The Bringer

“I don’t know.” I shake my head, frustrated. “Maybe. Maybe I’ve had this conversation before or I’ve seen someone do that, or – oh I don’t know – argh!” I rap my knuckles furiously on my head.



“Hey,” he says soothingly, “don’t try and force it. It’ll come if it’s meant too.” He rubs my arm and I suddenly feel really irritated.



“It’s easy for you to say!” I snap, instantly regretting my outburst when I see the look of sadness on his face.



What is going on with me today? Now I’m picking a fight with the only friend I have.



“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”



“It’s okay,” he replies kindly.



I flop back against my pillows. My head feels like it’s going to explode with frustration. I close my eyes.



“You should probably tell Dr Woods what happened,” he says tentatively, in a soft voice.



“I will.” I sigh. “Not that there’s really anything to tell him but I’ll mention it tomorrow.”



We lapse into silence. I feel Fen shuffle on the bed and open up my eyes to see that he’s turned away from me and is staring out the window.



I sit up and cross my legs in front of me. “So you were a boy scout, then?” I ask, wanting to go back to how we were before I ruined it.



He glances sideways at me, looking puzzled, but then his face suddenly clicks into understanding. “Only the Joey’s. Didn’t make it further than that. Discovered a surfboard, you see.”



“Ah.” I nod. “Shame, I bet you looked real cute in your little uniform.” I laugh and tug on his sleeve.



“I look better in my board shorts,” he grins cheekily and catches hold of my retreating arm.



My eyes are instinctively pulled to his and something passes between us. The air thickens. Everything seems heightened. I feel a pull to him I’ve never felt before and I’m lost for words. All I can do now is breathe. The smile drops from his face and we hold eye contact for several seconds before I finally break it. He releases his hold on my arm but I can still feel his touch there.



He clears his throat. “So, anyway, enough of you trying to distract me from the original convo.” He turns his body around to face me, bending his left leg up onto the bed to rest it lightly against mine. “Tell me what this elusive name is?”



But now I’m finding it really hard to concentrate because all I’m aware of his that his leg is touching mine, and how he’s so close I can smell his aftershave entwined with the scent of the beach. He smells safe and I finally realise exactly just what it is that’s going on with me.



I meet his steady gaze and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I take a deep breath and concentrate on my words. “I was thinking, maybe . . . Lucy?” I bite down on my lower lip, waiting for his approval.



He tilts his head to the side and regards me for moment. My face instantly heats under his gaze. “I like it.” He nods. “Lucy. Yeah, it suits you.”



“You think so?” I say, feeling secretly pleased.



“Yup, I think it’s perfect.” He smiles and I realise that I’m actually struggling to breathe steadily.



I wonder if he can tell? Surely he can. I look down at my hands.



There is a silence for a moment between us. He’s the first to break it. “I think you’re doing great, you know.” I look up at his words. His face is candid, sincere. “Better than I ever would. Picking a name is a real step in the right direction.”



I blow out a breath, suddenly feeling aggrieved and very frustrated with myself. Hell, if picking a name is a step in the right direction, then that makes me just about the most tragic person in the world.



“You know what I think?” I say, rattled. “I think I’m tragic, Fen. I mean, look at me,” I sweep my hands down myself, “I have absolutely no clue who I am and I don’t know if I ever will. I live in a hospital because I don’t know where my home is. I’m like some old lady that’s lost her way –” My eyes are hot with tears. What the hell is wrong with me? And it’s like now I’ve started I can’t seem to stop, and on I ramble, “ – and I can’t stay here forever and I don’t know where I’m gonna go, what I’m gonna do, and the thought scares the hell out of me, and the best I’m getting is what might not even be a teeny tiny glimpse of a memory. Great! Actually, no, its crap and I’m a freak! And I’m all alone in this! I have no one! Absolutely no one!” I pause, breathing heavily. My face instantly flames with embarrassment at my outburst. I daren’t look at him. “I’m so sorry,” I utter, pressing my fingers under my eyes to catch the falling tears.



“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. And you’re most definitely not a freak.” I glance up at him through my lashes. His face is turned away from me and he’s staring out the window. I can’t make out his expression. “And you’re wrong, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice deep, “you haven’t got no one,” he turns his head back to look at me and I’m taken aback by the intensity of his gaze, “you’ve got me.”



And I suddenly feel very nervous. He lifts his hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. My heart starts beating like a jackhammer. I’m sure he must be able to hear it. He runs his fingertips down my jaw, his eyes never leaving mine, then he takes my face in his hands, leans forward and kisses me.



And it’s good. Really good.



