Other (10 page)

“Don't worry,” he says. “I have protection.”

He opens his nightstand drawer and gets a condom. He seems embarrassed to hold it, so he sets it on the nightstand and kneels on the floor beside me. He tilts my face toward his and kisses me. I moan softly with protest and pleasure. His touch drives me wild. Thoughts fight to surface in my mind.

When I can speak again, I say, “You really know what I mean?”

“Yes. Of course. I guessed you were quite some time ago.”

I want to smile, but I'm too scared. Is it that obvious that I'm Other?

“Really?” I repeat. “It's okay that I'm not like you? That I'm …” My lips move for the word “Other,” but no sound comes out.

He draws back to meet my gaze. “Yes.”

Relief thaws the cold fear inside me. I exhale, then hook my hands behind his neck and kiss him. His chest presses against the side of the mattress. His hands slide down my body and find the zipper on my jeans.

I shiver, thrilled and scared by the reality of the situation. “I … you … could you …”

“I'll go slow. You can just say stop.”

“Okay,” I breathe.

He climbs onto the bed, and I start unbuttoning his shirt. A button gets stuck. He fiddles with it, then yanks off the shirt at the expense of the remaining buttons. I laugh, a short, breathless laugh. He tugs my blouse over my head, then unhooks my bra and tosses it away. I fold my arms over my chest, shy in the candlelight.

“You're beautiful,” he says, and he gently pulls my arms away.

He kisses between my breasts. Tingles dance over my skin. The rest of our clothes soon follow, and at last he climbs into bed with me. Just being naked together seems so deliciously intimate. I want to savor everything.

“I can't believe we're finally doing this,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely.

He keeps kissing and touching me until I can't bear it any longer. I stare at the ceiling, breathing in quick gasps. He asks if I'm ready, and I nod, too excited to speak. He snatches the condom from his nightstand.

I shut my eyes, then suck in my breath at the sharp twinge.

“Okay?” he says.

I nod. “It didn't really hurt like I thought it would.”

Then, without fanfare or a choir of angels, we're having sex. It's still somewhat painful, but pleasurable as well. A flock of thoughts flits through my mind. So simple? Yet more than I ever imagined. I stare over his shoulder, my eyes unfocused, and curl my fingers around his neck. He sees my face and freezes.

“What?” I say.

“Wait,” he says. “Wait … God, I don't think I can …”

I feel him stiffen, then shudder. He blows out his breath and lowers himself onto me.

The weight of him makes breathing uncomfortable. “Zack,” I wheeze.

“Sorry.” He rolls off me.

Was that it? The whole deflowering thing?

I frown at the ceiling and ache with unspent energy. “I didn't—”

“I know.” Zack gives me a half-smile. “We're not done yet.”

In a few minutes, I groan and clutch the sheets.

Afterward, I lie beside him in a dreamy daze. “I love you, Zack.” I can say it so easily, now that it isn't caged up inside me.

“Me too,” he murmurs, his eyes closed.

“I can't believe I waited so long.”

“Well, it's good to wait until you're sure.”

I smile. “I'm so glad you're okay with who I am.”

He opens his eyes a crack. “Hmm?”

“With me being Other,” I say.

“Other than what?”

“Very funny,” I say dryly.

He rolls onto one elbow. “What's funny?”

I poke his arm. “Don't act so innocent.”

Zack's face clouds. “Gwen …”

“If you're wondering,” I say, “I'm half pooka.”

I wait for Zack's face to clear, but it remains shadowed. “You're … what?” He laughs hollowly. “Half pooka?”

What does he mean? Why did he laugh like that?

“Pooka,” I repeat. “My real dad's a shapeshifting spirit from Wales.”

Zack slides to the edge of the mattress. “You're Other,” he says slowly.

I try to smile. “Of course.”

“You're kidding me.” Now he's on his feet.

My stomach plummets. Something isn't right. “What are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

We stare at each other.

“You said you understood!” I cry. “I thought you knew!”

“I was talking about your virginity,” he says, and he sounds so cold.

Tears sting my eyes. “Zack.” My voice quavers, and I hate it. I realize I'm curling on the bed to hide my nakedness.

“You … all this time …”

“Yes,” I whisper, “of course.”

