The Thirst Within (6 page)

My belly feels like it’s invaded by millions of
dazzling butterflies. I feel weak all over. My heart is desperately yelling
that he likes me,
he likes me
.

“So where do you want to go?” he asks, after I
politely accept his offer, like I do because I have nothing better to do.

“I don’t know any places to hang out,” I say,
looking left and right, hoping to find a cool one within sight.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

I think about it. I work at the movies, so I
don’t want to go spend precious minutes with Thierry
there
. But I’d be
sitting in the dark with him…. The thought makes my knees weak. I smile and
say, “Sure.”

“Wait, no. You work there. I won’t take you to
work on a date!”

Holy shit—he said
date
.

“Um, anywhere is fine. Well, how about somewhere
with a power outlet, so that I can charge my phone?” My phone came with minimal
battery.

“We could hang out at my apartment,” he says,
and his smile is so sweet that for a second I have no doubt that he really
likes me, and that we may be kissing on his couch sometime soon.

My brain interrupts my musings.

I really,
really
want to go, but I have
to think about it. I’ll be in his apartment alone with him. He could be a
killer. I don’t know anything about him. I’d be at his mercy.
His mercy
….

Thank God my heart answers for me.

“Sure, I’d love to see your apartment.”

He beams, a little surprised, as though he was
expecting me to decline. “Awesome, Tor. We can watch a movie there or you can just
play with your new phone. Whatever you want. I even have this gadget thing that
can give you a scalp massage.”

“A scalp massage! I’ve never had one,” I say,
totally ignoring the fact that it’s weird that he has such a gadget and creepy
that he would offer it to me in the first place.

“You’ll love it! They’re amazing.”

We walk a few blocks until we reach a beautiful
residential area. He stops at what looks like an alley between two brick buildings,
the entrance covered by a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the fence, I can see the
alley widening into a terrace to the left, with green plants everywhere even
though it’s the winter. It looks like it has a fountain in the center and
everything. It’s so pretty. Thierry unlocks a man gate in the fence and we walk
into the alley.

The floor is covered with large gray slate
tile, which looks great with the greenery and the earthy tones of the plants’ pots.
Inside by the terrace, to the left, I spot a mini pool, possibly a hot tub, repressed
in the floor, lined with beautiful cobalt blue tiles. It’s complemented by the
fountain I saw from the outside, which is also surrounded by plants. A wind
chime playing softly to my left with the gentle breeze makes me feel right at
home; comfortable somehow. By the hot tub there’s a little sitting area with a
circular iron table topped with glass, and two cute iron chairs. There are
cobalt blue glass accents everywhere. It’s absolutely charming. I want to live
here.

“Oh, wow, Thierry, this is beautiful. How long
have you rented here?” I ask. I’m awed and jealous.

“Well, it’s mine.”

“
What
?”

“Yeah, the entire building. I rent the front
apartments. I told you, I’m loaded.” He says it like it’s no big deal.

“But you’re still in college.” It can’t be.
He’s twenty-one and a homeowner?

“When my father died I got a huge settlement.”

“Really? For just you and your brother?”

He shifts just a tad, and it makes me think
he’s uncomfortable.

“Yeah, just my brother and I.”

“Wow. This is all yours, and you two are so
young…. And this place is amazing.”

“Glad you like it. So the whole building is
ours. The front, which is accessed through the street, is all rented. Back here
there are two apartments: the first floor”—he points at the door to the left—“here,
which is empty at the moment, and the top which is where I live. You can access
through those stairs”—he points at a curving staircase at the back, leading to
a second story balcony, and a door right over the first story apartment door—“or
from the inside of the first story apartment. There’s another staircase inside;
it has its own lock, but I never use it since it’s quicker to take the exterior
stairs.”

“And that?” I point to the brick building to
the back, right in front of me. It’s covered with the same type of brick as
Thierry’s building. It has a door to the little plaza, and another door on the
second floor above it that leads out to a small balcony. The balcony has its
own roof, with railings made of wrought iron; it looks great, overlooking the
terrace where I stand.

“That’s part of the same building. It’s shaped
like an L. The bottom is a garage; you enter from the street behind, which is
more like an alley. Then the second story is still part of the top apartment.
And that one”—he points to the building on the right, also a two-story
building—“is just the back of the building that faces Decatur street. It’s all
stores in the front, and storage in the back. Those windows don’t open.”

