Break Away (Away, Book 1) (18 page)

I gave her a small smile, not entirely sure
why her words made a hole in my chest and filled it with a terrible
bad feeling. There was something nagging at me deep down, something
that surrounded this whole people-falling-into-a-sudden-coma issue
with darkness. I knew to the core of my soul that all of this
wasn't as simple as it looked.

I glanced at Ian. He was looking down, his
sagged shoulders weighed down with the invisible heaviness of pain.
A sudden urge to get him out of whatever dim place he'd plunged
himself into shot through me. I didn't need any more comatose
people hovering in my life.

“I feel drained. I think I should go to
sleep,” I told him, expecting some reaction from his part.

He blinked and looked at me. “Yeah, sure.” He
pulled himself out of the stool and hugged Lola for the second time
in the night. “Thank you for everything. You truly are the
best.”

She hugged him back in a content sigh.
“Anything for my
bebé.
”

He walked out of the kitchen, and before I
would do the same, I surprised myself by wrapping my arms around
her in a quick embrace. “Thank you, Lola,” I whispered and followed
Ian in a flash.

I didn't know what surprised me more: Ian's
room filling half of the second floor, this humongous house not
having a guest room, or the fact that I had to sleep in the same
room as Ian. Even though there was enough space to run back and
forth and dance and do whatnot—the place was like a penthouse, the
only thing missing the kitchen—the idea didn't sit well in my
stomach.

I looked at the massive bed stretching beside
me and wondered who in the world needed so much space to sleep.
Unless you were Bigfoot or weighed more than four hundred pounds—or
planned to sleep with three people—the size of the bed was
completely over the top. The same as with the room.

I frowned. It almost seemed as if everything
in this house had been built to lead a secluded life—his parents on
one side of the house and Ian on the other, each one in their own
big, fancy furnished world, with no need to come out.

I spotted a black polished table next to one
of the glass walls displaying a clear, open view of the trees
located behind the house. A beautiful sight, but suffused with so
much loneliness that it gave my heart a little squeeze. I imagined
Ian having meals by himself at that table, contemplating a
landscape that must've lost its appeal over the years. Then I
imagined Lola bringing him a tray full of brownies and a glass of
milk and the image suddenly transformed, bathed in glow and warm
colors.

“Here,” Ian's voice brought me back from the
vision. “I found this for you.” He placed a folded blue shirt and
gray pants on the bed. “They'll be big on you but…you'll sleep
comfortable.”

I picked up the shirt and read the bold
letters that sat above the image of a cute-looking cupcake.
“Stud?”

He shrugged. “A birthday gift,” he offered as
an explanation. “I would've given you one of Cheryl's shirts but
she kills anyone
who touches her garments
.” He said
mockingly, as if he'd been quoting the unknown woman.

“Who's Cheryl?” I asked.

“Dad's girlfriend.”

By the tone of his voice, I could see the
relation between them was on shaky grounds. Not wanting to get into
personal stuff, I grabbed the pants and said, “Where's the
bathroom?”

“Through the closet,” he indicated, pointing
to a black sliding door made of the same sleek, polished material
as the table.

I closed the distance with the cool door,
watching my hesitant hand reflected on its glossy surface as it
pushed the sliding barrier to the side. My breath caught in my
throat. Spreading before me was the most amazing walk-in closet my
eyes had seen. The floor was covered with the softest ivory carpet,
calling to one's mind images of snow-coated fields and white furs.
Thick glass shelves filled the walls, reminding me of solid slabs
of ice in the harshest wintery night, and the hanging rods were
translucent, not metallic or woody as one would've expected.

A black and white bathroom sat at the end, a
blend of fine marble wrapping its entire architecture. The only
thing separating that mineral sanctuary from the carpeted
clothing-haven was a couple of thin, floor to ceiling glass doors.
An entirely see-through pair of doors.

I paused and turned to look at Ian.

“Yeah, yeah, don't worry. It's not like I
want to see you or anything.” He slid the closet door closed behind
me.

