Writer's Note: We're now halfway through the story. Thank you for sticking with it so far! I don't know if this chapter is what you guys were expecting. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Chapter Twelve
The queue shuffled a step forward across the spiky, brown grass as another student received his envelope from the two women who sat at the foldable table outside the administrative offices and then drifted away, his gloved hands fumbling open the flap and freeing the folded-up piece of paper from inside. He made it only a couple of paces before he stopped to stare at his grades.
Elizabeth shivered—whether from the gusts of icy air that swept across the quad, so sharp that they brought tears to her eyes, or from the jitter of anticipation that prickled like an Ink's paw-steps through her veins, she didn't know. The last several weeks had disappeared in seconds, but the minutes she'd spent waiting in that queue felt more like decades.
She'd done well in the second half of the semester, receiving mainly As on her assignments, but—as Henry kept telling her—due to the weighting in the Philosophy of Religion class, it all came down to the final exam, and although she felt quietly confident about her performance the week before, she knew that a B was a strong possibility. And she needed that A.
She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her overcoat and rocked her weight into the balls of her feet and then back again, back and forth, back and forth, in an effort to keep warm.
It had felt strange not to see Henry at all during exam week, like a forgotten something was niggling at the back of her mind and refusing to give her peace; she'd become so accustomed to spending time with him, whether in their sessions, during her lectures or at the library. They hadn't gone on any more excursions since the lake, and although they continued to brush against the boundaries of what their arrangement was supposed to be, they focused mainly on her studies.
She still found herself thinking about him—harmless daydreams, nothing more—but when she started to entertain the idea that maybe those daydreams could become a reality, she forced herself to remember that it didn't matter whether or not she believed Henry could (would) make her happy: it mattered what she'd feel like when that happiness inevitably came to an end, and how she never again wanted to feel like she had the summer of junior year.
It would be easier now that she no longer needed to see him. Over time, those thoughts and that niggle would fade.
But just telling herself that made her chest ache, and when she thought of how he'd told her that he wasn't going to give up hope, that he didn't want to be with anyone other than his soulmate, that ache twisted into a clench of guilt, like a fist had seized her diaphragm. He was a good person, a kind person, someone who deserved to be happy.
And what of their Inks? They wouldn't forget or be content on their own. Everyone (or thing) was going to end up alone because of a decision she made.
Maybe she shouldn't take responsibility for that, though.
The queue shuffled another step forward.
And another.
And another.
Elizabeth moved with the other students like she was being drawn along by capillary action, only jolted from her thoughts when a voice prompted her.
"Name?"
She blinked and found two women, both bundled up in so many layers of coats and sweaters and scarves that they looked like woollen Michelin Men, staring up at her from the table.
"Uh…Adams, Elizabeth Adams."
One woman slid a metal ruler down her clipboard, stopped, and then crossed out a line in thick permanent ink, while the other woman flicked through a box of letters, like she were thumbing through a Rolodex, stopped, and then plucked out a slim brown envelope bearing Elizabeth's name.
The woman held out the envelope to Elizabeth, but was already looking beyond her to the student behind. "Next."
Elizabeth took the envelope, a slight shake in her hand—definitely nerves this time—and stepped away. She slipped her thumb beneath the flap and then pulled out the folded sheet.
The Ink kitten uncurled from its ball beneath her left collarbone and trotted up to the skin of her throat, presumably so that it could peer at her grades too.
She unfolded the piece of paper, revealing the printed lines of text.
Moment of truth…
oOoOo
Henry rolled up a second pair of jeans—rolling took up less space than folding and it helped ward off creases—and then tucked the denim bundle into the duffle bag that sat at the foot of the bed. He wasn't heading back to Pittsburgh until the weekend, and he still had the party and training sessions to attend before that, but not seeing Elizabeth for the past nine days had left a vacuum—not just in terms of tutoring obligations, but also inside of him—and since nature abhors a vacuum, a lot of chores and prep were being done, regardless of whether they were really necessary or not. It filled the time and it distracted him from the silence. It helped distract him from his Ink, too.
The Ink puppy had taken to lying on the back of his forearm, its chin to its paws, staring longingly towards the door or telephone, and whining so plaintively that it struck a bitter ache in his chest. It felt like they were back to where they'd been before Elizabeth eventually accepted his offer of tutoring: wanting to be with her but knowing there was nothing he could do to achieve it.
Yes, they'd grown closer. Yes, she'd warmed to him. But still she didn't want to be with him, so perhaps silence and pining was all he could expect from now on.
He pulled open the second drawer of the wooden dresser that stood at the end of the bed. His ROTC t-shirts—all olive drab, all bearing the EGA insignia along with 'USMC ROTC' beneath—formed the top layer. No doubt his father would have plenty to rant about without him providing that particular prompt, so he moved those tees aside and chose a couple of plain grey ones instead.
As he laid the t-shirts down on the bed, ready to roll them up and add them to the duffle bag too, the Ink puppy pricked its ears and stared out through the doorway to the bedroom.
A couple of seconds later, a loud rap-tap-tap shook through the front door.
Henry stopped smoothing out the wrinkles in the first t-shirt, the cotton rough from too many washes, and stared towards the entrance. On the back of his forearm, the Ink puppy surged to its feet and ran around in tight circle after tight circle, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth in a flash of pink. Excitement buzzed off of it like sparks of electricity.
He stepped around the end of the bed. "It won't be her," he murmured to his Ink.
The sooner it adjusted its expectations, the better.
But a glimmer of hope flickered inside him—just like it always would.
