“No.”
“But Alaric —”
“No.”
“I’ll go on the pill,” I say with wide eyes.
That seems to piss him off even more. “Fuck no.”
“Why not?”
His nostrils flare. “Because I don’t want a fucking pill to protect you.”
“What? That doesn’t —”
He crushes me to his body then as he growls, “When it’s my job.”
Oh God.
He did it again, didn’t he?
He can’t stop doing it.
He can’t stop being adorable. It will only make it harder for him to put me off my mission: have unprotected sex with the man who wants to protect me from everything.
I fist his hair. “Why are you so awesome? You make it so hard to stay mad at you and —”
“Poe?”
“What?”
His chocolate chip eyes flash. “Shut the fuck up.”
And then he covers my mouth with his, swallowing not only my lips but my gasp as well.
It’s okay though.
Because as I said, it’s so hard to stay mad at him.
So I’ll let him kiss me and I’ll kiss him back.
But we’re coming back to this conversation.
In the future.
Which is bright and full of laughter and smiles. It’s full of leather-bound books, colorful dresses, cherry pies – I finally nailed it – and exotic places. And I don’t need a fortune teller to tell me that.
Because it’s him and me.
Alaric and Poe.
There’s a girl who loves me. Who lives and breathes for me.
She tells me that I’m a fighter. A survivor.
That I have the same fire in me that she does.
And maybe I do.
I’m learning, see. I’m learning who I am. I’m learning who I want to be.
I’m learning.
For her.
For that girl.
Because I love her too. Because I live and breathe for her too.
Because she’s the beat of my heart and the air in my lungs.
My wildcat, my troublemaker.
My siren and my doe-eyed diva.
My Poe.
THE END
(For Alaric and Poe)
When: A few weeks ago; First sighting of Reign Davidson
Where: The Horny Bard
Everything is going well.
Actually, everything is going better than well.
Everything is going great.
Unexpectedly great.
I mean, when I came here tonight – to The Horny Bard – all I wanted to do was to catch a glimpse of him, look at him from afar.
And I’m doing that.
After two long years.
Ever since he broke up with me and walked out of my life.
But.
But he’s looking at me too. He’s noticing me too.
And in the same way he used to back when we were together.
With adoration and want.
And oh my God, oh my God, I’m going to freak out.
With happiness I mean.
With giddiness. With love.
My ex-boyfriend, who I never ever thought would look at me the same way, is looking at me.
He’s staring at me and he’s staring at my wonderful dress like he can’t look away.
And that’s why I had to hide here, in the bathroom, away from him and everyone else out there. Lest I do something crazy like grin like a lunatic and hop up and down in my spot with the kind of joy I can’t contain.
Standing at the sink, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
“Lucas is looking at you,” I tell myself with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “Maybe he misses you. Maybe he has missed you like you missed him and maybe…”
Okay, no.
I’m not going there.
I’m not going to jump and leap and weave dreams of a reunion, standing at a bathroom sink, just because Lucas looked at me a few times over the last hour.
Instead I’m going to stick to the plan.
Or rather the plan my friends, Poe specifically, came up with.
When I told her that my ex-boyfriend was going to be at The Horny Bard and that I wanted to see him, Poe went into her plotting mode. She planned and devised everything, starting from what dress I’d wear – a blue suede corset style number – and what my makeup would be – smoky and sultry – to how I’d act around him.
She said to be aloof and confident.
She said not to appear desperate or clingy or to throw looks at him. Let him come to you, she said, don’t let it show how much you still love him.
And since I love him a lot still, I decided to follow her advice.
Which means I’m not going to jump the gun or break character.
So yeah, I needed this little bathroom break to rein my thoughts and my feelings in.
Exhaling and patting my hair and my flushed cheeks, I decide it’s time to go back. I walk out of the bathroom and immediately come to a grinding halt.
Because there’s a guy here.
He stands leaning on the opposite wall, his black stomping boot propped up on the bricks, his hands shoved down into his pockets and his eyes trained on the bathroom door.
Or rather, on me since I’m standing on the threshold now.
I know he’s waiting for me.
Because that’s what he does.
He waits for me.
In darkened corners, in lonely hallways, in empty rooms.