Both Praxis and Alexander asked Alchemy about her bruise. She said she tripped and crashed into her bed. When she said this, she shot a devious glance at Blackheart, who looked away guiltily. He was still torn up about hitting her.
Alchemy was folding laundry upstairs. She sat in the large laundry room and was folding towels when Blackheart came in.
"Stop looking so guilty," Alchemy said softly, "Mother will suspect something."
"She wouldn't kick me out, would she?"
"Not about that," She hissed, "about us."
"Alchemy, I don't follow."
"I don't want her to know about us."
He nodded with understanding, "why not?"
"I don't like telling my mother things," She shrugged, "please." She stood up, "help me fold the sheets?"
Blackheart was never one for taking orders, so he did tease and test Alchemy. She was cooking dinner one evening, and Blackheart came over, and began kissing her neck.
"I'm cooking," She whispered.
"So?"
"My parents!" She growled, "get off me."
"You like it," He taunted like a child.
"That isn't the point. Now go set the table before I seriously hurt you." She had been fighting him off most of the day. Since the revelation they both had a week ago, Blackheart had been trying to get her to break down and tell her parents that they were sharing a bed now. She never really liked her parents knowing things about her life, and had waited until the last minute to tell them about things like prom, graduation, or even field trips. Alchemy was secretive, to say the least. Even if she was overjoyed that she and Blackheart were finally together, she would keep her mouth shut until the very last minute. She had a suspicion that her mother knew something was up, but tried to push those thoughts out of her mind.
Blackheart hadn't felt this confident and arrogant in a long time. Sure, he hadn't really accomplished much, but getting to crawl into bed with Alchemy every night felt like an accomplishment. He wanted to flaunt her; show her off. He swelled with pride when she walked into a room.
It was a dreary, rainy, chilly day in early-October. The house smelt of pumpkin, for Alchemy was baking. Alexander was at work. He may have helped his wife run their hotel, but he was a full-time bookkeeper. Praxis had slipped out to the fabric store to pick out Halloween costumes. Alchemy had nestled herself on the counter, flipping mindlessly though her recipe book. She liked the flavours of fall. "Why is your mother getting Halloween costumes anyway?" Blackheart leaned against the counter.
"Every year, the Friday before Halloween, our neighbours have a costume party for everyone on the block nineteen and over. My mother always wows everyone with her couple's costume entry. They usually win."
"Are you going this year?"
"Yes," she put down her magazine and pulled him over in front of her, smirking, "and you are too."
He tried to back away, "What? I don't want to dress up like some moron in a room full of mortals!"
She bit her lip and put her legs around his waist, "come on," she said silkily, "for me?" She leaned closer, pressed firmly against his chest.
"Why should I?"
"Because, it would mean a lot to me," She said quietly. She kissed his neck lightly, "please?" She whispered again.
The garage door opened, and they quickly disentangled. Alchemy checked the muffins she was baking.
"I am brilliant." Praxis happily bounded through the door. Blackheart raised an eyebrow.
"She likes Halloween," Alchemy took the muffins out of the oven.
"I have the best costumes for all four of us." Praxis threw her bags on the table, "well! Come see!"
"Mom, I was just going to go as a belly dancer."
"Come see!"
Alchemy put three hot muffins on a plate, and sat cross-legged on the table. Praxis sat elegantly in a dining chair, and Blackheart stood at the edge of the table, halfway between the other two.
Praxis blew on her muffin and took a bite gingerly. She dug around one bag, and produced a pattern. "Blackheart," she passed it over, "You're going as the Prince of Darkness."
"Subtle Praxis…" He eyed the pattern.
"Alchemy," She passed over another pattern, "naughty nun."
"Mother, this is a rather…risqué costume." At this, Blackheart leaned over to see the image printed on the pattern sleeve.
"I know," Praxis took another bite of her muffin, "It's your first year, you have to win the Virgin Award."
Alchemy rested her hand in her forehead, "are you serious? I could just go as a belly dancer."
"You're going as a nun."
Alchemy changed the subject, "who are you and Dad going as?"
"This is where the brilliance comes in." Praxis threw down two patterns, both Indian in design. "Shah Jahan," she took another bite of her muffin, "and his beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal."
Alchemy smiled, "That is good. I didn't think you could top Lolita and Humbert."
"You should have seen the looks on everyone's faces…" Praxis recalled fondly. "I'm going to start tomorrow."
Alchemy looked at her costume again. It was one thing to wear a sexy costume with her family, but it was another to wear it to a block party. She looked nervous, but would please her mother. Besides, the prizes for best costumes were usually really good. She would like to win the Virgin Award.
"Why do you have to be nineteen to go to this party?" Blackheart asked as the two went to bed.
"Legal drinking age. The homeowners don't want to be in trouble for underage drinking."
