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I am absolutely insane. When I fell off Gatsby I must have damaged the part of my brain that made me somewhat normal, because what I'm about to do is definitely not normal.

It is my first day out of the hospital, the first day since the fall that I am allowed to do most of the things I've done before. I can't ride or go to gym class for awhile, but at least I'm allowed out of the house. Despite how bad of a fall it was, I hadn't broken any bones, though I do favor my left arm and feel dizzy from time to time. I was really lucky.

And I have someone to thank for it. Though he didn't technically save my life or anything, Kartik was there when my own father wasn't. He deserves a medal for sleeping curled up in those blocky hospital chairs, but as I don't have any medals to give out, homemade breakfast will have to do.

Like I said, I've gone insane. If not for the fact that I'm actually attempting to make breakfast, then at least for the fact that I've taken the bus across the city, stopped at Williams-Sonoma, and am now practically breaking into his apartment with the key he gave me. And it's not even ten in the morning. If I happen to shave my head and run away to live with Buddhist monks, I personally won't be surprised. Insane.

Kartik's apartment is quiet when I unlock the door. Even though he extended the invitation to me, I still feel as if I'm trespassing in a forbidden zone. I quietly steal into the kitchen to preheat the oven, feeling incredibly stupid. It is so quiet, I fear he might not even be home. I have no clue about his sleeping schedule, but as it's Saturday before noon, he should probably still be sleeping.

I tiptoe on the wooden floor of the hallway where I know his room is. The door is slightly open. Holding my breath, I peek inside. I fight a smile as I quickly take in the sight of Kartik sleeping soundly in a tangle of twisted sheets. It was worth it to wake up early and come all this way just to see him like that. I pause for one moment, and then I'm grinning stupidly, hurrying silently back into the kitchen.

While I wait for the oven to heat up, a manila envelope on the counter catches my attention. It had been addressed to Kartik and hastily torn open. Boredom and curiosity get the best of me. I pull out the contents, a letter and a few photographs.

Skimming over the letter, I realize that it is from the Rakshana, bearing the same message Kartik gave to me last Friday. One particular paragraph makes my blood run cold.

The victim (Ashley Whitecombe, 16, of Peabody, MA) was an Order initiate that had failed the Door of Light test two days prior to the murder. Speculation points to her failure as a potential motive for the crime. She is the fourth in a series of similar murders. The culprit is believed to be the same as before. In any case, all signs point that the next victim will be Gemma Doyle, 16, of New York City, NY.

My hands shake as I flip through the photographs. A hooded figure. The black car, speeding away. A crumpled figure in the road. The crumpled figure up close. I blanch as I take in the sight of the dead girl, eyes open, lips parted in horror. My eyes tear up as I see her clothes and recognize them as something I might wear. She was my age and now she's dead.

And I might be next.

Feeling nauseous, I put the contents back in the envelope. My head swims as I arrange the frozen chocolate croissants on a baking pan and place them in the oven. Who would murder that girl? Why? Because she failed some test? Why would I be next?

A sudden presence in the doorway makes me jump. "What are you doing here?" Kartik asks, yawning. He runs a hand through his messy hair and looks at me sleepily.

"Uhh…" I'm struck dumb by the sight of him in only a tee shirt and boxer shorts. His bare legs are long and toned, just like the rest of him. I grab the empty box of Williams-Sonoma's famous croissants. "I'm making breakfast."

"Oh," he says, stretching. For a blissful moment I can see a slice of his taut stomach as his shirt rides up. My cheeks grow hot. He takes a step into the kitchen and stops. "Why?"

Out of embarrassment, I look at his feet. Such sexy feet they are, which is surprising, because I hate other people's feet. "To thank you," I say. "For all you've done."

Kartik grins. "I'm going to brush my teeth," he announces. It takes all my self control not to look at his butt as he exits the room. Since when have I become so horny? I must have hit my head really hard when I fell.