Now I notice that the neighboring building he’s
referring to doesn’t have any doors or balconies facing us. There are two-pane
wooden windows but they’re all closed, and according to Thierry they never do.
The little charming plaza is only seen from his building and whatever little
can be seen from the street. It’s enough to make me swoon.

“Come,” he says softly, and takes my hand. My
heart starts beating fast at the thought of being in this magical place with
him. We climb the outside stairs and make it to his apartment. He puts the key
in, but doesn’t turn it.

“Is this okay? I mean… I don’t want you to feel….”
He struggles with the words.

“This is fine, Thierry,” I say, not letting him
go on, because he’ll say something like “
you know I’m not bringing you here
to make out… I’m not interested in you that way…
” thinking that it should
comfort me that he doesn’t want to take advantage of me, when in fact if he
said that I’d die, because I’m here to make out and be taken advantage of.

“Okay,” he says. He smiles, but it’s a nervous
smile.

He opens the door for me and allows me inside.
Oh my God. I’m in the living room, I take it. It’s huge. And… nice. I was
expecting a mess, like college kids’ apartments in movies. But it’s decorated
with expensive-looking antiques, a comfy-looking couch, and a flat screen TV.
Surrounded by antiques, but always gotta have the flat screen.

So his apartment turns out to be the entire
second story of a house in the French Quarter, not that far away from where I
work.
Hmm
… I shouldn’t like these possibilities running through my head.
They can only lead to trouble.

I get the tour, which is not as short as
regular apartment tours. To the left is a wall with a wide opening framed with intricate
molding which separates the living room from the dining area and the roomy kitchen
beyond, while keeping the space somewhat open.

To the right past the living room, opposite of
the dining area are the bedrooms. The apartment has three bedrooms and three
bathrooms, Thierry says. The one bathroom that is not in a bedroom is luxurious
and makes me think of a spa. The shower is lined with white marble tiles,
enclosed by a thick glass wall and door.

Thierry opens the doors of the first two
bedrooms to show them to me but we don’t go in; we keep going down the hall. There
are doors in the hallway that he doesn’t open, which he says are closets or
utility rooms. The whole place is laced with the same type of antique accents
throughout.

I want to marry him, just to be the mistress of
this house.

The tour ends at the master bedroom, the one at
the end of the apartment that has the balcony overlooking the plaza. The bed
dominates the room but there’s still plenty of space around it; the room is
huge. We stop at the middle of the room, only a foot away from the bed.

“I took the biggest one,” he says conspiratorially,
like he cheated to get it. “When my brother visits he has to stay in the middle
room. But he can’t complain; that one has a bathroom too.”

“Doesn’t the oldest one get first dibs on
everything?”

“Uh, right. I usually share evenly with him,
though. But not everything.” He looks at me, and his gaze is intent. His voice
drops irresistibly. “Thank you for coming here. I’m so glad I met you, Tori.”

I have to press a hand over my heart to keep it
from escaping my chest.

“What’s wrong with your heart?” he asks.

“You can probably hear it all the way from
where you are, huh?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” I say honestly.

He comes closer. “Don’t be,” he says softly. “I
really,
really
like you.”

Thank you.
The words I’ve longed to
hear. I’m so close to him now. I tilt my head up, possibly smiling, possibly
looking stoned. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

He slowly bends his head down, puts his hands
around me, and kisses me.
Ahh
…. His lips move slowly over mine a few
electrifying times, but I can’t respond because I’m frozen, drinking it all in.
A current runs throughout my skin, and I finally reanimate; I kiss him back. He
pulls me even closer, and I feel his hard muscles under his clothes. My entire
body tingles with desire, and I make a happy noise like a moan.

Slowly, he leans backwards towards the bed,
never stopping the kiss. My heart picks up in excitement, nervous but delirious….
He sits at the foot of the bed, while I stand between his knees. His bed is
quite tall, so I don’t have to bend quite so much to kiss him. And I’m still
kissing him. It feels heavenly…. There’s something about him that makes me want
him, want to get closer. My hands bury in his hair, and it’s so silky, with the
softest waves.