He padded over to the front door, his socks slipping slightly against the floorboards, and then grasped the cold brass handle, turned it, and hauled the door open.
Before he had time to process what was happening, a blur of blonde had shoved a piece of paper in his face and flung her arms around him. "I got an A!"
For a moment, he was engulfed in her warmth and the scent of her perfume—subtle shades of orange blossom and jasmine. Then both the warmth and scent were gone.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, staring at the piece of paper she now clutched in both hands. Her eyes were bright and she grinned wider than he'd ever seen her grin before.
He frowned. "How much coffee have you had?"
"Just two cups. This—" She gestured to herself. "—is just cold and adrenaline."
Her hand jittered as she grasped the piece of paper again.
His frown deepened. "You're shaking."
"I'm okay."
The paper fluttered and gave off a sound like it were being whipped by the wind.
"Yeah…I think you need to come in and sit down." He ushered her into the apartment.
oOoOo
Henry and Elizabeth sat at opposite ends of the couch; he turned towards her, she with her legs bent up in front of her, so that they were facing each other; both cradling mugs of green tea to their chests. Henry wasn't particularly a fan of green tea—he usually stuck to water, beer or coffee—but water was too cold, Elizabeth was underage (plus, it was ten o'clock in the morning…) and she certainly didn't need any more caffeine, so he'd dug out an old box of tea bags from the back of one of the cupboards—perhaps the only thing left in his apartment that had belonged to Rochana.
Elizabeth talked non-stop about her exams—apparently, she'd earned As all around—and he listened in silence while their Inks tumbled and chased on his skin. He'd tried to make comments a couple of times, but apparently this wasn't that type of conversation; Elizabeth was so wrapped up in her stream-of-consciousness monologue that he couldn't be certain she even noticed him.
He didn't mind. What mattered was that she'd wanted to share her news with him, that despite saying she had no intention of seeing him ever again, something had brought her to him.
Eventually, the tea turned cold, the warmth of the mug no longer radiating through his chest, and the stream of Elizabeth's speech slowed to a trickle, until finally the words dried up altogether.
Silence descended over them. It held all the weight of damp air. The sounds around them—from the gentle roar of cars driving by, to the fake-tears wail of a child on the sidewalk, to the muffled slam of a door in a neighbouring apartment—made that silence seem thicker somehow, like the world outside kept spinning, but in their bubble it was drawing to a standstill.
Elizabeth studied him while she rubbed the pads of her thumbs back and forth along the rim of the mug. Every last trace of excitement in her expression had faded.
His heart sank. Just like their Inks could somehow sense each other before their arrival, he knew what was coming next.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the sound thick. When she spoke, her voice was as soft as it could be without being a whisper. "So, I guess this is goodbye then."
He held her gaze. "It doesn't have to be."
"Henry…" A kind of faint exasperation clung to her tone, and her gaze drifted away across the room, towards the bookcase that stood against the wall in the corner.
"We're soulmates," he said. "That doesn't just go away because you passed the class."
"I know that." Her voice strained. "But we said—"
"You said you wanted us to be strictly professional acquaintances, now I'm saying I want us to be strictly non-professional acquaintances."
She gave him a soft, almost pitying smile; somehow it cut deeper than if she'd resorted to a quick-tongued retort. "I think you want to be more than just my acquaintance."
He shook his head, aiming for blasé, perhaps hitting defensive. "I never pretended otherwise."
He stilled.
A pause.
The hum of traffic and the faint tread of footsteps in the hall took over once more.
"I like you," he said. "I really like you." He swept his gaze over every inch of her expression, like he could brush aside layer after layer of her facade and reveal the truth hidden beneath. "And I think you like me too."
A hint of pink warmed her cheeks, and she opened her mouth as if ready to protest.
But he cut her off before she could. "Some of my friends are having a party tomorrow night, a sort of end-of-exams-meets-Christmas thing." He twisted around in his seat, placed the mug of tea down on the side table with an echoing clunk, and then snatched up the legal pad and pen that he kept next to the telephone. He scribbled down an address. "I'd like you to come." He tore off the sheet and held it out to her. "Celebrate a well-deserved A."
She kept her gaze on him, ignoring the slip of paper. "That wasn't the deal."
"I know. But the semester's over and I'm asking you anyway."
He stretched his arm out even further, holding the piece of paper closer to her.
She eyed it for a long moment, and then let out a huff.
He didn't know if the exasperation were real and in protest to his persistence, or if it were a front designed to hide the fact that she truly wanted to go.
"So, say I go to the party," she said. "What then?"
"Then…I guess we see." The Ink puppy and Ink kitten trotted down his forearm, along to the back of his hand and sniffed at the piece of paper, their noses snuffling side by side. "I hope we still get to spend time together, but if that's not what you want, then you say goodbye and I'll be waiting for you if you ever change your mind."
She eyed the slip of paper again, or perhaps she was looking at their Inks. Either way, her expression turned almost pained and her gaze became distant, like she were considering it and fighting a battle with herself for considering it.
He didn't want to cause her any distress, but he wasn't ready to give up on her yet.
"You worked flat out all semester. You deserve to have some fun. Come to the party."
oOoOo
The tap, tap, tap of Elizabeth's heels against the sidewalk echoed out into the night as she strode from pool to pool of amber light along the avenue. The branches of the trees lurched and swayed as a chill breeze shivered through their leaves, and as that breeze swept over her too, a chatter threatened to shake through her teeth. She folded her arms across her chest, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her overcoat, and she pulled the wool tighter around her. (The Ink kitten had sought refuge in her left armpit the moment she'd stepped out of the apartment building. Gross, was the word that had sprung to mind at the time, but now she envied it that warmth.)
