Everlong: (Book One of the Everlong Trilogy) (24 page)

I dropped Dan's clothes on the floor and went to the airing cupboard, pulling out a blanket to drape over him.

I went for a shower to cool off, and to distract myself, but it didn't work, knowing that he (temptation? because that's how it felt) was just the other side of the wall.

I went back to my room, sat at my desk, flicking a pencil to and fro in my hand. I fetched out my English essay, but I couldn't concentrate; the sound of his breathing, delicate though it was, invaded my thoughts and made me picture the ocean, made me want to walk in the gently lapping water. I put the essay to one side and started a sketch for our new art project (An Angelic Journey through time: the changing face of angels) but found myself stealing glimpses of him, until, in the end I gave up, with barely a pencil mark drawn on the paper.

I swung my chair around, put my feet on the bed, my head resting on my hands, and just watched the rise and fall of his chest, let my breathing synch with his, let his tranquillity wash over me.

I don't know how long I sat there for - time had simply ceased to exist - entranced by his face, by the shape of his nose, the curve of his chin. When he rolled over, the blanket fell away slightly, revealing the magnificent tattoo on his back, I couldn't stop tracing the delicate strokes of the design with my eyes. How I longed to trace my fingers over it, feel the softness of his skin under my fingers, let my hands sweep down his back to the tips of his wings, lost just below the top of the blanket.

He was like an angel. Never mind all the pictures of angels in my art books, his face was the most beautiful of all.

Or was he the moon, and I the sea, his gravitational pull too strong for me to ignore?

I was going crazy.

Without thinking, I carefully moved forward onto the bed. I reached out to touch the marks on his back. There was something about them, something about the way they seemed to almost ripple under his skin as though the wings were waiting to hatch. I just wanted to make sure they weren't real. And then my heart stopped, my hand mid-air, as he turned over.

His eyes were still closed, his black hair swept across his face and he looked more like a marble statue than a guy (I thought of the God Apollo, or Perseus that I'd studied for Classics. Or was it Michelangelo's David?).

My eyes wandered to the tattoo on his chest, another set of wings with a skull and dagger. I extended my fingers to touch; I couldn't help it. I let my them fall onto his soft skin - even though I knew I shouldn't - and began to trace it. The lines of the tattoo surprised me, they were ice cold to the touch unlike the rest of his burning skin, and they too seemed to ripple with an energy, almost like they were alive. My fingers lingered as I reached the skull, intricately cut into the skin above his heart. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my fingers.

And then he clasped my wrist with his burning hand and my whole body burst into life. My heart stopped, my eyes sought his, and they startled me with their brilliance.

'I...I'm sorry,' I said, moving my hand from his chest, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. Our hands hovered mid-air, neither one of us wanting to pull away. I was electric; I could feel every single nerve, every single sensation in my body. His touch penetrated deep inside me, shocking me awake, pulling me out from the shadows, re-awakening abstract feelings and memories deep within me that I couldn't quite remember but I knew they were there, still buried waiting for me to discover them.

But I remembered his name; Josh. The name was made for me. It fitted my lips perfectly.

I was on fire.

We hovered in that moment, the air around us alive with anticipation. There was something building between us, something drawing us together in this small space, this obscure un-real situation.

And I knew - from that one moment that seemed to last for an eternity - that he felt the same way.

I wanted to kiss him.

I knew he wanted to kiss me.

But his closeness, my lack of control, scared me. I wasn't going to be weak. I couldn't give in. I was not Cassie. I wasn't ready for this.

I pulled away. 'You need food and painkillers,' I said, tearing my eyes away from his.

Cassie and Dan were back in bed, so I went downstairs and made a huge pile of toast, a pot of coffee and stuffed them onto a tray with two mugs, sugar, milk and a box of ibuprofen. I took a deep breath and entered my bedroom, trying desperately not to look at those eyes.

'Bugger,' I said, to myself as my eyes met his. I took a sharp intake of breath and my heart rolled in my chest. I was out of control, my body not listening to anything I was telling it to do.

He was sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard. He'd pulled on Dan's jeans which seemed to be too short for him, the towel discarded on the floor at the side of the bed. Suddenly I felt really hot again.

I walked to the bed and dropped the tray down, trying to hide my face so he didn't see me blushing. Butterflies were flying around my stomach and I noticed my hands were trembling.

'I thought I'd make you some breakfast, even though it's more like afternoon now. Didn't know what you like so I did a pot of coffee and toast, because everyone likes coffee and toast. Don't they?' I looked up and caught him looking at me; my body tingled under his gaze.

'I'd love a coffee,' he said.

'Grab some toast and I'll pour you a cup.'

'Thanks,' he said leaning over to get a slice. Every time he moved there seemed to be a ripple effect in the air that sent waves of longing through me.

I left his coffee on the tray, picked up mine and a triangle of toast, and sat on the chair by my desk, placing my feet on the edge of the bed. I couldn't trust myself to sit by him. I needed to exercise some self-restraint.

Maybe I was more like Cassie than I thought?

'You can stay here tonight,' I said, 'but you'll have to leave tomorrow, once I've gone to school, when Dan and Cassie are out.' What was I saying? He was supposed to be leaving! It was like my head and my heart had split in two and were fighting each other for supremacy.

'I'll go-'

'In your state? Don't be stupid. Stay here,' I said, quickly adding, 'Just for a bit.'

Being in this room, being so close, it was starting to chip away at my resolve. There was something in the air, something I could almost reach out and touch, that was luring me in, like following the devil through pits of fire just for a moment's pleasure.

I think my heart had the edge.

I didn't know if I was strong enough to resist.