I let out a breath, took my shoes off and
kept on walking. I was about an arm's length of reaching one of the
glass doors, when the bathroom lights turned on.
Cool, automatic
lighting
. The marble floor was cool through my toe socks,
making me feel grateful for not having peeled them off of my feet
before. I stepped onto a fluffy bathmat, next to a glass-enclosed
shower, and shed all of my clothes, trading them for the blue
“STUD” shirt and pants.

Since Ian was taller than me, his clothes
turned me into a drooping moving thing. I had to roll up the
waistband of the pants three times until there wasn't any more
fabric swiping the floor underneath my feet. Long as the shirt was,
I really didn't need the pants. But Ian was my sister's boyfriend
and putting my thighs on display—even if a little—while being alone
in his room screamed wrong all over.

I did a side knot on the shirt to shorten the
length, picked up my clothes from the floor and walked outside. Ian
was dropping a folded quilt and sheet over the armrest of the couch
when he heard me coming out and looked at me. As if a switch had
been flipped, his eyes changed. For a fleeting, tiny moment, a
possessive look flashed across his face, deep and raw, like an
animal when facing its mate. A wave of something I couldn't quite
put my finger on, or maybe just didn't want to, swept through me.
Then, as if he'd recognized something in my eyes, warmth softened
his chiseled features.

I let out a small breath I hadn't known I'd
been holding and asked, “Where should I put these?” I waved my head
to the clothes in my arms.

He gave a slight shake of his head, as if
shaking himself out of a thought, which wouldn't have been obvious
if I hadn't been looking at him so intently, and said, “You'll
sleep in the bed, so you can leave them on the nightstand.”

“Where are you going to sleep?” I knew the
answer already but asked the question anyway. I was feeling out of
my orbit, therefore my actions and thoughts were kind
of...off-base.

“I'll take the couch,” he shrugged. “I'm used
to it anyway.”

“You don't sleep in your bed?” I asked before
I could stop the words.

See? Completely out of my orbit. I usually
didn't care if he slept in his bed or not. I didn't care about Ian.
Period.

As if he'd been thinking the same thing, he
paused for several heartbeats. After the surprise dimmed down a bit
and he realized the circumstances surrounding us weren't entirely
normal—hence, why we were acting so bizarrely—he stepped out of
silence and carried on with the odd interaction we'd embarked on.
“The bed is way too big to sleep in it. The couch is…warmer in some
way.”

I placed my clothes on the nightstand and sat
down on the bed. So. He didn't like the humongous cradle that was
his bed. I wondered what else he didn't like about this house.
“Everything in here is pretty big,” I said in an attempt to agree
with him.

He smiled softly. “It is. And there's not
enough, I don't know, warmth to fill the
bigness,
” he said,
crossing his arms over his chest while leaning against the back of
the couch.

I looked at the vast space spreading between
us. “You don't…I mean, don't you get along with your dad or his
girlfriend?”

He looked down between his feet, as if
wanting to avoid my eyes. “Dad travels a lot, and whenever he's
around he spends his time in his room with Cheryl. I barely see
him,” he said with a humorless laugh. “Cheryl, on the other side,
loves shopping and spending money. My sole interaction with her
reduces itself to thank-yous when she buys me stuff.” He pointed to
those battered, fancy boots of his, “And to 'I haven't seen it'
whenever she loses her cell phone—which is eighty percent of the
time. Her head is definitely somewhere else,” he added, muttering
to himself.

I frowned. “But if she buys you stuff…she
can't be that bad.”

“Yeah, I bet that's how it looks like from
the other side of the field,” he said with a shake of his head. “I
don't want to sound like a mushy character from a sappy drama movie
but,” he walked up to the bed and sat down several inches away from
me, enough for both of us to feel comfortable, “Sometimes a
physical
sign
of affection is better than material stuff,
better than gifts.”

I pulled up my legs and crossed them in front
of me. Looking at his disheartened profile, I said, “And you have
too much material stuff already.” Not exactly what I'd planned to
say but meaningful nonetheless.

The corners of his mouth twitched, drawing a
soft smile on his lips. He shifted his legs on the bed and turned
to look at me. “I know. That's why I like your grandma so much. She
always has her arms wide open for anyone. She makes you feel good,
like you're at home.” He pondered, lost in his thoughts while
looking at his hands.

