* * * *
I hang up the phone with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
How am I going to go about doing this? I totally blew him off last night—he ’s not acting like he hates me but I feel like he does. Or will.
Sucking up my pride, I resign myself to the fact that I have no choice. Bigger things are going on in the world. Like possibly people dying if Donovan is left to his own devices. Who knows what he would have done to Olivia and Preston if I hadn’t been there. Besides, Blake is not real. I have to remember that. He’s not real. He is practically a part of Donovan…
I hate lying to myself because I do believe Blake ended up becoming his own person—at least until the end, but this is the only way I can get through what I am about to do. And even thinking the way I’m trying to, I am not sure how well I am going to deal.
I dig around in the mess that is Hols’ closet for a pair of gloves. It’s almost eighty degrees outside but there isn’t a chance in hell I am going to touch metal again if I can help it.
Happening upon an old crocheted pair with the finger flaps, I slip them on and shut the closet doors. I let my head fall forward against the hollow wood, the echo resounding through my head. Every few minutes since fully waking up after meeting my mother, I have been finding that I need to take deep breaths just to stay alert and not pass out. I’m not quite sure what good I am going to be like this, but I have to press on no matter what enters my head.
My breathing comes back to normal a little quicker this time, and before I can second guess myself—or third, fourth, heck, twelfth guess—I straighten my shoulders and walk toward the door.
Bending down to pick up my purse, I stand up purposefully and stride into the hallway and to the front door, grabbing Hollie’s keys with my gloved hand as I open the door and leave.
The old Dodge Hollie drives starts right up. Not able to stand the stagnant heat, I crank down the windows and free my hands. I can’t wait for the fresh air to blow on me once I start driving.
“I desperately need music right now…” Reaching over to the radio, I find that since mostly plastic covers the new CD player, I am able to touch it.
The visor holds lots of CDs—at least three shoved in every slot—and I pull them out just enough to see what they are before ramming them back in place.
After a quick search, I find the one I want. Kate Voegele’s newest disc is full of the exact type of mellow music that helps me at times like this. Well, not exactly like this of course, but still.
Music always sets the mood for me, or helps me cope with whatever mood I might be in at the time, and this is no different than any other time. It is even more important now that I am in the right state of mind to handle the situation properly.
Properly—what does that even mean? How am I supposed to break up with someone I love but who only loves me because my supposed enemy told him to? It almost feels like I’m about to break up with myself.
Realizing these thoughts will do me no good, I force myself to quit thinking them. I drive on toward Blake’s, settling back into the seat as comfortably as possible. I turn up the music and try not to think during the rest of the drive.
There are a tad too many cars parked around Blake’s house and I don’t know if any of the owners of them will have to leave before I do, so I park across the street. When I arrive at the front door, I breathe and ring the bell. The bright chime sounds, making the house seem a wholesome family home.
I stand and wonder how Blake even has parents. Are they the same as him? I’ve never seen pictures of their life in Oklahoma before they moved here—right before we started dating… And why am I just now thinking of all this?
After a couple minutes of waiting and thinking thoughts such as these, I decide I can’t stand here any longer. Besides the fact that I am driving myself nuts, it’s normal for me to walk in the Miller’s house without knocking. I just felt today called for more formality. As I open the door, it hits me how ridiculous that is. If someone had answered it would have been even more obvious that something’s going on.
I hear people chatting and laughing near the back of the house as I walk up the front stairs to Blake’s bedroom. That must be why no one answered; they are too far away and it’s much too loud for anyone to have heard the doorbell. When I get to Blake’s door, I softly tap on it. It isn’t shut all the way and creaks open some.
Inside, Blake is pacing around his room and staring at the masses of band posters plastered on every wall. I cautiously step in and clear my throat.
“Hey, you. No one was around to let me in so I just came on up. Is that all right?” A slight smile spreads across my face … as much as I can force it to.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever. Come sit down and shut the door.” Blake looks both angry and elated.
Why is he always mad at me if he can still look at me with that kind of love? Wait a minute. Damn it, I hate Donovan! Blake’s not real—I have to remember that.
And at this point, I think I can. It didn’t hit me right away, but now I notice that Blake looks one-hundred-percent normal. I feel no emotion coming from him and he looks like he always has.
Sure, I have only seen fae since my baptism—I didn’t exactly pay attention to other drivers or anyone else on the way over here—but it only makes sense that a human’s character would show through. If I can see a house’s personality, I’m thinking I should also be able to see a person’s.
But Blake, and his room, look like they always have. Like they were made to look this way and aren’t real. Which I suppose they’re not…
Saddened and dejected, I wander over to the bed, but then think better of it and choose the director’s chair by the stereo instead. I plop down in the seat and sigh deeply. After looking at my feet for a minute, I lift my head and meet Blake’s eyes. He has stopped pacing and is standing in front of me. He is so quiet I wonder if he is even breathing.