We both sat watching the television. Something terrible, a freak storm or something, had wiped out an entire village down south.

Josh made a strangled sound. I looked up at him, his face had turned ashen. 'Are you okay?' I asked.

'I'm fine,' he said. But the way he said it made my heart heavy, it was like how I imagined the angels mourned the dead.

I went over to him and sat on the edge of the bed. I leant over and placed my palm on his forehead. I was very aware that our bodies were almost touching. I felt his heart beating, the electricity leaping through what little space there was between us.

'You're really hot,' I said, blushing as I realised what I had said. I looked away, before adding, 'You need painkillers.'

What the hell was I doing?

Josh

I had once heard someone say that life was like playing a game of chess with Death, that it was down to us as to how well we played and how long it would last.

What a crock of shit.

We're in check mate from the moment we're born.

Only the ignorant and idiots believe anything different.

Death cradled me in Her arms for what had seemed like an eternity; an everlasting darkness that robbed me of everything but my pain, and then, when She was ready, She had relinquished me, let me fall to earth and into Evie's arms. She'd done it on purpose, leaving me on the river bank - broken and as close to death as was possible - for Evie to find; the only person, Death knew, that could make me want to live, and make me want to fight Hyperion.

When I finally awoke, I didn't even need to open my eyes to know Evie was there; the pain, like walking over the blades of a thousand swords, coursed through me, to the thrumming of her heart beat. Bitter yet sweet.

I wanted to run.

I should've run.

But my body was wrecked. The pain of being close to Evie, and the pain in my muscles, deep in my shoulder blade where Hyperion had torn off my wing, was burning as brightly as it had ever been, but I knew, somehow, I had to find the strength to fight it.

I grabbed a piece of toast and looked up at the television, something had drawn my attention, the mention of a storm, of a village decimated by an unusually high tidal surge that had sent huge waves crashing down upon it, wiping out everything in existence. I stopped, toast at my lips, as I recognised the place. I watched the screen, transfixed as my fellow Angels of Death reaped the dead, their celestial melodies playing, only to my ears, as a backdrop to the news report. The dead sang too, lamenting the loss of their own lives, their Souls shimmering in the sky, only a rainbow to the human eye.

I watched as Arielle, dressed in a gown of black silk, prepared the soul of an old man whose turquoise aura was beating brightly despite his old age. Kazuo - a handsome angel with ice blue eyes - washed the golden brown soul of a seventeen year-old girl, whose pitiful song was of regret and things left un-done, and things never to be done.

The female news reporter, in full make-up and a perfectly coiffured bob, stood in front of what was left of a hotel, the sun's rays penetrating through the cloud, like gigantic fingers of gold around her.

'Three-hundred and thirty-three people have known to have died in the freak storm, over one-hundred are still missing. Experts are still baffled as to how the storm appeared out of nowhere and caught the Met office off-guard.'

'Are you ok?' asked Evie, breaking my fixation with the news.

'I'm fine,' I lied. What else could I say? I caused all of that, all that death and destruction...oh, and by the way, I love you. I took the painkillers she offered me and gulped them down with mouthfuls of dark sweet coffee.

There was a long stretch of silence, filled only by the murmurs of the never-ending experts and reporters on the television. it wasn't an uncomfortable silence; it was loud, filling the air with things thought but not said, feelings that were screaming at us, trying to get us to acknowledge them.

'What happened to you?' she asked, finally cutting through the silence.

The question took me by surprise. 'What?'

'On the river bank, what happened? Do I need to be worried? Some scary gangster isn't going to come after me for helping you?' she asked, only half joking.

I shook my head. 'I got in trouble and paid the price, but no, you don't need to worry.'

'Is it over?'

I looked in to her emerald eyes; I just wanted to reach over and kiss her. 'I don't know,' I lied, knowing full well it wasn't. More lies and I hated myself for it.

'So, who are you? What do you do for a living? Are you my Guardian Angel? Because you seem to appear when I need you.'

My heart stopped beating for a moment. Did she need me? I didn't think I'd ever be able to leave if she did, and I needed to leave.

'You make me sound like a stalker!' I laughed, trying to shake the comment off, but I seemed to choke on the words. ‘I’m no Guardian,’ I said. 'Anyway, you saved me last night, remember?'

'Maybe,' she said. 'So?'

'So?'

'Go on then, spill the beans, what do you do Josh?' she asked, looking back at me.

The way she said my name was driving me crazy.

'I find things for people, old books and stuff-'

'Sounds mysterious, like Indiana Jones?' she asked, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

'Are you making fun of me?'

'No,' she said, placing her hand on heart, 'well, maybe, just a little.' A cheeky smile lit up her face.

I shook my head and smiled back. 'No, I'm not like Indiana Jones.'

'That's a shame, I quite fancy Indiana Jones.'

I looked at her, but she turned away, before our eyes found each other.

'I don't usually pick up complete strangers who have been beaten up and take them home,' she said, looking at the coffee mug she nursed in her hands.

'Oh, I thought it was like a hobby or something-'

'No...It's not like me at all.' She fell silent, still studying the contents of her mug.

'Thank you, for looking out for me.'

Finally she looked at me again. 'That's ok...I'd do it again...in a heartbeat.' Her eyes were almost pleading with me, searching for something. 'Anyway,' she said, finally tearing her eyes from mine, 'I need to do some homework, if that's ok?'

'You don't need to ask me, I'm only a guest. I could do with some sleep anyway.' I continued drinking my coffee as she swung around in her chair. She tied her ebony hair in a messy pony-tail then pulled out a large piece of paper and began to draw on it with charcoal.