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anon – Yep, it is at his house. Although one of my friends who's a youth leader said that they wouldn't actually be allowed in a private place alone, even if the parents agree to it. Ahem... let's just ignore that fact, shall we?

I don't own Night World.

Chapter 8

The rest of the week is strangely straightforward. As we don't have a gig for a couple of weeks, we don't bother with rehearsals for that week, though I do still see Hugh every day. English stays calm (though the work is bloody hard) and I'm not too nervous for Friday. Until it actually comes to Friday.

My parents offer to drive me to Blackthorn's house, which I think is uncharacteristically kind for them, though I do accept. It would be just my luck if I was just riding around on my bike struggling to find his house. And just like me. I don't have the best sense of direction.

And I get nervous when I'm waiting for my dad to get up from watching the rugby to drive me there. I'm not completely sure why. It hasn't been awkward since last week, and we actually get on better than we did before the whole kiss thing. And similar to the aftermath of the kiss thing, I actually pay attention to what I wear and what I'm doing to my hair and makeup and such. Due to that, I actually look pretty good.

"This is it," I say to dad, spying the golden '89' on the door.

"I'll pick you up in an hour and a half, okay?" he answers.

"Yup," I say, trying to be, as my dad would put it, 'chipper'. He grins at me as I open the door and step out into the driveway.

It's a nice house, as much as I hate to admit it. Tudor style (I've always loved Tudor houses) with a mahogany door and windowpanes with shutters that matched the dark wooden lines. Not the type of house I would have imagined for him at all.

I knock on the door and arrange my expression to be nonchalant and slightly bored, which I think works quite well. He doesn't react when he sees me other than a small, welcome smile. "Hey, Jez. Come on in." I step in and follow him part of the way through the hallway, which is as nice and traditional as the outside. "I hope you brought your..." He pauses as I skid to a stop and gaze into a room which has a door slightly ajar. "Are you alright?" he asks.

I point at the room. "May I?"

"You would go in whether I said you couldn't or not, so... yeah, sure."

I open the door wider and step in.

"Okay, I don't even like books, but this is impressive," I say.

All the walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, as well as there being a couple branching out into the middle. And it's not exactly a small room either – a wall must have been knocked down to make one room from two. Every single bookshelf is filled with books, and they're all the old kind as well. The kind you see only in period dramas, with cracked leather covers and golden lettering.

"Yeah... I suppose you could call it an obsession."

"It's like in Beauty and the Beast," I say, still in raptures.

"What?"

I turn back to him with a frown. "You know. That scene in Beauty and the Beast when he shows Belle the library." He's still watching me warily. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, turning away.

I spy an open book on a table. "Ooh, what are you reading now, then," I say, going to pick it up and check the cover, but the familiar dialogue renders that action unnecessary. "Oh! Wuthering Heights."

"You didn't even turn it over. How do you know that?"

"It's the only book I've read the entire way through of my own accord. Well, except for all the Dr. Seuss's. And some of those 'Kipper' books we read in Infants."

The sound of his laugh makes me smile again, before I check myself. What is it with his laugh that makes it so infectious?

"What makes Wuthering Heights different, then?"

He's quite close when I turn around to answer, placing the book carefully back on the table. "I suppose that it's not a typical love story. And every character gets what they deserve," I shrug. "It's different."

And it seems, now, like the air has gone still around us, as if we're in a bubble of our own that nobody, nothing, can penetrate. I find my eyes flickering down to his lips and try to keep my breathing steady.

But he steps back, looking away from me, his hands clenching into fists. "Have you brought your things for English?" he says in a monotone. I blink, feeling suddenly cold and drop the backpack I'd been carrying on one shoulder to the floor in front of me. "We can stay in here if you want," he says.

"Okay," I say, embarrassing myself when my voice wavers. He doesn't comment on it, just sits at a desk that has three chairs around it, all different styles.

He tells me to write three complete, exam style essays in the time, sets me a few different choices of question, then sits back with Wuthering Heights. I try to concentrate for about ten minutes before loosing it. "Okay, I won't be able to deal with doing this if you're reading my favourite book right in front of me. Can't you read something like... War and Peace? That seems boring." That makes him laugh at me again, and he starts to get up. "Wait," I say, not able to resist. "What part are you up to?"

"Linton's just been taken away by Heathcliff."

I find myself relaxing slightly as he picks up a copy of War and Peace (figures, he actually has one), and actually work quite hard until about ten minutes before my dad is due to pick me up, at which point I sit back and slide the pieces (yes, pieces. Three of them) of paper to him. He puts the book down (rather reluctantly, I notice) and picks up the first piece, sighing slightly. Once he's finished reading through it, he drags the chair slightly closer to me.

"You would have gotten a C for this one. You need to develop your points more."

"But..." I start, turning to look at him.

It surprises me how close he is to me; our lips are less than five inches apart. Neither of us speaks, and the air once again is still. His pupils dilate as we remain trapped in this bubble; I wouldn't be surprised if we did remain trapped, unable to move for the rest of eternity.

But somehow, he does move, although instead of backing away, as he had before, it's to move closer, cupping my cheek in his hand. And then, slowly so as to give me time to pull away if I wanted to, he leans closer. But it's so slow that I close the remaining couple of centimetres myself. I feel him smile at my impatience as he kisses me, and my hand drifts up his chest to his hair, which is even softer than it looks.

And somehow, it's even better than the last time, because it's gentle, and we know what to expect. It gradually builds up until I'm pulling him closer, getting even more impatient. And it's when I gain the courage to lightly touch my tongue to his lower lip that he pushes me away, gently, but still persistently. I drop my hands to my lap, still breathing as quickly as he is. He watches me for a second with wide, child-like eyes before looking away with something like disgust. "I'm a monster," he says.

"What?"

"I don't know what it is..."

"You can blame me for... what just happened," I say, still trying to calm my breathing.

"Oh, I do," he says, almost harshly, standing up and pacing back and forth.

I feel a lump form in my throat and look down, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.

"Jez..." I don't look up. "What I meant," he says, "was that... it's just who you are. The way that you look, what you say. You drive me crazy."

I look up at him, melting slightly at his intense gaze. We stay suspended for a moment, before he kisses me again, almost... ruthlessly this time. The pressure builds again, and this time he lets me touch his lip with my tongue.

But we're interrupted by my phone signalling that I have a text, and he pushes me away again, his eyes quite wild at this point. I almost dive for my bag to get the phone. All the text says is 'Outside'. My father is a master at succinctness.

Blackthorn somehow reads the expression on my face. "I suppose that's your father," he says, a bit sourly. He puts his head in his hands. "I really am a monster."

"No!" I say. He looks at me as I sit next to him and pull his hands away. "Don't say that. Like you said; you can blame me," I smile, hoping to get a smile out of him.

Even better, he laughs, and this time I don't have to resist, so I kiss him again. Just a quick one, but still one of the most amazing moments of my life. But when we separate, he trembles and closes his eyes. "You probably shouldn't come back. I don't know what I'll do."

"I trust you," I say gently. His eyes open, and I kiss him again quickly before picking my bag up off the floor and leaving. He stays sitting, watching me with eyes wider than usual.

"Good lesson?" my dad asks as I get in the car.

"Yeah," I answer with. "I actually think this might work..."