Damiana lets out a little peeved hmph, and then says, “Well. Just for the record. I don’t really see this working out for you two. You’re not exactly sane, Davis.”
“I swear to god, I will fucking end you if you don’t piss off,” I snarl.
She goes, grumbling bitterly. For a second, Chase and I stay exactly where we are, still watching each other guardedly. Then she climbs off me, blushing like mad as she presses her thighs together, presumably attempting to keep the come I just shot inside of her from running down her legs.
I put my dick away and fasten my jeans back up probably a little slower than I should.
“That…that was…” Chase whispers.
I reach behind my head and tug my t-shirt off in with one hand. “Here.” Before she can stop me, I shove the balled-up shirt between her legs, pressing it firmly against her pussy. She must still be really fucking sensitive because she hisses, her eyes losing a little of their focus.
“Push me out,” I order. “All of me. Let me clean you.”
Her shoulders hitch up around her ears. She looks around, the reality of what just happened hitting her hard, I think. She takes the t-shirt from me and uses it herself, quickly, methodically, and I watch her with my pulse churning in my ears.
I want…fuck, I want more.
What the fuck is going on with me right now?
“You’re coming to the house tonight,” I tell her.
“I can’t. Not tonight. I have to go right now.”
“Nope.”
“Yes,” she emphasizes. “My dad’s coming to pick me up right now. Do you think he’d get a great first impression of you if he finds us naked on the ornamental lawn?”
I really couldn’t give a shit about what her father thinks. I’ve taken his daughter. She no longer belongs to him. In the small, dark corner of my soul that still wants things, I recognize that I’ve claimed her and she’s mine now. It’ll be a long fucking time before I’m ready to admit that out loud, but...I reject those thoughts even now, unable to even think them.
I’m silent as Chase puts on her perfume, administers her eye drops, and packs all of her other shit back into her military bag. She smooths her hair, tucking it behind her ears. and looks down on me where I’m still sitting in the grass, shirtless, with my arms loosely wrapped around my knees.
“I’m really not coming over tonight,” she says.
“Yes. You are.”
“I’m staying at my dad’s place in town for the weekend. He wants to spend some time with me, and we don’t have class tomorrow. I can’t say no.”
“All right, then.”
“All right, then?”
I work my jaw, torn straight down the middle. Years of animosity and violence have made their mark on me. It’s hard to tamp down the drive to wrap myself in sharp barbs, to protect myself from this…this…whatever this is. I’m so drawn to her at the same time, magnetized to her, hands itching to reach out and touch her again, that I feel like I’m losing my mind. “Yeah. All right, then. Go spend the night at your dad’s place.”
She stews on this. Over on the shore of the lake, the geese squawk and holler. One of them takes flight, followed by the others, the sound of their wings snapping and rustling in the approaching evening’s air.
“I’ll see you on Monday, Pax,” Chase says.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, watching her walk away. That stupid military bag of hers bounces against the backs of her legs as she goes.
Just before she disappears over the prow of the hill, up by the academy’s circular driveway, I’m struck by an illogical, pointless thought. One that hasn’t occurred to me until now. She nearly died a few weeks ago. My mind floods with images of Chase lying on the sidewalk outside the hospital, dressed in blood, sticky and gruesome with it, her eyes full of terror, locked onto me like I was the only thing anchoring her to life, and it dawns on me just how close I came to never really knowing her.
Damn.
I’m not even mad when I look down and see the black friendship bracelet she gave me earlier, tied around my wrist right next to the orange, yellow and red one.
I don’t even tug on it this time.
29
PAX
* * *
I get her email at midnight.
On the dot.
Like she fucking timed it or something.
The message contains her chapter of the story.
She was probably sitting on her bed, toying with those Tarot cards of hers, biding her time until the witching hour struck to send it. I’ve decided that’s what Chase is now: a witch. I don’t believe in magic, or the power of crystals, or energy vampires—that’s more Meredith’s vibe—but I’m willing to make a concession and admit that all of that mumbo jumbo, hocus pocus bullshit is real for a second, if it means that I can also name Chase Satan’s handmaid. She addled my brain this afternoon on the grass outside the maze. That’s the only explanation for the trippy haze I was in when I walked all three miles back to Riot House with my own come-soaked t-shirt in my hand.
I print off the attachment she sent and then rip through her words, so ready to tear her work apart. The pen in my hand, poised and ready to start scribbling a slew of vicious criticism down in the margins, remains pressed into the paper, not moving a millimeter as I devour line after line of her work.
When I reach the end, I set the pen down and sit back in my chair, pinching the bridge really goddamn hard.
If it was just good, I’d be pissed.
But it’s more than good.
It’s fucking excellent, and I am too furious for words.
There’s a girl waiting for the boy at the mouth of the maze. She’s naked, covered in bruises. Her lip’s split open, the wound oozing blood down her chin. She doesn’t say anything. She takes the boy by the hand and leads him through a dark, impenetrable forest. He thinks many times that the girl has lost her way and lured him into the woods in order to hurt him. Soon, the trees thin out, though, and the dark becomes less ominous. Eventually, the loamy, springy moss beneath their feet turns to sand. The girl leads the boy out of the forest and onto a pristine, beautiful beach. They’re alone. In the blossoming dawn, the boy and the girl sit on top of a dune, listening to the waves crash. The chapter ends with the girl holding her hand out to the boy again and saying, “I am Genesis, the beginning. You are Omega, the end.”
I don’t know what I’m supposed to make of that.
Most annoying of all, her writing is beautiful. Her wordplay had me groaning under my breath and jealousy knifing me in the back. Every word she utilized served a purpose, every line masterfully constructed to elicit an emotion or some kind of response. And it worked. It fucking worked. I felt the trees pressing in. I smelled the night air laced with smoke and the whisper of snow. Worst of all, I felt the hope when our characters stepped out onto that beach and watched the sun rise together.
So, now I absolutely hate her. I hate Chase, because she was supposed to be bad at this. I was supposed to embarrass her with my superior writing skills, and she was supposed to run away with her tail between her legs, but that isn’t what happened. She’s fucking shown up, and, holy hell, am I pissed about it.