Speak (Witches & Warlocks Book 1) (6 page)

I want to laugh with people. I want to toss my head and hurl witty comebacks at friends. Hell, I want friends. I’m tired of being the way I am. I’m tired of feeling like the sole occupant of my world. I’ve got Becca, but she just tries to make me act like her, to mold me into her version of normal. I want someone to look at me and love me for who I am, not despite who I am.

I want someone to look at me the way Noah looked at me, talk to me the way Noah talked to me.

I open my eyes. I feel heavy and worn and I’m not used to feeling like this. And I kinda feel guilty for all the awful things I just thought about Becca. She means the absolute best. It’s not her fault that I’m so weird. She’s just trying to help.

Alright, Zoe. Time to calm down. Time to stop being dramatic and just deal with the cards I’ve been dealt. I bring the flower to my nose, intending to smell it one last time before tucking it into my hair behind my ear. The petals are all wilted — brown and crunchy around the edges. There’s a big dark spot on one of the petals, a spot like a fingerprint but dark like a bruise. What happened? Did I crush it?

I drop the flower on the ground. For some reason, it makes me really uncomfortable. Like I’m all itchy and twitchy and just really want to go home. I don’t know why, but that dried up flower feels like a threat, like dark clouds far off on the horizon, heralding a storm full of wind and fury, of lightning and hail, a storm destined to leave a path of destruction in its wake.

Chapter 7

The next week passes in a blur of go to work and come home. I don’t leave the apartment and find myself wishing I had a cat for company. Thoughts of Noah chase thoughts of Becca and I dream of tigers and snakes and dragons and flowers all wilted and bruised.

Becca will be home today and I’m excited and dreading it all at the same time. I may have gone a little crazy in the weeks that she’s been gone and I may have gone extra special crazy in the last week, spinning thoughts in my head with nowhere to put them but my heart. It’s like my insides are tender and while I’m so ready for company, I’m not at all ready to hear all the things that Becca will say I’m doing wrong. I really just want a soft spot to lay my head.

When her keys jingle in the lock, I’m curled up on the couch, reading a book on my phone. I swipe the app closed and launch myself at the door, ready to grab a bag and be of some use. The door swings open and there’s Becca, my best friend, absolutely adorable in her designer outfit and looping curls. Her jeans hang down over her high heels and she’s juggling way too many suitcases for someone so small.

“Oh, thank everything that can be thanked! It’s soooo good to be home.” Becca hands over the bag that was about to fall off her shoulder and I grab one of the suitcases she’s been dragging behind her. We shuffle into the apartment and she lets everything fall and rubs her shoulders. “My God it’s clean in here. What exactly have you been doing while I’ve been gone?”

I smile and shrug, totally mute, and sigh as Becca’s energy goes to work cleaning out all the echoes from the corners. She plops down on the couch and I start dragging her stuff towards her room.

“Just leave that stuff and sit with me, Zo. I’ve missed you muches.”

That’s all the invitation I need really. I smile big and sit down next to her. Now that she’s here, I’m already less irritated with her. Like her physical presence is different than the presence in my head. Or something. Whatever it is, I feel better ‘cause she’s here.

“So I’ve been thinking about what you said …? You know, about helping you learn how to actually talk to people.” Becca flicks off her heels and they clatter to the floor while I admire the color of her toenail polish. She glances at me and I nod and smile. I remember. Her face darkens and my stomach gets all icky sicky ‘cause I recognize that look. I’ve irritated her. She’s been home all of five minutes and she’s already upset with me. “You realize you haven’t said one word since I’ve been home, right?”

So much for a soft spot to lay my head. I feel my face crumble and tears prick at my eyes but I refuse to pay them any attention. “I’m sorry.”

Becca blinks and screws her face into a question. “What is it, Zo? Why are you so upset?”

There’s a long line of words caught behind the something in my throat that won’t let me speak them. I consider each of them, try on all the different things I could say in response to her question. I’m tired of being tied up in nervous knots. I’m tired of blushing and flushing. I don’t want to be invisible but I don’t know how to be seen. I want to see Noah again and speak without thinking, but not if it’ll be at the expense of my heart, and I seem to be missing some crucial element to who he is because I saw an angel and Becca saw a jerk.

