Vampiric: Chapter Five, Part 2

I found that by telling her about my childhood, I could keep her satisfied and quiet. Though the wide eyes were still childish, I could ignore them and forget the insanity plaguing her by looking elsewhere, or convincing the memories to come alive for me. Occasionally she would interject with questions or memories of her own which I listened to carefully, soaking them up when something useful came to light. There wasn't much that wasn't useless babble or vaguely related train of thought.

When I ran out of stories about Dad and growing up, I started on stories about my first year at the safe camp Drei took me to. I didn't tell her they were real. She didn't need to know, and she was quieter thinking they were fairy tales or something. Unless she asked, I wouldn't tell her otherwise.

I was afraid she would ask when I started crying while telling her about how Nick—the boy who didn't belong there (whom I had wanted to stay), but was willing to give up anything to fix the trouble he had caused—had said goodbye to me. He tried to make it easy on both of us, but there's no such thing when you love someone. Though my love for him was nothing in comparison to my love for Drei, saying goodbye was one of the hardest things I’d had to do. He had promised we would see each other again, but he’d never said when. As time progressed, I had given up hoping.

Nick was a bounty hunter, charged with finding and turning in elementals to places like this. He had helped us escape, and no one knew what had happened to him because of it. I didn't have eternity—as Drei and Valetta so frequently reminded me—to wait for him to show up again.

“He sounds as nice as the one night guard,” she said excitedly.

Wiping away my tears, I looked at her, wondering if I should tell her she was wrong. More than likely, Nick was dead and he had lied again, hoping to soften the blow of completely losing him with fanciful wishing. As little credit as it seemed, it wasn’t entirely unlikely. It seemed very much like him if it meant diverting or lessening pain.

Something in my stomach was heavy. It took me a moment to realize relinquishing hope was the reason my mom had lost it in the first place. No matter how bleak everything seemed, I had to keep holding on to it. Even if, in some cases, it wasn’t logical to keep hoping anymore.

“Did she ever see him again?”

I stared at her, her wide eyes sparkling and joyous for no reason. That joy caused a seed of resentment, but I kept my negativity to myself. “Not yet.”

She was quiet a moment, staring past me, before jumping up and down in her giddy way, saying, “The night guard I told you about is coming tonight.”

“How do you know?”

Ty rolled her huge eyes at me. “You don't know? It's one of the most useful tricks in the history of ever!”

I wondered if my mother—my adoptive mother—had ever felt the same way I did now. It was almost like a slap in the face, but on a completely different level.

“He's coming!” she squealed, dashing over to the door and straightening out her wrinkled sun dress.

“Who?” I was lost in her stream of bubbling remarks and forgot my momentary pain at being insulted. She could be worse than a brook or a spring some times. I didn't know how long I had been here, but so long as she was making noise, it seemed closer to forever.

“The night guard,” she hissed, turning to face me briefly. “The nice one.”

The door swung open further than the person the night before—if it really had been just last night—had opened it as I stood. There was the darkness again, spilling into the room, but this time a shadow was stepping forth from it. The light peeled away the shadows hiding the figure, revealing a man in his twenties with bright jade eyes and a chiseled face, shadows softening his jaw line; his pine colored hair was crew cut short though it didn’t seem to fit him. His eyes sparkled at my mom as he greeted her, not seeing me.

“Good evening, Ty. How have you been?” he asked in a familiar, playful tone.

“I've been ever so wonderful,” she said, spinning, trying to keep her eyes on him. “My daughter even got in a pinch of trouble;” she giggled secretively, holding her thumb and forefinger close together.

“How would you know?” he teased easily, an eyebrow cocked and his lips curved in crooked grin. “What have you been up to, Ty?”

“Nothing, I swear.” Her eyes grew large again and she crossed her heart. “She's here.”

His eyes followed her accusing finger and met mine. My breath caught as it dawned on me exactly who he was and why he was so familiar.

Tears flooded my eyes and I fought them back, trying to grasp onto something, anything that would make sense. He wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be like this. And I couldn't think of one sane thing to say to him as he stood, realization dawning over his features, his jaw dropping.

