Elemental: Chapter Two, Part 3

I awaited Drei at the gate to my community, as was promised the night he walked me home. I had been waiting for such a long time I nearly believed he had forgotten. Around midnight, however, I saw his form sauntering up the street with a grace and elegance reminiscent of felines.

A smile was visible on his lips when he was but a few paces away. “Have you waited long?” he asked.

“Not at all,” I lied.

“Come along,” he said, motioning with a tilt of his head. “I trust we have plenty to discuss.”

We walked in silence to the café, occasionally stealing glances at each other, and bursting into nervous laughter when we caught one another in the act. I loved his laugh, even if it did still sound slightly unnatural. He was a miracle, though. That was the only way I could think of to describe him fully.

The Café Cherie was between the shady part of town and the touristy part. It was tasteful and radiated an atmosphere similar to that in Paris. Since it was “touristy,” I had never been there because that would be the equivalent of social suicide. However, being with Drei, all of the pointlessness of my peers seemed to evaporate.

We sat indoors near a window since it was a chilly night and we still wanted the view—the touristy section of town had undergone a major beautification. There were only a few other patrons in the café, a couple tucked into a corner booth and a single man hunched over a coffee mug at the shiny counter. We both ordered lattes—mine decaf, for obvious reasons.

“How has this past week been?” Drei asked casually before sipping at his latte.

I inhaled deeply, grateful I could again. “Long,” I replied. “I had a cold all week. I missed school, but I didn’t really enjoy not being able to do anything.”

“You missed school for a cold?” he asked.

“Well,” I started, gazing into my latte. I didn’t really want to tell him, but at the same time I didn’t want him to think I was pathetic. “I’m fairly certain giant sneezing fits are not the norm for a cold, but I don’t know what else to call it.”

An eyebrow cocked above his left eye as he asked, “What exactly do giant sneezing fits entail?”

“Tissue boxes flying across the room, for one,” I said quickly, not yet daring a peek at him, afraid he wouldn’t believe me. I wanted nothing more in the world than for him to believe me. It would mean I wasn’t totally off my rocker.

“I see,” he said, drawing away into his mind.

He didn’t speak again for a while, and I didn’t wish to disturb his thoughts. Instead, I burrowed into my own thoughts, imagining how I would make him believe me—I wasn’t having much luck with my brainstorming since the cold had seemed to vanish that morning. When he did speak next, it nearly made me spit out the mouthful of latte I had just taken.

“Move the salt shaker on that table,” he instructed, pointing, “without standing up.”

“How do you expect me to do that?” I asked when I had recovered.

He looked at me as though it was the stupidest thing I could have asked. “Focus on the air around it. Feel the air and make it an extension of yourself. Shape it in your mind’s eye into something tangible that can move another thing.”

Any sarcastic remark I might have made was lost in my utter shock and confusion. All I could do was stare at him blankly, hoping my face relayed my question.

“Just do it.”

So I tried. I focused on what I could not see and surprisingly, found I felt my heart jump, as if growing. The longer I focused on the open space, willing the air to pull into something I could see, the more I saw the air shift and begin to take an obscure form.

Startled, I broke my concentration and the air scattered into invisibility again.

“What happened?” Drei asked calmly.

“The air—it was—you didn’t see it?” If he hadn’t seen it, I really was going crazy. I imagined how my mother would react if she found out. She’d probably try to justify it as a deprivation of some sort.

His hair jostled about his face before he replied, “I cannot see what you do with the air. I, like anyone else who may be paying attention, can only see the final product.”

My jaw hung loose before I pulled it back up. My hands were still shaking at my sides from the shock of what I had seen, in part because I was afraid I really was going insane.

“Try again,” Drei prompted as if this happened every day. At least one of us was acting somewhat normal—though I wasn’t sure who that was. “And this time, do not panic.”

Though I wasn’t sure I wanted to try again, I focused until what I could not previously see took an indistinct shape. Tilting my head to one side, I found the shape shifted, and, consequently, moved the saltshaker an inch to the left.

