're dead. Young men wearing tank tops that exposed their strong shoulders, and long shorts hanging low on their hips, held the edges of their ball caps and moved their feet in ways that seemed impossible to me. Watching one, I bounced against Michael; he put out a hand and wrapped it around my waist, pulling me against him.

A heat coursed between us and I felt hunger rising in my throat, my mouth going dry. He grinned down at me, the soft tone of the sunset lighting him just right. His hand on my hip squeezed and he began to bend his head down as if to lay his lips against mine. I turned away from him, frightened at the contact.

I scanned the crowd for Emmanuel. He was looking over at a porch, with a frown on his face. I followed his gaze up to where a woman watched the parade. She was big, not just tall but also carrying an extra fifty pounds or so. Her breasts were hardly contained by the black, low-cut T-shirt she wore. She was dancing, in a way. Her feet were bare and she stepped only on the balls, raising one and then the other to a different beat. Reaching out with one arm and then the other, she grasped at empty air. The whites of her eyes were clearly visible. There was so much gel in her black hair that it looked wet.

When the woman started down the steps Emmanuel looked over at Michael and me. His eyes traveled to Michael's hand on my hip and he frowned more deeply. "Everything okay?" I asked, stepping away from Michael. He let me go easily and continued to dance forward.