I Wish

Chapter 6

I pulled away. Not immediately, but eventually, I found the presence of mind to pull away. That isn’t to say I liked it. No. Not even a little bit, it felt like we were connected by millions of tiny threads wrapping around us both. Attempting to separate made them cut in, threatening to break but never quite making good on that promise. I didn’t want to stop kissing her at all.

“What?” I gasped, unable to move more than a scant few centimetres away. My mouth burned. You ever eat something so spicy that you tap out and make for the nearest dairy product? The way it eats at your skin. It was like that, with a small voice in the back of my head steadily getting louder and louder exclaiming to kiss her. Her lips would be better than ice cream. I almost wanted to scrape my tongue against my teeth, see if that helped any. The only reason I could say that I didn’t, was because I knew it wouldn’t.

“Shh,” she hummed, pressing her forehead to mine, “It’s okay. I’m here.” Her other arm was wrapped around my waist. There was a deep fiery resentment that currently felt too far away to touch, about the part where that actually made me feel safe. So I told her so, reminding myself that this was a stranger and this whole situation – beyond insane.

“I don’t understand this, and I don’t like it,” I said breathlessly. There was just a smidge of self-disgust at that, because really? Breathlessly? As if I were some lame-ass damsel in distress. She laughed. Blankly, I wondered about that. Why? Was I funny? “You laugh at me a lot,” I told her, sounding kind of sad, and she stopped. I wasn’t even sure why I said it because I didn’t actually mean for her to stop, everything just kept getting lost on the way from my brain to my mouth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was laughing at you,” she said softly, “Guess I didn’t think about how scary it’d be for you. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life and I’d bet you don’t even know what a mate is, huh?” All of this sounded like we were having a normal conversation, but we were still pressed so closely together that we were pretty much essentially sharing each other’s breath. As for mates? I didn’t think she meant friend, the way it does where I’m from, and I’d read enough trashy (or at least that’s what I’d claim my guilty pleasure as) werewolf romance before to know where this was going. I’d long had a theory that mates were just one of those things that was all kind of great in fiction and absolutely terrifying to speculate on if it was happening in real life. Also, since when did I volunteer as a tribute to test it?

“In Australia it means buddy. Friend. Pal,” I said, noncommittally, as I was able to while still being as much of a smartass as possible. Which, considering all the practice I’ve had, was a decent amount. I was happy with it at the very least.

“That’s not what it means here,” she said, pulling me so my head rested on her shoulder. It took less than five seconds for me to break. Shuffling further into her embrace, and wrapping my arms around her in return. She bites her lip, stifling a laugh into a joyful humph, rocking us backwards and forwards. I was perfectly, eerily, content. Even with her collar bone poking me in the cheek. Pretty collar bone though, I thought to myself, and edged towards sleepy.

“Let me guess. It’s all mystical bonds, claims, and pretty much magical marriage determined by the universe,” I said sardonically, “And you’ll never let me go. Is this the part where you tell me that you’re a werewolf?” The rhythmic swaying stopped, and her grip tightened.

“I am not a dog,” she said, frankly offended, “And yes, that pretty much sums it up. If you know all of this already, why are you so scared?” Lots of questions, all of the questions. Lovely. Was it sad that I was thinking somewhere parallel to all of this, I could probably work with that? Shuffling that to the side, I answered her question. As honestly as I could even.

“Because they’re stories. People aren’t wired like that. It’d never be sustainable in the long term,” I told her matter of factly, “And now it’s happening. To me. Do you have any idea how unlikely that all is? I feel crazy, and at some point when I go home I’m going to have to figure out a way to convince myself that you’re real.” The crickets seemed to chirp louder in the silence of my outburst. A curl of pure awkward embarrassment twisting in my gut. Damn it, I didn’t want to feel guilty for bringing up totally valid points. There was a look in her eye, and I didn’t like it. The way it regarded me, was like she just listened to everything I said and came to the completely wrong conclusion. Why was something in me insisting that this was adorable?

“You think I couldn’t be real?” There is something glittery and dangerous in her offended tone when she speaks. That’s not… that’s not what I meant.

