The Bringer

Page 19

“James, why aren’t you and Sara together like a couple?” I blurt out. I honestly have no idea where I’m going with this line of questioning.
He sits up, his hand moving from mine. “What makes you ask that?”
Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I say, “Just when I was talking to Neil earlier he said that he thought you two, I mean you and Sara, should be together as a couple, and I thought well . . . maybe he was right.”
He shakes his head. “Sara’s my friend – well she’s skirting on pretty thin ice at the moment, but still, I’d never see her as anything more.”
“But she’s very beautiful and –”
“I’m not interested in Sara,” he cuts me off, his insistent tone forcing me to turn to him. His serious eyes roam my face and he leans closer to me. He’s so close I can feel his hot breath on my skin. And for a moment I’m transcendent. Then his voice, the only sound in this still night, says, “I’ll never be interested in Sara because I’m only interested in you.”
Then he leans forward and kisses me and nothing else matters.
His lips touch mine, so gently at first, but then very quickly the kiss intensifies. His stubble grazes against my face sending shivers rippling through me, the heady scent of his aftershave intoxicating me. This is beyond amazing, so beyond anything I could have ever dreamt up. All I feel is complete and utter euphoria. Then like a bolt out of the blue, I suddenly get a sense of familiarity. Like I’ve done this before. With him. Which is obviously impossible. It must be all my dreaming and wishing that’s caused a sense of déjà vu.
Then, without warning, James breaks away leaving me cold. He moves back from me breathing heavily. My lips are throbbing and I’m so charged, so heated, I can’t form words.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, breathing hard.
And just like that the atmosphere has disintegrated, the happiness of the moment snatched away from me.
“You’re sorry you kissed me?” My voice sounds unnaturally high.
“No! Well yes – I mean no. I mean – I don’t know what I mean.” He shakes his head, and glances up at me through his lashes. “I wasn’t sure if you would want me to . . . I thought maybe you might but –”
“Did my reaction not tell you I did?”
“Yeah I guess so . . . I just –”
“You just?”
He brings his knee up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his leg and rests his chin on it. “Look, Lucyna, I know you said the other day that you still love your ex, and I also know I was the one who just kissed you – but I really don’t want to come in the middle of something, because when we spoke it sounded like you had unfinished business with your – your ex, and well if we started something and then you decided to get back with him then –” He shrugs, eyes away from me.
Oh no.
I didn’t even consider how he would interpret my words. How could I be so stupid? How on earth am I going to get around this?
Of course I want to tell him the truth. I want to tell him he is the guy, that he is the only reason I feel love, the only guy that I ever have – and ever will love. But how do I manage that without telling him the rest, without telling him I’ve lied about everything.
I look down at my hands as though they can somehow help me, whilst desperately trying to search for the right words. “James, I –”
But he cuts me off before I can even make an attempt. “No, it’s fine, Lucyna. You don’t need to say anything.” He tries to get up but struggles, so in the end I help him to his feet.
He stands before me, affliction in his dark, brooding eyes. “Seriously, I get it. It’s fine. And it doesn’t change anything about you living here, honestly. Look, I’m tired, I’m gonna go to bed,” he adds, before walking away. “Don’t worry about the rest of the mess. I’ll sort it in the morning.”
I stare after him, watching as the light at the end of the tunnel dims, flickers, then goes out completely, wondering just exactly how I went from complete euphoria to complete misery in the space of five minutes.
Chapter 11
All The Time In The World
Two minutes later, and I’m still stood here in the garden on the same spot where James left me, still feeling the wake of his departure, still trying to fathom what just actually happened.
It’s at times like these when I see why we Bringers aren’t supposed to feel. There would be no way we would cope with death in the manner we have to when feelings are so complex, so intense, so imperious . . . so raw.
Everything insistent. Everything urgent.
Emotions discharge like rockets, change course and then change again within a matter of seconds and, honestly, I struggle to keep up. My head feels like its spinning on my shoulders.
The only thing I can register right now, which thankfully is the most important thing, is that James has feelings for me. And these are not just feelings of friendship or because I saved his life, but they are those kinds of feelings, the feelings I have for him.
Actual, real, one hundred percent feelings. For me.
My whole body is tingling in the knowledge and I would be jumping up and down on the spot with elation if it wasn’t for the fact that things aren’t exactly turning out as I would like.
Because James thinks I love someone else, this being purely down to my idiotic way of trying to subtly tell him that I’m in love him.
It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragically ironic for me.