I rummage pointlessly through the Williams-Sonoma bag. Kartik isn't mad at me. He isn't even suspicious. I can just pretend that nothing weird ever happened to me when I was in a coma. I can pretend that it was his fault, and accept his kiss. We can date and it can be uncomplicated and fun.

"What's in the oven?" Kartik asks, looking over my shoulder at the bag in my hands. His breath smells sweetly of toothpaste, and my eyelids flutter involuntarily. Oh just kiss me again!

"Chocolate croissants," I say matter-of-factly. I turn around so that our chests are close. He has brushed his hair, but thankfully hasn't changed out of his minimal clothing. Though perhaps that isn't such a good thing; I'm sure I could think far more clearly if I wasn't so tempted to stare at his crotch.

And that is exactly where I'm staring now. BAD Gemma!

"Smells good," Kartik says cheerfully. What's made him all happy? I'm a wreck!

"They better be good. They were forty dollars."

Kartik's eyes widen and he grins. "You must have expensive taste."

I groan. "Bad pun, Kartik."

"Clever though, admit it."

The oven timer goes off. "Sit," I instruct, going to prepare the rest of his (and my) breakfast. "It's not exactly homemade, but you'd prefer it that way, trust me."

Kartik stretches his bare, athletic legs under the table. Either I'm blushing again, or the oven is way too hot. I can feel him watching me as I grab plates, pour juice, and set down the deliciously fragrant pastries on the kitchen table.

"So this is what having a mother is like," he comments breezily.

I pretend to be offended. "Don't be silly. I'm way too young to be your mother."

Kartik catches my eyes and holds me in a smoldering gaze. "So what does that make you then?"

My heart pounds so hard I swear he can hear it. Is he implying that I'm his girlfriend? "It makes me your best friend," I say delicately.

He looks down in an almost coy fashion. "Ah," he says. "I'm glad." He smiles.

"Me too." I twirl a lock of hair around my finger idly.

"These are good," Kartik mumbles through a mouthful of croissant. He swallows and drinks some orange juice. "Thanks for bringing them."

"Thank you for staying with me in the hospital," I respond.

He shrugs. "It was least I could do after what I did to you," he says with a sweet smile.

I frown. We could be normal. Just let it go, Gem. I catch sight of the manila envelope and push my plate away, feeling ill. "Kartik, I have something to tell you."

"Oh?" he asks, polishing off a third croissant. "What is it?"

I place my elbows on the table despite all of the times my mother has told me not to, because it is rude. My mother… "Something happened when I fell off my horse. It wasn't you. I wasn't distracted."

Kartik sits up straight in his chair. A sudden chill near my ankle makes me realize how close his bare legs must have been to mine. The absence of such warmth isn't exactly reassuring. He says nothing, so I open my mouth to speak.

"My body seized up; I couldn't move. Gatsby sensed that something was wrong and he reared, but I couldn't move to do anything. I woke up in another place, Kartik. I saw my mother."

He is silent, his lips parted slightly in shock.

"She told me that we were in a magical realm of dreams. My old dog was there. She said they weren't ghosts."

Kartik furrows his brows in concentration. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

I nod. "My mom was braiding my hair. When I woke up in the hospital, there was a braid in my hair. You didn't put it there, did you?"

Kartik shakes his head. "Of course not." He bites his lip. "But what happened that made your body seize up?"

"My mother said that I was about to have a vision, when Gatsby sensed it and flipped out."

"Oh," Kartik says softly, looking past me out the kitchen window. "I see now."

I study his face. "So you know about it then?"

"Yes. Many of the Order have visions."

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

"I'm not sure," he says. "Let me get back to you on that." He crumples a napkin in his hand and stands up. I follow his lead, bringing our dishes to the sink. "No you don't," he says as I start to wash the dishes. "Leave them. I'll do it later."

"Okay," I say stupidly. Don't stare at his crotch.

Too late.

"Let's go see what's on TV."

I follow him like a dog follows its owner. God, he smells good.