“I did it!” I shrieked, excited at discovering this new talent. It was exciting, even if it was weird.

When I looked to Drei, he merely nodded, as if having proved some fact.

Elemental: Chapter Two, Part 2

Though the headache dissipated by the next morning, the sneezing fits grew stronger over the next couple of days. It became so horrible my chest ached just thinking of another sneeze. The school sent a physician to ensure I wasn’t dying on Wednesday; he concurred I should stay away from school until the sneezing receded. He was unsure of what I had contracted, but he didn’t want another student coming down with the same thing. Part of me wondered if that had anything to do with his toupee flying across the living room.

Friday, I asked my mother’s driver to take me to school to gather assignments and lessons from my teachers. It seemed to take forever to go anywhere; every step I took felt reversed by an ensuing sneeze. Eventually, I gave up and asked the driver if he would please collect my assignments for me while I waited in the car. He didn’t complain, which I hoped was a good thing, and he was much more efficient about it than I would have been.

That night was spent between stargazing and playing catch-up. I was grateful for the lazy week off, but loathed the cold that caused it and the homework that came with my absence. As I stared up at the inky sky with its coverlet of stars, I couldn’t help but wonder where Drei was. What was he doing at this moment? Was he off saving someone else? Or fighting criminals in general? Was he alone? With friends? With a loved one? But mostly, was he thinking about me, too?

Elemental: Chapter Two, Part 1

Changed Existence

The next day, I slept in and felt consummately miserable. My mind troubled over if Richie would remember the previous night and hold it against me, or if anyone would inquire as to why I wouldn’t do what he had asked since it was so commonly done those days. My parents, thank heavens, had gone to Aspen for a two-week retreat—mostly my mother's idea—giving me some time to regain my composure.

Turns out, I shouldn’t have worried myself. I awoke Monday morning with a headache the size of China and a cold suitable for a giant. The school excused me, trusting I wouldn’t lie and expecting to find any acting skills lacking. I think they were used to having students call themselves out sick and such on the occasion. Our parents weren’t the average sort who went on vacation with us, after all.

At first I attempted reading, only to find I couldn’t focus if I was blowing my nose every five seconds. TV proved difficult to watch for the same reason. I finally settled for three boxes of tissue, a microfleece blanket, and the cushy chaise lounge on our glass encased porch. There I fell asleep for a few minutes at a time before being jarred awake by killer sneezing fits; while these fits may not have actually killed anyone, they felt like they had the potential to do so. Many times the fits were so forceful I feared they would send me flying backwards. If my eyes weren’t too blurry afterwards, I could see the fog left on the glass from them. An amazing feat considering I was at least ten feet from any of the glass walls. At some point, I had been facing the tissue box and sent it flying across the room, smacking into the wall looking out over the garden.

Though I had never before experienced a cold firsthand—don't confuse this with my never having been ill, because I've had the flu, chicken pox, and strep throat—I knew this was not the norm. Not even aspirin and cold medicine could quell the fits.

A maid found me half asleep, wheezing with my stuffed sinuses and twisted in the blanket. She informed me—after another round of sneezes woke me—Richie had stopped by earlier. When she told him I was asleep, recovering from a bad bug, he left my purse in her care and said he would call later. I hoped he had forgotten what had happened after all.

I felt slightly better—since my headache was receding—when Richie called. We spoke briefly of the events he remembered; I wasn’t keen on filling in what he had forgotten. Luckily, he believed he had been smashed and ran headlong into the wall, ending up there for the night. Presumably, I did stay the night and left early, forgetting my purse, but arranging for a friend to give me a ride home. He apologized for the ass he assumed he had been, and I told him I forgave him. I added we should probably take a break until he could control his alcohol consumption; that I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t know when to stop—which was probably the only whole truth I gave him. Granted he was gravely disappointed, he did accept this explanation and swore to be better so we could have another go.

My entire being agreed that would never happen.

Elemental: Chapter One, Part 5

What had happened back there? Other than Richie thinking it was okay to—I didn’t even want to think about it. It was just one huge catastrophe I wished I could forget, but knew I never could. I didn’t even want to think about how he had ended up crumpled against the wall, but that was reasonable. Figuring that out meant actually having to deal with everything else that had happened.