“Have you seen you?” I muttered into the skin of her neck and hid my face, “And by the way, I didn’t even know I was into girls. So thanks for dropping that bomb in, like, the least subtle way possible.” She heard me, even though I wasn’t sure I had intended to speak, and the tension drained from her body. Tinkling little giggles escaped her throat that made me almost want to purr. This strong compulsion that she was happy, a stranger I’d only ever seen in my dreams, should have frightened me more than it did.

“You think I’m pretty,” she all but sang, a lilting crow of pride. Gorgeous, I internally sighed longingly.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful, and when you’re sad it hurts. I’d do anything to hear you laugh or see you smile, and I don’t know you,” I said, finding the seed of panic buried in my brain and doing my best to stress it, because I knew even if I couldn’t feel it properly now, this was going to be worse later. When she wasn’t here to mystically circumvent all my negative emotions about any of this.

“We can fix that,” she said boldly, a declaration, and it sounded like a promise, “Once we know one another a little better, the compulsions should fade.” Now there were two lines of thought attached to that statement that I felt were very important. I knew that if I stopped and thought about it anymore than I already was, I might just be capable of panicking. For real this time, so in lieu of being able to decide between the two, I brought them up in no particular order.

“Compulsions? Wonderful, now I get to spend a whole bunch of time doubting myself. My every thought, every decision and every feeling. That I have about anything and everything. Yay,” I said almost bitterly and frustrated because I had known that there was something, but hearing that my actions (or worse thoughts) weren’t entirely my own was horrifying, “Also, know one another? If that’s a line to get a leg over?” She interrupted me before I could finish.

“As much as I would love to Treasure, it’s not happening today. That’s a quick and dirty way to solidify a bond, for the desperate and the lazy. You are way too special for that, we talk. Until we’ve gotten to know each other,” she said, and I felt like an i***t. A confused i***t, mostly because her words sounded genuine. The thin long fingers that had shoved my shirt up just the tiniest amount to glide across the patch of skin above my hip bone made me wonder. Even if it wasn’t particularly invasive or bold, it still saw tingles sparking across my skin.

“Your name?” I asked, sure that she would refuse me after all she had said about knowing mine, and how it gave her some bizarre kind of ownership… rights over me. Why am I not freaking out more about this? Why does it feel like, emotionally, I can’t remember this? I knew it logically, it just didn’t feel like I did. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t going to cough up her name and that - that I would surely be able to hold onto. Be mad, and stay mad. If she was pulling all this, but still wasn’t willing to tell me, it would be enough for me to get out of here. To want to want to get out of here. My thoughts were dissolving into something unintelligible the more I considered abandonment.

“You can call me Ivy,” she whispered. Ivy whispered, and I was so stunned that she had actually given me a name that it took me a minute to realise what she had probably hoped I had missed.

“Call you?” I snorted flatly, and it might have been bitter, but she seemed so proud that I had figured it out. Almost humming in excitement.

“Yes, clever girl,” Ivy praised. There was a tiny glowing ball in my chest, which made me feel dizzy at her complement, seeming to flare colours in time with my pulse. “I’m a faerie, and yes, it’s why things are like this, but if it wasn’t meant to be or wasn’t meant to happen to you, it wouldn’t have,” she informed me with so much confidence that I almost found myself nodding along like any of this made sense. Less subtle than I thought I was being, I skimmed my hands up and down her back.

“A fairy?” I asked in wonder, and that should have been irritating too, because I kept feeling the need to ask all these questions. They weren’t even questions, they were more like prompts, and I knew I should have been asking more while I still had the chance. It was just while considering all this I couldn’t figure out what exactly to ask.

“Faerie. I can hear you spelling it wrong,” she chided before her tone turned excited, “Now, tell me all about you.” It was very much a statement, not a request. I struggled not to make a quip about not being human, not that what I did say was any better, and answered.

“I’m a Taurus,” I confided, being petty about the way I was all but jumping to answer her. It backfired when she didn’t seem to notice, or maybe care, that I was being difficult on purpose.

“Oh,” she squealed, squeezing me and being bizarrely excited about the whole thing, “Star gossip. Tell me all about it.” Ivy flopped backwards onto the grass, with me lying atop her. She was warm and soft, and I fought the urge to plant kisses all over the patch of her throat. It sat tauntingly in front of me. Star gossip? Why not? It seemed like a harmless topic and I’d checked this month’s horoscopes out of boredom. So I did.