The Thirst Within (9 page)

Thierry looks savage, like he wants to kill the
guy but is not doing it only because it’s illegal. I can’t move.

“Dude….” Trent moans from the floor, holding
his nose.

“But,” Thierry continues in that stony voice, “call
Tori
anything
that remotely sounds close to an insult again, and I will
break every fucking bone in your body.”

I still can’t move, but I’m beginning to comprehend,
to process what my eyes are seeing. Thierry is here. He’s back.

“Thierry? What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Tori, not now.”

I look around. A few dudes came over following
the crashing sound of Trent hitting the floor, but apparently nobody saw the
scuffle; they just looked over and Trent was on the floor. They’re asking Trent
repeatedly to explain, but he just shakes his head, one hand over his face
trying to hide or simply contain the bleeding, I don’t know which, and with the
other he’s trying to point at Thierry, but his eyes can’t focus.

Meanwhile Thierry’s trying to move me back towards
the stairs, but I’m staying put, because there’s something I need to do here
and I don’t know what it is. By now people are shouting, and a couple of guys are
looking at Thierry like they figured out he’s the reason Trent’s on the floor.
They’re rounding on us—or rather, on Thierry.

Kerin, who was near the balcony making out with
one of the guys, approaches the fray and it clicks in my brain that she’s the
reason I’m not leaving.

“Kerin, let’s get out of here,” I say urgently.

“What! Why, Tori? What’s happening here?” she
says, while the guy that she was making out with yells over our heads, rushing
to Trent on the floor.

Fiona’s guy, Dean, comes out from whatever
corner he was with her. He asks, “What the fuck?”

“Tori, we’re going,” Thierry says, and he’s
still clearly very angry, when two guys rush at him, one of them Kerin’s guy. I
think this is going to be bad, and they’re going to beat the shit out of
Thierry, but in a second they’re both on the floor. I didn’t even see it
happen. I just see the aftermath.

Some girls scream, some dudes shout.

I can’t leave Kerin alone, or Fiona for that
matter, but Thierry really should leave now.

“Kerin!” I yell at her to get moving.

“Tori, what the hell?” She sounds upset that
her guy stopped making out with her, he’s now on the floor moaning, and I’m
yelling at her.

“Just go downstairs to Aiden,
please
!” I
yell.

Things are getting out of control. Four big
guys are about to attack Thierry. I hear him say under his breath, “Fuck,” and then
his arms go around me. He presses me against his body, and whisks me away against
his chest like I’m a child, as though I weighed nothing. Stairs, people whir by
as I’m carried swiftly through a very crowded space, and then outside, yet I
don’t bump into anyone. But I do hear complaints of people being bumped and
shoved to make way for me. Like Thierry’s Moses and he’s parting a Red Sea of
people.

He keeps going for a couple of blocks, and then
reaches a street that has no people, but it’s still close enough that I can
hear the action of the festival and the people nearby. He sets me down and
against some house’s concrete fence with railing, which I need because I’m
dizzy from the alcohol and the motion. He stands in front of me holding my hand
tightly, almost painfully, trying to catch his breath.

No—his breath is perfectly fine. His eyes are
unfocused, and he looks angry. He moves his head with fast, jerky movements,
left to right, like a predator assessing danger. His hair is the most
disheveled I’ve ever seen him with, and he looks almost feral. Over my
lingering anxiety I feel a sudden urge to pet him.

His hand starts to cut circulation to my
fingers, and I make a little noise without really meaning to.

This gets his attention. “Tori. Oh God. Sorry.”
He reduces the pressure but doesn’t let go of my hand.

“Nah, ’s okay. Thank you. That guy….”

He closes his eyes, but not before I think I
see a quiet rage flash through them. Then a pained expression contorts his
features, like something hurts, or like he’s torn between some tough decisions
I can’t see.

He pulls me towards him without a warning, and
embraces me.
Oh
. Pleasure ripples through me. I melt against him, leaning
against his chest, feeling every excuse I made, every wall that I put up
crumble. My inhibitions are low at the moment, and I feel like sharing my
feelings with him. I don’t do it, though. I fear he might not like it, and that
keeps me from spilling my drunken confessions.

