and indulges in a few good drags. It feels sensual, sexual in nature—desire coupled with pain.
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper, my voice warbling on the verge of tears. “Logan took me away to the Transfer then he disappeared. I thought I’d never get back to you.”
I’m not dead. A shadow digs into his left cheek. I must have dreamed a thousand dreams about you these past two weeks. The curve of a naughty smile brims on his lips.
“All things delicious, I suspect.”
I dreamed of a future with you. We were in school, private college, on a neighboring island. It was just you and me. He strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand, washes his eyes over me with a mixture of sadness and anticipation.
“You think it was a vision?” I soak in his sad earnest gaze. I love the way he makes me feel when he absorbs me through those powerful lenses, like he’s appreciating an exotic painting from afar wondering what it would be like to crawl inside the canvas— a starving man hovering over a hot meal and all he’s allowed to do is take in the aroma.
I know some of them were. We are magic, Skyla. We have everything to live for . His features harden, his mind draws a wall of concrete so high and thick, I could never penetrate into that deep abyss.
“You saw something else?”
Nothing new. Just affirmations of things I’ve seen before .
“Anything you’d like to share?” I take a slow drawn breath—already I know the answer.
I’m tired, Skyla .
“I can cut my finger,” I offer.
He shakes his head, picks up my finger and kisses it before replacing it into the safety of his own warm hand.
I’d split my entire body in half if I thought it would make Gage better.
He looks up at me with surprise, breaks out into a slow spreading smile.
I know you would, Skyla. That’s why I love you.
***
The next morning I’m beyond exhausted. I drive the Mustang to school—the Mustang that has a distinct Gage shaped dent in the fender from trying to snuff the life out of both Oliver boys at once. I thought maybe I could forgive the orange chunk of metal for being a part of the malfeasance that took place that night, especially since I know for darn sure it wasn’t the poor car’s fault, but truthfully I hate it just a little bit for being responsible even if it was on a rudimentary level.
Just looking out the windshield forces me to see that night take place like a transparency overlaid on top of the world. Logan and Gage with their statue white faces—the look of horror on Gage that I had seen once before by way of Marshall’s visionary kisses.
During second period it takes all of my effort to keep myself conscious.
“Ms. Messenger, are you here to acquire numeric knowledge or drift in a dream?” Marshall knocks on his desk to further rally my attention.
“Dream—I mean learn,” I say, straightening in my seat. I stay alert long enough to observe as he cascades a repetitive cloud of numbers and letters across the board in a nonsensical sequence, try to listen as he thunders through his explanation.
“Problems one through five,” he instructs the class before seating himself on the edge of his desk. Marshall watches me, his lingering gaze drifts to my right, and he closes his eyes.
Oh, Skyla , he says it full with disappointment.
I arch my brows at him before indulging in the inevitable and putting my head down onto the desk.
If he’s not elaborating I’m not biting—that’s the thing with Marshall, he always wants a bite. The more flesh to dig his teeth into, the better.
Long night?
I give a quick thumbs up. Actually that’s not why I’m tired. I didn’t stay out too late at the hospital, partially because Logan was waiting in the parking lot. I was up all night listening to Mia and Melissa lob insults at one another through our paper-thin walls. Usually I’m immune to their midnight murmurings, but once their lexicon became vitriolic—laced with
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper, my voice warbling on the verge of tears. “Logan took me away to the Transfer then he disappeared. I thought I’d never get back to you.”
I’m not dead. A shadow digs into his left cheek. I must have dreamed a thousand dreams about you these past two weeks. The curve of a naughty smile brims on his lips.
“All things delicious, I suspect.”
I dreamed of a future with you. We were in school, private college, on a neighboring island. It was just you and me. He strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand, washes his eyes over me with a mixture of sadness and anticipation.
“You think it was a vision?” I soak in his sad earnest gaze. I love the way he makes me feel when he absorbs me through those powerful lenses, like he’s appreciating an exotic painting from afar wondering what it would be like to crawl inside the canvas— a starving man hovering over a hot meal and all he’s allowed to do is take in the aroma.
I know some of them were. We are magic, Skyla. We have everything to live for . His features harden, his mind draws a wall of concrete so high and thick, I could never penetrate into that deep abyss.
“You saw something else?”
Nothing new. Just affirmations of things I’ve seen before .
“Anything you’d like to share?” I take a slow drawn breath—already I know the answer.
I’m tired, Skyla .
“I can cut my finger,” I offer.
He shakes his head, picks up my finger and kisses it before replacing it into the safety of his own warm hand.
I’d split my entire body in half if I thought it would make Gage better.
He looks up at me with surprise, breaks out into a slow spreading smile.
I know you would, Skyla. That’s why I love you.
***
The next morning I’m beyond exhausted. I drive the Mustang to school—the Mustang that has a distinct Gage shaped dent in the fender from trying to snuff the life out of both Oliver boys at once. I thought maybe I could forgive the orange chunk of metal for being a part of the malfeasance that took place that night, especially since I know for darn sure it wasn’t the poor car’s fault, but truthfully I hate it just a little bit for being responsible even if it was on a rudimentary level.
Just looking out the windshield forces me to see that night take place like a transparency overlaid on top of the world. Logan and Gage with their statue white faces—the look of horror on Gage that I had seen once before by way of Marshall’s visionary kisses.
During second period it takes all of my effort to keep myself conscious.
“Ms. Messenger, are you here to acquire numeric knowledge or drift in a dream?” Marshall knocks on his desk to further rally my attention.
“Dream—I mean learn,” I say, straightening in my seat. I stay alert long enough to observe as he cascades a repetitive cloud of numbers and letters across the board in a nonsensical sequence, try to listen as he thunders through his explanation.
“Problems one through five,” he instructs the class before seating himself on the edge of his desk. Marshall watches me, his lingering gaze drifts to my right, and he closes his eyes.
Oh, Skyla , he says it full with disappointment.
I arch my brows at him before indulging in the inevitable and putting my head down onto the desk.
If he’s not elaborating I’m not biting—that’s the thing with Marshall, he always wants a bite. The more flesh to dig his teeth into, the better.
Long night?
I give a quick thumbs up. Actually that’s not why I’m tired. I didn’t stay out too late at the hospital, partially because Logan was waiting in the parking lot. I was up all night listening to Mia and Melissa lob insults at one another through our paper-thin walls. Usually I’m immune to their midnight murmurings, but once their lexicon became vitriolic—laced with
Similar Books
