Sun Poisoned (The Sunshine Series) (12 page)

“I like that dress,” he says casually, once we’re apart again.

It’s nothing special: plain white with an open back so there isn’t fabric rubbing against my healing tattoo. I mock curtsey.
“Thanks,” I say.  

Myles takes a step forward with one hand behind me.
“I particularly like how it shows your wings.” His fingers travel down my spine between them.

I get brave, and in the back of my mind, I hope to someday not think of it as a brave gesture, but a normal, healthy one to kiss my boyfriend on the cheek when he smiles at me like that.

“So,” I say to distract myself from the wave of heat that floods my face as I sit on the sofa. I set my mug on the coffee table, grab a pillow, and hug it to my chest, hoping that it’ll muffle the sound of my heart pounding.

“
I have a free day today,” I say. “No Boo or Trei. No practice, no anything.”

“
You wore a nice dress for me then?” He sits next to me and places his mug near mine.

Suddenly, I feel slightly self-conscious. Did I?

I shrug. “I have to wear something that doesn’t rub against the tattoo,” I say defensively.

Myles cups the side of my face. His lips are cool and smooth and soft on mine.
“So if you’re free,” he says, changing the subject. “What would you like to do today?”

Brave. Again. I kiss him back.
“I don’t know,” I say, almost keeping the nervous tremor out of it. Why am I acting like such an ass?

M
yles responds by kissing me again. “I’m sure we can think of something.” He moves away fractionally. “Do you want to go out?” he asks, one arm still around my shoulder.

“
That depends,” I say. “How hot is it outside?”

“
Ninety three degrees.”

I make a sound that embodies my disgust.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Myles laughs.

“
Well,” I say, “At some point, we’re going to have to eat.” I pretend to not be distracted by his hand on my arm. “Unless you want to eat coffee and Ramen.”

“
Okay,” he says. “So you
want
to go out?” For some odd reason, I get the feeling he may be stalling, though for what I have no clue.

“
Yeah,” I answer anyway. “Just later. You know, when it’s cooler.”

His index finger traces around the edge of my wings on my left shoulder blade.
“It must get really hot under all of those layers,” he says.

“
You have no clue,” I say. “Wait.” I suddenly realize that he told me that he used to be “like me”. I know now that it’s not true, obviously, but now have the chance to ask him if there was any truth to his story. “Do you?”

Myles carefully withdraws his arm from around me so his skin doesn’t rub my still semi-raw tattoo. He folds his hands in his lap, but he doesn’t move away any farther. Our thighs touch.

“Not really,” he says simply. “When I was first turned, I obviously didn’t know what I was.” He runs a hand through his hair slowly, like he’s thinking. “When we’re new, we’re more sensitive. I got burned a few times.” He shrugs like it means nothing. “Pretty badly once, but I heal fast.”

I nod.
 ”It’s weird.”

“
Weird?” he asks, but I can hear the sarcasm behind it.

“
Having certain things in common with you like this,” I try. “But not being alike at all.”

He smiles a little.
“Does it bother you?”

I snort.
“No. Why should it?”

He shakes his head.
“That’s not what I meant,” he corrects. “Being with me, a vampire, when you’re human. It doesn’t bother you? You don’t ever think about it?”

I shrug.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But not really.” I take his hand and he smiles again when he looks down. “I don’t think of us in terms of you being a vampire and me being human, Myles.”

“
What
do
you think of us in terms of?” I shouldn’t notice, but his face has moved a centimeter closer.

It takes a second for me to make sure that I won’t trip over my wo
rds when I speak next.

“
I think of us as Myles and Sophie.” I shrug again. “Two people trying to figure this relationship thing out.” I pause. “Why? Does it bother you?”

Myles leans back against the couch and I do the same, but I don’t take my eyes off of him.
“Not at all,” he says. “But sometimes I worry that one day you’ll decide you’ve had enough of this strange situation.” He smiles to cover up some other, more obvious emotion that may have bled through. “Which I wouldn’t exactly blame you for.” His tone turns to joking.

“
I don’t think that’ll happen.” I stare at our hands clasped together between us. “You’re the only person I can do this with,” I say softly. “I don’t think I could do this with anyone else.”

He smoothes the hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear.
“I feel the same way,” he murmurs.

Myles’ lips are on mine again, and somehow, this time, it’s different. Deeper, hungrier.

He seems to notice the shift as well, pulling away so he can ask, “Okay?” His breath is on my lips, around my nose.

I nod.
“I’m fine.” The last part gets muffled between my pulse, him, and me.

