Would You Bargain With Hell?

He held my hand all the way back to the café. His hand was warm, and his palms sweaty. I dared not to think about this yet, knowing I might freak out and overthink everything. I looked ahead. A car was parallel parked along the sidewalk, but it went slightly over the line. I stared, at the café sign not too far ahead. I swallowed.

“There it is my sweet Rayder.” Patrick said, his deep English accent spreading thin in the air.

I nodded.

He stopped walking and put his hands on either side of me. He turned me so I was facing him. I looked into his eyes.

“What’s wrong Rayder my dearest?”

“Nothing Patrick. I’m just…nervous.” Lie after lie, I had told that boy and I was sure
The cycle wouldn’t end soon.

“Why? This is what they hoped for." He pulled on his blazer.

“I know. Let’s go okay.”

“You want to be my girlfriend right?” His eyes grew impish.

“Of course who wouldn’t!” I smiled and reached for his hand.

He held it and we both walked back into the prissy café heads held high. It was a bad replica of a French café, decorated with sideways shots of the Eiffel tower. At the same table in the corner as before Grace and Lady Howell. We joined them, standing at the head of the small table, hands locked.

Simultaneously Grace and Lady Howell turned and first saw our hands, then looked up. A grand smile crossed both faces.

“This is so good! You two like each other?” Grace’s voice was tainted, she knew there was no way I’d be happy with this.

“Yes Miss Tamerlane, Rayder and I are going out now.” Patrick turned to look at me, he kissed my cheek, leaving sticky residue.

I smiled.

Grace stood. “I’d really hate to break you guys up right away, but we have to go.” I knew exactly why she worded like that, to tease at me.

“I’ll see you soon Patrick.” I smiled dropping his hand, my heart still pitted in my stomach.

“Rayder!”

I turned.

“Where’s my goodbye kiss?”

“Not in front of our parents!” The most believable excuse.

“Then you owe me love!” He winked and I shook. No, please never.

I giggled. I jogged to the limo, sliding beside Grace, her taloned fingers tapping against her leg as the car’s engine revved.

“So you fancy the Howell boy?” She crowed

“He’s the only boy I’ve known how am I to know who I fancy?” I knew this was borderline, immediately I closed my eyes in fear.

“Look Rayder, I honestly don’t care whether you like Patrick Howell or not, but you will date him and you will make him happy. If that means you end up married to the boy I don’t give a damn. If you bear the boys children I don’t give a damn. We need the Howell name associated with us.”

I bit my lip. She was crueler than I’d ever thought her to be…the passing thought of having to bear children with Patrick, of having to conceive children with Patrick made me sick to my stomach.

“Why not with one of your girls?”

“They aren’t obedient enough.”

“I don’t like him Grace.”

“I really don’t care. You will see him; tomorrow he’ll take you to lunch. I’ll have him pick you up at noon.”

Noon, I thought, no not noon. Tomorrow was Wednesday, and Wednesday I saw Mason. I needed to see Mason; I needed to know how I really felt about him. I wanted to see Mason.

“I’d rather go to dinner.”

“And, that my dear, I don’t care about either. It’s lunch.”

“Okay.”

I thought in the car of Mason and me, he made me smile. Then I thought of Patrick and I, he made me wish he was Mason. I wish I knew how Mason felt, was I insane? Was I just misinterpreting my own feelings? Did Mason already know someone? What would Mason do if he knew about Patrick? I knew I was overthinking it, Mason probably didn’t even think me as a friend, just some girl. I yawned.

“Get your rest Rayder; I want you to look your best tomorrow.” Grace dragged me inside.

“Yes ma’am.” I dropped onto my mattress. Tomorrow, I would find him, somehow I would break away. Even if I would be stuck with Pretentious Patrick for the rest of my life. I needed to tell Mason how I felt. I didn’t even know what to tell him, since I didn’t really know what I felt. But I would explain it the best I could. And maybe, maybe, he would feel the same way.

“Mason Connors.” I said to myself feeling the way his name felt against my tongue.

“Rayder Connors.” I smiled again, and then pinched myself.

I closed my eyes, dreams hovering through my mind like still photographs. Me and Mason, then me and Patrick, then me and my real Father, and me and my mother’s grave. One of those things was not like the other. One of those things I did not want.