She didn't know why she'd agreed to go to the party, let alone why she'd made such an effort—a sleeveless dress that barely skimmed her mid-thigh perhaps wasn't the wisest thing to wear in winter in Virginia and she'd regretted the high heels before she'd even reached the bottom of the stairwell. She told herself that one more evening wouldn't hurt; that after all Henry had done for her that semester, perhaps she owed him an appearance; that maybe it would give their Inks a proper chance to say goodbye, save them from ending on a sour note like they would have had she refused to go.
But all of those reasons felt hollow, like one probing tap would see them cave and crumble. And although she knew that prolonging things would just make it harder, that it would better for both her and her Ink to go cold turkey like she'd planned, she didn't want to think about that—she just wanted to enjoy herself for one night.
How was she supposed to enjoy herself though, when everything about the party made her stomach jitter, like it were covered in the flittering wings of a thousand Ink butterflies?
She didn't know anyone there, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to wear, she'd never even been to a party before. The worst thing would be ending up as the dumb freshman lurking at the edges, some creep hitting on her as the easy pickings or last resort, while she stared longingly at the door, wishing she could go home.
A golden glow drifted out from the house where Henry said the party was being held, and it diffused into the surrounding darkness. She strode across the driveway, the red bricks arranged in a herringbone pattern, towards the stone steps of the front porch, and as she did, the faint throb of music pulsed through the air and washed over her. It stirred the butterflies into a frenzy.
Was it wrong that she'd rather interrogate a terrorist than attend a simple college party?
God…this is a bad idea.
She made her way up the steps, and then stopped at the top and stared at the door.
Was she supposed to knock? It was someone's house, so it felt wrong to just let herself in.
But then again, whoever was inside probably wouldn't hear her knock over the music, and if they did, it would only draw their attention to her, the sound like a fanfare heralding her arrival.
She clutched the door handle, the brass freezing from the winter night, and then eased the door open just enough that she could slip inside.
A wall of warm air hit her, a kind of hazy heat formed by the mix of cranked-up radiators and mingling bodies. Maybe ten or so people, guys and girls, hung around in the entrance hall, chatting to each other, all clutching red plastic cups in their hands. None of them so much as glanced at her.
She pressed herself to the wall and squeezed her way past them, towards the archway that led into the large room—once a living room, perhaps—at the front of the house. A twist of red and gold tinsel framed the archway, (someone had stuck it up using short strips of duct tape, some of which had already peeled away from the wall and were flapping loose), and Wham!'s Last Christmas boomed from the stereo inside.
She stopped just beyond the archway. All the furniture—couches, armchairs, a large wooden table—had been pushed to the sides, making space for the guests who had clustered into two main groups, others having broken off to talk to one another in pairs. The music was loud enough that they had to raise their voices to be heard over it, but not so loud that they needed to shout. At the end of the room, a second archway led into what—from its terracotta flooring, honey oak cabinets and white tile countertops—looked like the kitchen. People had gathered in there, too.
Elizabeth glanced around, her gaze lurching from person to person in a disorientated sweep of the room. Her stomach tightened, so much so that it felt like at any moment it might implode and the butterflies would burst free.
Why had she agreed to come? And where on earth was Henry?
A low whistle sailed up from the group nearest the kitchen. A fair-haired guy, clad in a denim shirt to match his denim jeans, looked her up and down. "Who's the blonde?"
The three people with their backs to her turned around, and the four on the far side of the group bobbed up onto tiptoe or craned their necks to the side so that they could peer at her too.
The Ink kitten had crept out from the safety of her armpit and now hid beneath the strap of her dress, in front of her shoulder, its ears flattened, its whole body quivering.
She shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have—
"Hey! You made it."
At Henry's voice, her gaze darted towards the kitchen, and at the sight of him, all her tension eased. Even her Ink stopped quivering and its ears perked again. It didn't venture out yet, though.
Henry passed a couple of red plastic cups, filled with what looked like beer, to the fair-haired guy and the slim girl next to him, whose long, jet black hair became abruptly mousy brown closer to the top, like she'd been trying to grow out her roots as she outgrew a heavy metal phase ever since starting grad school. Then he walked over to Elizabeth, still beaming.
"Here, let me get that for you." He motioned to her coat.
She paused for a second, and then shrugged it off her shoulders and slipped her arms free.
His eyes widened and he froze. He stared at her—all of her. Well, except for her face…
"Wow."
A wave of heat flushed through her cheeks and she hugged her arms across her chest, her coat folded over her forearm and shielding her once again. "It's too much, isn't it?"
"Not at all." He met her eye and gave her a gentle smile. "You look incredible."
Her blush deepened. Had the Ink kitten still been curled up in her armpit, it would now have been damp with sweat.
He took the coat from her, disappeared briefly into the room directly opposite the archway, (the door was closed, the room darkened), and then returned. His hand found the small of her back, his touch reassuring rather than forceful, and he guided her over to the group.
"Come. I'll introduce you to everyone."
The circle broke and widened, making space for them to join. He pointed around the group and rattled off a list of names that she couldn't register, let alone retain, and she forced a smile and nodded at each of them. Then he motioned to her.
"Everyone, this is Elizabeth."
A chorus of 'hi' and 'hey' engulfed her.
The Ink kitten peeked out from beneath the strap of her dress, like it were observing the group from around a corner, and then it tiptoed out and started a stealthy jog down her arm.
