Back To Back - Cameron Chelsea M. - Страница 6

“It’s so nice to meet you, New Sister,” I say.

“I love you, New Sister,” she says with a laugh.

Sylas pulls her away and gets her in the passenger seat, buckling her belt for her.

He only looks back once as he drives away. Even over the distance, the eye contact hits me like a punch. I shiver, even though it’s almost the first day of summer.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Dad mutters, as if to himself before he goes in the house.

I stand there for a while, half-hoping Sylas turn around and come back. That it will be like a movie with him running in slow motion and the music building and a mind-melting kiss.

But he doesn’t come back and I turn to go inside the house.

I spend the rest of the day in my room, going through my box of junk. Well, it isn’t junk, but some might consider it to be. It’s all the weird stuff I had to hide from my mother. Back when I was young and had to hide things from her. Now I don’t have to. Now I flaunt the things I do that she hates.

Like my tattoo. My appointment is tomorrow to get the color finished. I’m excited, but I wish Sylas could be there with me this time. It won’t be the same without him.

I have my septum hoop in my pocket and I fish it out and put it in. Dad isn’t a super fan of it, but at least I can wear it around him without worrying. I put it in and screw the little balls on the ends so it won’t come out.

Checking myself out in the mirror, I realize I should definitely wear this more often. It looks right.

I want to see Sylas. I want to get in my little red sports car and drive to his place and knock on the door until he lets me in. Then strip him bare and throw myself at him. He’d probably call the cops and Dad would have to bail me out of jail. That would definitely put a kink in his plans.

I throw everything back in the box and lay back on my bed.

This definitely isn’t what I planned to be when I was younger. Not at all. I always thought I was going to move to Florence or Paris or Budapest and marry a rich man who owned a vineyard or something. I’d spend my days drinking little cups of espresso and looking at paintings.

At least I get to look at paintings, even if they’re only in my books.

I should get back to my apartment. Do some studying or something. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get to my feet and tromp downstairs. I feel guilty leaving Dad here by himself in this big house, but I hate staying here. I don’t exactly have warm and fuzzy memories of my childhood. Sure, the pictures show me smiling, but I learned early on how to fake it until you make it. Not sure if I’ve made it yet.

“Dad?” I call out when I get downstairs. We should probably invest in an intercom system. Or I could just walk around with a bullhorn.

“Back here,” he says, and he’s where I thought he would be. In his office.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I walk in and close the door. He’s staring at a picture frame. I don’t need to see the picture to know who is in it.

“Thinking,” he says, putting the frame down and looking up at me.

“About?” I say, sitting down in one of the enormous leather chairs. It squeaks a little as I settle into it and pull my feet up.

“My past. All the mistakes I made.”

“Heavy,” I say, resting my chin on my hand.

“It can be,” he says, leaning back and sighing. “But we can’t go back, can we?” I shake my head.

“Nope.” What he doesn’t say is that he wishes he’d married Marina. But then he wouldn’t have had me. So.

Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

“I think I’m going to head back to my apartment,” I say, standing.

He nods again, and I know my words aren’t getting through to him. He’s going to be lost in his head for a while.

Homework doesn’t exactly occupy my mind, but at least it gives me something to fill the hours. I think about driving to Sylas’ place and sitting outside in my car, just to make sure he’s staying there.

I grab my keys a hundred times, but then throw them back in the ornamental skull I keep them in. The clink as they rattle around is loud in my quiet apartment.

I’m up all night, thinking and thinking and thinking. I should be exhausted, but I can’t get myself to shut off, even for a few minutes.

At least I don’t have nightmares, although since I started sleeping with Sylas, they’ve been fewer and farther between, except for that one time.

I’m still embarrassed about it, and mostly because I can’t articulate what it is that causes me to thrash and eventually wake up with a scream lodged in my throat and fear’s sticky fingers gripped around my spine.

I shower and get dressed in a light tunic with a lace skull on it, black skinny jeans and boots. I’m getting my tattoo finished today, so I want to wear something that’s loose on top and comfortable enough to sit for hours.

I’m on my way to see Crash when I swerve at the last minute, and nearly cause an accident as I head toward Sylas’ apartment. His real apartment, not the fake one he took me to.

Finding a parking spot is easy, but I’m not too comfortable leaving my car in this neighborhood. Oh well. I’m willing to take the risk. I tiptoe up to his place and knock.

It takes forever for him to open the door, but really, it’s just moments.

“Hey, Sylas,” I say. Looking at him breaks my heart. Well, breaks it even further. It’s already shattered and the more I see him, the more pieces break off. Soon the bits will be so small, they’ll be grains of sand and I’ll have nothing left.

“What are you doing here, Saige?” he asks, his voice both irritated and tired.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to finish my tattoo,” I say. I rehearsed this in my head and it went much better.

He crosses his arms, his tattoos bulging. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, so I can see a lot of the work he’s got on his arms.

“And why would I do that, Saige?”

I shrug, for a lack of a better response and say what’s really on my mind.

“Because I asked you to?”

He almost rolls his eyes. Almost.

“That’s not a very good reason.”

“I know it isn’t. But I thought maybe it would work anyway,” I say, pretending I don’t care as much as I do. I really, really want him to come with me.

“This isn’t another ploy to convince me to turn Lizzy over and do whatever your father has yet to tell me he wants me to do?” His eyes narrow and I know that even if I tell him no, he’s not going to believe me. Trust is the cornerstone of any romantic relationship and right now, we don’t have any.

“This isn’t that. If you want, I won’t say anything about him. Please, just… come with me. I know you want to see how it turns out. And I’m sure Crash would like to see you again.” Sure, that’s a great way to sell it.

“I’ll let you be Quinn,” I add, hoping that will be a bonus, but he doesn’t change his stance.

“Or not.”

I take a breath and give it one last shot.

“I’ll let you be whoever you want to be, as long as you come with me.” Now I’m begging, but I don’t care. I just… need him.

He stares at me for a few more seconds and I’m not sure if he knows that he’s leaning toward me ever so slightly. He blinks once and then says, “Let me change my shirt.”

We don’t talk much on the drive over to the tattoo shop, so I turn on the radio and find something I want to listen to.

“I love this song,” I say. It’s “Fire & Gasoline” by Turnpike Troubadours. It’s not my typical taste, but there’s something about Americana that makes me stop and listen.

He doesn’t respond, but I can tell he’s listening to the music. It wraps around us and soon we’re at the shop.