The days pass in a blur, a bright cacophony of colours, spilling from one day to the next like watercolour paints haphazardly brushed across an easel. Because that's what time looks like with Rafe. Bright and beautiful and happy. From an outsider's perspective, at least.
And yet, although my life has become something of daydream of designer clothes and decadent dinner dates since that fateful fire at my apartment, the nightmares still come for me; even in the days after I finally start to feel safe in Astoria, in the days after Rafe and I become official.
Apart from the night when I lapsed into that dream in which my battered body was tossed about to the sharks, the rest of the nightmares had been relatively tame. Usually, my silent screams are quiet enough that Rafe doesn't awake. Like tonight. My tears and muffled sobs don't reach through the walls. They don't carry through the air to Rafe's room. And I'm too proud to ask him to stay with me at night. He'd probably say no, anyway. He doesn't like the vulnerability of staying the night with me. Or anybody for that matter. And I tell him that I'm not ready for sex with him. He doesn't press, exactly, but I can see that he wants it. He wants more from me. But ever since that incident with Elio, I just can't even stomach the idea of it.
It seems that Elio, whom I've taken to calling Three Sugars, has joined the seemingly endless reel of nightmares I have.
The death dreams I am used to. I can almost deal with. They've already been happening for months. And even when they first started, I remember awaking with that lost feeling of déjà vu, night after night, until eventually I realised that I'd been having them intermittently ever since the encounter that Kiki and I had with the gypsy woman, since the inception, the first promise of my curse. Our curse.
But now, there is something else that torments me in my sleep. Something other than the curse and my never ending demises. No, the sanctity of my body has been violated further. Not by sharks with dead eyes, or the wild gulf of the sea or the dehumanising declaration that I am nothing more than a deathbringer. No. Now, in addition to the aforementioned horrors, I am violated by a boy I thought was my friend.
The questions that follow each time I awake are even worse. Did I bring it onto myself? Did I lead him on? I kissed him; does that make it my fault? But I said no. Surely, that's a clear expression of non-consent?
In the few minutes after I awake and sometimes when I've been conscious for hours, I can still feel the ghost of him, on my body. It's like he has branded his handprints on me and that there's a red seal engraved upon my thigh, my breast. Even across my lips and face. And sometimes, even when I am with Rafe and he reaches out to tuck away a strand of my hair or ruffle at it, when he gently brushes by my arm or hip when he passes me, I feel my heart beat faster, feel that now-familiar brand sear into me again and all I can think is No, Elio. Stop. Please.
It always takes a few seconds for me to reorient myself. Recognise that I am not with Three Sugars but that I am safe, with Rafe. Sometimes, when he and I are curled up in front of the fire together, when I've finished my school work for the day and I am reading while he monitors the stock market or whatever, he'll glance up suddenly and catch my eye. And I'll lean over to kiss him. Because I -we both- want more. But every time we get closer, I feel Elio's mark on me and I pull away. Sometimes I actually shout at Rafe to stop. Even though I want to feel his touch, let him kiss away that invisible tattoo that Elio has left on me. Of course, every time I object, Rafe stops, immediately. And I murmur the same excuse that I am just not ready, every time. He must think me insane. Most of the time, we aren't even doing anything remotely risqué. Sometimes, I freak when I just feel his hand on the small of my back. And even though I truly want Rafe, and I know that my little panic attacks are inane, illogical and deprive the both of us of what we want, I can't help it. And it's so wrong.
Moreover. I don't tell Rafe why they happen either. I don't tell my boyfriend about how Three Sugars assaulted me. I don't love Rafe. My prejudice against Astoria, and the feeling that he'll leave me because I don't belong here, is the only thing that keeps me from loving him. But I can feel myself starting to love him and that is the most dangerous thing of all. My former hatred for all things Astoria kept me safe, and now even that is starting to ebb away.
Its presence meant that I wouldn't get attached. That I wouldn't anchor my heart here. But with Rafe, I can feel my chain slipping. I am falling for him.
And although I spend most evenings with him, and we are now together, I still try to retain some of my former prejudice. If only to protect myself. And himself. Not just from each other. But also from the curse.