And perhaps the Ink puppy had made a sudden appearance, too…
"Oh my god!" The girl with a round face and even rounder glasses who stood across from them lit up. "You two are—"
"We aren't together," Henry cut in. His hand had tensed against the small of Elizabeth's back, his fingertips applying a touch more pressure, but his tone remained smooth. "I've been helping Elizabeth with one of her classes." A hint of pride crept into his voice. "She got an A from Pearson."
That set off another chorus, this time of 'wow' and 'well done' and 'congratulations'.
Elizabeth murmured a thank you, while a blush crept into her cheeks again. Usually, she'd prefer people didn't divulge her grades, (there was no faster way to make yourself universally loathed and envied than to tell people you got straight As), but at least it had distracted the group from asking her and Henry about being soulmates.
Henry added, "She might have gotten As in her six other classes, too."
While the others praised her again and the heat in her cheeks intensified, suggesting that pink had flushed to violent crimson, she turned her chin to her shoulder, so that she could see him out of the edge of her vision, and she murmured, "You're making me sound like a nerd."
The girl with jet black hair and mousy brown roots piped up. "Well, we've got a classics major, a chemistry major, a statistics major—" She nodded to each person in turn. "—not to mention Mr Religious Studies there—" She nodded to Henry, and Henry held up his hand as if to say he'd cop to that. "—so 'nerd' fits right in."
A chuckle rippled through the group.
Elizabeth relaxed a little, and she chuckled too.
The fair-haired guy who'd whistled at her, the chemistry major apparently, turned to her. He had an inanimate Ink tree frog positioned so that it looked like it was climbing the tendons of his neck. "Have you chosen your major yet, Elizabeth?"
"Math," Elizabeth said. "Though, I love languages, too."
'Math' earned her another murmur of approval.
With his hand still steady against the small of her back—something she probably ought to have at least raised an eyebrow at, yet for some reason didn't—Henry dipped down and spoke in her ear. "I'll grab you a drink." His breath tickled her skin. "There's Pepsi or lemon-lime or—"
"Pepsi's fine. Thank you." She offered him a soft smile.
While Henry disappeared into the kitchen, Elizabeth continued chatting with the others—well, they chatted; she smiled and nodded along. It felt like the group had a language of their own, and unable to catch more than every third word and unable to understand even less, she struggled to keep up, and that flitter of anxiousness crept over her again.
When Henry placed a gentle hand on her waist and passed her a cup of Pepsi on the opposite side—"Here you go."—a warm something, maybe relief, maybe gratitude, swelled in her chest. He let go of her waist a second later but remained by her side; he helped to translate all the in-jokes and unknowns until she felt confident enough to contribute comments of her own. Soon the others were asking her questions and inviting her opinion, and with time she began to feel like the newcomer rather than the outsider, like maybe they could become her friends too, if she wanted them to.
oOoOo
"He can barely take his eyes off of you."
"What?" Elizabeth said.
She was talking to Julie, the classics major, who sported a pixie cut blunt enough to match her straight-forward attitude. They'd struck up a conversation about languages and had drifted away from the rest of the group. The conversation had drifted too, flowing from topic to topic with an ease she'd expect from knowing someone for a few months, not a few hours.
Julie nudged her gaze towards the group, who still hovered near the kitchen.
Elizabeth twisted around, just in time to meet Henry's eye for the flash of a second before he looked away again and focused on whatever the guy with the Ink tree frog was saying. He took a sip from his plastic cup, trying to act casual, like he hadn't been caught watching her, while the Ink kitten and Ink puppy spiralled down and around his forearm in their game of chase, but a hint of pink had blossomed in his cheeks that definitely wasn't just from the stuffy heat of the room.
Elizabeth turned back to Julie and tried to shrug it off, as if she hadn't noticed the way Henry looked at her like he wanted to both worship and devour her. "He's probably just used to seeing me in jeans and a hoodie." She took a sip of Pepsi and the bubbles fizzled on her tongue.
The worship part she'd seen before. Most of the time it made her feel awkward—she wasn't worthy of worship, and to have someone look at her like that made her feel like a fraud. The devour part was new. Or maybe he'd just hidden it before. She was glad that he had—with the swirl it stirred in the pit of her stomach and the images it conjured, she couldn't have survived a whole semester of him looking at her like that.
Julie studied Elizabeth, her gaze sharp enough it felt like she could pierce the surface of Elizabeth's mind and catch glimpses of her thoughts. "How come you two aren't…you know?"
Elizabeth shook her head, casual, dismissive. "I've got a lot going on. I'm not really in the right place for a relationship."
"Well, don't wait too long. A ton of girls would snap him up, soulmate or not."
Her gaze drifted back to Henry. He was laughing now. Somehow the sound seemed more joyous with Slade's Merry Xmas Everybody playing in the background. "I hear a few already have."
Julie wrinkled her nose. "Don't let that bother you. The way he looks at you, the way he is around you… You know, I've always been a little skeptical about the whole soulmate thing—my parents are For Nows and they're happy enough—but even I can tell that you two are made for each other." She paused a second, not quite long enough for Elizabeth to reply—not that Elizabeth knew how to reply—and then she laid her hand against Elizabeth's wrist, so light that her fingertips barely brushed Elizabeth's skin. "I'm gonna get another drink, you want one?"
Elizabeth gave her a small smile and shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."