The look on his face is unbearable. I have to get this done and get out of here. Move on and kick some ass. Do something to release my rage at this situation. After that is out of my system, then I’ll deal as I should.
Blake’s voice makes me jump slightly. “Please. Don’t do this, babe. We can make this work.”
I keep my mouth shut, looking intently at my beau. Every emotion possible fills my body and I explode—or at least I feel like that’s what is happening. Tears burst from my eyes and my body begins to shake. I am not used to crying, least of all like this, and that makes it all the worse.
“You know we can’t stay together, Blake.” We never speak each other’s names unless something is wrong. “This just isn’t working. You’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure, if you don’t already know.”
“What do you mean? Find out what? What’s going on? Baby, just talk to me.”
“I—I just can’t. This is … I thought I could do this but I can’t.” I feel the room start to spin and all the posters Blake was pretending to look at are becoming a wash of color before my eyes.
I briefly shut my eyes and when I open them, my vision is no better. In fact, it’s worse. The posters and Blake are not only watery, but their colors are dripping down into a small puddle that is gathering on the hardwood floor.
The water falls faster by the second and I watch a rainbow swirling around by my feet. My tears became one with the mess I am a part of.
The scene is becoming reminiscent of my drowning dreams, only I’m not already under water. I am experiencing the beginning part I normally miss. I beg for this not to turn into a nightmare. I need to get out of here.
I am slightly comforted simply because there are no evil creatures chasing me or anyone else. But then I realize Blake and I are those creatures, in a sense. Which sure as hell shouldn’t comfort me…
I have no clue of what Blake is capable. Donovan might have programmed something really horrible inside of the guy I have known for so long only as my human boyfriend.
&nbs
p; Standing up on shaky legs, I pull my right leg forward in an attempt to leave the room. Or if I am dreaming, to force myself to wake up.
The latter is wishful thinking. This is not a dream—just the randomness of my two worlds colliding.
A flip-flop almost disappears in the fast-growing pool on the floor. I hook it with my toe and bring it back up, shaking it onto my foot again, almost losing my balance and falling into the water in the process.
What the hell is going on here? Where is all this coming from? Why? And how?
I can’t seem to focus on one thought so I attempt to center on Blake instead. At least as much as I can without my heart shattering.
I reach out to him. He is now on his knees making his way toward me. He is crying too, looking at me with despair and confusion.
Not able to stand the look in his eyes, I change my focus again on what is physically happening around me. The walls are beginning to shrink down, turning into pure water—posters and plaster almost entirely gone.
Each way I turn, I am surrounded by colored waterfalls. A feeling that this time no one is going to save me like they do in my dreams sinks through my chest and sits like a rock in my stomach.
One giant rock weighing more than any of the others I have felt in there all day combined.
My breath catches and I have to count each one. Slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I have to leave this realm—there is some sort of job to do and that’s that. I need to accept this fact before I end up in the psychiatric ward. I feel like a horrible person for leaving Blake, but what can I do?
On my way out, I spare a glance his way. What I see almost stops me cold. There are simply no words for his expression other than it conveys a pleading desperation. An odd thought enters my mind – A little boy lost. My love, yet no one I’ve ever met.
I have to go. I have to get out of here. And now.
Still standing, the water is now to my knees. I reach down, as if in slow motion, to retrieve the sandal that has slipped off my foot again. It is floating and I grab it firmly in my hand—the only solid thing left.
Blake is having trouble moving toward me as his body becomes not just wet, but is turning into water itself. His legs are no longer visible, even through the colorful yet clear water. The blue shirt he has on is spreading out like watercolor paint all around him. His gaze will not leave me—a deep imploring emanates from his eyes.
This is so much more than I can handle. I blow Blake a kiss, tears streaming, knowing deep down this is his demise. His existence isn’t important anymore, obviously. I am nauseous just thinking about it.
Donovan has gotten my attention—that much is certain.
Apparently Blake really is a pawn, no longer needed. Such a beautiful life wasted. Even with all I’ve seen and been told, it’s difficult to believe that Donovan is a such heartless bastard. But he is and I am beyond pissed.
Reaching for the door knob after giving my final kiss to Blake, I am faintly aware of the wet flip-flop I am holding with a death grip in my other hand. I open the door and am glad that my hands are both on something solid.
The hallway is no different than the room I just left. Pictures from the family’s supposed past stream down the walls to the stairs I am wading toward.
The entire house is disappearing before my eyes. I stumble down the steps, holding out my free hand to stop myself from falling. That is, until I realize there’s nothing to catch myself on if I fall.
Basically sliding down the stairs as though on a water ride, I land down by the door I had used to walk in.
The house is practically a distant memory at this point—I don’t even have to bother with the handle of the front door. I walk straight through a white waterfall, soaking myself to the bone in the process.