Becca watches me think, her bright, sparkling eyes catching the emotions boiling under my surface. My senses hop into overdrive and I feel warm and golden and bruised and purple and so damned uncomfortable I don’t know what to do. “It just sucks being me. That’s all.”

Becca clenches her eyebrows together and I see genuine sympathy on her face. “I know. I’m sorry. I try to help but sometimes I think I make it harder on you.” There’s blatant honesty in her voice and she looks away, trying to hide the flash of guilt that I catch anyway but don’t understand. She holds out her arms, inviting me to curl up in her lap, to find that soft spot I’ve been in need of.

The invitation dries up my tears and I catch her eyes and smile as I snuggle in. She runs her hand through my hair and I swear I’d purr if I could. Maybe I’ve just spent too much time alone. Maybe things will be better after she’s been home for a few days and things get back to normal. Maybe all I needed was basic human interaction.

After a while, Becca shifts and I sit up, smiling my thanks. “So anyway,” she says, running her hands up into her hair and giving it a little shake, “I was thinking about what you said, about wanting help dealing with people.” There’s something super-secret and awesome glittering in her eyes, a smile creeping into her eyebrows, lifting them and making her look all playful and totally adorable. Why can’t I manage to look like that? I think if I tried, I’d end up looking like I smelled something rotten. After making sure I’m paying attention, Becca continues. “Well, I was thinking we go down to Flannigan’s …” I flinch at the suggestion but she doesn’t notice. “I ran into an old friend back home. Turns out he doesn’t live too far from here.”

“Who?” If there’s a bit of confrontation in my voice it totally belongs there. I’ve been friends with Becca since forever and I’m pretty sure I know the entire list of people she’s ever met. I don’t know of anyone else from back home who headed out this way.

She gets all dodgy and waves her hand as if flicking my question out of the way. “I doubt you remember him.” And while her tone says the topic is closed for discussion, I’m not sure I agree with her. “Anyway, he’s got this friend who you might really be interested in…”

I can’t go to Flannigan’s ‘cause that’s where Noah tends to find me and I refuse to believe that Becca has an old friend who meant enough to her that she’s willing to hang out with him and worse, set me up with a friend of said friend. Something’s fishy.

“Come on, Zo. I can see fear and worry written all over your face. You asked me for help, I found help. You still have to be the one to overcome whatever it is you have to overcome.” Her eyes are more guarded than I’m used to seeing and instead of sparkling in that impossibly adorable way of hers, they glitter with something cold and calculating. Or maybe I’m imagining that. Who knows?

“I don’t want to go to Flannigan’s. Noah might be there.” And I don’t know how I’ll handle seeing him and wanting him and not being near him because he might be bad for me and I might be too broken to know.

“You’re still hung up on that guy?”

He monopolizes nearly every waking thought, but saying that will only set her off. I just nod my agreement and leave it at that.

“Of all the guys you could fall for, you find the one who’s only interested in ruining you.”

I almost blurt out my instant reaction, something indignant and defensive but I manage to swallow it back down before it even manages to flicker across my face.

Becca doesn’t notice. “That’s all the more reason we need to go to Flannigan’s and meet these guys, my friend. If Sir Jerk is there, then he’ll get to see that you didn’t fall for his bullshit. You’re no broken bird.”

That’s right. I’m a tiger.

But that doesn’t matter because I hate the thought of hurting Noah’s feelings. I hate the thought of trying to rehabilitate myself, the awkwardness of a date with a stranger, the stress of conversation, all while ignoring the one person I actually want to get to know better. It sounds decidedly not fun. In fact, it sounds awful.

“Come on. Get up.” Becca slips off the couch and pulls on my hand. “Let’s do this right. Get you in the shower. Do up your hair. Maybe we’ll even go shopping.”

Protests kinda bubble up and trip over my tongue, coming out all garbled up and goofy. I pull my hand from Becca’s and take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts so I can clearly and concisely tell her that a double date is enough of a stretch for me without adding in the noise and distraction of Flannigan’s. Add in the fact that I’ll just melt into a little pile of awkward if I see Noah and it’s just bad idea on top of bad idea on top of awful. I mean the tiger’s roaring, demanding that I put a stop to this nonsense.