I run a hand through the hair at the back of his head, my other arm bracing my weight behind me. I lean back as Myles leans forward. All the while, our eyes are on each other when we’re far apart, closed when our faces are together again.

Suddenly, his arms are on either side of mine and his thighs are pressed against the outside of my knees, caging me in. Myles’ chest is almost against mine. I tell myself that this is okay, but I realize that I don’t have to. This is what I want. Him. Me. Closer.

I start to lose track of time, what day it is, my name. Of course I know them all, but they’re fading more into the background the longer we’re pressed together. None of that matters anyway. Not now.

How can time expand so much that is swallows us up and makes nothing else matter? How can all sound be drowned out except ours?

A slight creak of the couch breaks me out of the trance and my eyes open. Myles stares back at me. I want to tell him that I’m okay, but I show him instead. My hand snakes up his back and I kiss him, starting the whol
e timeless process over again.

His hands start to travel too. First they’re on either side of my face, his elbows leaning into the cushion near my head. Then one of his hands cups the side of my jaw while the other runs its way up my shoulder, coming to rest at the thin strap of fabric of my dress before his fingers find the skin of my collar bone, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

I wonder, vaguely, if my touch has the same affect on him as they wrap around his shoulders, only pushing him closer so I can feel every muscle in his back contract and expand as he moves with me.

Why can I
never stop the thoughts?

Why is it, that when I feel so happy, comfortable, and so
into
this, my mind wanders to things like my heart pounding too loud. My breath hitching.

A cold car in an empty parking lot.

Iron Maiden playing.

Hands crushing my body, pushing me down.

And grey eyes hunting me. Closing in.

I want to punch myself in the face when my body tenses up. I want to hurl myself off a cliff or just go back to bed and hide under the blankets for a while. Alone.

Myles pulls his head away, but other than that he doesn’t move.

I close my eyes. I t
ry to breathe like a normal person.

His hand is on my cheek.
“What is it?”

I swallow.
“I’m sorry.”

Myles waits patiently; he moves away so he isn’t on top of me anymore, but one of his arms
is behind my neck.

“
I just…” I can’t tell him. “It’s so stupid,” I think out loud.
I’m
so stupid.

“
It’s okay,” he says gently, cautiously. Now I look at him, and his blue eyes are searching my expression like I’m injured. “Just tell me.”

“
I…” I stare directly at his chest.

“
You’re thinking about him,” he says quietly, no hint of harshness in his voice.

“
I don’t mean to,” I’m quick to defend. “It’s just that…” I take in a breath, let it out slowly so I can concentrate. I can tell him. “I think about it when I don’t want to…”

“
When did you start thinking about it?” he asks suddenly, his voice not changing in tone. “When we first sat down, or when we started kissing…or when we moved?”

My voice comes out small when I answer.
“When you were on top of me.”

He shifts again, and I’m afraid he’s going
to move farther away.

“
I’m okay now,” I add on quickly, wrapping my arms around him tighter so that my head is against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I repeat.

“
Don’t apologize,” he says, his voice firm. “It isn’t your fault.” His hand cradles the back of my head.

“
I shouldn’t be thinking about it,” I say into the soft cotton of Myles’ shirt. “Not when I’m with you. Not when I want to do this.”

He sighs, maybe trying to make himself stop thinking about it as well.
“The only experiences you have with this kind of thing were with him, right?” It sounds like it takes a lot of effort to ask the question.

I nod.

“So it would make sense that being close like this—feeling out of control with me above you—would cause you to think about it and make you uncomfortable.”

I sigh now.
“I guess. But—”

“
It’s okay,” he repeats, holding my face in his hand again so I look at him. “We don’t need to do this.”

“
But I
want
to,” I say. I really, really, do.

Myles grins.
“Then we’ll try.”

I snort.
“What does that even mean?”

He shrugs.
“I guess we need to practice,” he says. “I need to practice learning when to stop—before you get uncomfortable without being able to feel what you feel—and you need to practice facing your fears.”

“
It sounds simple when you put it that way.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

“
It could be simple.” He smiles back.

We’re quiet, but not uncomfortably so.
 

Then suddenly, Myles moves. I back away, letting go of him when I’m sure he’s about to get up and convince me to do something else like watch a movie to get my mind off of it. To get
both
of our minds off of it.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he moves closer. Instead, he lifts me by the waist so fast that I barely feel his fingers through my dress against my ribcage. I’m not even aware of the jump in my stomach when I’m kneeling between his legs and he’s underneath me.

That’s bullshit. I’m aware of everything.

