Living Violet (18 page)
“I take you straight to hospital.”
“Nadine!”
“Go on.” She nudged her head in the direction of the dance floor. “Make his day.”
I slipped from the booth and steered through the crowd of sweaty dancers. It only took a moment to find him. He stood in a corner, sandwiched between two women who didn't mind sharing. Applying Nadine's teachings, I steadied my focus, barely blinking, and in no way faltering until he looked at me. In moments, his head turned in my direction. He pulled away from his company, ignoring the pleas and insistent tugs on his shirt.
I didn't move, nor did I have any intention of going to him. I simply withstood the fire in his eyes and predaceous method of his strideâa creature of carnal intent. In that instant, I was the only woman alive, the only one who mattered. Heads turned, envious eyes sized me up, lips tightened and curled, and I loved it.
When he stopped in front of me, I placed a finger over his lips before he could say anything stupid to kill the mood. I threw caution to the wind. Mom's horror stories and my own common sense flew right out the window. Trapping his head in my hands, I pulled him down and kissed him.
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The next thing I remembered was lying on Caleb's lap, while Nadine fanned my face with a napkin. It took a moment to absorb my surroundings. I was back at our booth with a pounding headache that kept in time with the music.
“Oh thank God, she's coming around. Oh good, very good.” Nadine stammered while checking my pulse. “It's my fault. I talked her into it. If anything happened to you, Iâ”
“It's all right,” I said, reaching up to rub my face. “I was stupid enough to go through with it. Peer pressure: it can happen to anyone.”
Cradling me in his arms, Caleb observed me with a pained expression, marking each of my movements as a grand event. “Sam, are you okay? How are you feeling?”
After a few blinks, I no longer saw three of Caleb. “I'm fine. What happened?”
“You passed out on the dance floor,” he said. “You scared me to death.”
“Really? How long was I out?”
“Five minutes,” Nadine answered.
My body stiffened as the truth of the situation sunk in. “Am I going to have a heart attack?”
He ran his fingers through my hair. “No. I didn't take much.”
I sat up straight. “What? You fed from me?”
He looked flustered trying to find the right words. “I lost control for a second andâ”
I pushed away from him. “What, Caleb? How much did you take?”
Nadine scooted from the booth. “Uh, I leave you to talk. I come back with orange juice. That should help.”
When she left the table, I asked again, “How much did you take?”
“Not much. Sam, I'm so sorry.”
“You should be sorry. There I was, trying to open up to you, and your pet tries to eat me.”
His warm hand stroked my cheek. “I appreciate the effort. I just need a bit more time, that's all.”
“Take all the time you want because it ain't happening again.”
“You say that now, but give it time. I'll have to pull you off me,” he said, all smug and sure of himself.
“Dream big, Cake Boy. Reach for the stars.”
Smiling, he drew me closer. “Come on, lie back down.”
“I'm fine, really.”
Pulling me down, he held me tight in his arms. “Well, I'm not. So please, humor me.”
20
I
climbed the walls with that nail-biting, floor-pacing, methadone-clinic restlessness.
climbed the walls with that nail-biting, floor-pacing, methadone-clinic restlessness.
I hadn't heard one word from Caleb in two days. He didn't return my calls or answer his phone. He barely looked at me at work, and when he did, it was only to ask me for Robbie's phone number. Granted, Robbie was the one to call when organizing a coup or partaking in espionage; however, what Caleb wanted with him remained a mysteryâa mystery that he had no intention of sharing.
Sneaking a kiss on the neck, he purred, “All will be revealed in due time. It'll take a few days to get everything straight. I'll tell you then.”
Caleb's motives came into question yet again. Did he hang out with me out of gratitude? Did he see me as a challenge or something safe to be around? Maybe I had been too hard on him for feeding on me and he wanted to give me space. It's not like I didn't have a right to be upset.
I'd never had a hangover, but if it was anything like what I felt the day after our club adventure, then I'd stick to a simple concussion. Caleb assured me that he didn't take enough energy to cause harm, but no one told me about the disorientation that occurred while recuperating. Not to mention the obscure sense of loss. Caleb may have taken a drop, but I felt its absence, like a fading dream, a name on the tip of the tongue.
In either case, Caleb couldn't get away without a proper scolding only heard from drunken sailors with Tourette's syndrome. Despite the lethargy and the morning-after regret, there was an element of intimacy about it. A part of my life resided in him, sustaining him, bringing him joy. But that wasn't enough to dismiss the gross factor.