‘He gets it,’ he said. I wanted tell him that he really doesn’t get it, that he’s so far from getting it he may as well be on a different continent. I wanted to tell him that I have spent the last four weeks dreaming that he would feel this way about me, dreaming that he would kiss me.
But I didn’t because I can’t.
I put fingers to my lips to the place where I can still feel his kiss.
I have to correct my mistake in some way. I don’t know exactly how or what I’m going to say to him, but I’m sure the right words will come when I need them to. I’m so adept at lying now and, really, what’s another one to add to my ever-growing collection.
Before I know it I’m stood outside his bedroom door. The lights are out in his room and all is quiet. Nerves ripple through me.
I lift my hand to knock on his door. Nerves withdraw my hand. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. I take a step back.
No, I’ve come too far, given up to much, to just chicken out, especially when I’m so close to having my dream, so close to having him.
I lift my hand and quickly knock on the door before I can change my mind.
“Come in,” James’s deep voice comes from the other side.
I push the door open. He’s sat up in bed, duvet covering his legs, his chest bare, back resting against the headboard, the room now aglow with the light emitting from the lamp on his bedside table.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
He pushes his fingers through his hair. “Hey.”
I close the door behind me, and linger there. I never felt so nervous since, well . . . since I started feeling. I clasp my hands together and stare at the wooden floor that sits cold beneath my bare feet.
It’s so silent in the room, neither of us speaking, and I know I should be the one to speak, but I can’t find my voice. Then, oddly, I realise this is the first time I’ve been in his bedroom since I changed form.
“Are you okay?” His warm voice caresses me.
I shake my head and glance up meeting his dark eyes. “No, not really.” I wrap my arms around myself. “Are you?”
“Nope.” His lips curve ever so slightly. “Come here.” He pats the space on the bed beside him.
Nervously I go and sit down.
“I’m sorry if I’ve complicated things between us,” he says regretfully.
My eyes flick up at him. “You haven’t complicated things. If anything, I have.”
He shakes his head ruefully. “No, you haven’t. I knew how things stood with you and your ex and I shouldn’t have kissed you. But I just couldn’t help myself – and, honestly, I’ve been really trying not to act on how I feel – but it’s just tonight you looked so . . .” He sighs and rests his head back against the headboard. “And then when you were talking to Neil, I guess I . . .” He glances over at me, his expression forlorn. “Look, Lucyna, I like you –” He rubs his hand over his face. “– a lot.”
He likes me. A lot. Maybe it’s not exactly the three words I want him to say but it’s a start. A very good start.
“But –” he adds, and my theoretical heart sinks. He’s looking anywhere now, but at me.
I take hold of his hand. He glances at me, eyes a mosaic of emotions and I hold his gaze.
“You’ve got it all wrong, James. I don’t love my ex in that way. I love him purely platonically because he meant something to me once, but I don’t feel about him anymore – in the way I feel for you.” Where is this stuff coming from? Well honestly I don’t care as long as it works. “James, I like – “love” – you too. A lot. And I’m never going to get back with my ex. I’m only interested in you. I want to be with you.”
His fingers curl around my hand and for a moment we just sit eyes locked together, neither of us speaking.
“Okay,” he finally says. “So what now?”
And that’s when I know my words have worked. I twist my lips together suppressing the enormous smile I feel. “Well I was kind of hoping you’d kiss me again.”
He grins, reaches over and plunges his fingers deep into my hair, pulling my face to his. He kisses me, so intensely, so passionately, that my whole body trembles.
When he finally releases me, I feel light, like I’m floating on air.
He smiles at me and I smile back. Then he runs his fingers between mine, gripping hold of my hand again, bringing it to his mouth, pressing it to his lips, resting our entwined hands against his bare chest.
I glance down at our hands, my eyes lingering on his chest. When I drag my eyes back up to his face, his are still on mine.
“Do you wanna stay in here with me tonight?” he suggests, and I’m assuming it’s the look on my face that prompts him to add, “No funny business, I promise. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He looks at me seriously but he’s unable to hide the twinkle in his eye.
I quickly consider my options. A night alone in my room wiling away the hours, or a night in here with James?
Hmm, let me think . . .
“Sure,” I say.
He grins sheepishly, his face suddenly colouring. “Er . . . I’m kinda naked under here. You mind passing me those boxers?” He points to a pair of black boxer shorts hanging over the edge of his laundry basket.
My face instantly flames. “Of course.”
I retrieve them for him and look away, giving him some privacy whilst he struggles to get them on under the duvet; assumedly his pot is causing him problems. I’d offer to help but it really doesn’t seem appropriate.