Blood Storm

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

The man I was looking at could have easily been a runway model, if it weren’t for his slightly gruff and wild expression.

He had thick, white-blonde hair that was messily pushed back on his head, as if he’d just ran his hands through it. His face looked like a sculpture; he had a strong, chiseled jaw and sharp, high cheekbones. His lips were full and the top one had the most perfect Cupid’s bow I’d ever seen. He was pale— very pale, actually. He looked as if his skin had never seen the sun before. It flattered him, though, if that was possible. His eyes— his eyes made me feel like I was going to vomit for all the right reasons. I couldn’t tell if they were just really dark brown, or if they were actually just black at first. The longer I stared the more decided I was that they were just black, all the way from pupil to iris. He had a thick row of black lashes that lined them.

He was wearing black jeans that hugged his narrow hips in all of the right places and a long sleeve black shirt rhat was currently pulled up to his elbows, showing off a very firm and muscular forearm. He was tall, probably well over six feet. He was lean, but definitely in shape— wirey muscles were very visible underneath his shirt.

“No,” I responded, tilting my chin up slightly. “It does not.”

He eyed me like a child would eye a toy that they had become bored with. “You looked like you might set it on fire.”

“I thought about it.”

His eyes were curious, while still maintaining that bored effect. Something about him was irritating to me— and I assumed it was probably the fact that this man definitely looked as though I was boring him.

“You’re not from here.” He said it as if were fact, and I instantly got pissed off.

I didn’t know what it was that made these people instantly know I didn’t belong here, but I was beginning to think they had a radar for anyone slightly different from them. “Wow, you’re so right. You know, with a brain like yours, you should really go into neuroscience or something.”

I wasn’t really sure why I was being so rude. The way he was staring at me was making me uncomfortable, and also very nervous. Butterflies started up in my stomach and my skin felt hot. I had never had someone stare at me so intensely before. I wasn’t sure he had even blinked.

He leaned casually against the bookshelf, crossing his arms across his shoulders. “Are you always so callous?”

That pissed me off. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was calling me out on it and I knew it was true, or if it was because I felt insulted, or both. I felt the rush of blood to my cheeks.

“Do you always sneak up on people in dark corners?” I snapped.

“I try not to make a habit of it.” The corner of his mouth twisted up into an arrogant half-smile.

I got up, slamming the book shut. I walked back over to the shelf nearest to me and shoved it back in its place. His I’m-God’s-gift-to-the-world attitude was bothering me way more than it should have.

“Well, good. Thanks for trying not to be creepy, I guess.” I retorted, still facing the bookshelf.

I turned around, about to angrily stomp around and out to the front door, and gasped. He was suddenly right in front of me. There was no more than two inches between our bodies as he leaned over my face, his blond hair falling over on his forehead. I stumbled backwards, my back pressing into the bookshelf. Instead of retreating in reaction to my shock, he just leaned closer.

Flustered, I braced my hands on the shelf behind me, trying to get my bearings. My knees felt like they were going to shake. Not out of fear, although there was definitely some of that— but mostly out of attraction. He had a warm scent that smelled like a campfire that washed over me in waves.

He stared down at me, and his eyes no longer looked bored. In fact, they looked so intense that I felt like I might burst into flames where I stood.

“Personal space is a thing, you know,” I tried to sound snarky, but my voice came out thick and shaky.

“You should be careful around here,” his voice was low and rough. “Things are different.”

I couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a threat, and the desire to know which was impossible to ignore. It was also very impossible to ignore his angelic face that was a mere two inches from mine, with the sweet scent of his breath fanning over my face.

“I don’t think I’m going to end up in a fishing net anytime soon, but thanks.”

“There’s a lot of carnivores out here,” he never lifted his intense gaze. “Try to stay inside at night.”

I closed my eyes for a brief second, trying to focus as his breath once again hit my face and threatened to make me dizzy, or even worse, make me swoon into his arms— but when I opened my eyes again, he was gone.

I stood there for another solid three minutes, my hands locked so hard onto the book case behind me that my knuckles were screaming in protest. Gradually, my heart rate started to slow and my rationality seemed to come back to me and I was able to let go of the shelf.

I’d officially met two people here in Rockport, and both of them were weird. I wondered briefly if that’s just how people were here. Maybe the isolation and lack of a social scene caused them to act strange. But even still, what did he mean about carnivores? Wolves? Bears? I wasn’t sure.

I shook my head, glad to be able to think clearly again. He was probably just a weird guy who was lonely.

I kept telling myself that, but my brain couldn’t shake the thoughts that someone as gorgeous as him wouldn’t be lonely at all. He would have girls lining the block to get to him. So why would he waste his time accosting me about my reading choices?

I grabbed my backpack from the armchair I had been curled up in and decided it was probably time for me to walk home anyway. I was overwhelmed and tired. I didn’t think I could handle another strange happening from a Rockport resident today. And considering those weird encounters didn’t seem to be in short supply, I thought I should get home while I still can.

I shivered as I stepped out into the freezing cold air. It was very different from the warm bubble I’d just been in with the stranger in the back of the library. My hair stood at attention on the back of my neck.

My walk back to the cottage was just as quiet as before, the only sounds were my boots crunching against the ground and my labored breathing as the freezing cold air stung inside of my lungs. The temperature must have been dropping, because while it was cold earlier, it definitely hadn’t felt this cold. My teeth were beginning to chatter.