I wandered out of the gated community, following city streets back across town. I cursed myself for leaving my purse behind—a safe thought compared to the alternatives; what good would a warm coat do when I didn’t have money or a cell phone with me to call a taxi? My heels clacked noisily on the cement sidewalk and the hem of my dress collected all the pollutants and muck it could find.

There was a noise down the alley I was passing. For a split second, I thought it was nothing, just something metal falling out of a dumpster. But a nagging feeling had my feet moving twice as fast as before, reminding me this was a shady part of town where drunks and potential murderers hung out—at least according to Mother. Someone like me, someone dressed like me, was targeted for money and other luxuries. Again I cursed myself for forgetting my purse.

“Where are you running off to so fast?” a man questioned, blocking the path ahead of me.

“N-nowhere,” I said, stumbling backwards a couple steps. I sensed another man approach behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, there he was, looking content with himself. Since when could I sense things so clearly?

The man grinned maliciously, advancing. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?” I attempted to run into the empty street when his partner grabbed me from behind. “Come to see how the poor live?” 

I panicked, starting to kick and scream until the first man clamped a hand over my mouth. They dragged me into the alley and shoved me against a brick wall.

“Scream again and it'll be the last thing you do," the first man hissed at me. As if to prove his point, the second man casually aimed a pistol at me. "Now where’s your purse?”

“I-I-I lost it.” My heart was beating so fast I could barely focus on anything else.

He tore open my coat and ran a rough hand along my exposed skin. Slowly, he moved in until I could feel his heavy breath on my cheek. It smelled stale and smoky, but sweet.

“Such a pretty thing,” he murmured to himself. “I bet you’re mighty tasty.”

My mind succumbed to defeat; things weren’t going to improve and I didn’t have any fight left in me. What little adrenaline that had been summoned was overrun with exhaustion and sadness. That was it. Someone probably would have find me sliced open in that filthy alley the next morning, leaving everyone to pretend to mourn my death.

“Step away from her,” a baritone voice said firmly, just as I closed my eyes to avoid seeing the man put his lips on me. I might have felt it, but that was one image I didn’t want ingrained in my mind for however much longer I lived.

The pressure and warmth of his body receded, allowing a gust of cool air to rush over me. I saw the second ruffian was held by a new man in a way that threatened his neck to snap; the gun he had been holding was nowhere to be seen. His partner, taking in the situation, began to slowly move away from me, never removing his eyes from the challenger.

“We were just messing with the doll,” he said jovially, walking backwards past the rusted green dumpster and bags of trash.

Something flashed in the corner of my eye as something moved in the other. When everything settled again, I saw the second man on his knees, gasping, and the first was now held in a compromising position of his own, his arm angled painfully skyward behind his back until he dropped the gun in his hand. My hero—though I was aware this title might have been completely premature—shoved him forward with a powerful thrust over the still kneeling second man where he landed face first in a puddle of water and who knew what else.

“Leave,” he growled, most likely causing the two to wet themselves as they scrambled from the alley. If I had been one of those two, I might have. The word was filled with menace and the threat of horrible possibilities. Any sane person would have scurried for his life.

I watched, petrified, as he moved to the gun and unloaded it, scattering the bullets and bending closed the barrel. I felt the breath stick to my throat as my eyes widened. What was he going to do? I was dead if he so desired, though, dead was looking like the best of the options I had been presented that night.

He must have sensed my growing terror for he cooed, “Do not be afraid. I am not here to harm you.”

A pale hand lay offered to me, as if I was a small child stuck atop a slide. I took it, shocked at the cool, soft texture of his skin. My hero led me gently back onto the street, glancing at me every so often as if to ensure I wasn’t going to disappear or fall apart on him—to be honest, he was lucky I didn’t. We had been walking a while when I finally managed to speak.

“Why?” My voice shook with the word, threatening to give out.

His features lit with a small, understanding grin as a faint, familiar scent reached my nose. “Why what, Abriel?”