“Abriel,” he whispered, making any doubt in my mind dissipate.

A sad smile spread across my lips, a few tears crawling down my cheeks. “Nick.”

My mom looked from him, to me, back to him. “Is he the Nick from the story?” she questioned, sounding perfectly sane for the first time since she had pulled me from the darkness.

“Story?” he asked, his eyes finding her again.

“Yes,” I replied, nearly choking on the word. How could I have given up hope on seeing him again? It seemed ludicrous now that he was standing there. I had been an idiot to think he had lied.

My mom whipped her wide eyes on me. “Then you're the girl;” she faced him again. “And you saved her—and hurt her—and—and…” she stumbled for the rest of her thought, fighting against the deterioration of her brain.

I went to her, pulling her small, flighty form into my arms.

“You should go,” I said to Nick without facing him. “This isn't good for her.”

“And what about you?” he asked, reaching to put a hand on my shoulder.

My head whipped around, his hand freezing inches away. “I don't know how to answer that.” My eyes watched his hand; it was safer than meeting his eyes. “I spent the last few years thinking you had lied to me and were dead.”

“Well, I'm not dead,” he offered, shrugging in his signature way. Even working in a place like this he still managed to be almost too relaxed and way too cocky. If my mind hadn’t been reeling, I probably would have smiled and told him so. But that wasn’t the case.

“No, you aren't.”

Mom started babbling in my arms again, trying to finish what she had started to say earlier. Repeating her last few words until even those escaped her and she started bubbling forth a string of disconnected words.

“I'll come back later…before my shift is up.”

I had already disengaged myself from our conversation, trying to shush my mom into sleep. It was impossible for me to deal with Nick and my mom simultaneously; as he wasn't my fellow cellmate, he'd have to wait.

Elemental: Chapter Eleven, Part 5

Valetta and I discussed many things over the weeks of travel. Not just dream lives and randomness. We discussed her previous life, and mine, exploring our differences until it seemed we had known each other forever.

She had been born to a nouveau riche family—they previously hadn’t been extremely poor, but even with their newfound wealth, they weren’t in the same class as the lords and ladies. Her parents had expected her to jettison them to the next level, and provided whatever they felt was needed. They desired a progressive man in hopes he would be more open to marrying a nouveau riche maiden than the more conservative families. When she was old enough to court, suitors came and left. It wasn’t her fault; they weren’t prepared for someone like her, so well rounded and confident. But she didn’t know that then. She felt she had failed her family and—when the suitors stopped appearing—Valetta cried herself to sleep. Her parents’ relationship spoiled and her mother ended up murdering her father, insisting the devil possessed him. Her mother was imprisoned and Valetta was left in the care of family, her fortune then her uncle’s. Shortly after that, the house was attacked by vampires. They killed everyone in the house—all of her cousins, uncle, aunt, and her uncle’s mistress—except for her.

“I sat waiting in my room, the raucous they had stirred downstairs woke me. It may sound strange, but I was not afraid of them. For me, it was an opportunity to be embraced, not turned away,” she explained, and I knew what she meant, having felt the same not long ago. “When he came in, his eyes red and luminescent, I could not help but stare. As he approached, I opened my arms to him, and asked him to take me, to end my pain.” Valetta’s eyes filled with tears at the memory. She swallowed them back, pushing on; “He circled, and I questioned why he hesitated. It was a moment before his eyes dulled to a pale orange; he inquired why I would not scream or cry. For emphasis, he lurched forward, fangs bared, eyes flaring red, hissing at me. When I did not flinch, he questioned if I wanted to be born again. I did not realize he meant become one of them. All I knew was the life I had worked for failed, and I was out of options. I would not receive my family’s fortune. I would not marry any man who would change me. I was trapped by expectations dooming me for misery.”

“What made you decide?” I questioned.

Her dark eyes swept toward me, longing for understanding. “Hope.”

In her eyes I could see the scene playing out, in all of its magnanimous tragedy.