He sits down at the foot of the bed, not close enough to touch me, and kneads his brow. “It's not like werewolves or vampires, is it?”

“What? You can't just lump me with
them
.”

“Yes, but is it … contagious?”

“No!” I glower at the back of his head. “I inherited it from my dad. Like I just said.”

He exhales shakily and starts pacing around his room.

“You said you wanted this to be perfect.” My voice catches. “You're ruining it.”

“It's just … Jesus, Gwen! Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“I tried to! A few dozen times! I know this sounds really bad, but … I … I don't know.”

“Gwen.” Zack won't look at me. “I think you should go. My parents will be back soon.”

“Yes,” I say, my throat aching. “I should.”

I yank on my clothes. Hot tears roll down my face. I march toward the door, and Zack catches my arm.

“Gwen.” His voice softens. “We can talk later.”

I nod, not meeting his gaze. He hands me a tissue. I snatch it from him, and it tears in half. He tries to give me the other half, but I shake my head and leave.

It was so wonderful, before he knew.

ten

W
hen I get home, I cry in the shower until the water goes cold. I towel myself roughly, then tug on my dirty clothes. I notice a small bloodstain in my underwear. I feel strange, vulnerable. Like I'll never be myself again.

I leave my hair wet. Usually I hate it dripping down my neck, but today I don't care. I sit on the edge of my bed, shivering, though it isn't that cold. I pick up my cell phone and dial Chloe's number.

It rings endlessly. Then I get her voicemail.

“Hi Chloe,” I say. “It's me, Gwen. I really want to talk.” I hesitate. “It's about Zack. Call me back soon. Bye.”

I shut my cell phone, check the battery, then set it on my bedstand.

I lie back on my bed. My hair wets the pillow. I stare at the milky round light on the ceiling until it blurs and looks like the moon.

My limbs feel leaden. I count my stillborn hopes, then shut my eyes and drift off.

When I wake up, an hour or so has passed. I call Chloe again. She should still be at work, and she always has her cell phone with her.

“Chloe? Are you there? It's me, Gwen.” I hesitate. “Maybe I'll stop by later. See you.”

I drag a comb through my matted hair. It hurts, but I like the distraction. I grab the Bean and head out.

It starts to rain when I get off the bus. I only have to walk two blocks to get to Bramble Cottage, but I still get soaked. Ironically, the shower passes as soon as I reach the B&B. The story of my life. Clouds always wait for me.

Raindrops glisten on the rosebushes like tears. In the B&B, opera meets my ears, a sad aria I don't recognize. Odd. Chloe doesn't really like any classical music. I think it's because it reminds her of her age.

A grating sound, metal against wood, punctuates the music. It comes from a parlor by the foyer. I slowly push open the door to see Randall on his knees. The carpet has been ripped back. Hammer in hand, he's wrenching staples from the floorboards with a strength and ferocity that makes me stare. I realize my heart's pounding, and that I'm a little afraid to be around him. I've never knowingly been so close to a werewolf.

Just pretend you don't know, Gwen. He won't reveal himself.

“Randall?” I'm not sure he can hear me over the music. “Randall!”

He shuts off the radio and faces me, his expression dark. “What is it?”

“Where's Chloe?”

Randall wipes sweat from his brow. “I don't know. She hasn't been here since this morning.” His jaw moves as if he's gnashing his teeth.

“Did she say where she was going?” I ask.

Randall nods. “The forest.” He hesitates, but doesn't say more.

My heartbeat quickens. “Why?”

He sighs and sits on the floor. The hammer drops from his hand with a thunk. “We kind of got into an argument.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “An argument? About what?”

Randall meets my gaze. I notice, for the first time, that he has striking eyes. Not a remarkable color—dark brown—but intense. “We've gone out a few times. Unofficially.” He wiggles his fingers in air quotes. “Then Chloe said we should stop, it would compromise our working relationship. She wouldn't listen to me.”

Finally! Chloe wasn't seriously thinking about a relationship with a werewolf. Maybe she just wanted to see what it was like. I'm no expert on her dating history, but she does seem to have a thing for dangerous guys.

I see Randall's staring at me, so I mutter a quick, “I'm sorry.”