To keep occupied, I spent the day cleaning and reading. I made it halfway through the book for the monthly meeting, when Katy Perry's “ET” killed all tranquility. Reaching for my bag, I fished out my cell, then yelled, “Oh, so you know how to use a phone now?”
“The buttons are tricky, but I think I'm getting the hang of it.” Caleb laughed. “I told you I was working on something.”
“Yeah, you just left out what that something was.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I don't like surprises.”
“You'll like this one. Can you come over?” he asked.
I stared at the phone as if it bit me. “Now?”
“If you're free.”
His nerve knew no bounds. I put the phone back to my ear and unleashed the pent-up anger. “You expect me to drop everything I'm doing just to see you?”
“It would be nice,” he crooned, sounding amused at my frustration.
“You must've forgotten who you're talking to. I don't jump through hoops for a guy. And I'm not at your beck and call.”
“I know. I'll make it worth your while,” he enticed, and I wondered why he sounded better on the phone than in person.
“I'm not sure that I wanna go. What if I have a date?”
“Is that where you're going now?” His tone dripped with accusation.
“What?”
“I heard your car start. Are you meeting up with someone?”
I looked around and took in the new setting. There I was in pajama shorts and flip-flops inside my car with keys in the ignition. The last thing I remembered was sitting on my bed. I had never encountered a mental blackout like that before, and I wondered if Capone's mojo could travel through phone waves.
“Hello? Sam?”
I put the phone back to my ear. “Yeah?”
“I'll see you in twenty minutes.” He ended the call.
I banged my head against the steering wheel. As Mom would say, “Ignorance was to not know, and stupidity was to not know and not care.”
Pulling out of the driveway while still in my pajamas, I came to the conclusion that I was grade-A certified stupid for Caleb. I knew it, Caleb knew it. The entire eastern seaboard knew it. This was so unfair.
I could now sympathize with drug addicts. They understood the illness, fully aware that what they crave would probably kill them, and yet they go back for more.
For most addictions, the need accumulated through an ongoing course of events. Deep-seated tragedies and childhood trauma were common factors. The behavior was inexcusable, but the addict eagerly supplied excuses nonetheless, either out of self-pity or a way to pass blame to someone else.
My defense was blatantly simple: It was all Caleb's fault.
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When I got to Caleb's house, he met me at the curb, jumping up and down with no shoes on. It was good to know that I wasn't alone in my insanity. I barely shut off the car before he opened the door and pulled me out, then herded me inside the house.
“What was so important that you haâ” I stopped at the sight of his living room. CDs were scattered everywhere with state-of-the-art music equipment, wires, cables, crates of albums, and a turntable in the corner.
“What's all this?” I asked.
Sweeping a hand across the open space, he said, “This is my surprise.”
“What? That you need a maid?”
“No. I think I found something stimulating. Music.”
“Okay.” I struggled to follow the logic.
“I talked to Robbie and he set me up with the deejay that played at his party. We've been talking for the past few daysâhe's been showing me the ropes.”
“Wait, back it up. You want to be a deejay, like on the radio?”
“No, a club deejay. I've always loved music, and I have a wide collection that no one has. Mark, the deejay at the party, came by and lost his mind at all the albums I have. Half this stuff you can't find in the U.S. I let him borrow some in exchange for coaching. I even got a turntable to practice on. Right now I'm organizing a set.”
“Do you even know how to mix?”
“I dabbled in it in high school, but I never thought it would come to anything. But I'm learning. Give it time. Right now I'm compiling a playlist for Mark. He knows a promoter in D.C. that's looking for some new talent.”
“That's great.”
“Nothing's set in stone. I still need to hear back from Mark, but I'm pretty excited. And Robbie wants me to mix at his next party.”
“What party?”
“He's having a birthday bash in two weeks, and he wants me to deejay.”
“Why didn't I hear about a party?” And when did he start calling him Robbie?
Caleb patted my shoulder in sympathy. “I guess you're out of the loop.”
“That's it; I'm leaving.” I went for the door, but he pulled me to him.
“Aren't you happy?” he whispered in my ear.
“I'm happy, you're happy, Capone's happy; all is right with the world.”
“But,” he pressed.
I didn't like being so needy, but I had to know the score before whatever this was went any further. By clearing the air now, I could walk away with half my sanity intact.
“What are we?” I asked.
Caleb seemed a little slow on the uptake, so I gave him hand gestures to help him along. “Us. You and me. Are we dating?”
“That was my impression.”