Her dark hair flowed around her, billowing gently in the breeze admitted from the opened window; she wore a white nightgown, surrounded by dark sheets and pillows. Her stalker stood, entangled in the white curtains, clad consummately in black. As she stared at him—waiting for him to give her rebirth—he stood, ensuring she meant what she said.

He lunged forward, a hand jerking her head to the side, the other wrapping her arm in a death grip. Her eyes expanded as his teeth sank in, but then she closed them, relaxing in his arms, trusting him to deliver her to something better. Shortly after she went limp, he pulled away and swept her into his arms, leaving.

“Is it what you hoped for?” I asked, softly, unsure if I should be happy for her or sad.

Valetta took a moment to recover her senses. “It is not what I thought he offered, but it has allowed me to meet many incredible people, and to see none of my life was my fault. I played my role dutifully—always the obedient daughter. Their deaths, her imprisonment, my lack of a steady suitor—I was helpless to control it. If he had never given me this choice, I never would have come to realize this. I never would have met Drei, or made your acquaintance.” A soft smile lit her features as she added, “I felt betrayed the first hundred years, but now I see what a gift this can be. You just have to be willing to embrace the positive and allow the negative to fall by the wayside.”

Silence followed afterwards, and, as I let her memory replay in my mind; I felt tears start to roll down my cheeks. Her pain alone was enough to make me forget any of my own.

“Do not cry for me,” Valetta said, watching as I wiped away some of the tears, “because I do not cry for myself.”

“But you do cry,” I said, certain I hadn’t imagined the tears that had filled her eyes.

“Not for myself,” she insisted. “I cry for the people helpless to change their situations, and unaware it may not be their fault. After all, I am the lucky one.”

For her to have gone through so much seemed incredible, and I wondered how she managed to survive it all. How had she held out? But I couldn’t ask. It would seem too much like asking what my future was, or what someone had wished. She had figured it out on her own. Now it was my turn. Even if I wasn’t sure where to begin.

“Drei helped me,” Valetta said softly. “If you speak with him, he could help you as well. It would make a good start.”

“How do you do that?” I asked, hating how both of them always seemed know what I was thinking.

“When you wish to know something deeply enough,” she said, smiling, “you send it out without realizing it. Drei and I learned long ago—from Gloria, mostly—how to read those signals.”

I nodded; it made enough sense for me, considering two years ago I believed vampires belonged in the fiction aisle. Mostly, I figured any further explanation would wind up more confusing.

“It is time.” She was right. There was only so long I could avoid speaking with Drei, and there would probably never be a good time.

Elemental: Chapter Eight, Part 1

Chapter Eight: Waiting for Peace

The garden was our date locale most nights. During the day, we’d sit together talking about random things or join in the games. The children accepted Nick because I did, but they were wary of him, as if his skin or breath were poisonous. I had asked why, one day, and they all pretended to know nothing about it.

Some nights we sat and shared the past, his arms curled around me to protect from the cool weather. Other nights, our chatter was dispersed between kisses and laughter over funny faces and even more amusing jokes. I didn’t know what you could call what we had. For me, I wasn’t sure if I would call it love; but it was such an extreme affection, I knew he wasn’t just a friend I regularly kissed. Nick never said what it was for him; the look in his eyes before he kissed me, the crooked curve of his lips when we were together during the day, or the way he’d hold my hand said it all.

I warred with myself whether it was fair to Nick that I didn’t know how I felt about him. When I was with him, none of it seemed to matter. Perhaps it was my power or some other force I wasn’t aware of that caused me to feel as though he was part of me, and I was part of him. That every time our lips touched or his hand slipped into mine, we were melding together.

The month passed as such—a not-so-secret relationship and a series of private meetings. When Drei happened to be around while we were playing games, I couldn’t help but notice he always glared at Nick. I had a sinking feeling that the thought of us together was more dangerous than bounty hunters. At least in the case of Drei. Perhaps that had some impact on my uncertainty.

One night, I sat in Nick’s embrace, my arms crossed loosely and resting lightly on his. My head lay on his shoulder, my eyes closed as he spoke to me. Not because I was tired, but just because his voice had a different quality that way.