Thankfully, the house came into view before I could chatter all of my teeth out my head. I ran up the steps and inside, sighing at the heat instantly warmed my cheeks. I leaned my back against the front door, enjoying the hot air.

“Colette? Is that you?”

My mother rounded the corner from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She sighed in relief when she saw me. “Oh, thank goodness. It’s getting below freezing out there. I was about to come look for you.”

I leaned forward and shrugged out of my jacket. “You worry too much, Mom.” I told her as I hung my jacket by the door.

“I worry just the right amount, thank you,” she retorted. “You’re my only baby and I’ll worry about you until I’m dead.”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. As much as I wanted to be angry at her right now, to scream and throw blame, I couldn’t. She sounded just like I did earlier in the library, when I was giving Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Asshat all that attitude. She got the same stubborn tilt to her jaw as me.

I had more of my mother in me than I wanted to admit sometimes. Which wasn’t bad; on a normal day, I adored my mother. She was everything to me that a mother ever should have been. She was warm, kind, brave. She had a heart of gold. While I would probably always disagree with her running from our home to this stupid little town, I knew I wouldn’t hate her. I’d be angry. I’d scream and wail and cry. But I could never not love my mother.

I grabbed her, pulling her towards me into a fierce hug. She didn’t have to take a moment to realize what I was doing, she already knew. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me back instantly.

I settled there for a few minutes, breathing in the familiar and safe strawberry scent of her dark red curls. The smell combined with the hug slowly started to calm all of my anxieties from the day and slow my heart rate down to an even, calm thud.

“I love you, Mom,” I whispered. “I’m sorry if I’m making this harder on you. I’m trying.”

“Oh, stop apologizing,” she snapped. “You have lost every bit as much as I have, baby. There’s no guidebook for any of this, and I think we’re doing pretty good.”

She pulled back and smiled at me, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of my face. “I’m making homemade lasagna. Nona’s recipe that I found in a book in the kitchen. You’ll love it.”

I walked into the tiny yellow kitchen with my mom and found myself a seat at the little breakfast nook table. “Do you know a lady named Penelope?”

Mom turned around from putting a casserole dish in the oven. “I see you found the library,” she smiled.

I nodded. I was still hoping I could figure out how old Penelope was. Not knowing was starting to eat at me a little bit. “Do you know how old she is?”

My mom appeared to be deep in thought for a moment. “Um.. honestly, sweetie, I’m not sure. She started there when I was probably eight years old, and she was a young thing then, probably about 21. That’s been about 34 years ago though, so she has to be every bit of fifty five or fifty six by now. I haven’t seen her in years.”

My head span a little. So much for fifteen years. There was no way the woman I saw was fifty five years old. I supposed that she could have been getting work done, though. I had seen plenty of celebrities that looked twenty five in their late sixties. It was just odd that if she was that determined to keep up her youthful appearance, she wouldn’t have colored her hair. Maybe she thought it added character.

I snorted. Look at me, focused on the tiny librarian in stupid Rockport, trying to make up conspiracy theories. Penelope had been very nice to me, and I was being kind of a shithead about her looks.

“Oh. Okay.”

Dinner was done shortly after that, and Mom and I ate in silence for the majority of the meal. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence by any means. The lasagna was good though— I just didn’t have much of an appetite. I pondered over the day I’d had in my head as I twirled my fork around through the pieces of ricotta cheese.

Rockport was definitely a much different town than Asheville. Everyone here seemed to be very comfortable with small town life. Except one, I thought as I gritted my teeth. Apparently, I was the only person in Rockport who didn’t find the town charming— my mother included.

“You have two more days before you start school,” my mother interrupted my groveling. “Do you have anything you want to do? I could go show you the fisheries, or—“

“I don’t really care about fisheries, Mom.”

“There’s a nice little coffee shop in town,” my mother bit her lip, obviously trying to make me feel included and happy. I felt bad for shutting her down.

“I’ll check it out tomorrow.”

“You can take the car, if you want,” she told me. “I’m going to try to do some things around here tomorrow— I won’t miss it.”

I thought about that for a moment. It would definitely be better than walking through the wet and the freezing cold. I nodded at her. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Be careful on the roads. Sometimes they get icy.”

“I will.”

Mom and I went to our seperate activities after that. She was sorting through some old photo albums that were in the hallway closet, and I retreated into my room.

I was hoping the cold would have taken enough energy out of me that I would fall asleep quickly, but I didn’t. I still felt wide awake, which didn’t help when the waves of grief took me again, like they did every night when I tried to rest.

I tried to tune out the images that flooded behind my eyelids by scrolling through my phone.

Aaron: Did you grow gills yet?

I sighed in relief. The text message from my best friend chimed in just in time, offering me the distraction I needed from my own thoughts.

Me: Not yet. Still waiting.

Aaron: Bummer. Just wanted to check on you.

I sighed. I missed him. Hearing from him just made me want to take off back home.

Me: I’m surviving. Miss you.

Aaron: Miss you too.

I didn’t reply after that. Aaron’s cheesy jokes usually cheered me up, but they didn’t seem to be having their normal effect tonight. My uncontrollable grief seemed to be sneaking up on me, threatening to beat me down in response to me ignoring it all day.

It wasn’t long before I just laid there and let it consume me.