“What does that make me?”
He looked at me like I was slow. “My girlfriend?”
“I never got that memo. You expect me to read minds now?”
“I thought you knew. I've known since the night at Europia Park.”
The news took me aback. “Really?”
Caleb had the gall to laugh, a deep, throaty laugh. “Yeah. I told you I wasn't into the lovey-dovey stuff.”
“Well, a girl needs to know these things. What if a guy approaches me? What am I supposed to say?” I asked.
All humor left his face and tone. “You're taken.”
Lifting my chin, I turned away from him. “By who? You haven't staked any claim.”
Caleb obviously saw that as a challenge. In a blink, I sat on top of his kitchen counter with my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck.
Vibrant eyes burned into mine, singling me out as marked prey, a position most intoxicating and equally disturbing. “I never saw you as one for formalities.”
“Me either.”
Placing my hand over his heart, he said, “In that case, I, Caleb Nolan Baker, hereby declare you, Samara Nicole Marshall, esquire, as my main squeeze. I proclaim exclusivity and promise devotion and loyalty. I am internally, externally, and eternally, yours.”
One could knock me over with a feather. I could now understand why brides cried at weddings. Though the declaration was overkill, my heart couldn't stop racing, and his nearness made me pant.
“Sam?” he whispered. “You okay?”
Probably sporting a half-baked grin on my face, I nodded. “Yeah, I'm just a little buzzed. I thought you said you weren't sappy?”
“It's not sappy if it's true,” he countered.
“Well then.” I placed his hand over my heart. “I, Samara Nicole Marshall, esquire, declare you, Caleb Nolan Baker, as my main squeeze. I proclaim exclusivity and promise devotion and loyalty. I appoint you keeper of my heart and champion of my terrestrial and celestial domain.”
Fighting hard not to laugh, his cheeks reddened. “That's not much acreage.”
I pushed his chest. “Hey, you put me on the spot.”
“Didn't you bring up the topic?”
“I know, but I wasn't expecting you to get all syrupy on me.”
He trapped my face in his hands. “We've been officially dating for ten seconds and we're already fighting.”
“As long as we don't end up like Dougie and Mia, I'm cool.”
Nodding in agreement, he said, “Mia loves Doug a lot.”
“How can you tell?”
“She doesn't react to me. She might give me a look or two, but she's not attracted. That means she's happy.”
Threading my fingers through his hair, I wondered why guys were blessed with softer hair than girls, or was it due to all the products girls put in their hair? I was learning a lot about Caleb Baker. He was a closet romantic with a caged ardor that had me anticipating his next move. He was also very sensitive around the ears. My playing invoked a response that left him gripping my hips and struggling for breath.
Seeing the internal conflict in his eyes, I decided to provide a distraction. “I have a question. When you fed from me, what did you learn?”
He stared off for a moment, rounding up his mental resources. Grimacing, he said, “When you were three, you drank from the toilet. Your favorite color is light green. You hate any type of injustice, no matter how small. You over-analyze too much, and you love very deeply. That's why you don't do it often.”
I gaped at him. “All that from a drop?”
“It's fragmented. I only get small flashes. Um, why were you drinking from the toilet?”
“I don't know, but my mom's got pictures,” I replied before noticing the sudden change in his demeanor. His breathing grew shallow; stress lines appeared around his face as he withstood a private torment.
I cupped his jaw and searched his eyes. “What's wrong?”
“Hungry,” he growled and turned his head away.
Unsettled by the cold response, I attempted to slide off the counter. “We can go grab something to eat.”
His hands kept me still. “Not for food.”
“Uh-huh. What exactly are you hungry for?”
Despite his evident pain, an insidious grin split his face. “Get your head out the gutter, Miss Marshall. I'm referring to my roommate.”
“Speaking of the gutter; let me ask you something. Have you ever ... you know?”
“Had sex?” When I nodded, he answered, “Of course. I'm a walking chick magnet, but it's been a while for me though.”
“How long?”
“Five months.”
That wasn't the answer I expected, but I tried to keep an open mind. “Oh. I figured you'dâ”
“It's a little dangerous to be involved with women like that, don't you think?”
Seeing his point, I asked, “How did you do it before and not hurt them?”
A nice shade of pink rushed to his cheeks and neck. “This aggression from women is only a recent thing, so it wasn't that difficult. The enticement works with eye contact, and I was in a situation where we didn't have to look at each other.” He didn't say any more, and he didn't need to.
“Don't you miss it?”
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