While Julie weaved through the guests and headed towards the bright fluorescent glow of the kitchen, Elizabeth turned to face the group. Henry was chatting and laughing, totally at ease; on the back of his neck, the Ink kitten lay on its side and kicked playfully at the Ink puppy. Whenever the others looked to him, it was with a kind of warmth and respect, and she got the feeling that not one of them would have a bad word to say about him. Maybe it would have been easier if he was a complete asshole, then she would have no problem walking away from him.
But he was Henry, and despite knowing that it was safer to push him away, that distance and isolation was the only way to stop herself from getting hurt again, part of her still hoped that maybe this time things would be different, maybe they had been matched for a reason, maybe he was what she needed—he was the one who would make it feel safe to love again.
"How do you turn water into holy water?" Henry said.
"Here we go…" Ink tree frog guy rolled his eyes.
Henry ignored him and swept his gaze around the circle as though inviting an answer before he continued. "You boil the hell out of it."
The others groaned and cringed and complained about how awful the joke was.
But Elizabeth snorted and a laugh broke through before she could stifle it.
Henry glanced over to her, grinning, his eyes shining with his own laughter and something deeper. Then he held out his hand and beckoned for her to join them.
She hesitated for a second.
Her parents… Chris… No more silly mistakes…
Then she stopped listening to all the arguments that flurried through her mind, walked over to the group, and took her place beside him.
oOoOo
The group fragmented and rejoined, fragmented and rejoined, as tangential conversations arose between individuals and then melded back into a wider discussion.
At some point, Elizabeth had disappeared. The last Henry had seen of her, she'd been talking to Susan, her face bright, her laughter quick as she geeked out over mathematics, but that was over half an hour ago now. He didn't want to seem overly concerned or for it to look like he was trying to control where she went or whom she talked to, but her Ink had noticed her absence too and had stopped playing with the Ink puppy and was now trotting back and forth along his arms, as though looking for her, while the first tingle of agitation prickled through his skin.
She wouldn't have left with it, surely. Not again.
Henry excused himself from the conversation and edged past the others towards the archway to the kitchen, where Susan was now chatting to Andrew.
"Sorry." Henry interrupted. "Do you know where Elizabeth went?"
Susan adjusted the round frames of her glasses, tilting them down and then sliding them up the bridge of her nose again. "She mentioned the bathroom, but that was a while ago."
Henry gave her a taut smile. "Thanks."
He dodged and weaved through the other guests, slowly making his way towards the entrance hall. The tinsel that framed the opposite side of the arch had fallen down at one end, so that the two pieces, red and gold, now unravelled, hung from the midpoint, tabs of duct tape sticking off of them. He held up one arm, deflecting the tinsel and stopping it (or the duct tape) from hitting him in the eye, and then wended his way through the loose crowd of people who were mingling in the corridor and headed towards the bathroom at the end.
A quick glance up and down the queue who waited with their backs to the wall, chatting to the people on either side of them, showed that Elizabeth wasn't among them, and when the bathroom door swung open (nearly taking out the girl who happened to be standing nearby), a guy stepped out (with a muttered an apology), so evidently Elizabeth wasn't in there either.
The Ink kitten must have shared Henry's observations for its pace quickened, its jog up and down his arms becoming more frantic, and the skin around it buzzed with its agitation.
He resisted the urge to talk to it, to reassure it that everything was okay and that they'd find Elizabeth; no one else at the party had met their soulmate or seen their Ink animate, so if he were to seemingly start talking to himself they would more likely think him crazy than understand.
He turned around and headed back down the hallway towards the staircase opposite the front door, and then gripping the newel cap, he made a sharp about-turn and began climbing. His hand trailed along the banister, the knots and bumps in the wood rough beneath his fingertips. The Waitresses's Christmas Wrapping played through the stereo in the living/dining room; the voices and the jaunty beat grew fainter with every step. There was no reason why she should have gone upstairs—there was nothing there except for bedrooms—but she had to be in the house somewhere.
But, just like the bathroom, the bedrooms turned up nothing. (Fortunately, it wasn't that kind of party, so he didn't stumble upon anything else either.)
He closed the final bedroom door and strode along the landing towards the hazy glow that flowed up the staircase. Tension radiated through the muscles of his brow and jaw. Where was she?
The Ink kitten, still running up and down his arms, mewled. The Ink puppy lolloped after it; they were probably about two minutes out from it whining and howling too.
"It's okay," he murmured as he jogged back down the steps.
Hopefully, the Inks wouldn't sense his own unease.
At the bottom, he turned left, and gripping the cool brass handle of the door opposite the archway, he let himself into the second living room. He pushed the door to behind him, casting the room into deep-blue shadow. The coats of all the guests were draped over the back of an old couch; it looked like a jumbled dark grey, almost black, mass in the dim light of the room.
He could check to see if her coat was still there, but he couldn't remember what it looked like, other than that it was black…or maybe beige…blue?…—okay, he couldn't remember, but he wasn't the one planning on joining the CIA so observation didn't need to be his strong suit, and besides, how was he supposed to concentrate on something like coat colour when she removed said coat to reveal that dress and sent his mind spiralling into image after image of what she'd look like without that on either. Maybe it would be best just to find his own jacket and walk over to her apartment.
Assuming she'd returned to her apartment.
Why couldn't the Inks give him some kind of direction? Even a game of hot and cold would suffice—anything would be better than a blanket panic that only increased with time.
Wait… The Inks!
The Ink kitten had stopped running back and forth over his skin, (its mewling had quietened, too), and it was now pouncing and tumbling with the Ink puppy again, all its fears forgotten.
Did that mean Elizabeth was…
He looked around the room, and then froze.
At the far end of the adjoining room, someone was sitting on the window seat that looked out onto the backyard; the moonlight that unspooled through the glass behind cast her into silhouette.
