Breathe Me

The next morning was hell.
Normally I am not one to be superstitious, but there really was no way to ignore the omens that greeted me that day. Usually, back in LA, I would start off any Sunday by slowly crawling out of bed. I was like a little kid climbing into a freezing pool, sticking their toe in, slowly submerging their whole foot, cautiously sliding their leg into the depths of the frosty blue water. I dreaded waking up. I would start off the day by slowly waking up each part of my body, physically and mentally. Sometimes on the weekends I would lay in bed for twenty minutes, totally awake, before finally getting up. But this Sunday was different.
I supposed I had been dreaming vividly last night – I could still recall faint traces of it in my mind, but it was getting fuzzy. I must have been, though, because when I dream a lot, I end up tossing and turning.. and when I awoke, I was so tangled in my sheets I couldn't get my arms free. Flustered and tired, I rolled onto my side in a shockingly fast movement, a feeble attempt to free my arm. However I hadn't realized that last night, all my tossing and turning hadn't left me in the middle of the bed, like I was so used to. Instead I was just barely on the left side, with absolutely no room to spare for rolling around like an idiot. I crashed to the floor, but not before smacking my head off the corner of my nightstand. A small groan arose from my chest, and it sounded like a wounded animal.
That was omen number one.
Once I had gotten over the shock, the pain set in. My eyes welled up with tears and I fought to hold them back, tearing my arms out of the sheets to hold my head in both hands. I got on my knees and hunched over in the floor, mentally commanding the pain to stop but it didn't ease. I felt like someone had stabbed me in the temple.
Finally, reluctantly, after five minutes of attempting to stifle the pain, I got to my feet and trudged down the stairs into the unfamiliar kitchen. Maybe it was my injured head playing tricks on me but I could have sworn the lights in the room were FAR too bright. They hurt to look at.
The table was littered with evidence that my father had already been there: unfinished bowl of cereal, out of order newspaper, and cold coffee. I made a mental note to remind him that I wasn't a maid when he got home, and set to cleaning up after him, like I had been for the past three years. That mental note I had just made would never escape my lips, I knew very well.
After the kitchen was spotless, I treaded down the hall and made a right past the stairs, into the very spacious and very plain living room. Our very expensive and unnecessary white couch was placed in the middle of the room, and various boxes were scattered here and there. My father hadn't found the time to set anything else up besides our bedrooms, the kitchen, and the dining room. As I tossed myself violently on the couch, almost hitting my now recovering head again, I tried to ignore the vacant walls. For some reason it made me irrationally sad, and it took quite a lot of force to hold that feeling back. T Emptiness is never a good thing, my mother always would say to me. So it was curious and quite interesting that my very dull, plain, organized father had settled down with my neurotic, scatter brained impulsive mother. I pondered that fact for about five minutes, until I was too sad to think straight anymore. That was the second omen, when my eyes began to brim with tears at the thought of my mother. On top of that, the inevitable headache had set in. I sighed and threw myself off of the couch, almost running up the stairs, eager for the hot shower that was waiting for me in the bathroom. On my way up I'd decided I would quickly dress, and then head downtown to do some much needed shopping.

* * *

My hair was damp, and the curls cascaded down my back and left a huge wet spot on my sweater. It was late September, so most of the cold hadn't yet arrived. Still I was so used to the LA heat, that I had only thrown on a pair of jeans, sneakers, a blue tank top and a thin, almost see through fleece sweater over top. My wet hair also didn't help my case much, but by this point I was already downtown, searching for something that could hold my interest for a little while. I decided the music store would be the best place for me, and I headed in that direction. It was a brick building with crappy lighting, and I could tell the selection would be limited. Still I pushed the door open and cursed the annoying bell that made everyone look at me. Eyes searched my face hungrily, and you could almost taste the gossip in the air. The new kid. I sighed and let the door close gingerly behind myself, ignoring the murmurs and stares that followed me as I walked to a section of Cd's, though they didn't look promising. Omen number three. I hated attention more than anything in the world. I knew I would get it at school on Monday, but the fact that I couldn't even go DOWNTOWN without it was simply aggravating. I grumbled a curse word under my breath and tried to shake off the feeling. An interesting album cover caught my eye, and I reached out to pick it up.
My fingers hadn't yet touched the plastic case when a musical voice beside me spoke.
“Hello.”
It was a soft murmur, but it sounded like velvet. There was no way to describe this voice, but perfection came pretty close. I was so shocked I froze in my tracks, my fingers ready to curl around the CD but not quite succeeding. I let my hand drop to my side, and turned to look the owner of the beautiful voice in the face.
