Jessica Verday: The Hidden

“I figured you’d want that,” he said.

He’d figured right. I was already pulling it on top of me and snuggling underneath. He sat down beside me without a word.

“Can I ask you something?” I said. “About … Vincent?”

“What do you want to know?”

“After I went to the hospital, what happened?”

He looked like he was thinking about it. Then he said, “The last thing I remember was seeing him in your room. All I could think about was getting him out of here. Then it’s just a blank. When I woke up, I was with Nikolas and Katy. At their house.” He put his head down, right next to my ear. “I said that I needed to find you. Sophie and Kame were there, and they told me what had happened. Then they brought me to the hospital.”

“Did they tell you why Vincent came after me?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“He came after me because he got the wrong girl,” I said sadly. “He thought Kristen was me. I’m the reason why she’s dead, Caspian.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the reason she’s dead. He is. Don’t put that on yourself.”

“But if I had just known … had done something to warn her …”

“Warn her how? You couldn’t have changed anything, and if you had-” He stopped.

“You know we’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later,” I said. “The reason why the Revenants are here. Because I’m going to d-”

“Don’t say it, Abbey,” he begged. “Please don’t. I can’t think about that. About you … I just can’t.”

“Everyone has to die sometime.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He put his hand out, and it went through mine. “I know better than anyone.”

He turned away from me, obviously upset.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Don’t be angry.”

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just can’t … I can’t picture you dead, Astrid.” Caspian held out both hands and spread them wide.

“I won’t bring it up again,” I promised, desperate to make everything better. “I swear.”

He exhaled a shaky sigh and closed his eyes, leaning his head next to mine. We would have been touching … if we could.

I closed my eyes too. The pain pill was making me sleepy. “Will you stay?” I asked, burrowing deeper into my covers, closer to him and yet still so far away. “Stay with me.”

“Forever,” he whispered. “I’m staying forever.”

When I woke up the next morning, I noticed two things. The first was that my sling was stuck underneath me at an impossible angle, and second … I had a hot guy in my bed.

Ignoring the dead weight sensation that I knew would lead to pins and needles when my trapped arm woke up, I lay very still and took in the sight before me. Caspian was on his side, one arm thrown up above his head. His T-shirt twisted slightly so that I could just barely make out the bare flesh above his jeans.

My eyes traced a path down the stripe of black hair that lay across his cheekbones. Then to his nose, his lips … Lips that I wanted to kiss again. How many days until November first? How many days until the anniversary of his death day, when we can touch?

Two weeks until school started, and then thirty-one days in October …

Too long. Much too long.

My gaze slipped lower. To his skin. I couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to try to feel that piece of him I wanted so badly. I’d never realized, never dreamt, that a relationship without something as simple as a touch could be so hard.

Caspian’s eyes flickered open, and I knew he felt the same tingle that I did.

“Hi,” I said softly.

He just looked at me. Then a slow smile came across his face. “Were you ogling me?”

“Drawing a mental picture,” I said, with a wicked grin of my own. “Remembering that night last Christmas when you took off your sweater and showed me your tattoos.”

With one swift movement he reached down and twisted up the shirt. It slid off, and my pulse skyrocketed. “Better?” he asked.

“Much.” I sighed. My heart beat like a drum in my ears, and the air around us felt heavy and thick. I couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn’t stop looking at his skin. So different from mine, yet the same. It was fascinating. Little bumps and ridges made up the hollows of his collarbone, while smooth, taught flesh stretched all the way down …

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to return the favor?”

“No.” I swallowed hard.

“No? That’s not really fair.”

“Oh, yes. It is. I’m the injured one here, so you have to indulge me a little.”

Caspian nodded. “All right. Have you indulged enough yet?”

I shook my head.

He rolled over and stretched out on his stomach, arms crossed in front of him, back fully exposed. The edges and lines of the tattoos on his shoulder blades blurred a little. The interlocking chain of small black circles and triangles all ran into one another. I realized I was staring too hard. And possibly drooling.

I shifted and pulled my arm out from under me, turning so that I was on my side, facing him. “You aren’t … I can’t even … Does it ever bother you that we can’t touch?” I asked desperately.

“Every day.”

His tone was soft. Simple. But a whole different world lay behind those words. His world. A world that I couldn’t be a part of. Not yet, at least. We were miles apart.

“What were you thinking about when you got your tattoos?” I said, changing the subject to something easier. Something with answers. “What was your inspiration?”

He shifted too. “The stop sign outside my old house was graffitied. Someone painted big circles on it. Then someone else overlapped it with a triangle. It wasn’t the same pattern I have on me now, they were two distinct designs, but my mind just put them together in this weird way.”

“That’s cool.”

“It may sound hippieish,” he said, “but when I saw the circles, I felt this … connection. To the earth. Or Mother Nature. Or whatever ‘it’ is. I’ve always had this feeling that I was connected to something. Or someone.”

“Maybe it was me.” His eyes held mine, and I would have given anything to be able to reach out and touch him. “We’re connected. Maybe we-”

“Morning, sweetie!” Mom called from right outside the door. She came in holding a laundry basket, and I bolted upright. I’d never even heard her come up the stairs.

My gaze flew to Caspian. Even though I knew she couldn’t see the half-naked shirtless boy on the bed, I still had a moment of panic. “Hey, Mom,” I said awkwardly.

She crossed the room and pulled back the curtains. “What do you want for breakfast today?”

“I’m, uh, not really hungry.”

“But you have to eat. Why don’t I make chocolate chip pancakes?” She went to the closet, opening up drawers and putting away socks.

“Yeah. Fine. Good. Sounds great. I’ll get dres-”

“Or Belgian waffles? You love those.”

“Yeah, Mom. Okay.” I mentally willed her to leave the room. “I’ll be down as soon as I get dressed.”

She came out of the closet and smiled at me. “I was thinking that maybe after breakfast we could do a movie day. I rented a bunch of them.”

I got to my feet and opened the bathroom door, hopefully sending the message that I needed to get in there. “Okay. But first waffles, right?”