"You don't look too thrilled with your costume."
"You don't look thrilled with yours either."
He shrugged as best one could when one is laying down, "It's not very original."
"Your costume is easy. She's just making you a waistcoat. Everything else you own."
He nodded, "that's true." He rolled over to face her.
"What?" She asked.
"A nun?" She eyed him. "You're going to win that award you know. The Virgin award."
"Probably…"
"You'll be the talk of the party," he propped himself on his elbow, "no matter what you would wear."
"And why is that?"
"Because you are the most beautiful girl in this city."
"Just the city?"
He half-grinned, "well…" He leaned up and caught her lower lip in a kiss. She followed suit and kissed him hard. She had always liked it a little rough. His nose scrunched into a smile and half rolled on top of her. They kissed passionately for a while. His hand was trailing along her pale legs. He tried to push his hand up her short skirt, but she slapped him away. "What's wrong?" She looked away when he tried to kiss her again. "Alchemy," he pressed.
She mumbled something, he growled.
"I'm not ready for that, okay?" She pushed him away and sat up, "I'm just…not ready."
He eyed her curiously, "You gave me a blowjob at sixteen."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because…" she said defiantly, then hunched over, "do you really want to know?"
"Yes!"
"My...doctor says that sex is going to be hard for me."
He raised an eyebrow, "hard how?"
"I'm too narrow; my hymen is too thick and only partially torn…" she said bitterly.
He slumped down beside her, "I don't know much about women," he said quietly, "but I understand that virginity is more…complicated for them."
She looked down at him sideways, "I'm sorry…"
"Why?"She half-grinned. His eyes followed hers down. "Oh…" he haphazardly made the attempt to cover his erection, "it'll go away."
She sighed, "now I feel guilty."
"Don't," he shrugged, "you do this to me all the time."
She sighed again, "don't make it worse."
"I was hoping that would make it better…"
She laughed lightly, "I'm really tired."
He nodded, and kissed her cheek, "goodnight…naughty nun."
She playfully swatted him and settled to bed.
She did feel really guilty though. She felt guilty very easily.
Halloween came in a burst of chilly weather, and to both Praxis' and Alchemy's dismay, an early flu bug. Alchemy's immune system had always been weak: humans and demons weren't supposed to breed (it was a miracle Alchemy made it this far), and when cold and flu season rolled around, Alchemy was always sick. She had degenerated into a shaking mass of pajamas, quilts, and used Kleenex on the couch by the time of the party. Alchemy coughed so hard, she would often throw up, and she sneezed so hard, she managed to give herself nosebleed after nosebleed. And on top of it all, she felt guilty. Despite Praxis' constant assurances that it was not her fault, Alchemy broke down crying the moment her parents left for the party.
"Stop it now," Blackheart muttered, "you're going to make yourself worse." And indeed, it sounded like she would stop breathing. After a few minutes (and the quick thinking of Blackheart to find a comedy film on the television) she calmed down. However, she had a coughing fit, which exhausted her. It was only nine. He had never known her to go to bed this early.
But, as selfish as it sounded, he was thankful to have a separate bed. He could handle getting Alchemy things during the day, and helping her around the house, but he could not bring himself to share a bed. It's not like she minded. She kept her box of tissues close, and a pile of extra blankets as well.
After nearly two weeks, Alchemy finally began to eat again, and not cough it back up. She had lost a lot of weight these past two weeks while her body tried to fight the infection. Now, on the day of her twentieth birthday, she had a healthy appetite and spent the entire day stuffing her face. "It's nice to have food in your belly again," She commented, slowing picking at her sandwich before taking a large mouthful. She still sounded as if she had a stuffed-up nose, but on the whole her coughing and sneezing was down. A few of her friends stopped by briefly, finally meeting the "Blackheart" she talked about, and wishing her a happy birthday. It was a Sunday, so they couldn't stay very long. Most of them had jobs, partners, and university. For dinner, Praxis cooked one of Alchemy's favorite meals: chicken tempura with sautéed mushrooms. She felt really content. It was a good birthday, she spent the day with people she cared about and had a good time. Plus, she was able to eat again.
As a present, her parents gave her a beautiful pearl necklace. She always liked her mother's pearls (a wedding present from her mother-in-law), and asked for one of her own ever since she was a little girl. She retired to bed early again, but much later than she had when she had been sick.
"I suppose you expect a present from me?" Blackheart asked as he crawled into bed with her. Now she was relatively better, and not about to wake up in the middle of the night coughing so hard she was about to puke, he came back to bed with her.
"No," she said, "you took care of me when I was sick…"
"Well, I got you something," he smiled, pulling a box out from a drawer under her bed, "I think it'll help certain things."
She eyed him curiously, an eyebrow raised, but took the box and opened it.
Ooooh! Cliffhanger! What is in the box?!