I almost jumped back. He was in such close proximity, I wondered how I hadn't felt his presence. The blood rushed to my face, as his eyes scrutinized my every action. There was no way to comprehend his beauty. He had pale, almost glowing skin. His jaw was the most perfect thing I'd ever laid eyes on, and his nose looked as though an artist had sculpted it especially for him. His dark brown hair was spikey, and a little on the messy side, but he was one of those boys who could pull off any hairstyle. I noticed when the light hit it, that there was a tint of red in his hair. His top lip was very thin, but the bottom was fuller, and they contrasted in a gorgeous way. I searched his face, confused, and amazed. There had to be one flaw, just one little flaw..
But there wasn't. And then my eyes flickered to his, and this time I literally did take a step back. They were crimson! Crimson eyes, fading to black at his pupils. I stared, dazed, for a long time at him. And then the memory came flooding back: a boy getting out of his car, seeing me, SOMEHOW, in my window.. but it was so dark.. I could only make out his teeth as he smiled at me, and they glowed in the streetlight.. realization hit me with the force of a wrecking ball. This beautiful creature was my neighbor. I finally spoke.
“You live across the street.” It wasn't a question, and my voice sounded as though I'd been choked. His amused expression had turned to worry, and I wondered how long it took for me to alarm him. But he smiled and his eyes – the crimson ones – were carefree once again. He took a step toward me, and I wondered why he wanted to be near me so badly? I decided he wanted the conversation to be hushed, seeing as there were many prying ears around, and that was the reason for his closeness.
“You're not too good with greetings.” He grinned wider still, and I felt my cheeks turn red again. He noticed, and the grin did not leave his face. “My name is Demitrious. Call me Dimi, though, please.”
My voice was being suffocated. I was in awe of this boy, his smile was intoxicating. Then I took a deep breath and his scent hit me hard, my head was swimming with it. It was sweet, the most amazing smell in the world, I decided.
Finally, I fumbled out some words. “Blair Sommer. It's nice to meet you.”
“Blair..” He pondered my name, his eyes staring off into space. I could see their depth now, as the haze in his eyes took over completely. They were extraordinary, and I felt myself getting lost in them. This boy was hypnotizing, and I wondered if he was aware of it. He snapped back to reality. “I suppose it's a nice name.” He joked.
I merely nodded curtly, not sure what to say to him. For some reason, I had decided I didn't like him in that moment. You must think I'm crazy, after I described his beauty, his voice that put any melody to shame, and the intoxicating scent that issued from his body.. but I was almost jealous of him. On top of that, he seemed manipulating to me. The way he stood so close, and talked with such charm.. I decided his motives were not innocent enough for me. No one this perfect should be talking to me unless they had their own reasons. So I turned away from him, and picked up the CD that had caught my eye a few moments ago. However, he was relentless, and couldn't take the hint.
“So, Blair, how are you liking Toms River?” He practically sang. His voice was so enchanting, but for some reason it put me on my toes. I could almost feel my guard going up. Why was he making me so ill at ease?
I glanced at him from the side to see that my obvious rudeness was amusing to him. He seemed to like my reaction quite a lot. I suddenly disliked him more. Cocky, I muttered in my head.
“It's cold.” I said, hoping he'd seriously reconsider replying, but of course he didn't.
“Well, you know, most of us don't walk around in transparent shirts and dripping wet hair,” he chuckled playfully, and I could tell the remark was more of a flirt than a jeer. Still, I turned to him, my eyes must have looked like they were possessed. He was beginning to really irritate me.
“Do you have a problem?” I said in an acidic tone. I expected him to look taken aback, but instead he smiled wider. A gorgeous smile that made my heart flutter inside my rib cages. Stupidly, I wondered if he could hear the pounding as clearly as I could. I shook the idea off.
His pupils bore into my eyes, and I felt my knees almost buckle. I wanted to smack that perfect grin off his face.
“Your eyes are fantastic.”
It took me off guard, mainly because the smile HAD been wiped off his face when he said it. His eyes were suddenly searching my face, gauging my reaction. He seemed nervous now. I could tell the words had slipped out, that he hadn't really meant to say them. There was a struggling look in his eyes now, and he bit his full bottom lip.
After what felt like years, I replied. “Thank you.” I mumbled, almost embarrassed, and my eyes darted immediately to my feet. Who was this curious male that stood before me, and why couldn't I understand him at all?