I pull back for air, and kiss his forehead. I examine
his hair, and for whatever reason I want to smell it. Ohh… he smells so good.
As I lean in, he brings me closer to him and presses his lips against my neck.

He pulls back suddenly, as if caught doing
something bad. As though someone had opened the door on us.

I think he murmurs, “Sorry.”

“What?”

He stands up and takes my hand, and leads me out
of the bedroom, past the other bedrooms and into the living room.

“I’m sorry, Tor,” he says again, but I’m
sorrier than him. We sit down on the comfy couch.

“What for? What’s wrong?”

“I shouldn’t have brought you here. It looks
bad.”

“To whom? It’s not like we have parents.”

“Yeah, not parents, I guess. But I don’t know; your
guardians would flip shit. Especially since I’m twenty and you’re underage.”

“You’re twenty-one.”

“Yeah, that’s even worse.”

“So okay. Maybe they would flip shit. But it’s
not like I’m gonna call them and tell them.”

“It doesn’t change that you’re seventeen,
though.”

“Seventeen year-olds can make out, Thierry,” I
say reasonably. It’s not like we were going to have sex. We
weren’t
.
Holy shit. Maybe he wanted to have sex?

He makes a noise like an exasperated moan, gets
up and starts pacing up and down the room.

“Are you nervous?” I ask him.

“A little.”

“Does it have to do with us kissing?”

“Maybe.” His face is torn. And he still manages
to look hot. Aw, hell.

“I’m sorry we kissed, then.” I sound cool, at
least to myself, but inside I want to scream, punch him for saying he regrets
it, and kiss him again.

At that moment I hear sounds outside. I look
over at Thierry, but he’s not surprised.

“Tori,” he says, and he
is
nervous.

“What is it, Thierry?” Now I’m nervous, too.

“I guess my brother decided to stop by.”

I calm down a little. It’s just his little
brother, not my uncle carrying a shotgun. How much trouble can we be in?

But then I see Thierry’s still nervous, and I don’t
know how to feel.

He walks to the door and opens it without
looking through the peephole. I guess he really knows his brother’s footsteps. He
steps to the side and his brother—presumably—walks in.

Oh.

My God.

I blink, and do a double-take. I thought
Thierry was one of the cutest guys I ever saw, and I wasn’t exaggerating.
Thierry’s a solid nine. He’s not a ten only because by the inherent definition
of ten, ten is the impossible; ten is perfection. Still, Thierry’s a hot guy. Extremely
comely. Nobody would deny that, not even other guys. I’ve often thought he
could easily be Hollywood material.

But now. Oh my God, this guy. My scale has been
shattered, pulverized. This guy blows my idea of a perfect ten out of the
water. Thierry’s brother is out of this world, inhumanly beautiful. His
features are…
perfect
. His dark hair is short, but longer than
Thierry’s, and it follows his movements languidly; he does not appear to have
hair product holding it together. It looks so soft from over here, I want to
touch it. His eyes are clear, maybe gray like Thierry’s, but I can’t tell from
where I am, and he won’t come closer.

He looks at me, our eyes meet briefly, and we
both look away at the same time. If it weren’t kind of creepy I’d think it’s
funny.

Right before we looked away, though, I saw
something in his eyes. Something like anger. His stance, his expression—he
looks totally pissed off. Why? At whom? I’m immediately defensive. Thierry
didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, other than bring a girl to his apartment.
Maybe it’s because it’s
their
apartment, and I’m unannounced. No.
He’s
unannounced. Didn’t Thierry say his brother—did he ever say his name and I
forgot?—didn’t he say the brother lived in Chicago?

And Thierry’s become so serious, more so that
I’ve ever seen him. I don’t understand. This is his little brother, yet he acts
like he’s embarrassed, even though it was the brother that came here without
even announcing himself.

I decide I don’t like the newcomer. My
deep-rooted dislike of good-looking people—barring those named Thierry—is
proportional to how beautiful they are; so by that logic I’m supposed to hate
him.
Loathe
every cell in his body, and all of his offspring for seven
generations. It doesn’t help that he looked at me like he hated me too.

No one’s said anything. This is uncomfortable.
I look up at Thierry, who’s looking at me.

