BLACK COFFEE (PART I)
PROLOGUE
He is the handsomest boy I have ever seen.
Yet I hate him.
There is something so inhuman about him, so inherently heartless behind those casual eyes.
I am afraid of him. And I fear no one. I try to hide my terror, knowing that if he senses it, it will only speed his closing in for the kill.
I see myself lying lifeless in his arms, his strong hands around my throat, a demonic glow in his eyes.
Underneath that nonchalant exterior, he is a monster.
And he will pursue me.
It is inevitable as I watch him saunter across the room, never directly meeting my eyes, but aware of me all the same.
All I want at that moment is someone to keep me safe, to shield me from his evil.
But there is no one equal to him in power and cunning, least of all me.
I feel lucky to have sensed the danger, but I know I will need much more than luck on my side if I am to escape him.
CHAPTER ONE
Mr. Bingham strides purposefully into the room. He carries no books.
Upon reaching the front, he spins around to face the class; on cue, the female portion of the class heaves a collective sigh.
Wow. Sheila was right. He is a god. Tall, with black eyes, longish dark hair, and endlessly broad, dreamy shoulders under that soft sweater. I close my mouth.
He launches right into the lecture. His face is unreadable as he expounds on the psychological implications of F. Scott Fitzgerald's most famous work. Having read the Great Gatsby multiple times just for the fun of it, I can easily answer the questions he presents to the class, but I don't want to draw attention to myself, considering my Monday ditching.
Eventually, his eye catches mine, and he frowns slightly, not pausing in his lecture.
"'I hope she'll be a fool. That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.' What Daisy is saying here is that, as a woman, she must make her way in a man's world by beauty rather than brains. Does anyone have anything to add before we move on?"
What the heck. He's seen me already.
I raise my hand. I'm the only one. He motions for me to speak.
"I don't think she means anything by it. I think she's just trying to be profound, because that's fashionable."
"Your opinion is relevant, Miss Romney."
Only I can hear the sarcasm. He knows who I am, all right, and is acting skeptical just to punish me. He probably thinks I ditched just to show him who's boss in our relationship. That wasn't exactly my reason.
"Why do you believe this." It's a command, not a question.
"A person who will burst into tears over a stack of shirts is not likely to be given to philosophizing."
This garners a hint of a smile, at least, but he chooses not to answer me directly.
"You will all state your opinions on the first chapter in a minimum of three pages, due tomorrow."
Tough. I smile secretly as I shoulder my bag.
******
"So, his first name is Gabriel, he went to Dartmouth and he's like a total genius."
Sheila is gushing. Again. Which can be slightly annoying. She isn't usually like this, about guys anyway. It's just that every other St. Joseph's girl is talking about Gabriel Bingham, too, and she doesn't want to feel left out.
Despite her minor self-esteem issues, Sheila's a pretty great best friend: stylish and loyal.
"I can't figure out anything about his relationship status."
Susannah is understandable frustrated. She's used to having all the dish on current romance; no doubt this sudden ignorance is rather baffling.
"Please, ya'll, I'm trying to eat," I complain, placing a hand over my ear.
"Alyssa!" Susannah protests. "Don't you think he's hot?"
"Of course he's hot. But he's also, like, what - if he just got out of grad school - seven years older than me? And I don't crush on authority figures."
"Ugh!" Susannah groans. She actually looks disappointed at my lack of enthusiasm.
It's always a puzzle to me why girls want their friends to like their latest infatuation. I mean, isn't that just inviting competition?
Abruptly, Susannah swerves to a new topic.
"So where were you Monday?"
I glance at Sheila before answering. Of course she already knows.
A brief flash of shame catches me off guard as I reply.
"I was sick."
I'm not lying. Lying is withholding the truth from those to whom it is owed.
And in this instance, I don't owe it to Susannah.
"I gotta go, okay? Don't want to be late."
"Since when?" Susannah yells after me, but I'm already gone.
******
I'm not really headed for class. Precalculus is about the last thing on my mind right now. I need to think and clear my head.
Susannah Barman made me feel like a coward. The world is surely ending.
Why am I ashamed of running away? I know in my head it's the smart thing to do, the only option if I want to stay alive. It hurts my pride. I'm used to being the tough girl. Nobody messes with me.
Why can't I just deal with this responsibly? I can't tell anybody; they'd think I was crazy. Even Sheila doesn't know everything. Gosh, I feel like an idiot.
My mind drifts back to the start of my problems.
September second, one day after my sixteenth birthday; the first day of my junior year, and my first sight of Simon.
Even then, at the tender age of fifteen, his extreme beauty was distracting. He was tall, mature beyond his years, and though I was nearly a year his elder, I felt like an inexperienced baby in his presence.
Inexperienced, and scared out of my wits.
I shudder, blocking rapidly-forming images from my mind. I really should get to class. My thoughts are too painful for solitude.
