When we got back to the apartment, the tension we left still hung around in the air. I could feel it the moment we walked off the elevator shaft and stepped into the dim apartment. His mother, whose name I learned was Helen, hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch where she had fallen. Or at least, that’s what it looked like.
She could have gotten up and wandered around, prodding, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Just the thought of this vindictive woman standing in the place he’s lived since she banished him from his home makes me sick to my stomach. Either that or I’m just really sick from all the alcohol I consumed that day. I’m going to go with the latter.
I really needed to lay down, and Grey must have read by mind, or was driven by his ultimate need to distance himself from the woman, because he stalked off to his bedroom without a word, even to me. And I followed him, after showing the unstable woman to David’s room, which I guess will serve as a guest room from now on. She tried to talk to me, to get to know me, but I kept my mouth shut and left the room when the fiery passion to slap her overtook me.
I think it was because Grey’s hostility and vexation toward her transferred to me and filled me with the exact same desires. Or we’ve grown so much that I feel everything he does and vice versa. And despite this horrendous fire sparking beneath my skin…it feels nice to know that we’re connected on a level I never knew we’d ever be able to unlock.
That night, he held me closer than ever before. Like he needed me to sink into his chest until I was an actual safety blanket, then he would actually be able to sleep. But I shifted and held him back, glad to be anything he needed until he felt safe enough to breathe without breaking into tears.
I hate the Grey I saw last night. He was in tears, defeated, and outraged; it all terrified me. I had never seen him so outraged before, so unfiltered and hell bent on destroying every single item his bloody hands could get a hold of. One look in those eyes that have seen so much—too much for his soul to come out unscathed—and I saw it.
I saw him, empty-handed, the look of fear and confusion as he watched the ambulances rush to his house. I saw him crying for his mother to let him back in, to forgive him, to give him another chance to be a good boy. But she’s yelling at him and telling him to leave before he could hurt anyone else. And I break the same way he did that day.
I want to go back in time. I want to fly out to his home state. I want to run into his arms. I want to tell him everything’s going okay. I want him to trust a thirteen year old. And I want to take him in and show my mother that not all monsters come out of the womb with claws and scars.
I want to show her that he messed up like all humans do. And that he was somewhat innocent before his wretched mother sent him out on his ass. I want, so desperately, to tell her that all monsters are human. And with humanity comes mistakes and compassion and demons and a frail balance between being human and a beast, and that, if tipped with an unfavored hand, the beast side can tip overboard. But that doesn’t immediately mean he or she can’t be saved.
It doesn’t mean Grey can’t be saved.
And I plan on saving him. No matter what it takes.
I am snapped out of my deep thoughts when my ringtone pierces the air. I borrowed Grey’s car to get what I needed at the dorms. The snow picked up around one this morning, and I wanted to go and come back before he woke up and even noticed I was gone.
Guess I wasn’t as stealthy as I hoped.
“Where are you?” he asks. It isn’t a bark, but it isn’t exactly warming.
“I left to pick up some clothes from the dorm,” I explain. “I’m sorry, I took your car. But I left you a note on your bedside table.”
“I know, I saw it.” He freezes, and I know his words before he even forms the thought. “Just hurry back. She’s up.”
“How do you know?” I crack a smile. Not at his expense, though, but because he sounds nervous and I can imagine the angry pout a child would make. I can only imagine his offspring making the same face. Hard-headed like their father…
“Liv?” he questions; I can almost see his frown. “Where’d you go just now?”
My stomach clenches, and I take a deep breath, hopefully inaudible to him.
I grip the steering wheel. “Nowhere. Listen, I’m almost there. About five minutes away.” I scan the almost deserted roads and shrug. “Maybe less.” And then the car skids the tiniest bit and nearly halts from the thick snow. “Maybe more…I won’t be long, I promise.”
He groans, and I hear the ruffling of sheets; I barely hold back a laugh, and there’s a slight pause. In my mind, his lips quirk upward at my laugh, and I squeeze the leather and feel my heart skip a beat. And we haven’t even spoken a word.
I am seriously loving how well we’re communicating, even given our recent obstacles. It’s as if every hurdle in our way is a battle that, when fought together, draws us closer in the race toward bliss. But as long as my hands are locked with his and we feed off each other’s energy and keep moving ahead, I know we’ll finally make it to the end.
“Just hurry up, okay?” I hear the almost silent plea from that shattered sixteen-year-old boy, and I nod even though he can’t see me.
“I’ll be there shortly.”
I’ll be there always…
True to my word, I arrive at the apartment five minutes later. The moment I step into the apartment, I shiver, smiling at the warmth cupping my cheeks and whispering against my neck. I shove off my heavy coat, stick it on a hanger, and put it back in the closet near the elevator. After kicking off my thick boots, unwrapping my scarf, and taking off my hat, I walk further into the apartment.
Helen is watching TV in the weirdest way. Her posture stiff as a pencil, and her eyes are glued to a cooking show. Is she always this odd? I’m tempted to ask Grey if she’s always like this, but according to Grey, she’s completely mental, so I’m guessing she probably watched people getting tortured, cackled at the screams, and ate popcorn in his childhood memories.
“Back already?” Her strained but cheery voice makes me jump. She turns her head and bats her eyelashes at me. I notice the way her finger scrapes along her wrist. I notice a small glimpse of a dark circle wrapped around her frail, small skin, but she quickly pulls her blue long-sleeved blouse down and widens her smile.
“I made toast and coffee for you two, but Grey hasn’t come out, and you left…” Her sentence hangs in the air. I’m assuming she expects me to grapple onto it, but my man is waiting for me, and I still feel uncomfortable and slightly afraid of her.