From the lightheadedness to the butterflies, to the nausea that I was waiting for arriving right on time, I’m painfully and dreadfully aware of everything, but I focus most of it on not being sure where to put my hands. First they hover mid-air, then one is on the back of the couch, the other still locked in place at my side. Then both of them seat themselves on his chest, which is either a really good or really bad decision as far as my anxiety goes.

“
Don’t freak out,” he says, his fingers interlocking in mine. “Your heart’s going crazy.”

“
What are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but it shakes a little at first.

“
I’m making you the one in control,” he says like it’s obvious. “You are the one who can initiate things,” he says. “Or not.” He shrugs. “You can get up right now and we can go listen to music or something. It’s completely up to you.”

I go for a joke. Lame, I know, but I’ve got nothing.
“Those seem like some pretty different choices.”

Myles raises his eyebrows, joining in to put me at ease.
“It appears that way.”

My eyes are glued to his hands on top of mine, my pale skin sticking out against the dark blue of his Led Zeppelin T-shirt.

So what will it be: move away and practice later? Listen to music and try to pretend that I don’t want to be near him, touch him, kiss him?

Nah.

In the end, my body knows what it wants. It always does.

I lean in and brush my lips against his, letting time swallow us up for a few hours.

***

“
I think we should probably eat,” I say when we’re sitting side by side once again. I don’t want to stop, but it’s one PM and I’m starving.

Myles pushes hair from my face. His cheeks are flushed and I bet mine are too.
“It’s still hot outside.”

“
That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll deal.”

As Myles drives around the block to park the car, I go inside the Chinese restaurant Myles picked out, where a
nice brunette sits me down at a booth in the back of the all red room with cherry furniture. The mere smell of the food as it sits on other peoples’ tables makes my stomach jump.

I tell the waitress that I’ m waiting for someone, but I order a coke for myself.

My phone buzzes on the table next to me.

Myles’ name flashes on the screen.
“Found parking,” his text reads. “Be in soon.”

I smile, place my phone in my bag, and start to unbutton my trench coat. I hear the
whoosh
of the seat across from me as someone sits and it captures my attention.

“
That was fast,” I say before looking up.

I almost wish I hadn’t looked ahead of me at all.

His eyes are what I see first: grey, cold. His dirty blond hair falls into his eyes and he brushes it back. That was a move that once brought me to my girlish knees, but not now. Not by a long shot.  He scratches his five o’clock shadow, not speaking.

I’m not about to give him the chance.

I stand up, begin to re-button my coat, but my hands are shaking and my knees are buckling.

“
Wait,” Jack, my nightmare says.

This isn’t real
. I’m just tired, I tell myself. Hallucinating. Dreaming.

My stomach lurches forward like I’ve made a fast stop in a car and
my body is preparing itself for impact.

“
Look,” he says. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I know I have no right.”

I glare at him. A brave move on my part.

He looks away briefly.

I swallow.
“What do you want?” My voice comes out small and choked. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t call the cops right now,” I say, maybe to threaten him, maybe to scare him. I doubt either of those things happens.

“
I need to talk to you,” Jack says. His voice isn’t exactly calm, but more even than mine.

I stare at my hands, still on the buttons of my coat. I don’t think I can look at him.
“Talk.”

“
I’m sorry.”

My heads whips back up in his direction.

“What I did…” He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t myself.”

I blink. My eyelids are the only things that are able to move right now.

“Something’s been happening to me,” he continues. “Last December, I checked into a hospital…you know, like, a mental one.”

I notice my wai
tress turning the corner with my coke in her hand, but I think she can sense something—a couple having an argument—so she spins back around and heads back into the kitchen. “They can’t help me,” Jack says. “But they made me—uncover things.”

Now my eyes dart right to him. Through him. Does he want me to be a part of his twelve-step program for rapists? Step 1: apologize to the people you fucked up beyond repair?

“I’m not asking for forgiveness.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

I’m starting to feel it. That itch I must scratch. The millions of tiny spiders crawling around in my brain and under my skin.
 I didn’t think I would feel it ever again, but that was really dumb. Monsters never truly go away. They claw their way to the surface eventually.

“
I could never ask you for that.” Jack looks like he’s going to say more, but there’s a cool squeeze of my hand. I know who it is.

Jack stands up, but he stops talking.

“You should go now.” Myles’ voice sounds crystal clear as he positions himself between Jack and me, gently pushing my stiff body behind him.

Though Myles’ shoulder blocks most of my view of this ass-backwards situation, I see Jack’s grey eyes bulge slightly. They dart from our entwined hands, to my face, and back before finally settling on Myles.