I knew I was being rash, and stubborn. The only reason I had decided that I didn't like him was because I knew I really DID like him. Every cell in my body was telling me to get to know him, to spend as much time with him as possible, and because he was so damn irresistible, I vowed to resist. I would lie to myself for forever, if that was what it would take. I would not let this fascinating human being draw me in. Blair Victoria Sommer was no fool.
So it was with reluctance I finally looked up to meet his gaze. The tortured look in his eye was still there, and I was curious as to why. It wasn't THAT embarrassing, was it?
He spoke first. “So,” He attempted to brush off the awkward tension. His eyes did not look so tormented anymore, and he smiled a crooked smile at me. I was taken aback by it. “Why did you come here?”
None of your damn business! I exhaled, and did my best to speak without venom coating my words.
“We just needed to get out of LA, my father and I. The hospital here was eager to accept him, and it paid more than the hospital in California. So, here were are..” I trailed off, and decided to give up on searching for Cd's. My body was now totally facing him, and I looked him dead in the eyes. This seemed to surprise him.
“Your father is a doctor, then? That's very interesting.” He seemed as though he was being very polite, but I told myself he was being sarcastic. I guess I wanted more ammunition to hate him. He was making it so hard..
“Not really.”
“Well, I think it would be,” He raised his eyebrows. “That must be a very self-gratifying job.”
“Are you being snippy?” My words had a deranged edge to them, and I knew I was playing games with myself. He was being nothing more than kind. His words were not meant to hurt, and he was not being sarcastic.
He looked shocked. “What?” He spluttered, then shook his head and laughed. “No! Of course I'm not! Why would I be rude to you, I'm trying to make a good first impression here!” He joked, his eyes were practically dancing.
My eyes narrowed. “You're doing a really bad job.”
He looked displeased, and cocked his head to the side, in the most adorable way. “Why?” He seemed genuinely curious. I didn't reply, I just stared past him at some of the posters on the wall behind him. They weren't actually holding my attention, but I wanted to make him feel small and uninteresting. Kind of like how he made me feel. “Am I bothering you?” He sounded amused again, and with reluctance I shook my head and returned to meet his gaze.
“No, you are not bothering me.”
“Good. Because you intrigue me, and I don't want to bother you.”
He was being too candid with me, and so I refused to let my guard down. But his smile was so contagious, and I felt a tug at the corner of my mouth. I half smirked, half smiled. He grinned in reply.
The comfortable silence we were in was interrupted after that, by the sound of a phone vibrating. He looked at me, his eyes apologetic, as he pulled out a silver phone from his pocket. He turned away from me slightly, and I could not hear what he was saying. It was too fast, and too low. He clicked the phone shut and turned to face me again. His expression was casual, and nothing seemed to be wrong.
“I'm sorry,” He started. “But I have to go now. It was nice meeting you, Blair. I'll see you later.”
And then he was walking away from me, gracefully. I started at him until I heard the bell of the door ring as he opened it. It seemed to snap me back to reality, and I blinked twice.
What an odd encounter, I told myself, trying to ignore the feelings that were coursing through me, the questions that were burning in my head. I knew I could no longer enjoy myself, and I set to walking back home and spending the day doing mindless chores. As I walked, I replayed the meeting in my head, trying to decipher his odd reactions. “I'll see you later.” He had said. When, though? I kicked myself for asking the question. Why was I being so STUPID?! And why was it, since he was gone, I felt.. empty?
He was gorgeous, yes. The face of an angel, yes, he had it. And he did smell absolutely breathtaking, and he spoke with such charm it was sickening. But why did I feel so compelled to talk to him again? I was being pathetic, I told myself. I definitely did not like this boy for causing me this inner conflict.
I threw open the door to my vast, empty house, and set to busying myself in the living room, re-arranging things and unpacking some of the boxes. I smiled as I realized the connection between me and the room. The emptiness he had left me with his absence, and the empty room. I was attempting to fight the vacant feeling off. I sighed quietly, and sat down in the middle of the room. I stretched to grab a small box that was in front of me, and I gently opened it.
I thought back to my warning signs during the day, from falling out of bed to the unwanted attention. I wondered what they were warning me for. It couldn't have been the beautiful stranger I had met in the music store. No, that didn't make any sense. Omens for an angel? I shook my head and giggled at the thought. I could taste the irony.
I decided to block out all my thoughts, and go numb as I polished all the picture frames and the knick-knacks in the box. I busied myself for hours, setting up things on the mantel, hanging up pictures where I thought looked best. Exhaustion hit me hard. It was only four o'clock, but I decided that a nap sounded promising, and I curled up in a ball on the white couch, waiting for sleep to take me.