Earthbound (10 page)

“After my session with Elizabeth, I went home. And I guess Reese didn’t hear me come in because she was on the phone with Elizabeth—she called her Liz, by the way, not Dr. Stanley—and they were talking about all kinds of crazy stuff.” As I speak, Benson drops to the floor in front of me, rubbing warmth into my icy-cold hands as I relay the conversation as best I can remember. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of his hands on mine, trying to remember every secret, every threat, the fact that they expect me to be
dead
in a week. The words become heavier as I repeat them, as though my uttering them aloud suddenly makes them real.

“Tave?” Benson asks when I’ve finished.

He hesitates and I’m amused that he’s worried that he might be able to say
anything
to ruffle me. I feel like we’re miles past that point.

“Do you think this Quinn guy is the one looking for you?”

I was wrong.

My fingers clench around his and I clamp my teeth so quickly I catch the skin of my cheek. I wince at the pain and touch the tip of my tongue to the stinging spot in my mouth. “No,” I say without further explanation.

“Tave, you have to at least consider it.”

My head is already jerking back and forth. “No. He would never want to hurt me.”

“You don’t
know
that,” Benson says, leaning forward. “All kinds of people can want to hurt you. People you would never—you can’t
know
.”

“It could be anyone else, Benson. Like this lady when I scraped my head or—” My voice rises as soon as I think of it. “There’s this man with sunglasses. I’ve seen him twice now and—”

“And you’ve seen Quinn
three
times. Twice
at your house
,” Benson interrupts.

“He wouldn’t—” My voice cuts off as my head falls into my hands. “How can I explain it to you? I can’t even explain it to myself.” I slump against the arm of the chair. “I’m just so tired.”

“Stay here,” Benson says. “I’ll be right back.”

What?

I recline into the surprisingly soft armchair as Benson slips out the door, leaving it a few inches ajar. My head is starting to ache and I remember that the whole reason I went home at all was because I skipped lunch … and breakfast—I’ve
got
to start taking better care of myself. Woman cannot live on caffeine alone.

In a moment of clarity I wonder just how bad this can be. So my shrink is sharing information I gave her in confidence …

With my guardian who took me in with basically no warning and has provided for my every need for the last eight months. And who’s trying to hide me from someone. And getting ready to run. With me? Without me? After getting
rid
of me? I don’t even know.

No matter how I justify it, everything comes back to that.

Could
Elizabeth be trying to hide me from Quinn? That doesn’t make any sense—why would she tell me it was okay to see him if she knew he was dangerous? And I refuse to consider that Benson might be right—that Quinn is the danger. It doesn’t fit.

I look over at Benson’s desk, trying to distract myself. There’s a small, framed picture and I lean over and grab it to get a better look. Benson, probably two or three years ago, with an older guy and a woman. His mom and brother, I assume. He mentions them fairly often.

I study their faces. Benson and his brother don’t look alike at all except for their matching brown hair, but I can see his mother’s features in his face. The angular jawline, high cheekbones, and wide eyes. They’re all smiling. Part of me feels like I should be jealous, resentful even. Benson has a family—minus a dad, apparently, but still—and mine are dead.

Of course I could never wish such a thing on Benson. I’m completely happy for him, I realize as I put the picture back. I’m glad I can be. Elizabeth says empathy is the most important part of being human.

Elizabeth.

I lean my head back and focus on Benson with his family instead. Dare to imagine myself in the scene with him. It feels like the most far-fetched of fantasies at the moment. My eyelids grow heavy and I let them slip closed. Just resting my eyes a bit.

I don’t hear Benson’s footsteps until the soft snick of the door closing makes my eyes snap open. “Here,” Benson says, handing me a large Tupperware. “I’ve been saving these since Halloween. The guys had this stupid idea that we should be ready to hand out candy even though I told them no kids live around here. But they bought a ton anyway and there are
still
leftovers.”

I lift the lid to find an assortment of mini candy bars, and my mouth instantly starts to water. I scarf about five of them before everything starts to feel significantly less stressful. “Thanks,” I say, unwrapping another mini Snickers.