“H-how…m-my name?” I queried worriedly, my knees buckling for a moment. He easily caught me as I started to stumble, and carried me to sit on a bus bench. The faint fragrance was stronger nearer his person, but I still couldn’t place it; that was almost as unnerving as his knowing my name.

The smile grew as he replied, “Have I been gone so long?”

A memory awoke somewhere in my mind and the voice seemed familiar as well. When I prodded further, I found where I knew it and the smell. “Th-the man, who put me to sleep,” I managed, my voice slowly growing stronger.

“I guess I never properly introduced myself,” he said, chuckling softly. Though he seemed genuinely amused by one of us, something was off about the sound, as if he didn’t laugh often. I briefly wondered why he would do so before banning any distractions from my thoughts.

He stood—a tall, pale figure clothed in black—and made a sweeping bow. “I am Drei. The pleasure is entirely mine;” he stood straight again, his light brown hair bouncing back to frame his face. Drei had expressive, amethyst eyes—nearly lavender from their paleness—filled with sympathy. Something in his face hinted at vulnerability, though his chin was strong.

“Why did you save me, Drei?” Some part of me was sidetracked by how lovely his name sounded and how smoothly it seemed to slip from my lips.

Sitting beside me again, he replied, “Because you are unique.”

A smile found its way to my lips. It felt awkward there, considering the night, but it also felt somewhat natural given the current situation. “Everyone is unique.” I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

“You are more unique than you know,” he said, staring at me a moment before I turned away, pretending to study a piece of newspaper lying in the gutter. His gaze was so much more intense than that of anyone I knew and I didn’t like the absolute uncertainty it gave me.

As we sat in silence, I tossed this tidbit around in my head—still not wanting to meet his eyes—letting it expand into something of importance. I was unique. And more than that, Drei thought I was unique. Somehow that made it even better.

“Come,” he said, standing, reaching a hand out to me. “I shall walk you back to your neighborhood.”

My hand slipped into his, this time with more confidence that I could trust him given our history—if it could even be considered as such. Drei was there to protect me, keep me safe. It seemed then he was my guardian angel, or perhaps a fallen angel, who knew something I didn’t. Either way, he had saved me, and all I wanted was to return home without any more incidents. Since this is what he had silently promised, I was not going to question his motives.

After all, my birthday was already ruined and meeting my mystery man was the sole saving grace. Why spoil that, too, by asking too many questions?

Elemental: Chapter One, Part 4

Dating Richie wasn’t everything I had imagined it might be. It fell short of filling the hole left by my mysterious visitor, but it did occupy my time; it was also nice to feel wanted, though I was realizing that didn’t matter if the feeling wasn’t sincerely mutual. However, I didn’t want to end it and be accused of not trying hard enough to make it work.

He often showered me with gifts of candy and flowers, which my mother cooed over when she was home. Only one of our dates was ever just to relax at his house. It was very awkward, considering he had no shame admitting he was expecting entertainment from me. I provided no such entertainment; I wasn’t sure what kind of girl he assumed me to be, but I definitely wasn’t of that variety.

The next couple of months resembled the rest of my life, except my friends saw me as a traitor—meaning I spent considerably less time shopping and more time reading, which was fine by me. Mostly, they were jealous because he wasn’t cheating on me. How did I know? There were no mysterious calls and he insisted we do something together practically every night, unless one of us had a club function to attend. I was beginning to think he suspected I would cheat on him—which again made me question what kind of girl he thought I was.

As Valentine’s Day drew closer, the atmosphere at school grew chaotic as girls rushed to entice the cutest guys to take them to the Winter Love Dance. My only escape was my bedroom, though even that haven was breached when Mother brought designers in to showcase possible dresses. To please her, I chose a strawberry-pink Cinderella dress with a bead embroidered bodice. She loved the fact it was strapless and insisted Richie wouldn’t be able to leave me cold any longer—as if I wanted him to make me warm. Part of me wondered if he even knew my birthday was that same day.