“One day, Kit was running around with Kate’s doll, her favorite one,” he started, his voice excited as he launched into the tale. “Kit insisted it was hers and she should be able to play with it and the white jeep Mom had bought her for Christmas. Of course, Kate was crying when she came to me; our parents were at some company party my dad had to attend. When I yelled for Kit to bring the doll with her, she showed up sniveling and saying she was sorry. They were in preschool and I guess they hadn’t learned about sharing yet. She kept muttering apologies; Kate only plugged her ears and started yelling that she’d never forgive her again.”

“Oh dear. What did you do?” I had a feeling I knew what he would say already. It was really similar to another story I’d heard before.

“We sat down together, Kit still crying a little because she had been found out, Kate still stubbornly pouting, the picturesque victim. I asked Kate why she wouldn’t accept the apology, and she insisted that it wasn’t sincere. So Kit started crying full out again until I stopped her and told her Kate didn’t mean it. Kate complained I was lying, but I asked if she loved Kit, and she stopped. Then she apologized for being stubborn and mean. Kit hugged Kate, telling her she was sorry.

“That night when my parents returned, they found I’d been cornered into playing dolls with them to keep the peace—which unfortunately also involved playing dress up,” he finished, a blush in his voice as I laughed. “It never happened again. Dressing up, that is.”

“It’s still funny,” I insisted, turning to look at him, less mystified by his ending.

He smiled down at me, that special curve to his lips; “Have I told you you’re beautiful?”

“Never.” I smiled and waited for what came next.

“Well you are,” he replied, leaning in to kiss me.

“What are you doing here?” a vicious voice snarled from a few feet away.

Elemental: Chapter Six, Part 4

 Nick’s head fell back into the comfort of my pillows. I recommenced rubbing his back and whispering it was all right. That if he talked to me about it, he’d feel better afterwards. I felt Drei watching me with skepticism. He didn’t think I could make Nick feel better about what had happened, and I wasn’t sure myself. But I needed to try, and that was all I paid attention to. I was needed for something other than being a babysitter. That was more important than Drei could know. So I had to try.

“They came late…after everyone was asleep. I was out late, past curfew, with a few friends. They had been drinking and smoking all sorts of stuff…I thought they were hallucinating when they dropped me off, insisting the sun was eating my house. Course they didn’t know it wasn’t the sun. I shooed them off and called 911. I ran inside, trying to find someone, anyone. But Mom and Dad, their door was locked, like it usually was when they had been arguing. Kit and Kate weren’t breathing when I found them…I didn’t know what to do.”

As he spoke, I drew the memory from him in a way not unlike how I had obtained the memory of my mom and dad—I wanted to see what he saw, to pick up what he left out. It swelled inside me, the sensation of smoke filling my lungs. Flashes of blinding red heat mingled with glances of sickly figures and engulfed, endless hallways turning in a maze of utter hopelessness. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, now that it was as much a part of me as it was of him, but I knew I couldn’t hold onto it. It was already overwhelming me with confusion and grief.

“I didn’t even wait around for the fire trucks; I just ran. As fast and as far as I could. Pretty soon I didn’t want to stop anywhere, wasn’t sure if I could. So I just kept going.”

Then the solution came to me. I released the memory, allowing it to float away from us—to find someone willing to listen or just dissipate into the atmosphere, I wasn’t sure which—and to leave us in peace. Though his eyes were blind to it, the swirls of black and red spiraled from us, rising through the ceiling like a beautiful version of the catastrophe it was. From there, I could feel a wind lift it away, dispersing it across the sky.

His eyes, glazed when he had remembered the events leading up to this moment, shone as they turned on me, a serene smile on the edge of his lips. One of my hands still rested on his forearm. “Then you found me; you saved me from killing myself. Thank you.”

Nick fell back asleep after that for the rest of the day. Drei left to brief a few of the other vampires, promising to return when Nick woke again. I was relieved of my sitter duties in order to nurse Nick and prepare him for the storm to come. It would be rough and I could tell Drei wanted him gone.

