Dark Child Page 5

  What does he want from me? I can’t stop myself from staring back, at those golden-fringed baby blues, then at his mouth, so wide and full, so close and tempting.

  “I have to go,” he says, breaking the trance I’m in. I realize I’ve leaned embarrassingly close to him and jerk back. “Work and all that.”

  “At the garage.”

  “That’s right.”

  I think about those muscles gleaming with sweat and oil as he works at the garage, and I clear my throat, suddenly feeling too warm.

  I push away my empty plate and lean back in my seat, licking chocolate syrup from my lips. “Let’s go.”

  With a slight shake of his head, he pulls out some bills and throws them on the table. “You’re trouble,” he mutters, and I frown, because that’s exactly what I think of him. “Tomorrow, same time?”

  “Wait…” What is happening? “You don’t have to invite every time, and…”

  “Yeah?” His voice is a low drawl. He leans forward again, closing the distance I put between us. He exhales, leans in closer. “You know, I wasn’t sure you’d come today.”

  “Why not?” I whisper back, suddenly uneasy, because I had been about to do precisely that.

  Why is he looking at me like that, and was Lin right? Do I even stand a chance with a hot jock like him?

  “Come on.” He takes my hand again and pulls me to my feet, and then out of the diner. The sounds of the late afternoon close around us as we step outside, cars honking and people talking and a guy playing the guitar at a street corner. Merc stops and turns to face me. “Listen…”

  My phone chimes with a text message, but I ignore it. I barely register it, in fact. Everything fades as Merc Watson lifts a hand to my face and grips my chin gently, tilting my head up.

  He’ll kiss me, I think, and it’s a bad, bad idea. I know it, and I don’t care one bit. He’s staring at my mouth like a starving man, there’s no going back now…

  My phone chimes again, and he blinks, pale brows drawing together in a frown. Then he shakes his head and straightens without kissing me.

  Aww. Why? I resist the urge to stomp my foot like a frustrated two-year-old.

  “Here, tomorrow, same time,” he says again, and I nod vigorously, unable to stop myself.

  “Yes.”

  A faint smile pulls at his mouth, and he nods, too. “Okay, then.”

  It’s long after he’s gone that I realize I’m still standing, still gazing after him. And it’s even later that I realize another thing: He never replied to my question.

  But my question becomes moot the very next day for a couple of reasons.

  The day starts out normal. That is, I wake up, make my way blindly to the kitchen where I proceed to almost burn everything down when I forget to add water to the coffee maker. Disaster averted, I drink some instant coffee instead to feel halfway human, before I shower and brush my teeth and get ready for my day.

  Then I go the extra mile and put on make-up. I mean, I usually slap on some foundation and mascara, but today I take my time, using a primer Lin foisted on me, and highlighter, and eye-shadow, and blush. The works.

  In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

  The last two times Merc saw me unfiltered, in my ripped jeans and overlarge sweater, my mascara probably running in places and my hair like a nest. I shouldn’t want him interested in me, but as we’ve established, I can’t help myself, not around this boy, so… here we are.

  And then of course, I’m running late, and I exit the apartment like a stormfront: killer mood and breakneck speed, trying to make it to the first class of the day.

  My stomach is full of butterflies—the giant, somersaulting kind. Why am I nervous about meeting him when yesterday I’d been about to abort the date?

  Date. If you can call it that.

  Which you can’t. We just had coffee. End of story.

  But the butterflies don’t lie. They swarm and dip and make me want to puke by the time I pat my hair and check my face in the bathroom mirror in the women’s restrooms on campus, then hurry out to meet Merc at the little diner.

  Where I sit and wait and wait, realizing too late that again we didn’t exchange phone numbers. What the heck, right?

  He’s late.

  I find a couple text messages on my phone. One from Lin, asking what I’m up to. One from Dad, proposing dinner one of these days. And a glaring absence of texts from Mom.