“I had some things I had to do,” I offer her and tap the duffel bag’s strap for emphasis. She nods, still holding on to that strange, close-lipped smile. She seriously does look unhinged. “Well, I have to go and…yeah.” I clear my throat and duck down the hallway. I can feel her eyes tearing through my skin until I shut Grey’s door behind me.
“Finally.” I drop the duffel. Grey stands from the bed and walks over to me. As if shedding Helen’s peculiarity and her eyes watching me, I slump my shoulders and throw my arms around him. He tips my head back, bends down, and connects his warm lips with my cold ones. I quiver, and he sighs, as if I breathed life into his still body. He pulls back and whispers, gliding a finger down my lips, “Don’t leave me again.”
“I didn’t want to, but I had to get more stuff.” I pull back and bounce an eyebrow. “Unless you wanted me to lounge around in your clothes.”
He shrugs and gently strokes his fingertips along my forehead, pushing a wispy lock of hair out of my face. “I wouldn’t have minded at all.”
“You’re so silly.” I laugh and smile as he pecks my lips.
“Silly for you.” And then he kisses me deeply. I suck in a deep breath. He opens his mouth, and I breathe into him as if he is my lifeline. After a while, I lean my head on his rumpled black shirt and breathe him in. Dark chocolate and cigarettes. As always.
“She made toast and is watching the cooking channel like a zombie. Has she always been mad?”
He laughs, and I smile against his bouncing chest. “I told you she was nuts.” He stiffens at the mention of her, and I frown as I lean my chin on his chest and look up at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” He creases his eyebrows and cups my face, his thumb gliding over my huffed-out cheek.
“Like what?” I turn and gently kiss the indent between his thumb and his forefinger. He shivers for a second, and I smile. The effect I have on him…it’s endearing and greatly assuring.
He groans, and I frown; what’s wrong? “I have to shower. I couldn’t because of her just sitting there, ready to pounce down my throat.”
“Then go shower. I think I’ll take up her offer of breakfast.”
He laughs a dark laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she poisoned it.” I gulp and suck in my bottom lip. “Kidding, kidding…kind of.”
“Grey.” I smack his chest, and he laughs again and kisses me, shutting up my whining. After a few more kisses and reassurance that she did not put poison in anything she prepared, he leaves for the bathroom, and I walk into the kitchen.
She’s sitting at the island, beaming at me, as if she was waiting for me to come. Did she hear us in there? Or did she really poison something and wants to watch me die, in the first row? Or am I taking Grey’s words to heart? Probably the latter. Probably…
“So you and Grey are together,” she says more as a statement than a question.
I nod with a somewhat polite smile; it’ll be difficult being easy around her. “Yes,” I answer and stir two spoons of sugar into the coffee. I bring it to my lips and cautiously take a sip. I wait two beats before deciding I don’t feel my stomach burning from the inside out and take another sip.
Basing the non-poison factor on the other thing she has made, I take a bite of the toast, which is painfully good for my churning stomach. Hangovers are the worst. And this combination she’s prepared is weirdly helpful…Maybe she’s a witch that can foresee the future? Or I’m, again, taking Grey’s words to heart.
I nibble on the bread and take sips of the coffee that feels perfect sliding down my esophagus for a few minutes, her stare on me the entire time.
“How long?” she asks.
“Excuse me?” I frown and place the dirty dishes in the sink. I’ll wash them later. I turn back and face her wide, black eyes head-on. So that’s where he gets his eyes from…
“Together. How long have you two been together?”
I don’t know how to answer. Not because I have terrible memory, but because I honestly don’t know. Grey and I have been off and on—and complicated—for a long while, and it all blurs together. But if she means the actual day he decided I was good enough to be called his girlfriend, then two days after Thanksgiving.
And I tell her, and she smiles and nods, almost like a joyous robot.
“He always adored the holidays,” she says and sighs, swept off in a memory. “He would make his father and me play hide and seek while he stole cookies and ate them.” She laughs, and I can’t help but smile. That sounds like such a Grey thing to do.
“This one time, he set up cookies for Santa, and when his father began pretending to be him and started eating the cookies and milk I set up, Grey caught him and started beating him up for eating the cookies I worked all day to make, since he kept swiping some off every batch I made.”
A laugh escapes me, and I imagine a miniature Grey kneeling beside the tree, ready to pounce on Santa, a toy baseball bat in his chubby hands.
“That’s so cute,” I admit.
She nods, tearing up a little.
“I know, he was the cutest thing to ever exist,” she says. “Christmas was my favorite time of the year too. We would force him into a snowman sweater that matched ours and have our family picture taken.” She laughs and looks away, shaking her head. “He always had this little pout on his face, like he was going to beat us up like he did with ‘Santa.’” Her voice wavers, and she clears her throat.
“And now?” The accusation-fused words slip out of my mouth before I can help it. I grip the counter behind me, and she smiles sadly as she looks up at me.
“And now it’s plagued by that morning…” She trails off, her words hanging—clear as day—in the air. And, once again, I make no attempt to grab hold of it. I watch it fall back into the ground, and I watch as her face follows suit.
“Liv?” Grey’s voice sounds from the hallway, and I stand up straight.
“Coming.” I grab his plate of toast and coffee mug, breeze past his mother, and enter his room after him. Despite the sweet memories she’s conjured up and tried so casually to convince me that, once upon a time, she was a good mother, my view on her sadistic past toward the man I love hasn’t changed. It’ll take more than a glimpse of the once-delightful past to change how I perceive her to be—a monster.