Benson leans forward, his hands sitting on each side of my knees. His thumbs rub little circles on my jeans, soothing some of my tension as I eat a rather embarrassing amount of chocolate while I talk.

“What am I going to do, Benson?” I finally ask. My energy and resolve seem to have left along with the tension, and my bones feel like noodles. At this moment I’m not entirely certain I could stand up if my life depended on it. “They expect me to be dead in a
week
.”

He scoots forward a few more inches and his hands slide up my thighs. I don’t resist—it feels good. The warmth from his palms seeps through my jeans and into my skin and makes my fingers tingle, reminding me that I’m not numb. Not completely.

Not yet.

“I’m not going to tell you empty words,” Benson murmurs. “I won’t patronize you like that. But whatever’s going to happen, I’ll help you. I’ll be there with you.” He leans forward and I feel my heart pounding in my ears as his face draws closer.

Closer.

“It’ll be dangerous,” I protest, the words barely audible as they escape through my teeth. It’s my last opportunity to lean back, to pull away. But I don’t want to. All I can focus on is his face, his mouth. My nerves crackle and my tongue darts out to touch my bottom lip.

“I don’t care.”

My eyes drift closed and—

“Aw yeeeeaaaah!”

My head jerks up as the voice intrudes and we both look up to see Dustin’s face framed in the doorway.

“Not your girlfriend, my ass,” he says with a suggestive laugh that fills my stomach with mortification.

“Get the
hell
out of here,” Benson snaps.

“Next time put a sock on the door, bro—you know the rules,” Dustin taunts, still firmly wedged in the open door as my face burns crimson.

I clench the arms of the chair as my embarrassment boils over.

“Get the sock if you want to—ahhh!” A cascade of water hits Dustin in the face, forcing him to stagger back. His gurgling scream startles me and the water stops.

I clutch my hands to my chest as Benson kicks the door closed and scrambles to his feet to turn the dead bolt.

“Jeez, Ryder. What the hell was that?” Dustin yells through the door. “My nose is bleeding; you could have killed me.” He continues to yell, but he could be a faintly buzzing fly for all I hear him.

“Benson?” I say quietly.

“I’m so sorry,” Benson says. “I should have bolted it when I came up, but I was focused on getting you food and—”

“Benson?” I ask, my voice a little higher.

“I just didn’t think. I mean, he never comes up here except to sleep and—”

“Benson, I did that!” I shriek.

He finally turns and looks at me, his eyes confused.

“The water,” I say, struggling to keep my voice down. “I did that!”

“It’s okay; he’ll get over it. And truth is, he deserved it. Needed to cool off.”

“No, I
made
the water.”

That stops him. “Made?”

“Like the ChapStick,” I say slowly. “Where else did you think it came from?”

“Oh,” he says, and runs his hands through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah. We should probably talk about that.”

B
ut instead of talking, he pulls out his cell phone. “Hey, Marie, it’s Benson,” he says a few seconds later. “I know I said I’d be late, but this cold has only gotten worse and I don’t think I should come in this afternoon at all. Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. Yes, of course. I will.” He pushes a button to end the call and stares at his phone for several long moments. Then he slides it into his pants pocket and looks at me.

I squirm. He’s tall enough that from down here I feel very small.

As though sensing it, he reaches out a hand. “Come here.”

I grab on and he pulls me to my feet and turns me around. Soon his hands are gently rubbing my shoulders and neck. I give a sigh and let my head hang forward as he massages some of the tension out of muscles I didn’t even realize were sore.

Though I guess I should have assumed.

“Better?” he whispers after a few minutes. His face is just over my right shoulder and close to my ear. My knees feel wobbly as I try to respond, and I have to clear my throat.

“Much,” I finally manage to say. His hands are still on my back and his fingers tighten for the tiniest instant before starting to move down, running along my ribs, stopping at my waist.

After a pause, they sink a few inches lower, resting at my hips.

His breath warms my neck as he lowers his lips to brush the skin just above my collarbone. A shiver ripples up my spine.

Benson freezes.

“Good shiver,” I whisper.