And yet, I don't tell him about it. Whenever he does pry, I dismiss his worried words. Tell him it was just a stupid nightmare. That I was deranged or delusional, that the remnants of sleep still had their tendrils firmly wrapped around me. And then I'll press my lips to his, in an effort to distract him- but never for longer than a few seconds. I long to lose myself in him. To forget about Three Sugars. But I pull away every time and Rafe simply stares at me with intense curiosity in his eyes. Although he sometimes asks me what's wrong when I reject his kisses, his pride prevents him from truly trying to understand. I can see in his eyes that he's scared that it is his fault. Or that it is my fault and that we do not belong together. And although my brain commands me to shift the blame on him, pretend that it is because we are from two widely differing and incompatible worlds, my heart contradicts that idea and I know that I will love him.
I am so conflicted. None of it makes sense. Rafe is my boyfriend and I feel myself falling for him. But at the same time, I try to keep him at arm's length. Not just because of my fears that he'll turn into a Three Sugars-esque character but also because I am trying to save him, from myself, from the curse, by attempting to maintain the prejudice I had when I first arrived in Astoria.
Rafe wants me but he is too prideful to really ask what is wrong with me. For fears that he is the problem. And he cannot bear to ever be wrong. Sometimes, I think that maybe he recognises my projected bias against him and the other old-money types. But most of the time, I think his own arrogance is there to keep me at arm's length also. For fears that I may tell him something he doesn't want to know. Furthermore, I feel that maybe he's questioning why we're even together. Rich Boy Archer and a nobody. It just doesn't make sense.
And it is all so confusing.
Although our living arrangements have pushed us together, our relationship is falling away. And sometimes, I find myself wondering if the only reason that I remain with him is because he makes me feel safe. That the idea of having an actual boyfriend will keep Three Sugars and others like him away. But the thought that that didn't stop him before contradicts the idea and forces me to grapple with why we are doing this. I still don't understand.
And yet, we make excuses to avoid one another. I tell him that I miss cooking, that I am bored by the idea of going out for dinner every night with him and how can he stand it?, and spend some nights away from him, at Maria's apartment. A few days after the Three Sugars incident, I went back to the café, waited until she finished her shift. I told her all about Elio and she listened and comforted me as I cried. Wiped away my tears and told me that I was wrong when I declared that I was tainted, that it was my fault.
I thank the unwritten rules of the Girl Code that brought me a new friend. These past few days I've gotten to know her. Understand her. Although she is a waitress, she, like almost everybody around here, is Old Money. Maria is heiress to the Rodrìguez jeweller's empire. She grew up in Alexandria and moved here a few years ago. Her parents thought it would be good for her to build her own life. And although she lives in the most gorgeous and spacious Victorian style apartment building and is currently in her second year of business studies at Astoria University, she works part time as a waitress at Tilbury's.
I come to learn that her job as a waitress is her metaphorical mask. A chance for her to escape the restraints of the demeanour she must present to the world as a heiress. She jokingly tells me that "dealing with Alfie and all the other difficult customers at the café is nothing compared to the cat fights with socialites that occur in the ballroom of a charity auction or some gala event. You have no idea how good you have it. How lonely it can be."
But maybe, I am starting to realise just how good I have it. Aside from Kiki, I'd never had many close female friends and I am only just now realising how much I missed such companionship.
We spend hours together, cooking, of all things, even though she hates it. I tell her about my apartment, lament how long it'll be until I move back and she laughs and says "Chica, you can stay here as long as you like, as long as you do the cooking! But I don't know why you'd trade living with Archer for menial chores with me." I shrug away her questions and tell her I miss a simpler kind of life and she breaks into laughter again. "Trust me, Eva, this sin't the simple life." Although she says it jokingly, I sense the undertones. Her life isn't simple. It's complex. With layers upon layers of social etiquette interweaved upon the ingrained conventions, ethos of upper class society that she's been forced to uphold her entire life. She's told me of the racial discrimination her family faced, faces. The snide remarks that some of the white socialites throw at her. And although Maria has never had to want for any trivial object or thing in her life she recognises that there are some things that money just can't buy. Like the erasure of white privilege and the lingering effects of racial prejudice.
It's so unexpected, but hanging with an heiress has taught me more of the world's cruel disposition. An Astorian has opened my eyes to the injustices that still linger in society, even today.
And I wonder what living with Rafe has taught me.
Through our strange growing yet distant relationship, I have come to realise that Rafe has a whole world waiting for him after university. His entire life is orchestrated and mapped out, ready for him to step into it, the moment he graduates. Being with him allows me to understand that living in Astoria gives him freedom to escape from that life. He, like me, came here to escape.