  I put my phone away, try not to obsess over the time passing. But my magic trick doesn’t work. Eventually I look again, and again.

  The thing is… he doesn’t come to meet me. At all.

  In retrospect, the fact that I almost burned down the apartment this morning should have been a clue. Or the fact I dressed up and made an effort.

  Cosima’s Law says that when you feel good about something, it will go to shit.

  Proven fact. Years of data. My whole life, actually.

  I wait a bit longer, just in case, drinking a coffee I can’t taste.

  You knew this would happen, I tell myself. Lin said this would happen. But did you listen? No. You went and started falling for this guy, for his bright smile and laughing eyes, and here you are, waiting.

  Always waiting, not even knowing what for.

  For Mom to come back, Dad to get his act together, a guy to really be interested in me and not use me as a doormat.

  My eyes are hot with tears. I refuse to let them fall. Not going to cry over this, over my stupid thoughts, my stupid heart. It’s time I learned my lesson.

  Clutching my phone in my hand, I drop some money on the table and leave. Better this way, better that he bailed so fast. Imagine how torn up I’d be if we’d met today, too. Ready to cry, and for what? A sexy boy who turned out to be as arrogant as I’d initially thought.

  Serves me right.

  I can’t remember walking to the bus stop and reaching the apartment, lost in a dark cloud of anger and disappointment. Feeling too much over something that never really happened.

  But that’s when the second blow of the day comes. My sister calls to say she’s coming back, so I can go home. She sounds eerily calm, which means something’s really wrong, but I accept her words without a question.

  I’m going home, away from Merc Watson, and what I feel is relief.

  Chapter Five

  Merc

  “You alive in there, man?” JC calls from behind the closed door of my bedroom. “Merc! Merc Watson!”

  I groan, throwing an arm over my eyes and rolling on my stomach. What the hell does he want?

  “I’m warning you, I’m coming in now,” he shouts, his voice driving a spike through my head. “One, two, and here we go.”

  The door creaks open.

  “What the fuck?” I croak, wincing as the light from the doorway stabs my eyeballs. “Whatcha want?”

  “Now you answer. Dude, I’ve been knocking on your fucking door for an hour.”

  “Awesome.” I lift my heavy head and glare blearily at him. “M’ fine. Now go away.”

  “Seriously?” He folds his beefy arms over his chest and glares right back. “Your phone has been ringing since morning. Now it’s almost evening, and you’re still in bed. Whatever you are is not ‘fine.’ Are you sick?”

  Sick? I’m not… I just…

  I struggle to make my brain work, but no dice. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls. Big, goddamn heavy cotton balls. My mouth, too.

  “Goddammit,” JC says, and leans over me. “What the fuck, Merc? Are you on drugs or something?”

  “Drugs?” I mutter, licking my dry lips. Hey, that rings a bell. “Pills.”

  “Jesus, man, what pills?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue. My numb, cottony tongue. “Sleepin’.” I try again. “Sleeping pills.”

  “Why would you take…?” He rubs a hand over his face. “Shit. Wait here, I’ll get you some water.”

  By the time he’s back with a glass of water, I’ve managed to turn and s
it, stuffing a pillow behind my back. The room is spinning in lazy circles and my limbs are made of lead.

  I drink the water, spilling a good part on myself and the sheets, but I feel marginally better.

  JC takes the empty glass from my shaking hand without a word, his expression shuttered.

  I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “Sorry about this.”

  “Why the pills, Merc? What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing.”

  Just nightmares. The same crushing, dark dreams I’ve had since I was a kid. This morning, right before dawn, I woke up feeling cold and sick, and I took some pills to rest. Didn’t realize they’d knock me out like that.

  Nobody knows about the pills. Not even Gigi. I’d like to keep it that way.

  Something he said earlier seeps into my consciousness, though. “What… wait, what time is it?”

  “Seven PM, dude. You slept through the day. I don’t usually worry about people, but you get the prize.”

