Disclaimer: I do not own nor did I create the characters or the world of Defiance. I'm just playing with them for fun, and not for profit.
Author's Note: I'm not dead. I just work 60 hours a week. I've been sitting on this chapter for a while now – it's so weird to read your own writing after a bunch of time has passed. I'm hoping that I can find some extra time to finish this story without another long wait – I really need to write more, in any case. I'll try my best …
I froze when I saw Alak. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised – it was a small town, and there were only a handful of things to do on any given weekday. Browsing at the market was one of them. It just seemed that, now that I was consciously trying to avoid being seen with him, I was seeing him everywhere.
Realizing I was staring, I lowered my gaze, trying to gracefully side-step behind a rack of scarves. In another world, I would've approached him, maybe even touched his arm, smiled at him. Sadly, we were firmly in Defiance, where the only thing stranger than a young human girl and a Castithan boy being lovers would be being friends.
I pretended to browse through a rack of old clothes, catching glimpses of him in the spaces between the garments. He found some old records half-hidden under a display of sunglasses, and the smile that lit up his face was like a punch in the gut, knocking out my breath momentarily.
It was frightening, to be seized by an emotion that was so entirely consuming, if only for a moment. I hadn't intended for this. I suppose I had thought that we'd 'get to know each other,' that I'd come to some logical conclusion about his character before I would grow to care about him. I thought that when I kissed him, I would feel something physical, and instead it had been like a switch flipping on inside me. I was all urges, yearning to touch him and discover him even as I fought myself for control.
And now I was the instrument of my own torture, because I'd insisted, in an increasingly rare moment of clarity, that we shouldn't see each other for 'a while'. By this I meant a perfectly reasonable week.
"I'm free tomorrow," he'd murmured, kissing me again. It had been so hard to stop, as if the kisses all melted into each other, only briefly interrupted by words.
But if we saw each other too often, I'd thought, someone would surely notice. So I'd said a week, and it had been a long week, a week where the radio had become a lifeline and showers took forever because I kept losing my train of thought.
I was walking toward him before I even realized it, but I had the sense at least to be coy, drifting toward him innocently as I pretended to browse a haphazard path of goods.
I was about ten feet away when he finally glanced up from the vinyl and noticed me. His eyes widened briefly, then shot back down to the record in his hand. I smiled a little to myself – it was ironic that he was following the rules I had insisted on even as I broke them myself.
Feigning sudden disinterest, I turned and left the stall, walking slowly and deliberately. When I had crossed the street, I looked back casually over my shoulder and caught his eye. We watched each other for a moment.
Then I slipped into the alleyway.
I laced my way in until I found a broad expanse of brick wall, then leaned against it, breathing out hard. I didn't know what I was doing, which was exhilarating, but more than a little unnerving as well.
I waited, and for a few minutes I thought my impulsive plan hadn't worked. I considered sneaking back out, but all at once his silhouette was framed in the alley entrance and he was quickly sneaking back as well, his monochrome clothing shifting dark grey in the shadows.
He approached me, and I realized that I hadn't planned for anything beyond this moment.
"Christie?" he asked. He looked genuinely confused, which always pleased a part of me. I remembered his capacity to be a little arrogant. "What are you doing in an alley?"
"Luring you down it, evidently," I said. I smiled, but found myself ducking my head down, a little embarrassed. I was going for sexy, but worried I'd hit on desperate instead.
He stared at me for a moment, then grinned. He was amused, but in a good way. Even as I felt relieved, I also felt the blush in my cheeks burn harder.
"So," he said, closing the gap between us and stuffing his hands inside his jacket pockets, "Did you .. need to tell me something?"
Again I felt at a loss. I looked up at him, taking in his warm, effortless smile. I realized that the way he looked down at me was the way he looked at a new record, but it wasn't brief. It was suspended, like a look of unending pleasant surprise.
I reached out and yanked him forward by a fistful of his jean jacket, and not quite as gently as I had intended. I had time to enjoy the fleeting expression of shock on his face, and then I slid my fingertips under his jawline, drawing down his chin. I had to – he was so tall. But he bent forward instinctively, and I kissed him, a little desperately at first, pressing my lips against his as if they would disappear any moment. Then I pulled back, and kissed him again more tenderly.
He brushed the hair back from my cheeks, smiling just slightly. He looked as dazed as I felt.
"So," he said, a little hesitantly, "Is it safe to say that you missed me?"
I raised an eyebrow, though it seemed impossible to frown. Kissing was one thing, but words were more serious.
"It's safe to say that you'll see me on Saturday," I said, the slightest hint of warning in my voice.
My hands had dropped to his chest, and I pressed my fingertips into the warm fabric of his shirt one last time, almost sighing. It was hard to look him in the eye, to see where uncertainty had sunk into his features. But I wouldn't make promises I wasn't sure I could keep.