I remembered the look on his face after Gran
had kissed him on the cheek after thanking him for taking care of
me. I'd been right back then. His life lacked warmth, and his
father's marriage with Cheryl hadn't brought him any happiness.

Ian plucked himself out from the wagon his
mind had boarded and stared at me. “See?” he said, shrugging his
shoulder, “That's why I like to hang around your grandma's house so
much. It's cozy and welcoming.”

I nodded. “I love the Lady.”

“The Lady?”

I nodded once more, not getting the reason
behind his confusion. And then, “Oh,” I realized. Of course, he
didn't know who the Lady was. “Gran's house. I call Gran's house
the Lady—because of its fairytale looks. I don't know…it makes me
think of a lady with all the flowers around and all.”

He narrowed his green eyes in thought. “I
guess you're right. Now that you're mentioning it…she does look
like one. Funny.”

“Yeah,” I said, picturing the Lady with her
fish-scale pattern and guardian-like trees next to her. “What about
Lola?” I suddenly remembered. “How long has she been here?”

A grin tugged at his lips. “For as long as I
can remember. She's been the only constant thing in my life. I
don't know what I would do without her.”

“She's awesome.” I smiled.

“She certainly is,” he said and chuckled, as
if a memory had flapped its wings in his mind. “You know, you left
a hell of a good impression on her with that vegetarian cooking
talk. She likes you a lot.”

“Well, I like her a lot, too. I really meant
the thing I told her about giving her some recipes.”

“She'll be ecstatic if you do it. I've never
seen anyone who likes cooking as much as she does—and anyone who
cooks better than she does.”

“That's because you haven't tasted my
lip-smacking vegetarian dishes.” The joke blurted out of my mouth
before I had time to stop it.

“Yeah?” Ian stared at me with new
intensity.

I averted my gaze from his deep eyes and
looked at the far-flung nightstand on the other side of the bed. “I
mean, I might not like to cook as much as Lola, but I can defend
myself in a kitchen pretty well.”

“Do you cook in those toe socks, too? Because
it might be worth watching,” he said with his voice full of
laughter.

I turned around, confused at the swerve of
the conversation, and locked my eyes with his.

“Your toe socks?” he explained, glancing at
my feet for the glimpse of a second.

I looked down and found the rainbow striped
socks that swallowed my feet. A rush of awkwardness warmed my face.
Great, I looked like the modern, ghetto version of Rainbow Brite.
Why did Ian keep embarrassing me in my sleeping clothes? Well, not
mine exactly this time, but I was the one wearing them.

“Hey, I like them. They’re definitely
eye-catching. Not to mention cheery.” He smiled. “I bet a
leprechaun is already on his way with a pot of gold.”

I held back a smile.

“Just please, tell him not to go to the
couch. I may have a heart attack if he does. They're way too
creepy.”

“
Creepy?
”

“Have you seen Leprechaun, the movie? That's
more like it.”

“I was thinking more about Lucky, as in Lucky
Charms, the cereal.”

“The real ones are treacherous and have
razor-sharp teeth, Dafne. There's nothing sweet about those
creatures.”

I cracked a laugh, unable to bear the
contained laughter in my throat anymore. “Of all possible scary
things, leprechauns are the ones that fright you? I can't believe
it.”

“They eat human flesh, not Brussels sprouts,”
he said and leaned forward. “To me, that's enough to scare the hell
out of me.”

I bent forward, closing the distance between
us. “What about sharks or lions? You know…
real
stuff.” I
ended in a whisper.

“Who says leprechauns aren't real?” He leaned
a bit closer.

I pulled up my eyebrow in a
you-can't-be-serious way.

“Don't disregard things that sound fictitious
just because you haven't actually seen them with your own
eyes.”

I drew my face a few inches away from his, my
body on a forty-five degree angle in bed. “Are you telling me that
you believe in a kid-size old man clad in green who stores his
coins in a hidden pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?”

He pressed his hand to the bed so he could
lean closer to me. “Being open-minded is a gift every human should
have.”