I round the corner, my head down, and then skid to a stop.
The source of my fears himself leans against the bare white wall.
His stance is relaxed; he knows he doesn't need theatrics to scare the crap out of me.
I almost turn to walk the other way, but I know he's caught my original direction. I must save face, whatever the cost.
Effecting insolence, I swagger past, trying to look masculine and invulnerable, knowing how transparent I am, and hating myself for it. I have practically made it past, when his hand, like a steel pincer, clamps to my shoulder. My feet stop automatically.
"Well, hey, if it isn't the little Ice Queen."
His voice, cold and cruel, is close to my ear. I feel his breath on my neck.
"Go away, Simon."
My pulse beats quickly, and my legs wobble, but there was an authority in my voice which I am far from feeling.
This time, his voice comes from my other side. He is circling, dancing the universal choreography of predator and prey.
"Hmm. We weren't so frosty last year, were we? What on earth could have changed?"
Strong, cool hands caress my throat.
"Ah, now I remember. It was only acting. I frightened you."
He pauses to nuzzle below my ear, evoking spinal thrills which I willfully suppress.
"But it wasn't all pretending, was it, darling?"
"Shut up. Go away. Leave me alone."
I am still desperately afraid, but I need to back up my words with action. Forcing my limbs from his web-like spell, I move forward.
Seemingly out of nowhere, his hand strikes a tingling blow to the back of my neck, propelling me into a locker door.
"Did I dismiss you, darling? I think not."
Now I am angry, so angry that, for a moment, my anger overrides my fear.
"I would have you know, Simon, that you cannot control me. I am not afraid of you and you can't make me fear you!"
I am practically bellowing. My voice is, for once, doing what I want. I reflect smugly that it is almost on par with Sharon's in one of her disciplinary sessions. Its effect is less impressive on Simon, however.
He actually laughs! And not just an evil, humorless chuckle. He rocks back on his heels and howls, like he actually finds me funny.
I don't know what makes me do it. Maybe it is the sight of his half-closed eyes and open mouth, so temptingly vulnerable in their seeming unawareness.
Anyway, I swing. It feels good, like a home run. It would have felt better if my fist had actually connected with his nose. But no.
He comes out of his laugh just as abruptly as he had gone into it, catching my wrist in mid-punch. His face registers surprise as he realizes what I intended to do.
Well, what does he expect? He detains a girl against her will, patronizes her, hits her, laughs at her, and then expects to come away in one piece?
Yeah, right.
Then his green eyes begin to smolder and seethe in a way that I don't find at all sexy, probably because my dread returns in full force as soon as he stops laughing.
His stare isn't the intense all-I-want-to-do-is-rip-off-your-clothes look that models, male and female, preen to perfection; it's more the I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-then-do-cruel-and-painful-things-to-you kind of look.
At least I'm pretty sure that's how Gabriel Bingham interprets it when he appears at the end of the hallway.
CHAPTER TWO
The speckled gray floor is smooth and cool, pleasant against my burning cheek. Uncharacteristically, I give no thought to its filthiness. It feels safe and solid beneath me.
At first, I don't even notice migraine raging in my skull. It's like the voice of a nagging child, a subconscious whine in the background, not purposely ignored, but effectively categorized by the brain as unworthy of immediate attention.
My awakening is at once gradual and abrupt, triggered by a firm hand on my shoulder.
A dark, deep voice, full of concern, pierces the veiled static of my semi-conscious state.
"Alyssa. Are you alright?"
I'm on my back. Gabriel Bingham kneels over me.
My body relaxes against the cold tile, exhausted from Simon's punishment.
"Simon??" I gasp, my voice sounding rubbery.
"He is awaiting his penalty." His apparent anger surprises me. I'm used to being alone in my knowledge of Simon's power.
I struggle to sit upright, and immediately regret it. Headaches suck.
Gabriel steadies me with his hand.
Oh gosh, I can't believe I'm calling him Gabriel.
I guess Mr. Bingham just doesn't do it anymore, considering he kicked Simon's butt for me.
"Thanks." For everything.
Acknowledging my gratitude with a brief nod, he leaves me to the care of nurse Nancy.
******
I have an eager audience in Sheila.
"So what happened? Did he, like, ask you out?"
"Sheila! Of course not! He wasn't trying to impress me; he was just doing his job. He'll probably get a nice promotion or award or something."
Sheila is obviously dissatisfied, not that I blame her.
I feel mildly guilty about deceiving her; after all, she is my best friend. Even by my sketchy standards, I owe her the truth.
I shouldn't be allowed to have friends. Honesty and friendship are supposed to go together, but in my case, they seem to be incompatible.
There is a such thing as too much information.
The human brain is designed to accept a certain set of values. It's programmed to recognize normality.
"The sky is blue."