He kisses me gently, his tongue touching mine ever so slightly. He tastes of mint. He runs his fingers into my hair and I start to lose myself in him. In the kiss. My body floods with feelings for him I hadn’t even realised I had until now. I want this so much . . .



Then, without warning, I’m hit with a sharp stab of guilt, right smack bang in my chest. It literally knocks the wind out of me.



I pull away and push him from me, so hard he nearly falls off the bed.



Fen looks as surprised as I feel. I don’t even know why I just did that. All I do know is that my face is prickling with guilt and I feel like I’ve just betrayed someone by kissing him, by feeling this way about him.



“I’m sorry,” I say, breathless, my heart pounding, “I just –”I shake my head at a loss for words.



“Don’t be sorry, it’s me who should be sorry,” he says, voice quickly switching to detached, eyes avoiding mine. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s far too soon for you – for anything like that. I’m sorry.” He stands up abruptly and walks over to the window, resting his arm up against the frame.



I stare at his back, feeling at a loss. What is wrong with me? I have this wonderful guy here who likes me and I like him, really like him, yet I push him away the minute he gets close. Maybe I’m right, maybe I am a freak



“I’m sorry, Fen,” I say in a quiet voice. “I don’t know what happened. I really wanted you to kiss me but . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I shake my head, despairingly.



He turns and rests his back up against the window, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at me and his tense features soften. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he says gently, “you’ve been through a lot. It’s understandable.” He unfolds his arms and pushes his hands into his jeans pockets. “I should go, though.” He jerks his head in the direction of the door. “If I’m late for dinner, my mum’ll kill me.” He smiles but I can tell it’s forced.



I feel a shot of dismay. I don’t want him to leave, not like this, but it’s not like I can ask him to stay after what I’ve just done, and I bet he can’t wait to get away from me anyway, and I don’t blame him.



“Yeah, of course,” I say, trying to sound light, twisting my hands in my lap. “And thanks – for being so understanding.” I force a weak smile.



He shrugs lightly and pulls his hands from his pockets. “Bye, then,” he says, holds his hand up in a half wave and heads for the door.



I stare at his retreating back suddenly feeling like I’m drowning. What if he never comes back? What if I never see him again? I really don’t want him to go. So say something for God’s sake! Don’t just let him leave thinking you don’t want him.



“Fen, wait!” I jump up off the bed.



He stops and turns back, eyes full of surprise. I walk toward him, my pulse quickening, my whole body trembling. I’m not really sure what I’m going to say, I’m just hoping something will come, fast.



I lift my hand up to his face and stroke his smooth olive skin with my fingers. He really is gorgeous and he wants me. Happiness bubbles up inside me and I somehow manage to keep the smile from my face.



“You’re wrong, you know,” I say tenderly.



His eyes flicker. “About?”



“That it’s too soon,” I trace my finger over his beautiful mouth, “because it’s not.”



A smile sneaks onto his lips. “You sure?”



“Very.”



He takes hold of my hand and kisses it, then slides his arm around my waist and pulls me to him.



And this time when he kisses me I don’t push him away.



It’s deep and passionate. My head tingles with anticipation. I slide my arms around his neck. His hand trails down my back, sending electric sparks shooting through my stomach, heading straight toward my heart.



“Minha linda menina,” he murmurs, his lips grazing against mine.



I move back to scrutinise him. “What does that mean?”



He smiles shyly. “My beautiful girl.”



I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I lean forward and kiss him again.



When we finally break away, he slides his arms around me, pulling me close to him. I rest my head against his chest, breathing him in, listening to his beating heart. I feel safe. Happy. And I shove that horrible prickling sense of guilt away that’s threatening to engulf me. I don’t understand it and I certainly don’t want it.



After a minute, he loosens an arm from around me and he lifts it to look at his watch. He sighs heavily. “I’m really gonna have to go this time,” he says looking down at me regretfully. “Tables booked for eight.”



I look at his watch. Seven forty-five it says. “Hmm, you better get a move on,” I say and release myself from him.



He catches hold of my waist and pulls me back. “I don’t want to go.”



I glance up at his face. “I don’t want you to go either.”



He holds my chin with his thumb and forefinger and gazes down at me with his beautiful blue eyes. God, I really could get lost in them, in him.



“Até amanhã,” he says. I look at him quizzically. “Until tomorrow,” he explains.



“Ahh . . . will you teach me some Portuguese – amanhã?” I say, my eyebrow raised as I try to mirror his beautiful accent. It doesn’t come off so well.



He laughs. “Sure.” He presses his lips to my forehead with an air of finality and releases his hold on me.