"Wait a few minutes until after I leave, before you go," I said, looking away. I turned and walked out again into the street, blinking at the harsh sunlight. I could feel the kiss lingering on my mouth, and my chest was suddenly heavy, tense with both longing and doubt.
I needed a drink.
The Need/Want was deserted at this time in the afternoon, which was a blessing. I made my way to the end of the bar, hoping to be inconspicuous. I just wanted a quiet place to think.
I ordered a drink only to stare down into it. It seemed that the more I tried to think about Alak, the more that I just felt. I felt hollow. I couldn't decide if it was because I kept pulling away from him, or because I'd let him get this close to me in the first place.
"What's wrong?" a voice said. I looked up, and was shocked to see Kenya Rosewater standing in front of me with her arms folded over the bar. It was her place, of course, but I rarely saw her except from a distance.
"Nothing," I said, trying to laugh a little, throw her off. I lowered my eyes from her bold make-up. Even though I tried to keep an open mind about these things, my father had made it clear what he thought of her profession, and how I was supposed to stay away from it. "Just .. needed a place to think for a while."
"Interesting," she said, her face eerily serious. "Most people don't come here to think."
It was a strange way to introduce yourself to someone. I wondered if I really seemed that pathetic, sitting here all alone.
"Small town," I offered. "There aren't that many options."
"Is Alak Tarr fucking with you?" she asked.
I coughed, immediately raising my drink. I took a thick sip, letting the liquid burn down my throat before I attempted answering.
"Excuse me?" I asked. I hated that my voice sounded so suddenly high-pitched.
"Has he been bothering you?" she asked again. This time, I heard the slightest note of concern in her voice, and I dared to look up and meet her gaze. Her dark eyes were still grave, but they had softened a little.
"No," I said, quietly. A sense of dread was growing in my stomach. "You .. you saw us together?"
"I saw him talking to you, and you telling him to leave you alone," she said, simply.
"It's okay," I said. I tried to sound confident, maybe even a little bit upbeat. "We've just been .. talking."
"Talking," she repeated. "So you two are .. friends, then."
I took another long sip of my drink.
"And Alak has nothing to do with why you've wandered into my bar in the middle of the day?" she questioned. The feeling of panic in my gut was only continuing to grow. If she had noticed, how many other people had?
"I guess I'm just confused," I said. I regretted the words even as I said them, but until then, I hadn't realized how badly I'd needed to talk to someone. "About him. He's like .. he's .."
"A Casti?" she offered. It seemed sarcastic, but underneath her tone was solemn.
I took in a deep breath. My family hated Castithans, my friends were at the very least suspicious of them. Kenya Rosewater could very well be the only person I could talk to who knew some personally. Granted, as her clientele, but still.
"Would you trust a Castithan man?" I asked. I swallowed hard. I hadn't tried hard enough to mask the anxiety in my voice.
She leaned forward, locking her eyes with mine.
"That depends," she said, pursing her brilliant red lips. "Trust them to do what?"
I hesitated, flustered. For the second time today, I felt myself blushing hard.
"Be good to you?" I questioned.
This seemed to take her back a little. She thought for a moment, her perpetual frown wavering a little.
"I think you and I have different ideas about what that means," she said, a little dryly. "But I don't know Alak Tarr. I've never known him to cause trouble in my bar, but then, that doesn't say much."
I lowered my eyes into my drink again. I felt stupid, talking with a complete stranger about a situation that was, in itself, so strange. At the same time, though, it felt good to hear from a woman who wasn't a romantic.
She seemed to take in my silence thoughtfully, eying me up and down with a kind of bemused, half-hidden curiosity.
"Tell me what you like about him," she said, her voice a little gentler than before.
My cheeks were already burning, but I took in a breath, steadying myself. I wanted to be honest.
"I don't know, exactly," I said. "He can be so arrogant. I swear he hasn't been told 'no' much in his life, especially by women."
I thought of the meek Castithan girl he'd chosen to randomly dance with, just to toy with me, and it soured the thought more.
"Go on," Kenya encouraged, tilting her head slightly to the side in consideration.
"But he also doesn't seem to want anything from me," I said. "He just listens. And when we talk, he seems so .. genuine. I know who his father is, but sometimes, when he talks about music, he just seems so .. naïve. Like he just wants to live his life and lose himself in his music and his art and just .. be."
"I know who his father is, too," she said, and her grim tone returned for a brief moment. "The more important thing is how well you know yourself. Your ability to judge."
I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stared back at her, feeling meek by comparison.
"It's what I have to do every day, as a woman," she said, smiling a little, but darkly. "To keep myself safe."
"So what should I do?" I asked. I gripped my drink with sudden apprehension – on some level, I realized that I was afraid of the advice she might give me.
