Who the hell do you think you are?”
Suddenly I felt like I was going to lose it in a huge, humiliating way. I spun and stalked to my room, which was a little addition past the kitchen. I slammed the door behind me, but it hit Luc’s shoulder with a thud and he shoved it open so hard it crashed against the wall, rattling the pictures.
I’d never seen him look so angry, not even on that horrible night when Clio and I had found out he’d been two-timing us—with each other. I still felt sick when I thought of it.
“I think I’m
yours
,” he said furiously. I backed away from him until I reached my bed, but I wasn’t scared. I was furious too, my anger and pain rising in me like a tidal wave.
“I think I was made for you and you for me,” he went on, his jaw clenched and his body rigid with tension. “I think I found you just when I wanted to die. I think I found someone to live for. At last.”
I was in hell. This was what hell was.
“But I screwed up,” he said. “I made a huge mistake because I was stupid and scared—” He stopped suddenly, as if startled that word had left his lips. “I screwed up,” he said more calmly. “I’m sorrier than I can say. I regret it more than anything.” He looked into my eyes, and he was so familiar to me, so much who I loved, that I wanted to scream. “Out of 260 years’ worth of regrets, this is the biggest one.”
I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding so hard it was a physical pain in my chest. Here’s the really humiliating part:
I wanted to buy it
, to say, I forgive you. I wanted to reach out and grab him and hold his head in my hands so I could kiss him hard,
hard
. I wanted to pull him down onto my bed with me and feel him pressed all against me, like I had before, on the levee by the river. I wanted it so much I could taste it, feel it.
“Thais,” he said, moving closer, his voice much softer. “Hit me if you want. Throw things at me. Yell and scream and curse my name until your voice is gone. But come back to me. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.” He paused. “Which is saying something.” The rest of his life would be quite a long time. Unless he used the Treize’s spell to die.
Still I couldn’t speak. My eyes felt wide and huge, staring at him with a longing so deep it felt like thirst.
He reached out one hand and slowly, slowly stroked one finger up my bare arm. His hands, his knowing hands, had been all over my body, and the memory of it choked me.
My brain was shorting out. My world was telescoping inward till it contained only me and Luc. I swallowed hard.
“No,” I said, in a barely audible whisper. I pulled my arm away from his touch and drew in a shuddering breath. “No.”
He took a step back, searching my face. I saw new pain in his eyes, as if I could see hope actually dying, and I looked away.
“I could make you love me,” he said, his voice low and tense again.
Cold reason dumped into my brain. I met his eyes again.
“You think? Like with a
spell
?”
His jaw tightened. Then he looked down, and I saw both shame and despair on his face. “Thais, I—” He started to raise a hand, then dropped it. He looked at me for a long time, then finally turned and left my room. As soon as he was through the door, I shut it behind him and locked it.
Then I sat on my bed, shaking, and waited for the tears to come.
St. Louis Cemetery No. 1
T he tombstones were speckled with lichen and moss, the result of hundreds of years of heat and humidity. Ouida thought they looked beautiful, and she focused her camera at a barely readable inscription. With the grainy black-and-white film she was using, this image would be striking, melancholy, like the cemetery itself. She checked the light meter and decided to underexpose the film so that the inscription would show up darker. Angling her camera on its tripod, she carefully clicked the shutter, then stood back, pleased. That would come out
Suddenly I felt like I was going to lose it in a huge, humiliating way. I spun and stalked to my room, which was a little addition past the kitchen. I slammed the door behind me, but it hit Luc’s shoulder with a thud and he shoved it open so hard it crashed against the wall, rattling the pictures.
I’d never seen him look so angry, not even on that horrible night when Clio and I had found out he’d been two-timing us—with each other. I still felt sick when I thought of it.
“I think I’m
yours
,” he said furiously. I backed away from him until I reached my bed, but I wasn’t scared. I was furious too, my anger and pain rising in me like a tidal wave.
“I think I was made for you and you for me,” he went on, his jaw clenched and his body rigid with tension. “I think I found you just when I wanted to die. I think I found someone to live for. At last.”
I was in hell. This was what hell was.
“But I screwed up,” he said. “I made a huge mistake because I was stupid and scared—” He stopped suddenly, as if startled that word had left his lips. “I screwed up,” he said more calmly. “I’m sorrier than I can say. I regret it more than anything.” He looked into my eyes, and he was so familiar to me, so much who I loved, that I wanted to scream. “Out of 260 years’ worth of regrets, this is the biggest one.”
I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding so hard it was a physical pain in my chest. Here’s the really humiliating part:
I wanted to buy it
, to say, I forgive you. I wanted to reach out and grab him and hold his head in my hands so I could kiss him hard,
hard
. I wanted to pull him down onto my bed with me and feel him pressed all against me, like I had before, on the levee by the river. I wanted it so much I could taste it, feel it.
“Thais,” he said, moving closer, his voice much softer. “Hit me if you want. Throw things at me. Yell and scream and curse my name until your voice is gone. But come back to me. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.” He paused. “Which is saying something.” The rest of his life would be quite a long time. Unless he used the Treize’s spell to die.
Still I couldn’t speak. My eyes felt wide and huge, staring at him with a longing so deep it felt like thirst.
He reached out one hand and slowly, slowly stroked one finger up my bare arm. His hands, his knowing hands, had been all over my body, and the memory of it choked me.
My brain was shorting out. My world was telescoping inward till it contained only me and Luc. I swallowed hard.
“No,” I said, in a barely audible whisper. I pulled my arm away from his touch and drew in a shuddering breath. “No.”
He took a step back, searching my face. I saw new pain in his eyes, as if I could see hope actually dying, and I looked away.
“I could make you love me,” he said, his voice low and tense again.
Cold reason dumped into my brain. I met his eyes again.
“You think? Like with a
spell
?”
His jaw tightened. Then he looked down, and I saw both shame and despair on his face. “Thais, I—” He started to raise a hand, then dropped it. He looked at me for a long time, then finally turned and left my room. As soon as he was through the door, I shut it behind him and locked it.
Then I sat on my bed, shaking, and waited for the tears to come.
St. Louis Cemetery No. 1
T he tombstones were speckled with lichen and moss, the result of hundreds of years of heat and humidity. Ouida thought they looked beautiful, and she focused her camera at a barely readable inscription. With the grainy black-and-white film she was using, this image would be striking, melancholy, like the cemetery itself. She checked the light meter and decided to underexpose the film so that the inscription would show up darker. Angling her camera on its tripod, she carefully clicked the shutter, then stood back, pleased. That would come out
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