I start to learn more about him. Although there is little physical closeness between us, our relationship starts to flourish in a different sense. A better understanding of, well, not one another, but of him. I still obstinately refuse to divulge my past to him much to Rafe's confusion and suppressed curiosity but he talks about his life a bit more. I learn of his love of ancient mythologies and legends. The way that he always checks the stock market first thing in the morning and reads a myriad of international papers lest his father calls to interrogate him on his knowledge of the world's current state of affairs. I discover that although he loves his father, he hates the man for the way he forced Rafe to grow up attending board meetings and business functions and boarding schools, and then shipped him off overseas.
Also, I learn that Rafe does have friends. Like, close friends.
That's such an odd thing to even question, but I'd never seen him close with anybody at school and just doubted the idea. Although I see him hang out with a group of boys, sometimes, most notably with this obnoxious jock guy, Chad, they don't seem truly close. But after a while I do meet with Rafe's closest friend, his ride-or-die, a statuesque blond guy named Gareth who lives and plays soccer at the University of Alexandria. Every few weeks, he visits Astoria, stays at The Henley, and he and Rafe will play golf together for hours.
I first meet Gareth about a month and a half after becoming official with Archer. He, like Rafe and I, has a fingerprint registered with the front desk that allows him to enter the suite whenever. After Gareth had dumped his bag in the room that is almost perpetually reserved for him, he'd waltzed right into the suite much to my surprise. Rafe wasn't home and I was sitting at the table, sheets of paper, homework, splayed out across the flat wooden surface, like a deck of large verbose playing cards. For a few seconds I'd simply stared at him, in confusion. Who was this boy with the long blond hair and broad smile? "Hello", he'd said with his hand outstretched, "You must be Evangeline." I'd stammered out a reply, standing up to shake his hand and he'd swept me into hug.
"Rafe's told me so much about you. Thank you."
When he finally released me, I found my voice. "Thank you?"
"Yes." He'd simply nodded and then changed the subject. "I'm Gareth by the way. Did Archer not tell you I was coming over today? Typical. I'm here for the next, like, two weeks. No school for a while so I'm crashing here. Well, not here here, I've got my own room, of course. Wouldn't want to disturb the two of you, huh. But I'll be here a lot. It's so nice to finally meet the girl of my bro."
Woah. Gareth was a whirlwind. Rafe wasn't due home for a while but Gareth stayed, declaring that he wanted to procrastinate unpacking. He ordered up coffees (a piccolo for him -cos he's a classy boy, apparently... his words- and an almond vanilla chai latte for me) and we sat cross-legged by the window and watched the sun set over Astoria.
Gareth and Rafe had been friends for years. They met at the Redfort races once, both forced into designer suits, they bonded over their immense loathing of the sport while trapped in The Birdcage as their parents sipped expensive champagne. Gareth was on a soccer scholarship at Astoria and if things continued as they were, he'd go international. I honestly didn't understand very much of what he was saying, but I gathered enough to know that he was seriously good at soccer. Elite, even.
They were so different! I couldn't believe that this was Rafe's best friend. The chaos of Gareth compared to the precise and measured tones of Rafe. I guess they are right when they say opposites attract.
Rafe walked in nearly forty minutes later, and I could tell from his expression that he had not expected to see Gareth and I sitting in the floor together.
"Hey, Rich Boy," I said, leaning up to kiss his cheek and hug him.
"Rich Boy! I like it. Raffy! Dude! Bring it in," and Gareth and tugged a reluctant Rafe into a hug of his own. "I've just spent ages talking to your girlfriend. I can't believe you never told her about me! God. At least you told me about her." He turned to me, "Seriously, Evie, I swear, like every call was like, oh so Evangeline tripped over today and spilled her papers all over me, or, she nearly died today, can you believe it?, or she called me at like 2am and I thought it was a booty call-"
"Gareth," Rafe growled, "Shut up."
"Oh, dude, soz. I guess you should have spilled about me to your girl then, right?" He'd replied with an easy grin. God. I loved Gareth, in that wholly platonic way you adore a little puppy that just blindly walks into furniture consistently.
"Raffy, you have no idea how hungry I am. I got a plane here and even in business class, plane food sucks. You've been holding us up. Evie and I were gonna go out. Without you, dude. Where were you?"
