Jessica Sorensen - Broken Visions

Alex is lying beside me, not asleep, staring at me. “Sorry, I was just…” He looks a bit guilty.

“Watching me sleep,” I finish for him, turning on the lamp. It’s not completely nighttime yet but dark enough that I can only see the outline of him. I want to see all of him, savor the moments with him and everyone I care about.

“It’s not as creepy as it sounds,” he says, starting to laugh, but the happiness deflates quickly. He looks exhausted, dark half circles under his eyes, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled.

“No, it’s pretty creepy,” I attempt to joke, but fail miserably.

“You don’t have to do that.” He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “You don’t have to pretend that everything’s alright when it’s not.”

“Don’t I?” I whisper. “It hurts too much not to pretend.”

He rolls to his side again and lets his finger travel down my cheekbone to my jawline, finally residing on the hollow of my neck. “Never pretend with me, Gemma. Promise me you won’t. Promise me you’ll tell me what you’re really feeling no matter how bad it is.”

I gaze up at his eyes that use to be so cold, but now give me so much comfort I can barely comprehend it. “You really want to know how I feel right now.” I ask and he nods. I wet my lips with my tongue and then lean up, knowing that what I’m doing might be wrong, but it’s what I want to do at the moment.

Without any hesitation, I press my lips to his and kiss him intensely but deliberately. I expect him to stop me and give me a big lecture about how we should stay apart, that we should let the star survive as long as we can. But he doesn’t and we both decide just to live in the moment. Live for the now. Live to live because any other way wouldn’t be right.

As he kisses me back with passion, he conceals his body over mine, his arms slipping upward and bearing his weight and my head is trapped between his arms. He’s touching all of me but it doesn’t feel like enough. I want more, but when I rush to rip of his clothes, getting caught in the heat of the moment like we’ve done so many times, he stops me by catching my hand.

“Just enjoy it, okay,” he utters softly with fear in his eyes, like he’s afraid to do so himself. When I nod, equally as terrified, he leans back down and kisses me gradually but with so much intensity, I swear we’re going to burn the house to the ground. I can barely get air into my lungs as our tongues entangle and our bodies weld together, conforming flawlessly. The kissing goes on forever, longer than I knew kissing could go on for. When he finally pulls back, he strips my clothes off me, going slowly and not tearing the fabric and I do the same to him, my chest heaving as I gasp for air, feeling things I’ve never felt before. I try to bury them, knowing I need to restrain what I’m certain is developing inside me, and toss his shirt aside. Then I gently trace my fingers along his perfect chest and impeccable stomach, feeling his muscles flex under my fingertips. He lets me study him, feel every part of him, then he lays me back down and does the same to me, his fingers drifting from my face, to my neck, my breasts, then to my thighs, his mouth trailing after his hand and leaving a path of heat all over my skin. By the time he’s done, I’m gasping for air and my body is aching for him to be inside me.

He must sense it to, because he situates himself between my legs and covers his body back over mine. “I want to say so many things…” he looks so torn. “But I don’t think I can.”

“You don’t have to say anything at all,” I whisper, leaning up to kiss him. “I already know.”

He kisses me deeply as he thrusts inside me and my fingernails dig at the flesh on his shoulder blades as overwhelming passion, lust, want, and need consume me. For a moment I feel whole. At peace. Like I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to do. And as he rocks inside me, whispering, “Everything we’ll be alright,” part of me believes him.

After having the most intense sex ever, I lie in bed beside him, face to face, staring at him, trying to brand his beautiful face into my mind so hopefully when I die, it’ll be the last thing I see.

“You know, I never stopped thinking about you,” Alex says, resting his hand on my hip. “After you left.”

“I wish I could have thought about you,” I admit. “But I didn’t really think about much of anything honestly.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says, tracing circles on my hipbone.

“I know, but I still wish I could have.”

It grows quiet between us and then he sits up in the bed and reaches for his jeans on the floor. “I want to do something,” he says and when he sits back up he has a knife in his hand. “I want to make another Blood Promise.”

“What kind of a Blood Promise?” I sit up, intrigued.

“One that will help us through this.” He touches his finger to the tip of the knife and pricks it. “One that will make the impossible possible.”

I don’t quite understand, but the silent plea in his eyes is enough for me to easily give into his request. “Alright, let’s make a promise.” I lift my hand that is marked with the scar of the original Blood Promise and hold it out to him.

He slices the palm of his hand open, his breath faltering as he carries my gaze and the carefully cuts mine. With blood trickling out of both our hands, he presses our palms together. “ EGO spondeo vos ero totus vox,” The words pour out of his soul. “EGO spondeo EGO mos operor quisquis capit ut servo vos.”

When he’s done, I wait for him to tell me what he needs me to say, but he lowers his hand to his lap and puts the knife on the nightstand.

“That was a one-sided promise.” I cup my hand to catch the blood but the wound is already healing up.

“It was a one-sided promise that needed to be made.”

“But that doesn’t seem fair… I didn’t promise you anything back.”

“Trust me,” he says with a sad smile. “I got everything I needed.”

Something about this is all wrong. “Alex, I—”

“Please Gemma, this is what I need,” he begs and I surrender to him, because really I have no other choice.

After a good night’s rest, I decide to go tell my mother what’s going on, mainly because I want to inform her that my father wasn’t evil like she said, that everything he did was for her.

Alex is still fast asleep in my bed, so I quietly get dressed and slip out of the room so I won’t wake him. When I get to Sophia and Marco’s room where my mother is imprisoned, I sit down on the floor in front of her and stay calm.

“I saw what happened,” I tell her, tucking my legs underneath me. “Dad didn’t want to be like Stephan. Stephan marked him with the Mark of Malefiscus and he had to do what Stephan said—he didn’t have a choice in any of it.”

Her eyes widen as she scoots toward me. “That can’t be true.”

“But it is,” I say, trying to read if she’s lying. “He had to do it. He had to change the vision and it all happened because he wanted to be with you.”

“He just wanted to be with me?” Her hands fall lifelessly to her side, her skin draining of color.

“I changed it back,” I inform her, knowing that she could tell Stephan, but that it doesn’t matter anymore. “The vision he changed to end the world, I changed it back so it’s not going to happen… all is saved.” I’m not sure what comes over me, but I lose it and start bawling. I crawl toward my mom, disregarding that she has the Mark of Malefiscus on her arm and wrap my arms around her, seeking comfort from her like I’m a child.