His arms move again, twining around me—one arm around my waist, the other diagonally over my chest, his fingers curling around my shoulder, pulling me close against him.

I grip his arms like lifelines.

He doesn’t kiss me again. We just stand there, holding each other as if the entire world would tear us apart if we let it.

I wonder how true that might be.

“Tell me what to do.” Benson’s voice is low and gravelly right next to my ear, the vibrations on the side of my face sending a dart of warmth all the way down to my toes.

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against his cheek—just a touch stubbly, like I always suspected. I feel tears build up and blink them away—not now. “I wish I knew. I’ve spent months trying to piece my life back together, but I don’t know what that even means anymore! I’m so confused, Benson. I don’t know what to think, or do, or who to trust. I can’t trust
myself
. I don’t even know what I am!”

“You’re beautiful,” Benson murmurs, then begins to unwind our arms, turning me to face him. “And smart, and brave, and strong.” I’m all the way around now and Benson’s hands are framing my face, warming my cheeks. “And completely irresistible.” He finishes. “The rest is just details.”

I smile a little—it’s all I can manage—and Benson leans in to kiss my forehead, each cheek. His nose touches mine and I can hardly breathe, I want him so badly. His face is so close that I can feel his breath on my mouth, and the moment that his lips touch mine is sublime. Soft and warm, his hands move to my waist, pulling me forward as his lips delve. I push against him, pressing, wanting more. Closer. Deeper.

Then his face is gone, but his hands are pulling me downward, onto his lap on the chair I vacated a few minutes ago. A breath shudders into my chest as I slide, limp, into his arms, my knees hugging his thighs as he reaches for my neck and brings me back to him. I grasp at his shirt, needing something to hold on to, and a hint of a growl escapes Benson’s mouth before his kiss deepens, sweeping me away with exquisite gentleness and the roar of passion I can feel held back behind it.

Everything I’ve craved since we met, wrapped into one moment of bliss.

And all I want is more.

My fingers spread against his chest and for a moment, I remember Quinn’s chest—the glimpse of skin last night as he got to his feet.

But I push him away.

This moment is Benson’s.

And mine.

Ours.

Ages pass before I’m curled comfortably against Benson’s chest, my head resting on his shoulder, his fingers stroking idly up and down my hip. The sugar has finally taken effect and my body seems to hum like a well-oiled engine as I sit and draw warmth from Benson’s skin.

“Why can’t we just stay here forever and never think about anything else?” I ask, almost sleepily, my eyes still closed.

“I wish we could.”

I tilt my head back and touch his nose. “You make me feel braver.”

He grins. “Good.” Pause. “I think?”

I laugh and the sound is unfamiliar. When
was
the last time I laughed? “It
is
good.”

“Well, though I could kiss you all day,” he says, dropping a quick kiss on my forehead. “And all night.” On my nose now. “And all the next day.” Now my chin, but I’m shaking with suppressed giggles. “We do need to talk about this.”

I slide regretfully off Benson’s lap and take the seat he had before, on the end of his bed. “I can make things, Benson. Out of thin air.” I’m not sure if I feel better or worse for having said it out loud. It sounds stupid. Crazy. The sort of thing you might say if you had a traumatic brain injury that resulted in paranoid delusions. “I thought maybe it was something about my … pockets, I guess. But that water didn’t come from my pockets.”

“Can I assume this is a new thing?” Benson asks.

“Unless my memory is seriously whacked, yes.”

Benson nods. I’m grateful that he doesn’t point out the very real possibility that my memory is in fact seriously whacked.

“But the ChapSticks were gone when we … when we were done,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up. “So … I guess they appear and then disappear?”

“The floor’s dry,” Benson says, nodding toward the door where I soaked his roommate. “I don’t think carpet dries that fast. Can you do something else?”

“What do you mean something else?”

“Something
else
,” he repeats. “I don’t know. A pencil. A dollar. A hundred dollars. Whatever.”

Something like water that could drown someone inside a house
? This all feels too close to my nightmare, and whatever it is that I can do, I don’t like it.

But I can’t ignore it.

I take a deep breath and push back my fear. I need to find out.