Rafe rolled his eyes but I could see that he really had missed Gareth's companionship. "I had a business meeting. Some of us have to work, you know? Instead of play ball for a living." He dug his phone out of his pocket and held the screen up to us. "Hence the forty two missed messages. From you Gareth. Thank god I left do not disturb on. Shame though, that my own girlfriend isn't so attached." He added the last part jokingly, but I wondered if maybe he meant it. When he placed his phone face down on the coffee table and flung himself onto the couch and started undoing his tie, I crept onto my phone.
»Missed you Rafe xx
He'd see it in a few hours probably, after sifting through Gareth's inordinate number of text messages.
"Archer! Did you not hear me? I am hungry!" Gareth cried, clapping his hands in time to each syllable. "Get changed. Now. Is this how you treat your closest friend? Keep him waiting when he's starving? Does he treat you like this, Evie? Leave you hungry? Or thirsty?"
I smirked, cocking an eyebrow. "I don't know about that, but I definitely leave him thirsty."
"Ooooh, your girl's got spunk, Archer. And apparently a lack of a stomach. Dude, come on. Food and then the driving range till midnight. I haven't seen you in forever."
Rafe snickered at my comment and flung his tie in Gareth's direction, pointedly ignoring the way that Gareth pretended to choke on a noose his expert fingers instantly made of the tie.
"I'm dying here. I might have to resort to cannibalism and eat your girlfriend."
Rafe didn't turn back but threw Gareth the finger as he walked out of the room and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like only I get to eat out my girlfriend.
Horrified, I turned to Gareth to clarify. "No! We haven't-"
"Really?" Gareth's incredulous tone caught me out. "How long have you been dating? Like, what a month or two, and he hasn't- you haven't-? Woah, Raffy's serious, huh?" And he flung his arm around my shoulder. "I'm gonna eat the tiny cake version of you on your wedding cake and in my best man speech I'll talk about how I proved Rafe wrong and did cannibalise his girlfriend-no, wife. Is cannibalise a word? How do you spell that?"
*
Gareth's relentless chatter over dinner ameliorated any outsider perspective of the growing rift between Rafe and I. Although we did throw each other a few well-timed quips, I couldn't help but feel the distance between us. Caused by my secrets. My refusal to let Rafe in, both literally and emotionally.
After coffee and cake, Gareth declared that he was stealing my boyfriend and "Hitting up the driving range... get it? Hitting. Cos golf?" Before they left me in the lobby though, Rafe kissed me, weaving his hands through my hair and although I could feel my heart start to beat faster, my breathing rate rising up in fear, I held on, kept the illusion of a perfect couple up, if only for Gareth's sake. Rafe gave me a sad smile. And Gareth tugged him out, huffing, "Dude! Come on! See ya, Evie!"
*
I went to bed early but awoke early too. Another nightmare. Elio ran his hands down my body, sliding across my legs, my thighs... I snapped awake, bile rising in my throat, only just managing to make it to the bathroom in time. I heaved out the contents of my stomach, arms hugging the toilet bowl, tears streaming down my face, sobbing relentlessly. "Evie?" The sudden voice from the silence scared me for a second before I realised it was Rafe. But he never calls me Evie?
"Oh Angel, are you alright?"
The tears continued their downward journey and I didn't say a word as I retched again. Rafe sat down next to me and held my hair back, rubbing small circles on my back.
I didn't say a word to him as I flushed the toilet and brushed my teeth. He waited, back against the bath tub, legs sprawled out before him. Finally he broke the silence. "Angel... will you tell me what's wrong?"
And the tears kept falling as my heart cried too.
He really cared about me and I was still too afraid to tell him anything. Everything. I shook my head and we just sat together in the dead of night for a while before Rafe helped me up. For a solitary second I could see the betrayal in his eyes. They flashed accusingly at me. He knew that I was keeping things from him. But what was I to do? Rafe led me out of the bathroom to my bed, holding my hand and when I was nestled within the blankets once more, he relinquished his hold. But I held on. I wanted him to stay with me.
Selfish, so selfish.
How could I expect him to do that when I couldn't -wouldn't- even talk to him.
He stared blankly at my hand still clasped around his, then deep into my eyes, his pupils flickering back and forth between, as if searching the depths of me. For what? The truth, maybe? My soul, perhaps?
Could he see anything there?
And then he untwined his hand from mine. Pulled away.
And I let him go.