The dance was unspectacular, though my friends deemed me worthy of their presence based solely on my gorgeous apparel—their words, albeit paraphrased. Richie never let me out of his sight and pampered me the entire night as if we were already engaged and at some political event. I knew dating someone from the Politician and Lawyer neighborhood would come back to bite me. It was horrible having him so clingy.

I lived in the unofficial Doctor and Entrepreneur (DE) community—deemed such as those tended to be the dominant careers in the area. There was no segregation between the professions; it was just like attracting like, I suppose. Because the DE community was closest to the school, we hosted most of the parties, including post-dance parites. Richie and I made our appearance and danced a little before leaving to drive across town to his house.

Richie ensured I was comfortable in his mansion-sized suite before leaving to retrieve champagne for us to celebrate. What exactly we were celebrating, I was unsure of, and it made me a little uncomfortable.

Slipping out of my pink heels, I paced in the sunken sitting area, gazing past the plasma television, numerous game systems, classy white and beige furniture and trophy cases to the rest of the room. The double doors stared menacingly at me as I took in the huge special-ordered bed (the kind you might see in movie scenes) armoires—designated by engravings—for various sports equipment and attire, a maze of bookshelves, and the walk-in closet. His room was much larger than mine, but that didn’t bother me; honestly, it felt too large. However, something else did, though—probably whatever surprise he had up his sleeve. My stomach felt as though it was dropping through a hole in the floor, anticipating some disaster. It didn’t improve as I walked unseeingly along the trophy cases.

“That one is my newest treasure,” Richie said from behind me, as I forced myself not to jump in surprise. I hadn’t heard him return.

My eyes focused on the trophy they hadn’t actually seen. Junior Golf Tournament: 2^nd Place. “Congratulations,” I said, turning to face him, knowing my father would be impressed, having placed in some when he was younger.

Richie stood a step behind me, holding a chilled champagne bottle in one hand and two flutes in the other. A curl of orange hair fell into his secretive, once again dangerous, green eyes. He smiled warmly towards me, but his smile hinted to something sinister beneath the warmth. His bowtie and jacket had already been removed and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone.

“Let’s sit down,” he offered, motioning toward the couches.

We sat next to each other on a love seat; I watched as he opened the champagne, not wanting any but knowing he’d pour me some even if I objected. He handed me a flute and toasted, “To us. May we be together for a long time.”

I smiled weakly—I wasn’t sure if I could handle being with him for a long time if this was what he was like after only a few months—accepting the toast. My muscles tensed as I pretended to take a sip and I knew instinctively something was going to happen; something I wouldn’t like.

Our lips engaged in a kiss, his loose and wanting, mine more resistant. When he pulled away, he attempted small talk as he rubbed my lower back, easing tension from me. He asked how my day was, and if I enjoyed the dance. My answers were generic, revealing little about either one as my opinions on both weren’t necessarily polite or what he wanted to hear.

At some point I found myself saying, “Today is my birthday.” Then realizing it was past midnight, I corrected myself, “Was my birthday.”

“Really?” he questioned as he motioned for me to sit with more of my back to him. “Seventeenth?”

I nodded, starting to relax as he massaged my shoulders. Was all of this tension from apprehension? If so, I wasn’t sure if I should stop him or if I should stop worrying and relax already.

“Happy Birthday,” he whispered into my ear and I felt the hair on my neck rise. “I have the best birthday present for you.”

“What’s that?” I asked half-heartedly, turning to face him. Had he known? I was reluctant to let my hopes out of my control.

“I’m going to make you mine;” he smirked, his stunning green eyes glinting sinisterly. “You lucky girl.”

My eyes widened and I tensed again as he nibbled at my neck and bare shoulders. Some gift. I stood up, slipping back into my shoes and heading toward the door. Richie grabbed my arm and pulled me back into him.

“No one leaves me without giving me what I want,” he growled, starting to unzip my dress and kissing me forcefully. His other arm pinned my body against his.

“No,” I managed despite his insistence on keeping my lips otherwise occupied, feeling helpless as he picked me up.