Before I can speak, Becca puts a finger to my forearm, just the gentlest of touches, and her eyes go all focused and meaningful for a fraction of a second. I swear, there’s this little … nudge. I don’t know how else to describe it. This pulse of power that pushes against me, but even that’s too strong of a description. It’s just this tiny little … nudge. What is it with me and being touched lately?

Whatever. It’s useless to fight. Becca will get her way one way or another. It’s really best if I just give in now. Which is exactly what I do. I lose the rest of my day in a flurry of hair and makeup and shopping and even though I feel nothing like myself, I’m finally feeling more relaxed. No pacing tigers. No roaring in my head. No worries about Noah and my overwhelming shyness. It’s just me and my best friend, laughing and joking and enjoying each other’s company.

Earrings dart in and out of my hair, flashing when I toss my head. Bracelets clink on my wrists. She’s got me teetering around in high heels and jeans. And honestly, because I’m tall, I’ve never liked wearing heels. Put me in heels and I’m suddenly gigantic. But tonight I feel beautiful. Gigantically beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless. I’d say I looked like a mini-Becca but that’s just silly ‘cause I’m way bigger than her. It’s always seemed so unfair that I got this big old body and this tiny little personality. I’m mismatched in the worst way

Of course, since Becca’s home and calling all the shots, we don’t even discuss walking and we hop right into the Jeep, which is more than fine with me. I mean, I know how to walk in heels. Just ‘cause I’m tall and don’t like to wear them doesn’t mean that I didn’t practice wearing them in the privacy of my own house, but the couple blocks it’ll take to get to Flannigan’s seems much longer than it would if I were wearing my flats. Plus, the top’s off the Jeep and the wind’s in my hair and the air’s all soft like velvet and it all adds up to one big ball of good.

It’s that awesome time just after the sun sets in the summer and it’s still warm but the breeze is cool and the horizon glows all warm and bronze-like. We pass a bunch of guys and they call out to us, whistles and cat calls. I think I’m supposed to be offended, but I’m going to be honest, it feels really good. Becca smiles and tosses her hair and she’ll complain about those guys and all the things they said when we get to Flannigan’s, but I can tell she likes the way it feels, too.

We all just want to be seen, I think.

Nerves should be flitting around all helter-skelter in my belly. Hands should be sweating. Chest should feel tight. Maybe it’s the time with Becca, maybe it’s ‘cause I’m all done up, wearing a Becca costume, or maybe it’s because I just haven’t had time to think about what I’m walking into, but I don’t feel even a little bit nervous. I tilt my head back and throw my arms up. Life is good.

She parks and we hop out of the Jeep. The clink and clank of bracelets on my wrist and earrings in my hair and heels on the pavement all feel like body armor. They make me feel good, like maybe I can face whatever it is that’s gonna happen when I walk through this door. I can face Noah if he’s here. I can handle this double date. I can smile and ask questions and participate in conversations. I can do this.

I hope.

My hands are sweaty and I rub them against the back of my thighs as we push through the front door. Oh, boy. The place is filled. Even the corner with the dartboards has people crammed in, filling up all the empty space with sound and energy. Whatever false hope I had in myself goes flying out the window. Senses in overdrive. Guy laughing. Thunk of a dart. Click, click, click of my heels and the tinkling of my earrings screaming in my ears. Smells of food and buzzing of lights and all the bricks want to be seen. Red shirt, corner of my vision. Bump against my hip. Turn sideways through the crowd. Follow Becca to the bar.

“Well, hey!” The bartender leans on the bar and smiles. “You’ve been MIA for a while. Where you been?”

“Not here,” Becca says with a lift of her eyebrows as she sits back on her heel, jutting a hip.

“I noticed. It wasn’t the same around here without you guys.” He flips a glance in my direction before handing his attention back to Becca.

“Zo was here last week. That had to count for something.”

It counted for nothing. The guy was annoyed by my presence from start to finish.

“Oh. Ya.” The bartender gets all awkward and straightens up off the bar. “Sure it did. Just not the same without the dynamic duo. You know.” He’s floundering, trying not to offend Becca. Who cares about me? You know. The one he’s actually offending.