  “Holy shit.” Seven PM. I missed the whole day. I missed…

  … I missed coffee with Sophie.

  Ah fuck. Fuck this shit. I swing my legs off the bed, not sure what I can do to fix this—call her? Did I get her number?—and my knees won’t hold me.

  “You okay? Jeez, man.” JC hauls me back on the bed and pushes my head down between my legs.

  Not fucking humiliating at all.

  “I’m okay.” I shove his hand off me and straighten.

  Ow, my head.

  “Why the sleeping pills?” he insists.

  “For shits and giggles. What do you think? I don’t sleep so well.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything about that when you came to see the apartment?”

  “Well, shit, sorry if I’m not the ideal roommate, buddy. If you want me out, you just have to say.”

  “Oh shut up,” JC grumbles. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  My head is pounding in time to my racing heart. “Then what did you mean?”

  “I’m just worried. I need to know if you take any drugs, if there is any health problem I need to be aware of—”

  “I don’t have any medical problems. Look, JC, these pills… that’s all I take. And only when I have a real fucking bad night.”

  “All right.” He rubs at his forehead. “All right, I believe you. If it’s just this, then we’re fine. Just…”

  “Just what, dude?”

  “You know the pills won’t stop the nightmares, right? If you ever need help… just ask me. I’m right on the other side of the wall.”

  It takes me a damn long moment to process this… kindness.

  Unless it’s a front for his serial killer activities. Even after weeks of staying in this apartment, I know absolutely nothing about him.

  But before I can formulate any question, he’s already leaving, closing the door behind him.

  Damn. Psycho girl.

  Rubbing at my aching eyes, I try to think how to reach her, let her know I didn’t miss our meeting on purpose, then realize we have class tomorrow together, so I’ll set this right.

  It’s not until much later that I realize JC mentioned my nightmares, even though I didn’t say anything about them.

  How did he know?

  What the hell did I do?

  The next day I head to Calculus class, dragging my feet because last night wasn’t great, either—once the nightmares start, they take a few nights to play out—determined to find her and apologize.

  She’s so sweet, and funny, and even sexier up close. I loved hearing her adventures at work and about the exchanges with her bestie. When she laughs… Damn. It makes me wanna shove her up against a wall kiss her, sink into her.

  Insta-boner.

  But it’s more than that… I like her. I like her humor, her sarcasm, and the fact that her doubts resonate with mine.

  You barely know her, a grumpy little voice hisses in the back of my mind as I cross the college campus. You don’t even know where she works. Or lives. You probably know her even less than you know your mysterious, reclusive roommate.

  A sudden fear hits me as I approach the classroom—that sitting down with her, talking to her was all a dream.

  A small crowd of students is waiting outside the classroom, and I scan the heads for her dark ponytail. A couple of girls wave and move toward me, but I step back, impatient to find her. Chicks dig me, and that’s fine, but there’s only one girl on my mind.

  And there she is.

  Something jolts in my chest when I spot her. She’s standing away from the crowding students, eyes fixed on her phone, her soft lips pursed and shoulders hunched.

  Frowning, wondering what’s wrong, I walk toward her. She’s back to wearing a dress and pumps. I liked her spunky style more, the torn jeans and long sweaters she had on the last few times, the sneakers and funny cat T-shirts.

  She likes cats. Does she like dogs, too? Does she like videogames, and Kurt Vonnegut’s novels, and what about ecology and air pollution? Does she like licorice? Does she hate avocados? Can she stand classical music?

  I didn’t ask.

  I’ll set that straight. So much I wanna know about her. This time, I’ll come right out and ask her if she wants to go for drinks, go to the movies, spend more time together.

  Go out with me.

  As I approach, she lifts her gaze to me and my breath catches. I expect a smile, a nod, any sign of acknowledgment, but she just looks back down at her phone.

  My steps falter. It can’t be so bad, can it? I can fix this.

  “Hey.” I shoot her a grin. “How’s it going today?”