“Hey, Tori? This is my brother, Corben. Corben…
this is Tori.”

Corben
? The name affects me, somehow.

“Hello,” says the brother. He avoids my eyes.

Really?

This guy Corben, he’s
really
fucking
pissed. Why?

“Hi,” I reply, forcing myself to speak.

He doesn’t make eye contact again, and he also
doesn’t come anywhere near me. He takes a deep breath, and winces at something.
Then he focuses on Thierry.

“Thierry,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

Corben sounds so serious; formal even. Is it
because I’m here? What’s he trying to pull?

“Sure,” Thierry answers, but he’s not as
confident as he normally is. It’s so strange to watch. A twenty-one year old
guy, threatened by a… what? Nineteen? Eighteen? I don’t know. “Do you want to
step outside?” he asks, pointing at the door Corben just came in from.

“First you may want to take the young lady
home.”

Young lady
? What is he, ten days older
than me? And why does it feel like he’s kicking me out? Oh, yeah, because
that’s exactly what he’s doing. I look down, feeling insignificant. I’m in a
room with two extremely handsome guys, one of them positively angelical, and the
less attractive of the two still so freaking hot that I feel like a peasant. Of
course Corben wants me to go.

No, deep down I know it has nothing to do with
my looks, but that’s what seventeen years’ worth of lack of boyfriends do to
me.

Thierry looks over at me. Before he says
anything I already know, from that look, that he’s about to do as his brother
asked.

But I don’t want him to
ask
me to go. So
I jump to my feet and say, “Yeah, Thierry, I actually have to go. June…?” I
say, hinting towards the fact that my evil stepaunt might cook me alive for
lying about work and sneaking off to make out with boys. But really, I don’t
know her stance on boys. She seems to let Fiona go out to parties where I’m
sure making out happens.

Thierry’s already walking towards me, eyes
down, as though he’s being chastised for getting caught with his hand in the
cookie jar. “Corben, give me a few minutes. I’ll take Tori home.”

“No, no, Thierry,” I interrupt. “I’ll take the
bus. I need to take the bus.” Oh my God, how pitiful am I? I sound so confused.

“Let me at least
walk
you to the bus
stop, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s okay. There’s still light out. I’ll call
you if I need you, okay?”

“Tori—” he begins.

“She’ll be fine, Thierry,” Corben interrupts
him, but not impolitely. “Let her go.”

That hurts a little. I wanted Thierry to keep
arguing to take me. To me, wanting to take me home translated into him caring
for me, and not wanting to see me go alone. Guys are supposed to always
accompany girls wherever they go, whenever they can.

But I have to leave, and I’m already on my
feet, so I move towards the door. And I see Corben shift back slightly, as if
he wants to get away from my path, but doesn’t want to make any sudden
movements. I don’t kiss or hug Thierry; in fact, I don’t touch him. I just look
at him and give him a little smile with a half wave goodbye.

Twenty minutes later I’m on the bus and
wondering what the hell happened. It’s strange; Corben’s attitude sounds to me
like that of an older brother, not a younger brother. He wasn’t impolite, if
you don’t count his poorly reigned in annoyance. He was actually quite civil;
at least that’s what he was going for. However, being all proper when you’re in
other young people’s company makes you look like an asshole.

Also, Thierry was acting all intimidated by
him. Not intimidated… more like, respectful. And then it hits me.

Corben isn’t Thierry’s younger brother. It’s
the other way around. I don’t know what night cream he uses to look nineteen,
but he’s older. Maybe they switched bodies. Wait, no—ew. I don’t know how I
feel about that. Okay, I don’t really know what’s going on, but I do know
somebody’s lying to me.

Corben is the
older
one.

***

I’m lying on my bed, playing with my new phone,
willing it to ring. I think about my kiss with Thierry, and my body shivers as
my mind replays it. But then it replays Corben and I get nervous. Something
about his attitude was so off. And while, yeah, I’m not exactly convinced that
he’s indeed older than Thierry, it still feels like Thierry respects Corben
like an elder. Maybe Corben is a US military veteran, and killed insurgents in one
of the wars.

Fiona interrupts my thoughts. “Hey, Tori? Can I
come in?”

“Sure,” I call.