We sit on the couch; well, I sit. He throws himself across the cushions. "Gemma," he says, arranging himself into a comfortable position. "Have you told your friends about what's happened to you? The visions and the dreams and the psychokinesis?"

I shake my head. "No." No need to tell him that they know about the Order and think he's insane because of it.

A small, but visible, wave of relief washes over his face. "Good. Don't."

"Why not?"

He gives me a smile. "Because then you'll end up like me. An outcast. And I don't think that will suit you very well."

"But what about you? Don't you mind?"

"Mind?"

"Yeah," I say, leaning into the couch cushions so that I'm a bit closer to him. "You don't care that you don't have friends at school?"

Kartik scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Gemma, the only reason I even go to school is because of you. I'm there to keep an eye on you and make sure nothing happens to you. It's my job. Friends don't factor into it. They just get in the way."

"So I get in the way?" I ask softly.

"Of course not. I like being with you."

We can be normal...

"My friends don't like you," I blurt out. Is it possible to file for divorce from one's own mouth? Because mine is rude and stupid and not at all desirable.

Kartik laughs. "I don't like your friends." He notices the sullen look on my face and sits up. Our shoulders are touching and it feels good to be so close to him. "I understand, you know."

"You do?" I am surprised.

"They don't need to know we're friends. In fact…" He bites his lip and smiles. "It might be easier that way."

I'm so relieved that I don't question him. "Good," I say, laughing. My breath catches as I abruptly stop. My heart flutters like a trapped bird. I don't know how it happens, but suddenly, I am turning my face to his and kissing him.

His lips feel so wonderfully strange to me, foreign and familiar at the same time. The scent of him, all dark and mysterious and deliciously male, fills me up until I can float away on the high of this kiss. Kartik parts his lips and tilts my face up with the slight pressure of his finger under my chin. His tongue presses uncertainly against the seam of my lips. The unexpected wetness makes me loose my nerve. I break away with flushed cheeks and wild eyes.

I can't look at him. He clears his throat and rests his elbows on his knees. I steal a glance. He grins sheepishly at me. He's so cute!

"What's on TV?" I ask, my voice about an octave too high.

"As it's Saturday," he says, flipping to the TV Guide channel. "Probably some makeover shows and bad movies from the nineties."

"Probably," I agree.

"Yes, I was right. Air Bud is on."

The mention of the movie starring a golden retriever makes me think of my own dog in the realms. A pit of unease grows in my stomach. My mother said I'd return when the time is right, but when can that be? Why is she still there? Is there no such thing as heaven? As God? Why must everything I've ever known be proven wrong all of a sudden?

Kartik brushes his hand against my arm. "Are you okay?"

I look up into his warm brown eyes, searching for the answers I know he has. "Why is this all happening to me?" I whisper.

His eyes soften. "Someone up there has plans for you. You may not understand now, but in time, you'll know."

"I'm glad I have you as a guardian, Kartik," I say. "And not some jerk that doesn't care."

"And I'm glad I have you as a priestess instead of some brat that doesn't listen to anything I say."

I laugh weakly. "Well then, we must be made for each other," I joke, realizing after I say it that it sounds way too…pushy.

Kartik winks at me playfully. "Maybe we are."

I can kiss him again. Or, I can wait for him to kiss me. In a matter of seconds, we can be making out. We can.

"Oh! Dr. 90210 is on!" I grab the remote controller and change the channel, ruining any future kissing possibilities. There is nothing less romantic than nose jobs and breast implants, and for some reason I'm relieved by it.

They're so cute and awkward together! Gah!

I'm gonna pimp my new oneshot The Boathouse. Please read and review it if you haven't already! And check out the new topic I posted in the Beauties and Rebels forum.

Kartik's 130th birthday is coming up! November 10th. I made a Facebook event for it!

Lalalalala,
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW!!! Teacher says that every time you give a nice long review, a Kartik gets his wings. And by wings I mean an incredibly large... intellect. Heh.