My fists pounded against him, but it made no difference. He carried me to the bed, keeping a fast grip around my writhing body. Feeling my weight hit the bed, I screamed no at him, trying to scramble off the other side. He grabbed my ankle this time and slid me across the silk bedspread toward him.

“No!” I yelled as vehemently as I could when he lifted me to face him. Richie flew across the room and crumpled into a small heap at the base of a wall as though propelled by a superhero-strength punch. The force with which he hit the wall sent a crack echoing through the room.

I sat crouched on the bed, numb and horrified, unable to comprehend what had happened. When he moaned from his heap, I jumped off the bed and ran out of his house, snatching my jacket out of the foyer closet before leaving.

Nothing penetrated my adrenaline driven thoughts. Not even the fact my birthday had gone from boring to nightmarish.

Elemental: Chapter One, Part 3

It was around the time before Thanksgiving when Richie asked me out. I’m not one to hold grudges for very long—it’s exhausting!—and I honestly never had a grudge against him. I was just playing the part of the loyal friend, even if we were all more fickle than loyal, so Richie had been relegated to my list of people to avoid.

He approached at the end of speech class, after a series of book reports. I was still collecting my books before the bell rang when he came up and sat atop my desk. None of my friends paid any mind; they were off pumping juicy details from Hilary Swin in the corner—supposedly, she had been caught totally wasted at a football party over the weekend and was mysteriously AWOL for a few hours. According to the rumor circulating, she had been seen during that time out by the hot tub. Of course, Emily and the rest just had to have the facts straight before they plastered it in every available ear about how she was either easy or sleazy. Not exactly my cup of tea.

“So how have you been as of late, Abriel?” Richie asked. He was probably testing the waters to see if I’d bite his head off or not. Fortunate for him, he had more than my nonchalant feelings on the disaster going for him; Richie also had my proper upbringing.

“Well enough. And yourself?” I replied easily in a similar manner, trying for disinterest. I wasn’t sure I was actually hitting it, though. While I had nothing against him, personally, and it was against my nurtured behavior to be rude, I still had a high school life to worry about, in which my friends—no matter how shallow or fickle they may be—were somewhat important.

“Well enough.” He was quiet a moment before asking, “Would you like to see a movie some time?”

I looked him in the eye, a tad shocked, and inquired, “Why me, out of all the other girls? Especially after what you did to Emily and Sara?” True, I might have seen this coming, but it was still a shock he was gutsy enough to try. And despite what he had done, I was still flattered. Not many guys asked me out when they could use me to become closer with and eventually date Sara or one of the others. I was used to that sort of thing happening, even though I wished it wouldn’t. It would be great to be liked for who I was versus who I knew.

He chuckled, a gleam in his eye. “You know as well as I do that not only did they deserve it, they had it coming. A shame neither learned from the experience.”

“You still haven’t given me a reason,” I stated, avoiding any confirmation of his statement. Honestly, they didn’t necessarily deserve it, but it had been bound to happen. But there are some situations when holding your tongue is a better way to survive.

Richie looked contemplatively into my eyes. At that moment, I realized how astoundingly bright green his eyes were. They were stunning really, practically the color of poison ivy. I didn’t know why it occurred to me then of all times, but I had never noticed how alluring they were.

“All the other girls don’t have your brains.” As cheesy and overused as it sounded coming from him, with those eyes watching me, I couldn’t help but believe it to be true. Even with my history of guys not actually liking me but merely using me to some other end, I wanted to believe he wasn’t like them.

Avoiding his gaze, I asked the all important question: “And in this town, where money and looks are everything, you’re going to tell me you care about brains?”

“Not necessarily,” he smirked, his eyes lighting up. “I care about being with an individual who isn’t afraid to be outside the standard and discuss something…revolutionary.”

“I’m assuming you’re referencing my book speech. Yet I don’t quite see how Yann Martel is revolutionary,” I confided, trying to find a reason to say no. I wasn’t having much luck outside of the friend argument, but the more he spoke to me and looked at me with those eyes, the weaker that argument seemed. How much did I actually enjoy throwing away my time for them, after all?