  Her gaze flickers at me again, and she frowns. “Hey.”

  Just that.

  I snort a little, run my hand through my hair, tug a little to ground myself. “Is this how it’s gonna be?”

  This time she looks annoyed. “What are you talking about?”

  “The coffee. What did you think I was talking about? Look, I’m sorry, okay? About yesterday.”

  She huffs. “Did you want something?”

  Ow. Okay, this isn’t good. And where’s that light in her eyes that drew me before? She’s the same and yet she looks so different today.

  I swallow hard, grimace. “Try again?”

  She gives an incredulous laugh. “Try what? Is this a joke?” She puts away her phone in her purse and lifts a brow at me. “Is this some sort of bet you set up with your friends? Tell them I’m not game.”

  What?

  “Hey, wait! Sophie!”

  “See you in class,” she shoots over her shoulder as she heads toward the classroom. “Or not.”

  What the hell?

  She sits as far away from me in class as possible and only turns once to look at me. It’s a kind of suspicious, incredulous look she has no business giving me, and it makes me wanna break the desk and plow my fist through the wall.

  My Calculus buddy Elliot sits down beside me, late as always, letting his backpack drop with a thump and grabbing my notebook to see what I wrote.

  “What’s up, man?” he whispers loud enough for the professor to shoot us a glare. “You won’t believe the chick I met last night. You should come with me tonight. I’ll score you a threesome. Pretty girls, big tits, nice tight p—”

  “I don’t pay for sex, Elliot,” I say absently, still staring across the classroom. “I’ve told you that.”

  He snorts. “Very funny.” He elbows me hard enough to bruise. “Who are you staring at like that?”

  I clear my throat and look down. “Nobody.”

  “A girl? A girl caught your eye? Thank you, Lord.”

  I shush him, snatch my notes back and pretend to pay attention to the lecture, even as my attention is firmly on the pretty brunette who hasn’t looked my way once.

  Pathetic. Jesus, I’ve never had a girl get under my skin like that. This hot and cold business is doing my head in. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m all in, in whatever I do. I fucking care about people
. Pretending and playing games isn’t my thing.

  By the end of the class, I look for her, but she’s already left.

  Hell.

  Slipping my headphones on, I play “Drained” and “Like Sand” by In Flames on repeat, letting all the rage of the song pass through me. I need to go for a run, let out some of that anger and pressure that’s settled on my chest.

  Plenty more girls to choose from, I tell myself. Matt said that, too. Maybe I should finally follow his advice. God knows I waited long enough for Sophie to notice me, talk to me, only to have her kick me in the nuts again.

  I’m marching out of the classroom when a tall blonde chick steps into my path. I can’t remember seeing her around, but she seems happy to see me.

  I push back my earphones and give her a once-over. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Merc… can you help me with today’s exercises?” She twirls a strand of blond hair between two fingers and crosses her legs. She’s wearing really high heels, I realize. And a really fucking short skirt. “I missed a class and can’t figure out the problems so well. Can we grab a coffee so I can ask you a couple of questions?”

  Coming on the heels of my previous thoughts, with all the anger and strange sadness surging through me like a dark wave, it’s a no-brainer.

  “Sure.”

  Chapter Six

  Cosima

  In my dream, his fingers tangle in my hair, his eyes meet mine and then his mouth descends, warm and soft, his tongue pushing between my lips, setting me on fire.

  Merc, I think. Kiss me harder. Touch me.

  He pushes me down on the mattress and keeps kissing me, shoves a leg between my thighs, pressing where I need him most, drowning me in pleasure.

  Oh yeah, Merc… Please.

  He breaks the kiss, bent over me, blond hair falling in his eyes. I tug on his shoulders, digging my fingers into his solid muscles, but it’s like trying to move a rock, or a mountain. He’s still, so still he doesn’t seem to be breathing. He’s looking down at me, but a shadow is coming over his face.