All the tension in his body released, like a sigh swooning through him—he'd know that silhouette anywhere.
"There you are." He walked through to the study, taking care not to bump into anything in the dark. The floorboards bowed and creaked beneath his feet. "Everything all right?"
Elizabeth turned away from the window, and looked to him with a small smile. "Fine."
"She was getting worried about you." He motioned to the Ink kitten on his forearm.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him. "She was, was she?"
He came to a stop a few paces away from the window seat, and with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, he shrugged. "I might have been a little worried too."
The smile she gave him was sharp and it glinted in her eyes; she seemed like herself again, or at least the self he knew, not the more anxious side to her that had made an appearance earlier.
Slowly, that look faded, and she shook her head, just slightly; her blonde hair shimmered almost blue in the moonlight. "I'm not used to all the people and the noise. I needed a little quiet."
"If you want to go home, I can always walk you back if you like." He didn't want her to leave yet—perhaps leave his life for good—but he didn't want her sitting alone in the darkness either.
"No," she said as she smoothed out a wrinkle from the skirt of her dress. "I'm okay."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He studied her for a long moment. Something about her felt off—different—but he couldn't place what. "Okay… Well, if you need anything or if you want to leave, I'll be—"
"Sit with me?"
He stopped.
He stared at her.
She stared back at him. When he didn't respond, she uncurled her fingers from where they wrapped over the edge of the ledge and she patted the space beside her.
He blinked himself out of his daze and gave a jolt of a nod. "Sure." Then he walked over to the window seat and eased himself onto the cushion next to her.
The cushion was only thin, more like a seat pad really, and the hard wood that pressed through from beneath dug into his sit bones. The air in the room already carried a chill, what with the lack of bodies mingling and radiating their heat, but it was especially noticeable next to the window, where the cold from outside seeped through the glass and crept around the edges of the frame.
Elizabeth slid her hand into his lap and took hold of his hand, bringing them palm to palm, and she laced her fingers through his fingers; they felt soft and warm against his own.
On the inside of his forearm, the Ink kitten and Ink puppy continued to play. He waited for her to drag the Ink kitten back onto her skin, but that tug never came.
"I don't think she's going to cross." His voice sounded gruff in the surrounding silence.
"I know," Elizabeth said.
He paused, still waiting for that tug to begin.
Nothing.
"Then…?" He prompted.
Elizabeth looked to him. "You want me to let go?"
"No," he said quickly—too quickly.
A smile unfurled across her lips, like she were resisting a laugh. "All right then." She turned back to face the room.
Silence drifted over them once again, as thick and as fragile as the shadows.
Henry's heart pounded so hard that she must have been able to hear it, or maybe feel it. At the very least she would feel how his palm was now sweating against her own.
After all the time he'd spent dreaming about her, about them being together—Not like that… Well, yes, okay, also like that.—you'd think that her holding his hand wouldn't cause him to lose his cool. But apparently his brain had regressed to its preadolescent state, and the only coherent thought it would form was: she's holding my hand she's holding my hand she's holding my hand.
The thought was so consuming he almost didn't hear her when she said, "I like your friends."
He turned to face her. His tone was sincere. "So do I."
Her gaze met his with a teasing glint. "Well, I'd sure hope so. They're your friends, after all."
A wave of heat surged through his cheeks—God, that was stupid—and his chin dipped as he tried to brush aside his own idiocy with a chuckle.
Elizabeth's smile faded. Her gaze prickled against his cheek like tentative Ink paw-steps and he could see her watching him out of the corner of his eye. "Do I make you nervous?" she asked.
He glanced at her. His lips flinched at one corner. "A little. Sometimes."
She studied him a moment longer. Then she turned away and stared out across the room again.
"I'm nervous," she said, though she didn't sound nervous.
He frowned at her. "Why?"
She bumped her shoulder against his. "Because I like you."
He tried to ignore how his pulse quickened, and instead squeezed her hand. "I like you, too."
A sharp smile curled the corners of her lips once more. "I know you do. We've covered that—several times."
"Is liking me really such a bad thing?"
"Yes," she said. "Maybe."
"Why?"
She shook her head, her gaze distant, and her hair shimmered in the moonlight.
He rubbed his thumb back and forth along the side of her thumb. "Tell me."
The beat of the music from the other room reached through the silence, the melody gone, reducing it to a faint boom, boom, boom.
Henry's heartbeat kept tempo while he watched Elizabeth. It felt like something was brewing beneath her surface, like maybe she were working herself up to saying something, and to prompt her would only be to disturb whatever it was before it had the chance to fully form.
Her gaze drifted to their Inks on his forearm: the Ink kitten was licking clean the Ink puppy's eyes and giving the Ink puppy a warning growl any time the Ink puppy tried to roll over and re-instigate their play. Then she raised her gaze and looked to him.
"You believe the bond between soulmates is special? That it's stronger than the bond between friends? Stronger than the bond between family? That there's nothing else like it?"
He nodded. "I do."
"Then you accept that your soulmate is the one person with the power to hurt you the most?"
To hurt her? What? She thought he would hurt her?
He clutched her hand tight, his tone urgent. "I would never hurt you. Elizabeth, if that's what you're worried about—"
"When my parents died, I didn't feel anything. Not numb, but like nothing had happened."
Henry paused. A slight frown crept to his brow.
Okay… Where, exactly, was this going?