He shrugs. “Why are you looking for her?”

“I want to talk.”

“Find her, then. I would, if I didn't have to work.” He nearly snarls the last word, and it's all I can do to keep myself from recoiling. He drops to his knees and starts yanking staples from the floor again.

I wince at the sound and leave Bramble Cottage. Bollocks. Why didn't I bring the car? I don't feel like walking all the way to Chloe's maple.

I drift through Klikamuks like a ghost among the lively passersby. A knot tightens in my chest, as if something's going to snap if I don't shapeshift. I leave the stores and sidewalks behind for abandoned lots where weeds edge into the forest. As soon as I reach the trees, I peel off my clothes and urge myself into horse form, with a shudder that reminds me of Zack and myself. No. I don't want to remember.

I run, my hooves pounding an angry beat.

What should I say to Chloe? It's funny how we both ran into relationship drama on the same day. Though she did the smart thing, breaking up with a werewolf, and I … I gave my virginity to someone who now looks at me like
that.
Just because I'm not totally human doesn't mean I'm not a person. Zack has to understand. Eventually. What's really stupid is that I knew this would happen, but I let lust take over.

Screw it. Screw the whole thing.

I run faster, at a full gallop. The road flashes past through the trees. I picture drivers glimpsing me, staring at the runaway horse. My muscles burn, but I push myself harder. I plunge into the deep forest. A startled stag bounds from the ferns and zigzags in front of me. I race it to a stand of salmonberries, and win. I skid to stop and the stag vanishes. Sweating, my sides heaving, I halt by the giant maple.

No sign of Chloe. I whinny, then circle the tree, scanning the branches. Still no sign of her. With a sigh, I trot away in search of my friend. The sun slips lower and lower. Puddles of light pool among the shadows, then fade into darkness. When evening falls over the forest, I know I have to quit.

Bleary-eyed, I shapeshift into a girl again, yank on my clothes at the edge of the woods, and plod home.

We keep a spare key in a fake rock, so I let myself inside. My family is sitting in the living room, their eyes reflecting the light of the TV.

“Did you all eat already?” I ask.

“There you are, Gwen!” Mum says. “Did you have dinner over at Chloe's?”

I shake my head. “She isn't there.”

“Dinner's in the oven,” Mum says absently.

Dad furrows his brow. “Why are there twigs in your hair?”

“I went looking for Chloe in the forest. I can't find her.”

“Hmm,” Dad says, his gaze gravitating to a commercial on TV.

I sigh and go upstairs. An unnameable emotion gnaws inside me. Nibbling away my sanity, no doubt. I lie on my bed and wonder if things could have gone any differently today. What if I showed Zack my pooka side? Would it help him understand?

The minutes blur together as my eyes blur with tears.

“Dinner's ready!” Mum calls.

I go downstairs, dutiful and robotic. Mum slices a steaming potpie. I usually love potpie, but I can't stomach any tonight.

“What's wrong, Gwen?” Dad asks.

“I'm just not hungry,” I mumble. “Can I go to bed?”

Mum lays her hand across my forehead. “You don't have a temperature.”

“I'm just tired,” I say.

If Mum and I were alone, I would be tempted to blurt out the truth about what happened between Zack and me. But since Dad and Megan are staring at me, I trudge upstairs. My feet feel like bricks. Where could Chloe be?

My clock only says 8:45, but I crawl into bed and fall into mercifully dreamless sleep.

My cell phone wakes me. I crack open my eyes and squint in the morning light. Groggy, I grab the cell phone. Zack's number. I half-open the phone to answer. Then anger clenches my chest and I slap the cell phone down.

I don't think I can talk to him. Not yet.

He tries calling me again, and again. After five calls, I turn my cell phone off, get dressed, and go downstairs.

Halfway through breakfast, someone knocks on the door.

“Who could that be?” Mum says.

I half-stand, ready to dart away, but Mum gets up first. I drop back down and clutch my spoon so hard it digs into my palm.

Mum opens the door. “Hello, Zachary. Why the early visit?”

“Oh, nothing, just wanted to talk to Gwen.” Zack tries to sound casual and fails.

Surely Mum knows something's up, but she lets him in anyway.