“It’s not standard, you can agree with that?” he returned, catching my eyes again, his bright ivy ones seeming to burn into me. They were dangerous almost—which didn’t scare me, though I felt like it should have—and completely sincere.

“Somewhat.”

“Then you’ll go out with me?” He waggled his eyebrows, the severity in his gaze dissipating and the motion causing me to giggle. That he could be so serious one moment and completely silly the next was attractive. To me, anyways.

I couldn’t see any real reason as to why not—maybe it was those eyes? Richie was funny, talented, smart, popular, occasionally a skeezebag, but decent most of the time. Not to mention his upbringing—as was true for most of our school population—was extremely similar to my own, so it wasn’t like there was a new code of conduct to learn or worry over how my mother might react. On top of all of that, he was interested in me. He had already been with Sara and Emily and was now choosing me; I had never experienced that, and the longer his eyes focused on me—actually seeming to see me—the more I wanted to know what it was like to be desired by a boy. “Sure.”

Elemental: Chapter One, Part 2

The curiosity and desire to remain naïve warred for days until I decided I had to know for sure. That Friday night, I waited up for him, my mystery man. Part of me was petrified at the mere thought of meeting him. Another part, a stronger part, was determined to follow through. I stayed awake all through the night, occupying my time with books, music, and various apps on my phone. He let me down. The one night I needed a friendly confrontation was the one night he never showed up.

I tried sleeping through most of the morning and reluctantly dredged up the energy to climb out of bed around noon when Emily called for a girls’ day out—which meant shopping. The whole troupe was showing up because it turned out Richie had been dating both Emily and Sara without either knowing—how that was possible, I never really found out—and was honest about it when he broke up with them that morning. According to their rabid babble, he had invited both of them for morning coffee. It was a surprise when both girls showed up at the café at the same time to see the same person. Upon demanding an explanation, he said something about it was time they knew the truth and their self-absorption made it easy. Sara mentioned something else in passing about how he cheated because they were vapid. (Though I don’t like to admit it, I hadn’t been much different.)

Shopping, by the way, was one of our most common pastimes. When we were collectively—meaning at least two of us—depressed, infuriated, ecstatic, or other emotional extremes, we shopped. After a good day of gossip and rumors, we shopped. It was our thing, as shallow as it sounds. My one saving grace was books. Though I rarely bought those on our excursions, unless there was a new fashion magazine out and then going to the bookstore was excusable. But only then.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Emily and Sara were livid the entire shopping spree, seemingly determined to max out their credit cards. Sara had elaborated on the “vapid” comment while trying on what seemed like hundreds of sweaters, blouses, skirts, dresses, jackets, and various other articles of clothing. Supposedly, he had no idea they were friends until after he started the double girlfriend antics. (I say supposedly because that detail was hard to miss considering our pack-mentality.) She informed us he had blatantly told them he would never have purposely dated the pair of them simultaneously had he known they were so much alike in personality—meaning they were more obsessed with how they looked and acted and the latest gossip than with the latest New York Times Bestseller. Suffice it to say, Jennifer, Heather, Rachel and I received an earful and several repeated remarks throughout the entire afternoon. Such a waste of a crisp October day.

Instead of my usual self-turmoil to consider that night, my mind was filled with all the vengeful ideas the two had tossed around while trying on clothes. I almost pitied Richie. Almost, but not quite.

Much to my surprise, my mystery man came to lull me to sleep. He didn’t allow me to chew him out for not coming the night before. He did, however, apologize. He said, “I am sorry to have disappointed you. I cannot permit our meeting. It is still too early for me to know if you are who I am seeking.” A few nights later, he said he had to go. “I will watch over you,” he assured me before easing my mind into another deep slumber.

At first I thought he was kidding. I thought it was all a game to make me regret ever thinking he was a vampire and staying up that night. For being a semi-shallow person even though I could be more than that. I wasn’t sure what the wrong was, but I was certain one had to exist.

That’s what I thought for about a week before it finally dawned on me he wasn’t coming back.