Elemental: Chapter Four, Part 3

That morning I sat watching the sunrise. I suspected Drei failed to sleep as well, despite his curled appearance. He seemed to know more than I gave him credit for, and it made me question if he ever revered sunrises as he did the moon. In all his years, did he ever find hope in the coming of the new day? Or had he always been content with the loneliness of night?

Over the next week, Drei inquired of my past, though part of me was convinced he already knew much of it. In the midst of this storytelling, I came to realize all of my worthwhile, fun, exciting, revealing stories featured my father spending time with me. Not family time. Just one on one time. Shopping and storytelling, other things along those lines, plus the basics to life: bike riding, reading, writing, first camping trip. By the time I reached things like first dates, he was working more often away from home.

Granted, all of this was against my plan of forgetting everything I was leaving behind. Perhaps Drei thought the good memories would suppress the nightmarish ones.

He would even occasionally comment on his own life when I neared a livid memory or a forgotten woe. His life amazed me. Well, life is too general a term since it was more glimpses and pieces. He spoke most often of his younger twin sisters and protecting them. Each time I questioned what had happened to them, he burrowed away from me, leaving me to wonder what could have gone so terribly wrong.

“We will be there tomorrow around sunrise,” Drei informed me toward the start of our fourth week of travel.

Camp for the night had already been settled and I was on the verge of sleep. The knowledge of being able to sleep on something more comfortable than grass lifted my spirits. We hadn’t seen a small town for several days and the lack of people was starting to take its toll as well. Mostly, I was just weary of traveling.

“Tell me a story, Drei,” I requested, yawning, “about you and your sisters.”

Drei faced me from where he lay, a bemused smile playing across his lips. “You enjoy my stories as much as I enjoy yours.” I laid half-awake, waiting for his words to lull me to sleep.

There was a smile in his voice as he started; “One night, Avery and Ashlyn were running through the halls. They did it often enough, since there were no adults awake to stop them.” He paused momentarily, as if reassuring his grasp on that particular memory. “But it was different. I had not noticed Ashlyn’s hoarse cries until their third passing. It was upsetting; their jaunts were usually filled with laughter and private jokes. To hear her hoarse and pleading, and Avery not at all, was startling for me; so I awaited their next passing outside my room.

“Both stopped in their tracks at the sight of me, as though I were a ghost or some other menacing figure of the night. Ashlyn appeared to hold back tears to keep up a steady chase, but now she burst, wave after wave washing from her eyes. Avery clung protectively to a leather bound volume before releasing it and bursting as well.”

Solemnity filled his voice as he spoke. Whatever had happened to them made this memory hard for him to share; I wondered why he would do so if it hurt him.

“I walked to my sisters, kneeling between them and questioning what had transpired. Avery, it became clear, had taken Ashlyn’s favorite volume of illustrated fairy tales. At my suggestion, we stole away to my room, the book in my custody. Avery and Ashlyn sat on either side of me, our backs to the wall; Avery apologized as her sniffling subsided, but Ashlyn did not want to forgive her; she said just as much. She looked to cry again until Ashlyn climbed over me and fiercely hugged her.

“‘I love you,’ she told Avery.

“I surprised her when I said, ‘Then you forgive her.’ Her natural question was ‘why’, to which my reply was, ‘Because when you love someone, you always forgive them.’ That is what I told them that night, and I still believe it.”

Drei stopped a moment. Despite my weariness, I could feel him debating whether to continue or let that be the end. Whatever he decided would be fine with me. I could already feel myself slipping away.

“After their reconciliation and a few lighthearted laughs at the expense of everyone present,” he continued, his tone brightening, “I read the last story of the volume to my sisters. They were slumped sleepily against me about halfway through. Before they slipped completely off to sleep, Avery said, ‘Thank you,’ and Ashlyn added, ‘We love you, Drei.’”

Hearing the official end of the story, I slipped deeper toward sleep. Just before entering complete unconsciousness, however, I thought I heard Drei whisper, “I will always forgive you, Abriel.” And I couldn’t help but wonder if he didn’t mean something more than that. That perhaps he meant he loved me.

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 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.