"That's normal," he said. "I mean, everyone experiences grief differently—"
She stopped him with a single look. Not an angry look or an annoyed look, but an almost pleading look, like she'd finally worked herself up to telling him whatever it was she needed to tell him and she was afraid she would lose her nerve if he kept interrupting.
He nodded and squeezed her hand, his signal that he understood and that she should carry on.
She stared out across the study as she spoke. Her eyes were vacant, their whites gleaming in the moonlight; her tone was carefully levelled, like she was trying to distance herself from her words. "Not long after the burial, our aunt sent us away to boarding schools—Will to an all-boys, me to a co-ed. I did well academically, but I didn't make any friends. The others all thought I was weird and nerdy. That was nothing new. But before, I had a home to escape to. There…I was there the whole time. I couldn't even escape to my room. I was in dorms that first year, and the other girls all hated me. They used to fall silent whenever I came in, and they were constantly making fun of me behind my back. I took to going up to the roof of the dorm just to get away from them, to get some space." She paused, and then swallowed. Her throat bobbed. "And that's where I met Chris."
Her chin dipped and she shook her head to herself. "I know what you're thinking: Chris was some jerk who used me and took what he wanted and then left me all bitter and heartbroken and I swore never to love again…"
That was pretty much what Henry had been thinking, but he didn't think it would help in any way for him to admit it.
Elizabeth stilled. "Well, she wasn't."
She raised one hand—the hand not linked with his—and with the knuckle of her thumb, she swiped away a tear that had snuck out and rolled its way as far as the arch of her cheekbone, the motion so mechanical it was like the droplet held no more significance than a bead of sweat.
Then she cleared her throat and continued.
"Chris was in the year above me, and she was always getting in trouble. She would have gotten me in trouble on more than a few occasions too, but she always took all of the blame—or credit, as she called it. She said she had a reputation to uphold. I think really she was trying to protect me. She was more like a big sister than a friend.
"She had a little sister, a real little sister, but she'd died in a swimming accident. Chris was supposed to be watching her at the lake near their home, but she was distracted talking to some boys, and when she looked back at the water, Amy was gone. The divers said she'd tangled her foot in some plants at the bottom—even if Chris had been paying attention, there was nothing she could have done. Her parents told her they didn't blame her, but maybe she was too much of a reminder because, not long after, they sent her away to boarding school. Chris blamed herself. I think that's why she took me under her wing, some kind of atonement, maybe.
"I told her all about my parents too, and how I felt to blame—for not being there, for not being able to help, for not stopping them from going out in the car that day. She got it. I think she was the first person who truly got me. Around her, I always felt happy and accepted, like I was enough."
Elizabeth came to a halt. Her mouth opened, but there were no words on her tongue.
The Ink kitten stopped cleaning the Ink puppy's eyes and stared up at Elizabeth from the back of Henry's forearm. Then, after a moment, it trotted across the bridge of their palms, up her arm, her shoulder, her neck, all the way to her cheek, where it sat down and began licking her skin.
Elizabeth bowed her head, her mouth still open. The thumb and forefinger of her free hand worried the hem of her dress. "Then, the morning before graduation, the housemistress found Chris in her room. There was no note. Nothing. She was just gone."
"Gone?" Henry said. "As in…?"
Elizabeth nodded.
His heart ached for her—physically ached. He wanted to say something, to comfort her somehow. But what could he say?
She took a deep, quivering breath. Then she raised her chin and stared straight ahead of her as she began speaking again. "After that it was like all the feelings I hadn't felt after my parents died hit me all at once. I felt so alone. The whole world felt so empty and pointless. The only time I didn't hurt was when I was asleep, but then I'd wake up and those feelings would be there waiting for me. It got to the point where I thought maybe it would be better if I just didn't wake up…"
She paused.
Her eyebrows arched as she stared into the shadows. "And so, I decided I wouldn't."
Her voice was so devoid of emotion, the words so blunt, that it took Henry a moment to work out what she meant. And when he did, the ache in his chest only deepened.
"I regretted it," she said. "The moment I woke up in hospital, I regretted it. Fortunately, my aunt found me in time. She knew someone at the hospital, she 'called in a favour' and got them to record it as an accident. She said that if it went on my record, it would ruin my prospects going forward. She said that I shouldn't be defined by one silly mistake.
"She sent me to see a private therapist after that—Dr Hopper. He wanted to talk about my parents and what happened that led to me wanting to take my own life, but I didn't want to talk about it, so I told him and Aunt Joan that I was fine, that I'd fallen for some guy and gone through a bad break-up. I'd overreacted but I was okay now. Once summer was over, I went back to school like nothing had happened. I threw myself into my studies, I earned my place here, I moved on."
She turned and looked at him. Her gaze searched his eyes, flitting back and forth like it were jumping from fleck to fleck amidst the hazel, a haphazard dot-to-dot. "I like you, Henry, but I already lost my parents and my best friend. If I were to love you and then lose you too…?" She let the words hang in the silence, heavy with implication. A short eternity passed. Then she shook her head. "I can't go through that, I can't feel like that again."
Henry gripped her hand. The Ink puppy scrabbled at her palm and whined, desperately trying to find a way to cross. "You aren't going to lose me. I'm sorry you had to go through that, I'm sorry that you were alone and that you ever felt that way, but I'm never going to leave you." He stared deep into her eyes, praying that she would see. "I'm falling in love with you, Elizabeth, and if you let me, I want nothing more than to devote my life to making you happy."
"But what if something happens to you?"
His grip tightened. The Ink puppy took to hurling itself at her palm instead. "Nothing's going to happen to me. I promise."