I forced myself to forget all about him and replaced his soothing voice with the tasteless sleeping pills my mother offered. With those I was guaranteed six hours of sleep; with an alarm clock set loud enough, I could have had a minimum of five hours. I never felt as refreshed, but it aided in putting him behind me.

What proved more difficult to replace was his scent. It never occurred to me I expected it and found it as much a comfort as his voice. Even if I could sleep thanks to the pills, it didn’t stop me from missing that smell. I did what I could, keeping fresh flowers on my bedside table. They weren’t anywhere close to satisfying my longing for his scent, but they would have to do.

Elemental: Chapter One, Part 1

Life with Expectations

A wise woman once told me, “Everything is a beginning, a start to the next step.” While it may be more exciting to start in the middle of things, it isn't likely to make much sense. In part, because I'd have to decide from which middle to begin and there are several. I suppose it would be best to start with the dream. 

Dream wasn’t the right word to describe it—I realize that now—but to consider it as anything else meant a stranger was finding his way into my room to end my endless contemplations and help me sleep. I had no idea who he was at the time—which is essentially the definition of a stranger—and that was the only reason I entertained the idea as a dream. A pleasantly and scarily realistic dream.

He wasn’t a creep from what I could tell, and his tender, baritone voice convinced me he was a man; he was gentle, too, only lying beside me and whispering into my ear I should sleep. I don't remember if he ever touched me, despite sometimes wishing he would hold me until he left. If his voice was so comforting it could make me sleep when I couldn’t make myself, I could only imagine what his arms were like.

It sounds weird and disturbing, I admit, but I felt safe with him, and trusted him despite never having met him.

The only thing to suggest he was real, and not just a figment of my imagination, was the faint scent of flowers. It had to be from him since I wasn’t one to use flowery perfumes, let alone in large quantities. That was also the sole thing I knew about him: he spent a lot of time around flowers. How else would the scent be ingrained in his skin? People aren’t born smelling like a bouquet, though some would like to think they are. This might have also been the reason I wasn't unnerved or frightened by his presence—the scent of blossoms isn’t a horrifying one. Every time I smelled it, it brought to mind a vibrant garden with a variety of flowers in just the right proportions to be luscious and nearly addicting.

Unfortunately, the scent lingered only briefly each morning, as if disappearing with him to return again the next night.

After this had been happening for about a month, I woke up to the same scent, except it was stronger and mingled with another I couldn’t identify. When I went to wash my face, I noticed two swollen bumps just above the base of my neck. I dismissed them as infected hairs or possibly a slight outbreak of acne. Still, it was odd they were so near each other.

When my mother looked at them, she said there was a slight indentation, but it wasn’t acne. She suggested maybe I had been bitten by some bug.

Since the weather was turning frigid anyway, I wore my boots and scarf to school. I didn't want to advertise a physical flaw, especially around my friends. Friends like mine would turn on you for having a bad hair day due to humidity—I had seen this happen. Why advertise “hate me” on my forehead? Or, in this case, my neck?

Various people complimented my attire, saying I looked chic and warm. I already knew that, though; I must say, I did have a decent sense of fashion—a result of modeling and makeover shows which were practically a necessity to maintain my social status at school. Also, I had the funds and the social pressure—not just from my friends—to always be in the best and latest.

That night when he came, he apologized. I puzzled over this until he eased me into a deep slumber. Then I puzzled it in the morning, not quite understanding what he could be apologizing for.

As I worked it through, I unconsciously rubbed the bite marks. The inflammation had faded and now they were twin ditches in my skin, hardly noticeable. When I realized this, a thought occurred to me: was he apologizing for biting me?

My heart raced as my mind wheeled, trying to make sense of it. I tried to seem calm on the surface as the thought took hold, registering what this meant about my mystery visitor. If he had caused the bite marks, that meant he was…

I couldn’t bring myself to label him. After all the fantasies about what he would look like and be like, I couldn’t do it. Not with that one anyway. It felt wrong and I'd feel guilty about it later when he disproved me—whenever we finally met face to face and not just under the cover of darkness. He couldn’t be...besides, it was a ludicrous notion to begin with. Vampires didn’t exist.