We stay like that for a while, not saying
anything. I could stay here all night, enjoying the comfort of his strong arms.
Of his company.

I missed him so much.

Stupidly, I feel my nose burn and my eyes fill
with tears. Ah, so I’m a sad drunk. I try not to make a sound.

He still feels it, somehow. He pulls me back
and stares into my face. I keep my gaze down so as to hide the moisture in my
eyes.

“Tori? Are you hurt?”

“No, Thierry….” I am, but not in the way he’s
thinking.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asks, worried about my
tears.

I laugh drunkenly, wiping my eyes. “I just…. I
can’t believe what just happened.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“No, you were pretty badass,” I say, unable to
contain my fascination from showing. “You’re like, super strong.”

“Nah. Those guys were just drunk; easy to bring
down.”

“Not easy for me,” I say, embarrassed. “I
couldn’t get away from him.”

“Tori, you’ve been drinking too,” he reminds
me, and I think it sounds a little disapproving. “You shouldn’t have been there
alone. Drinking with random dudes you don’t know.”

That he disapproves of my wild outing is a
little endearing, because it translates that he cares about me. Then I remember
him
not
caring about me. I get defensive, and take a step back. “I was
with friends, and Kerin’s brother was downstairs. Everything was supposed to be
okay,” I say in my defense.

“Well, it wasn’t okay. That guy was going to
drug you. And
rape
you, Tori.”

I cringe. Was he?

“How do you figure? Have you seen that guy before?”
It occurs to me that they were probably Thierry’s age and he might know them
from college.

“I saw him slip something in your drink,” he
says. “That’s what those guys do.”

I’m immediately afraid for the others. “Oh God….
What about Kerin, Fiona, and the rest of the girls?”

“They’re fine,” he says. “They’re all going to get
kicked out. That always happens when there are bar fights.”

“But Kerin’s going to be by herself! I have to
go get her. Or tell Aiden.”

“The brother knows. He’s up there getting his
sister out.”

“He is? Did you see him?” I ask him, and then I
realize something. “You don’t even know what he looks like!”

“Tori,” he says, and embraces me again. My
emotions are getting out of control. “It’s okay. They’re all okay. I happen to
know Aiden Mercer, and I know he heard the brawl. I saw him on his way up as we
left.”

Oh. That didn’t occur to me, that Thierry might
know Aiden. And I didn’t see him on our way down. But then, I’d been pressed
against Thierry’s chest through our whole escape.

“I’m so sorry, Tor.” I look into his eyes, and
they’re pained. Embarrassed, even.

And then I understand. He’s apologizing for not
being around the last month. For staying away. For hurting me. For almost
allowing me to get drugged by Trent.

No, that wasn’t his fault. “It’s okay, Thierry.
It’s not your job to take care of me,” I say, because I don’t want to see him
suffering.

“It is. We’re friends,” he says.

I step away from him again.

“No,” I say. “No, we’re not. When Corben came
here”—he flinches when I say his brother’s name—“you stopped hanging out with
me. You may have wanted to remain friends, but you didn’t. It’s okay,” I add
quickly, as it looks like my words bother him. “I don’t mind. You’re a great
guy, and I loved hanging out with you. But it is what it is, what can you do.”
I even throw in a little shrug.

“No, it’s
not
what it is. Who knows what
is there for sure? What anything really means…?” I’ve no idea what he means. He
sounds a little angry, but it’s not directed at me, I can tell. It’s as if he’s
arguing with someone else…. Hopefully Corben.

“He hates me,” I say.

Thierry looks into my eyes and smiles ruefully.
He knows exactly whom I’m talking about. “Corben can be a dick,” he says. “But
he doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t like me very much, either. He wants
someone better for you,” I take a guess at the problem here.

“No, not that. He doesn’t care who I go out
with. Usually.”

“Oh, so this is the exception. I think he cares
this time.” Life without Thierry sucks, and Corben is to blame. That’s all I
know. “You can’t deny he’s against me being with you.”

“But not because of what you think, Tor,” he
insists. “It’s just that you… you remind him of someone.”