"But—"
"I promise." He spoke more firmly this time, still looking her in the eye, wanting to impress the message on her mind. "I haven't been brought into your life just to cause you more pain."
A thousand fears flurried through her eyes, a snowstorm of sleet grey filtering across pale blue. The Ink kitten continued to lick her cheek, like it was trying to soothe away every last hurt and worry, melting those snowflakes beneath its tongue one by one. It looked like she wanted to believe him more than she actually believed him—given everything she'd been through, he could understand that. He was afraid she'd say, I'm sorry, I can't, it's too much, and then she'd leave him sitting there on the window ledge, walk out of the room and his life, and he'd never see her again.
But maybe she was tired of fighting, maybe she was tired of walking through that storm alone, for a moment later, her expression softened a fraction and she gave a small nod. "Okay."
"Okay?" he echoed. Okay as in…?
"Okay," she said. Then she closed her eyes and leant in.
Her lips brushed against his, the touch as soft as the sigh of a summer breeze. He froze for a second, his mind unable to process what was happening, and then his eyes slipped shut too.
The kiss was gentle, their lips unmoving, applying just enough pressure that he clung to her and she clung to him, but it caused his heart to pound harder than it had ever pounded before, and as warmth melted through his veins, a rolling, sun-kissed tide bathing every last muscle, cell, nerve end, the world around them fell away, leaving only him and her, tethered in the moment.
They parted, maybe seconds, maybe hours later, but remained as close as could be, their eyes still shut, their noses touching, their every breath falling in a hot ruffle against each other's lips.
From somewhere in the distance, there came the pop, screech, pop of a couple of fireworks.
Elizabeth murmured, "I thought the fireworks were supposed to happen during the kiss."
"Are you saying my kisses don't give you fireworks?" Henry murmured back.
"I don't know. Maybe a sparkler or two."
He chuckled, grateful for the levity after the seriousness of moments before.
Her lips curved into a subtle smile. "And it was only one kiss, not 'kisses' plural."
"Well, I'd like to rectify that."
"The fireworks or the plurality?"
"Both."
Her smile grew. "I might be amenable."
"Oh yeah?" He smirked.
She bit down on her bottom lip. "Mmhmm."
And that was all the permission he needed.
With the hand that wasn't tangled with hers, he cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb back and forth along the line of her jaw before catching her chin and tilting it down just enough that her lips parted. He nuzzled her nose and pressed a delicate kiss to one corner of her lips, and then nuzzled her nose and pressed a delicate kiss to the other—she chased after each one. Then he wrapped his lips around her lower lip and sucked gently.
Her breath hitched; he felt more than heard it. And it set his heart racing again.
He wanted to draw back and drink in her expression, that mix of anticipation and contentment, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her and for her to surrender all her fears and doubts to him.
He touched his tongue to hers, and when she mirrored the action and then parted her lips even further, welcoming him in, he kissed her deeply, and all other thoughts were forgotten. Part of him still couldn't believe it was happening, that they were finally together and she was kissing him, but the warmth of her body so close to his, the taste of cola-fizz lingering on her tongue, the moan that caught at the back of her throat and reverberated through him were all too real.
He had her, his soulmate, everything he wanted.
Out of nowhere there came a BANG, BANG, BANG followed by whizzes and whirs.
Henry jumped. His eyes jolted wide open to find the study lit with the orange, pink and neon green glow of fireworks.
BANG. POP. WHIZ. BANG. POP. WHIZ.
Explosion after explosion illuminated the night sky.
Henry looked to Elizabeth. She wore the same shocked expression that he did, and at the same time as his, that shock morphed into realisation, and they both succumbed to laughter.
Elizabeth rested her forehead to his, still chuckling.
He stroked back her hair, the silky strands slipping against his fingertips, and he was about to draw her in for another, more languid kiss when—
"Oh my God! Henry, look at her!" She grabbed his wrist and yanked his forearm towards her.
He looked down at the inside of his wrist. Apparently, the Ink kitten had crossed back to his skin while he and Elizabeth were kissing, and while he and Elizabeth were kissing, the Ink puppy had licked the Ink kitten to within an inch of its life—the Ink puppy was still licking the Ink kitten to within an inch of its life, while the Ink kitten sat there, its ears flattened to the sides, its fur dripping with drool. The Ink kitten let out a yowl, distinctly unimpressed.
"She's soaked!" Elizabeth said.
Henry shrugged. "He got a little overexcited."
The Ink kitten shook itself off, causing its fur to turn fluffy and spiky. When the Ink puppy made another approach, its tongue at the ready, the Ink kitten glared at it and miaowed in a way that could only mean, Back the fuck up.
The Ink puppy acquiesced.
"Poor thing," Elizabeth murmured.
"I'm sure she'll survive." Henry freed his wrist from her grasp and then tilted her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. "You're incredible, you know that? I'm so glad that I found you."
"I think you'll find I was the one who found you."
He nuzzled her nose. "Do you always have to have an answer for everything?"
"Yes." She smirked.
"What about this?" he said.
Then he kissed her again, this time with every intention of rendering her speechless.
When they drew back, both flushed and panting for breath, his hand dangerously high on her thigh, she met his gaze, her pupils blown, her eyes two dark pools that he'd willing fall into.
"Take me home?" she murmured.
Some small part of him told him that they should wait, that after all she'd said to him maybe they ought to take things slow, but with the taste of her tongue still on his tongue, the heat of her skin still smouldering beneath his fingertips, his mind still spinning with the sounds of her moans, that part of him wasn't currently in control.
So, instead, he replied in a murmur of his own, "Your place or mine?"