She doesn’t come in, just stays by the door. “Hey,
so, did you finish your Biology lab?” That explains her interest. She never
comes to my room. The lab report is due tomorrow, and she probably has a
question. Unfortunately for her, I suck at it, and so does Kerin.

“Kerin did. It was hard, so she got it from
Lynn.”

“Lynn? She’s not in our class,” Fiona says, but
she’s a little impressed that we’re cheating.

“Yeah, but she took it last year and still has
all of her old reports.” Kerin’s changing the wording here or there. I hope.

“Oh, man, y’all are sooo lucky. It’s
really
hard. Hey,” she says, noticing my phone. She even smiles. “What’s that?”

“I finally got a phone,” I say, pretty damn
proud at that moment that Thierry made me get the cool smartphone, and didn’t
let me get the cheapo freebie one.

Fiona’s also impressed with my phone purchase.
“Right on, Tori,” and I swear it’s the first time she compliments me and it
sounds sincere. “What’s your number? Here, why don’t you program mine…?”

We exchange numbers. It’s the closest we’ve
been since I came here, but it still feels like we’re neighbors, not friends.
Especially when she ends our little chat abruptly.

“Okay. See ya.” She leaves, since I’m no use to
her.

I’m feeling down again.

My phone rings. Oh shit. It’s Thierry.

“Hello?” I breathe into the phone.

“Hey, Tori,” he says, and he sounds a little
dejected.

“Hey, Thierry. How did it go?”

He sighs. “It’s okay. Corben’s just visiting.
He says he’s sorry for acting weird.”

“Oh. Thanks. It’s okay,” I say, but I don’t
believe him for some reason.

“I’m sorry, Tori. I shouldn’t have….”

“What? Brought me to your apartment? You didn’t
know he was going to come here.”
He should’ve stayed in Chicago
, I add
in my mind.

“No, it’s not that.”

“Are you upset because we didn’t charge my
phone? It’s working well, I assure you….”

He makes an odd noise that sounds like it could
be a half-hearted laugh. “No Tori, I just…. I can’t believe I’m about to say this.
But I feel so bad. We… we shouldn’t hang out anymore.”

Oh, no. “What do you mean? Like, ever?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I meant like… like we
did today.”

“Oh.” Kissing. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“No—I don’t
feel
that way, Tori. I have
to, but it doesn’t mean I want to.”

Crap. What the hell’s going on? “Does this have
anything to do with your brother?”

“Tori, it’s complicated…. I can’t just say
‘no,’ because yeah, it has to do with him, but that’s not all. And I can’t
really explain. I’m sorry, this is weird.”

The sharp pain of rejection spears my chest
somewhere, and the bridge of my nose burns as I feel my eyes welling up with
tears. I’m glad he can’t see me. However, he can hear me, so I don’t speak. I
can’t.

“Tori, I….” He pauses for a second. “I
shouldn’t even say this. But I loved kissing you. I did. It was amazing. I just
can’t feel that way.”

Okay, now the tears are spilling over and I’m
holding my breath, because if I inhale I’m going to start sobbing violently. He
wants to be with me, but he can’t, and he won’t explain. I try to calm myself
and take a slow, deliberate breath through my nose. I can do this.

“Okay, Thierry, whatever you have to do,” I say,
and thankfully my voice doesn’t give me away.

“We can still be friends,” he says.

“Sure,” I say. “We will.”

“I’m so sorry, Tori.”

“I believe you. So, okay, um, I’ll talk to you
later.”

“Good night, Tori,” he says.

We hang up.

I lie on the bed and cry my eyes out.

Friends. Yeah right.

***

When I finally sleep, I have troubled dreams. I
keep having nightmares of rejection and death. Then in another one, I am
blissfully happy because I met Corben. He’s as happy as I am… and he loves me.
Oh my God, and
how
he loves me.

I wake up with a start. My subconscious is
fucking with me. I have possibly fallen in love with Thierry, and I’m only
starting to feel the pangs of his rejection. His brother means nothing to me
except for pain; he’s the cause of Thierry’s request to end our
relationship—the kissing part at least. How am I ever going to live down that
kiss? I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’ll probably just tell myself it didn’t
happen. It’ll be hard to prove, over time, that I ever really did kiss a guy
like Thierry.

What the hell am I going to do?