"Don't be afraid to trust yourself," she said, slowly. "But give it time, before you trust him."
I fell silent again. I wasn't entirely sure what this meant, and while I appreciated her quip about trusting myself, I felt like I had been looking for a different, more reassuring answer.
Maybe I was right to be a little afraid.
"Or," she said. "You know what the Castis say. Seeming is being."
I felt my mouth fall open a little as she smiled at me, a real smile, controlled but genuine.
"Here," she said, lifting up a bottle from behind the bar. "I think you need another shot. On the house."
By the time I left the Need/Want, I had that slightly vague feeling in my head that you get when you are just recently sober. I felt heavy and tired, but I didn't feel like walking into the house with alcohol on my breath, unlikely as it was that I would run into my father or brothers immediately.
I decided to stroll the market again, quieter now and free of the unavoidable distraction that was Alak. The sun was setting, and the makeshift roofs and banners of the various stalls cast grey and orange shadows over the street.
I found myself drawn to a booth with Castithan items, its pale fabrics and beaded charms difficult to see in the fading light. The merchant eyed me suspiciously as I drifted inside, narrowing his eyes, but said nothing. Of course I felt unwelcome, but then the veils and talismans had become more alluring to me, like I'd developed a sudden nostalgia for them. The feeling made it worth the discomfort, for the moment.
I rubbed the pendant of a necklace between my thumb and forefinger, wondering what kind of stone it was. I was about to set it back, but then I felt an uneasy sensation come over me, like I was being watched closely. I turned, fully expecting the shopkeeper.
It wasn't him. It was a Castithan boy, my age, maybe older. He was close to me, so close that I took a step back in surprise.
"Wondering how it would look on you?" he asked. He was tall, like Alak, and his hair was undyed. It fell down to his shoulders in lank, loosely curled rivulets, as if it were unwashed. He was smiling, but not in a kind way.
"It's pretty," I said, and immediately put it back. I lowered my eyes and tried to step past him, pretending to continue browsing the items, but he followed my movements and blocked me.
"It is," he said. "A little exotic for you, though, isn't it?"
I couldn't read his voice. I thought he must be mocking me, but then he paused as if to wait for my answer.
"It's getting dark," I said. I stepped forward, expecting him to let me pass, but he held his ground. And now we were closer.
"It's okay," he said, his smile broadening in a way that made me slightly nauseous. "I like to try new things, too."
He reached out as if to touch my face, and I took an immediate step back, but he matched me, narrowing the distance even more. I considered simply making a break for the opening of the tent – that was how panicked I felt, that I could simply run – but it was too late. He took hold of my chin.
"You could try me on, if you want," he said. I met his gaze for a moment, bearing down into his eyes as I could burn them out with sheer willpower, and then I tugged my jaw away. He held on.
"What's wrong?" he asked, petulantly, laughing at me. "I thought you wanted a haint!"
"Fuck off!" I hissed, stepping back as I jerked my head. He finally let go, but then, suddenly, I found myself walking backwards into a hanging row of dead animals, like huge rats with thick tails.
A few were knocked off, and one fell onto my shoulder, its bloated body sliding down my bare arm before hitting the ground. My stomach twisted in disgust – I held my arm away from my body, already smelling the half-rotten blood dripping from my skin.
The boy was grinning, all but laughing aloud, and I wished suddenly that I carried a knife. It was a brief thought, because suddenly the shopkeeper was there, cursing and gesturing wildly in Castithan at the bloodied, dead rats in the dust. Finally he switched to English.
"They're ruined!" he said, and I wasn't sure how he could sell what had been rotting in the sun all day, anyway, but I held my tongue. "Who is going to pay for this?"
I looked around me. The boy, whoever he was, was gone, but in his place was a growing crowd of Castithans, men and women who had stopped on their way home to see what all the commotion was about. Their faces were blank, their eyes cold.
"I will," I said, suddenly. I pulled a wad of scrip out of my pocket, handing it to him. I needed to get out of here, to run, to breathe. He took it even with the stain of my bloody fingerprints.
Keep my eyes down, I walked toward the crowd, which was already, thankfully, beginning to silently dissipate. One body, though, was stock still. I instinctively looked up to see who it was.
It was Alak. He met my eyes, and I saw that he was furious, and breathing hard. He slowly glanced down at my bloody arm, then back up again to my face.
In that moment, I didn't care who was still watching me.
"Alak!" I said, but he hardly seemed to hear me. He was in another world. I tried to close the distance between us, already thinking the things I would say. It's okay. It's not my blood.
But he didn't wait for me. He gave me one last fleeting glance, reaching into his pocket as he turned to disappear into the crowd.
Please take a moment to review if you can. I seriously get excited to see "New Review for Another Shot from amazingperson" in my Inbox. And I love getting feed back.