Oh. That’s not what I expected. For a second
I’m speechless, while a thousand new thoughts go through my head.

But what the hell? I didn’t do anything.

“I look like someone he hates, or what?” I ask.

Thierry laughs shortly, and says, “No. The
opposite. A person he loved… very much.”

Oh, again. I’m surprised. “So what, it’s weird
for him to see his brother with his ex’s doppelgänger?”

He sighs and looks away. He probably regrets that
he said too much. I feel bad for making him talk about his brother. The topic
is clearly sensitive.

But still, he answers me. “You’re not her
doppelgänger. I mean, you don’t look exactly like her; I’ve seen a painting of
her that he always carries with him. It’s more like, you have similar….” He looks
up, searching for a word in his head. “Disposition. Or attitude.”

“You’ve never met her, then?” I ask, because
something doesn’t make sense.

“No.”

“Then how do you know we have the same
disposition?”

He falters for a second. “He’s told me about
her.”

“But….” It’s like he answers each question, but
it still doesn’t explain anything. “But he doesn’t know about
me
. How
can he compare me with her enough to feel weird or whatever it is he feels
around me?”

Again, there’s a very short pause. Like he’s
thinking of lies to tell me, but coming up with them pretty quickly. “I told
him about you.”

That sounds like a lie, but he’s quick to reply
to me—so I’m thrown. Because how can he reply so fast if it wasn’t true? But it
doesn’t sound true.

I’m not giving up.

“Thierry, still. Say that I make him feel weird
because I remind him of his ex. Why should that influence your relationship
with me?”

He runs a hand through his hair. He looks like
he’s getting nervous about where this conversation is headed. “It’s
complicated. First, she’s not his ex. I mean, they didn’t break up; she died.”

“Oh,” I say, making a horrified face.

“And second, I’m not
just
his brother. I’m….”
He pauses, as if looking for the appropriate word again. “We’re family. We’re
all we’ve got.”

It could be the orphan thing. Of course Thierry
would dump me if his only brother felt uncomfortable with me around. But how
bad can it be? I don’t even look like the dead chick! Wait—

“Did you say painting?” I ask.

“Yeah…?”

I sigh. Everything’s so weird, and I’m tired of
playing Twenty Questions with him. “Okay, I guess,” is all I say.

We don’t say anything for a little while. I
just stare anywhere but at him, thinking about everything that he said. Then I
think about something he
hasn’t
said.

“Thierry?”

“Yes?” He sounds guarded, like he’s afraid of
what I’ll ask now.

Well, he’d better be, because it’s a good
question.

“How did you find me?”

He closes his eyes and looks away. “
Torii
,”
he complains, like a little kid would do, and it sounds cute.

“What? I’d like to know, very much, how did you
happen to be in the same bar that I was.”

“I… happened to be there,” he says, not
bothering to conceal his sarcasm.

“You were,” I repeat, my words full of
cynicism.

“I was. And then I saw you dancing with that
guy, and saw him go get you another drink, and slip something in it.”

“And then you saw him grabbing me, of course.”

“I did.”

“And you didn’t intervene until I’d made a
weak, pathetic fool out of myself.”

“What? No,” he says, changing his tone right
away. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you. But I wanted to hurt
him
, and
while he was just grabbing you I had no excuse.”

“You say he drugged my drink before he grabbed
me!” I cry.

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that. I wouldn’t
have let you drink it!”

That’s it. I’m tired of his answers that don’t
really explain anything. The alcohol in my system is certainly not helping. “
What
were you doing in the bar, Thierry?” I almost yell, impatiently.

“I followed you!” he finally admits, stepping
forward, and grabs my face with both his hands.

I freeze when he touches me. His smooth hands
are cool and gentle on my neck, and his thumbs caress my cheeks. “I’m supposed
to stay away from you. There; I said it. It’s true,” he says quietly, and I
blink, stunned. “But I can’t anymore. It drains me.” His lips are only a few
inches away from mine.

My mind is a mess. My body’s running a sudden,
spontaneous fever. I stare at his lips, and while I can’t think or act
properly, I do know that I want him to kiss me. I want to feel his lips on mine
again. I look up to his eyes, and they’re almost pleading.