Toss in terms like "supernatural", and the brain goes into overload.
Which is why I've never out-and-out told anyone I'm different.
CHAPTER THREE
The colorful wall border crawling with garish animals seems to mock my discomfort.
Robyn sits in the single chair, while I stand, at her direction, near, but not touching, the wall.
"Stop wiggling, Alyssa."
The nurse enters. She's very fat, with folds of heavy skin around her face.
My medical file is tucked under her arm, attached to a clipboard. Her other hand is busy clicking a ballpoint pen open, and then closed. Open, and then closed.
Not helping my nerves.
"Alrighty," she booms over my head to Robyn.
I am disliking her more by the second.
"Get her undressed, and the doctor'll be here any second."
I'm only eight, but I'm not invisible.
"Okay," Robyn agrees, pulling off my shirt.
"Take off your shoes, Alyssa."
Cold and more than a little embarrassed, I obey.
"Alrighty," says the Fat Nurse. "How old is she?"
"I'm eight."
"She'll be nine in September," says Robyn simultaneously.
Shut up, she glares. I focus on my laces.
"Alrighty, then, she'll need a vaccine. Hop on the table."
Now in my underwear, I scramble up awkwardly. The cracked faux leather table cover rasps against my thighs.
I'm not good with needles. Swallowing, I eye Fat Nurse preparing the syringe. The needle is long and cruel, yet dull-looking. It's not the pain, but the concept of being skewered with a piece of metal that frightens me.
Fat Nurse grabs my upper arm, and with thumb and forefinger, she stretches the skin into a taught target. The needle is poised...
I shut my eyes.
But instead of the anticipated sting, I feel my arm suddenly released.
My eyes pop open, and I see Fat Nurse writhing on her back, her right arm seemingly pinned to the floor. Her eyes are rolled back in her head. From her O-shaped mouth issue helpless gasps, and to my exceeding bafflement, my own arms are extended in front of me.
*****
The power seems to have a mind of its own, sometimes, but mostly I'm able to control it.
Robyn, who was my then-guardian, got rid of me soon after the incident. I lived at a state-funded children's home until my thirteenth birthday, after which I won a full-ride scholarship to St. Joseph's Academy, where I am now.
It suits me here. There are dorms and everything, so I don't have to be in foster-care. And I have Sheila, and sometimes Susannah, to keep me company.
I was perfectly satisfied with my life until Junior year. Which is when Simon came onto the scene.
He was an instant heartthrob on campus, due to his exceptional looks, and had the entire female population of St. Joe's drooling from day one.
Except for me. I was scared out of my mind, because, for the first time, my power didn't work on him.
His power worked on me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Simon never let me forget he could control me, anytime, any place.
In Spanish, which was fortunately the only class we shared, he would randomly decide to demonstrate his control over my body. My fingers would start drumming, or my foot tapping, or, the most terrifying, my eyes would close. Each instance lasted until he released his hold.
He made my life miserablel, but it only got worse.
He started flirting with me.
Now, please understand, I'm not bad-looking at all. I have a pretty face, and a reasonably hot body, in spite of my almost disproportionately curvaceous booty.
Despite of all this, I never had much guy attention. Susannah tried to help, and told me frankly that, in spite of my Steve Maddens, I came across as tougher than the PE coach. I should "play up my soft, girly side", and the boys were sure to come running.
My "soft, girly side" must be buried pretty deep.
Anyway, Simon began his creepy courtship, and I was too much of a wimp to refuse. Who knew what degrading, vengeful contortions he would force me into if I rejected him?
Ironically, I was the envy/enemy of every girl in St. Joe's, excepting Sheila, and possibly Susannah, as soon as we became an item. Another girl might have enjoyed the limelight resulting from my connection to him, but to me, every day was misery.
I was, effectively, his slave.
This went on until Sheila noticed my misery. She demanded to know why I was dating Simon, whom I so obviously, to her, loathed.
Of course, I couldn't come completely clean, so I made up the next best answer: Simon had threatened me into it. Which wasn't a lie. Technically.
Sheila was outraged. This wasn't the Alyssa she knew. Her Alyssa would never be cowed into anything. Ironically, she made me promise to break up with him and/or seek help within the next month.
Obviously, I couldn't confide in anybody, so that left me with an impending break-up, and since I wasn't going to risk a private, and possibly violent, confrontation, I took the easy way out. I just stopped interacting with him altogether.
According to plan, he confronted me about my frosty behavior after Spanish class, and I made sure the entire hallway full of students heard exactly why I wasn't seeing him anymore (the words rude and controlling factored pretty heavily into the tirade).
After that, all I had to do was make sure he didn't catch me alone, which was surprisingly easy. Apparently, publicly dumping the school's hottest hunk puts you up a couple rungs on the cool ladder.
But everybody's got to pay the piper sometime.
TO BE CONTINUED
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