Zack stands in the doorway of the kitchen. I'm half angry, half glad he's here.

“Gwen.” He waves at the door. “Do you … ?”

I shake my head, my lips a thin line. Hurt sharpens his eyes. Act normal, I tell myself. Don't burst into tears in front of everybody.

I suck in air through my nose. “Let's go to my bedroom.”

“Oho,” teases Dad. “Leave the door open, you two.”

I feel sick. Without looking at Zack, or at anyone, I go upstairs. He follows.

In my bedroom, I shut the door and lock it, forcing myself to face him. “Okay.” I lean against the wall. “It's time to talk.”

Zack sits on the edge of my bed. I want to tell him to get off and sit somewhere else.

“Gwen.” He stares at his hands. “I'm having a hard time … believing …”

“Believing what?”

He glances at me, then away. “That you're Other. I mean, you seem so normal.”

I narrow my eyes. “Others can be normal.”

“That sounds oxymoronic.” He laughs bleakly. “But I'm serious. You're only half pooka, right? How … how different are you?”

“What do you mean?”

He pinches his neck in little nervous movements. “What kind of magic do you have?”

Hope stirs inside me. Maybe if I show him, he'll understand.

“I can shapeshift,” I say.

“Shapeshift,” he repeats. “Really?”

“Of course.”

He keeps staring at me. I twist my toes and fidget under his eyes.

“Can you … show me?” he says, cheeks red.

“Oh. Okay.”

I turn my back on him and undress. Of course he's already seen me naked, but it's different now. I clench my fists and tighten my thighs. My muscles shake, and I keep waiting … waiting for it to happen.

Do it. You have to show him. You have to.

I think I'm going to cry. I clench my jaw and shut my eyes, then finally shapeshift into a horse. My hooves hit the carpet. I step toward Zack, my head held low, and whicker.

He slips off my bed and slides down to the floor. He looks so pale, with a sheen of fear or shock in his eyes.

I change again, shrinking into a cat. Perhaps he'll find a marmalade tabby safer. But he still looks pale, his mouth twisted tight. No, please don't be afraid. I pad silently over to him and rub my head under his hand. He yanks away.

I change back into a girl and kneel, naked, my head bowed. My hair hides my face.

“Oh God,” he says, still on the floor. “It's true.”

I grit my teeth. “Don't look at me like that.”

Now he won't look at me at all.

I tug on my clothes, brusquely. “It's because you're Christian, isn't it?”

He says nothing.

“I'm right, aren't I? Christians hate Others.” If he believes the Bible, he must think my very existence is a sin.

He shakes his head. “That's a stereotype.”

“But the Bible says we're devils and demons. That's a bunch of bull—”

“Don't say that,” he says, glowering at me.

I step back under the force of his glare. “Hey. I'm not talking about the whole Bible. Only the stupid parts.”

“Just stop it, Gwen.”

“Me?” Anger rises inside me. “Why is this my fault?”

“I didn't say it was anybody's fault.”

“Did you wish I was a good little Christian homeschooler, virginal and pure?”

Now I'm crying.

“Don't cry, Gwen.” He stands up with a sigh, exasperated.

“Shut up!”

He looks surprised, as if I slapped him.

I look away, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I'm sorry,” I say, my words broken. “I wish none of this ever happened.”

“It shouldn't have happened,” he says in a low voice.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I step toward him.

“This isn't going to work.”

“We can work things out!”

He's shaking his head, already halfway to the door. “No. I can't.”

I'm not going to let him go. “Why not?”

“My family … my
mom
…” He slides his hands over his hair. “Everything I've ever known, everything I've ever believed.”

“Zack,” I say, swallowing hard. “I still love you.”

“Gwen!” His voice snags on my name. He turns his back on me and leans his head against the door, his hands pressing on the wood.

“If I weren't Other, would you stay with me?”

He won't answer, but I know what he'd say.

“No one else has to know.”

He whirls on me. “No more lies!”

We lock gazes, tears in our eyes.

“Fine,” I say. “Great. It's over. Get out of here.”

Trembling, I reach past him and grab the doorknob. I yank, but it won't move. I remember the lock and wrench it open.

Zack hesitates on the threshold, but won't look back. “Gwen.”