10. Nixon

Chapter ten

Nixon

A rit sucks in a huge breath, and when I glance at him, his eyes are wider than normal. I can’t believe I’m even saying this shit since it’s so fucking out there, so I understand his surprise.

“You do?” Arit asks, his voice solemn and serious, quiet with awe.

Dear lord, I have to be insane for even thinking this. What Arit was saying should have been completely off the rails. I should be packing up my lunch and running as far away from this lunatic as I can get. I should be dialing 9-1-1 and asking for help. But instead of doing all that, instead of doing the whole self-preservation thing, the only thing that comes out of my mouth is “In a way.”

Arit nods, encouraging me to continue.

“I don’t know. This is so freaking weird. But earlier, this morning, it was like déjà vu. Like I’d lived that moment before. And when you introduced yourself, it was like I already knew you. For a second. Then we shook hands.”

“You felt it too?” he asks, imploring.

I must be losing my mind, but I nod anyway. Arit looks so hopeful, I don’t want to let him down. “Yeah. I guess. Like a low buzz of energy or something. I didn’t notice it that much at first, but when you pulled your hand back, I missed it immediately.” When I realize what I said, I finally notice I’ve been rubbing my right hand with my left for who knows how long. I catch Arit watching me too, and he holds out his own hand.

“Show me,” he says, his voice back to that thick melted honey. His ice-blue eyes have taken on a sultry quality, all lazy and inviting.

My pulse reacts to the offer and his proximity, and I’m helpless to resist. There’s a small, insignificant part of my brain telling me to about-face and hightail it out of here, but the larger part of my brain that finds Arit extremely attractive, not to mention intelligent, is saying “full steam ahead.” So of course I take his hand.

That fizz of energy tingles into my palm and up my arm, sending a subtle shiver of warmth down my spine. Arit’s eyes fall closed as his larger hand surrounds mine, and he tilts his head ever so slightly, as if listening to something only he can hear.

I have no idea what to make of this whole situation, but if Arit and I do have some weird, never before heard of Fate voodoo going on, I suppose I might be okay with it. Even though I barely, and I mean barely, know Arit. I would certainly hope Fate wouldn’t pair me off with a serial killer or used car salesman.

Arit seems like a decent, if not slightly old-fashioned guy, so if what he’s saying is true, I should probably get to know him. And my body is definitely telling me to get to know him better. A lot better.

Arit breathes in deeply and hums on his exhale. When his eyes open again, his pupils are huge. “You feel like life and warmth. Like the perfect summer breeze as it sways in the fronds of a beachside palm. Like smiles and laughter and a beloved book with well-worn pages.” Taking my hand, Arit slowly brings it up to his cheek, eyes pleading for me to accept him.

I may not know what’s going on, but I know I’m not going to turn him away. Even just him holding my hand like he is, I can still feel that fizzling warmth radiating between us. Fate might be a little far-fetched, but I can definitely say I’ve never felt anything even close to what Arit makes me feel from a simple, innocent touch.

I nod, just enough for Arit to see it, and he sighs, closing his eyes again as my hand finally makes contact with his cheek. Warm with no trace of stubble, Arit’s skin is luxurious and silky, as is his thick black hair that brushes the back of my hand. Without meaning to, my own eyes fall closed, and I sigh in time with Arit.

In the back of my mind, I’m acutely aware of what we must look like to an outsider, but the vast majority of my focus is centered on the man in front of me, who’s holding my hand to his face and turning my world upside down. I don’t know why, but I can feel his energy like a life force thrumming just under his skin, drawing me in and filling my own veins with a whisper of his essence.

And slowly, almost drunkenly, I peel my eyes open to see Arit already watching me, and the first thing I can think of to say is “Who the hell are you?”

But Arit’s look of innocent wonder fades, sliding off his face like a ruined watercolor.

He pulls my hand away with deliberate care, gently tucking it back into my own lap. When he withdraws completely, I immediately want to reach out and grab him again just to keep whatever connection we had going, to feel his warmth and vitality seeping into my bones. But when he looks off into the distance, I can already tell he’s pulling back.

That realization shouldn’t upset me, but it does. He just waltzed into my day and changed my life, and now he’s sighing again, but it’s not the happy, content sound from moments ago. It’s the sound of resignation, and I hate that I already know what’s coming.

“I am many things, Nixon, but perhaps it is better if we wait to get into who I am until you’re ready. From my experience, people get”—he twists his lips up like he’s thinking of the right word to explain—“overwhelmed when confronted with the truth.” As he looks back at me, I can tell there’s more he’s not saying.

“Overwhelmed,” I say, squinting and tilting my head just so. What could there possibly be to get overwhelmed about? He’s already said he’s a guardian. A guardian of what? And why would the truth be overwhelming? Watching Arit, the way he moves, and even the way he talks, there’s something different about him. Aside from the obvious lack of anything technological, the way Arit studies me, the way he’s been studying the city at large, strikes me as odd in its own way. People are usually oblivious to the world around them.

“In a way.” Arit places a hand over his heart. “The truth is going to be more than you’re ready for right now. We have, after all, only just met. While I may have—”

“But you said we’ve met before,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear whatever excuses he’s going to make up. “Lots of times. That’s why I recognize you. In what? Past lives? Like reincarnation or something?”

Arit sighs again, and it’s already a sound I’m growing to dislike. “Something like that. Without getting too in depth, I might clarify that I’ve met you many, many times. For you, this is the first time we’ve met in your conscious mind.”

I take a good, long moment to try to process what he’s saying. We’ve met before, but I’ve never been conscious. My first inclination is to think we’ve met in dreams, but I already know that’s not right. Even though I want to think I would remember dreaming about Arit, it’s not possible to meet someone in a dream and then recognize them in real life. Besides, Arit’s pretty insistent we’ve met before, like actually met, not like some weird dream-walking thing.

And how can he remember all these meetings and I can’t?

“So what does that mean? I’ve been asleep? Is that why I don’t remember you? And why do you remember me and not the other way around? Maybe you only think you recognize me.”

Arit’s look of exasperation lightens something in my chest. “I don’t think. I know. You always look different on the outside, but inside, your soul is always the same.”

Holy.

Shitballs.

Without even realizing it, my heart begins to race and my hands begin to tremble, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m balling up my uneaten lunch and standing on unsteady legs. When Arit moves to follow, I stumble back, eyes huge and hands out. “No.” I shake my head. “Don’t.” I can’t seem to form any more words, but the looks that cross Arit’s face—hurt, worry, sorrow, resignation—barely penetrate as I snatch up my bag and make a break for it, my thoughts spinning out of control.

Whatever the fuck is going on, I can’t process it right now.

Beautiful or not, weird Fate voodoo or not, I don’t have the mental capacity to parse out just exactly what Arit was implying. I may kick my own ass later, like ten—or fifty—years later, when I’m alone and miserly and wishing I’d taken a moment to think rather than flee, but right now, self-preservation finally kicked in, and I need to get the fuck home and away from the man who just told me he has recognized my soul across multiple lifetimes and remembers me.

Sweet though it seems, Arit’s words are also creepy as fuck, and despite being my usual clumsy self, I make it home without incident. I lock my bedroom door, drop my bag, and crawl into bed, wondering if I should really be getting into my car and driving as far away from here as possible.

Arit might not have a phone, but he knows where I live, and that thought has me pulling my blanket tighter around me and hiding my head under my pillow.