13. Arit

Chapter thirteen

Arit

I know something is wrong with Nixon. Even if I wasn’t his reaper and able to feel a slight tug on the tether that connects me to him, I can feel his distress. Our connection, while faint and ill established, still allows me to see a glimmer of his essence. And the gray sludge clinging to him has me worried.

But I’m torn.

Nothing can come from forming a bond with a human. Other than desperate heartache and memories of a time I’ll never get back, I’ll have to live with his loss for millions of years.

But at the same time, love and happiness are things I’ve never even dreamed could be mine. Would the chance to love Nixon be worth the suffering his passing would cause me later? And what kind of life could we even have when I have to run off all the time and don’t age? Would he want to be with someone like me? A supernatural being who deals with death day in and day out?

I want to say the answers to my questions are easy. That the chance to love another would be worth any price, but still, I sit alone in my borrowed apartment, rubbing the spot in my chest where I feel Nixon’s absence

Maybe I should go speak to him.

Maybe the memory of his terror upon hearing my confession is still too fresh in my mind.

Maybe relationships are far more complicated than I ever realized, and I’m not even in a relationship.

Maybe humans are vexing creatures that I understand a lot better now.

A loud crash outside my apartment door startles me out of my wandering and circuitous thoughts. This building is empty save for me due to the renovations taking place on other floors. No one should be here.

Masking is second nature, so without a thought, I slip through the wall only to come face-to-face, kind of, with Nixon, who is on his hands and knees in a pile of scraps and rubbish.

When he looks up, he doesn’t say a word, but his beautiful, terrified eyes immediately fill with tears, and he drops his head and cries.

Powerless to resist, I instantly follow him down and scoop him into my arms, relishing his slight weight and the warmth of his body as he curls around me and sobs. I’ve never held anyone before, but I’m saddened my first time holding Nixon is because he’s upset.

Falling back on my years of observations, I attempt to soothe Nixon, even though I’ve always thought platitudes were unnecessary. “Shh,” I whisper, feeling foolish and awkward. I may be more highly evolved than current humans, but I’m a fledgling where emotions and empathy are concerned. “I’m sorry you’re upset. I knew you were hurting, but I didn’t think you’d want to see me. The last time we were together didn’t go very well.”

Nixon sobs out a choked hiccup and clings tighter to my neck, his wet breath and tears mixing against my skin.

Rubbing a hand up and down his back, I can feel him trembling. He’s shaking and crying and utterly wrecked. I want to take him inside my apartment, to hold him and talk to him, but I’ve never used the front door before and have no idea if it will open. I’m exceedingly curious as to how Nixon ended up in my building, but my more pressing concern is helping him feel better.

“Shh. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.” Ironic, the words coming out of my mouth, considering it’s he who will end up hurting me, but I continue, trying to offer reassurance, until I feel Nixon’s crying slow and eventually fade. “You’re okay.”

“I’m not,” he croaks, his voice thick and rough with tears. When he pulls back, I let him go, hoping it won’t be the last time I get to have him in my arms. His handsome face is splotchy, and his eyes are swollen. He looks like he’s lost weight as he wipes his nose on the back of his hand. “I’m not okay. Not without you.”

I freeze, because this is both exactly what I want to hear and a death sentence all at once. Nixon must feel how still I’ve become because his eyes fill with tears again and he rewraps his arms around my neck.

“You can’t leave me,” he mumbles around his tears. “You can’t. We’re supposed to be together, remember? You said Fate changed things. And it’s true. The portal worked. I’m here. Which means Fate wants us to be together. Please don’t leave me. Please. I’m sorry about running away. I just didn’t understand. I still don’t, but I know I need you. I need you, Arit. I’m sorry.”

His crying picks up again in earnest, but this time I don’t offer any words, I just hold him, pondering his mini rant. Something about a portal and Fate and how he still doesn’t understand why we’re supposed to be together but that he accepts it nonetheless. At least he thinks he does, until I have to tell him the truth. He may change his mind again at that revelation.

“I can feel you thinking,” Nixon eventually whispers, pulling a slight quirk out of my lips. I hadn’t realized how still he’d become.

“You can, huh?”

“Yes. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

Sighing, I give Nixon one more squeeze, and he lets me go when I pull back. Wildly, I already miss the feel of his beard against my skin. Cupping his face, I use my thumbs to dry his damp cheeks. “Can we go inside and talk? I’d like to hear more about this portal you mentioned, and there are things I need to tell you that might change the need you feel for me.”

Nixon is already shaking his head. “We can go inside, but I’m not going to change my mind. I need you. Just being near you is already healing me. I won’t survive it if you send me away.”

That has me furrowing my brow, but I move to stand, so Nixon takes the hint and climbs off my lap. When I try the door handle, my suspicions are confirmed. Locked.

I look back at Nixon.

“Do what you gotta do. I may not know what you are, but I know you’re something special. I just traveled through a magical portal fueled by Fate and my DNA to find you. I’d say I’m past the point of freaking out.”

His confidence is kind of sexy. I like this new development in Nixon’s demeanor. With one more once-over, I nod and back away, allowing myself to fade through the wall, watching Nixon for his reaction the entire time. He doesn’t flinch or cower in fear, and when I’m back in my living room, I quickly move to unlock the door from the inside.

Nixon meets me with a challenging look as he passes through the doorway and into my personal space, the personal space that no one has ever shared with me before.

My only furnishings are two chairs and a table, which is currently covered in books.

“Nice place,” Nixon comments, and when he turns to face me, I can tell he’s teasing. “Is it yours?”

“No.”

“Hm” is all he says as he steps closer to examine the top book in a stack. “You read this one?”

“I’ve read them all.”

“But it’s in…” He studies the symbols like he’s trying to figure out what language they are.

“Mandarin, yes. I can read any language.”

His eyes widen, but he doesn’t look scared. He looks impressed. “Will you teach me one day? I’ve always wanted to learn French.”

Studying Nixon further, I can’t detect any trace of hesitation or wariness. Gone are the tears as well. Nixon looks calm and self-assured, even if he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. “What happened to you?” I ask instead of answering his earlier question.

He doesn’t shy away from me. He steps closer and offers me his hand, which I take and hold between my own. “I made a choice,” he replies easily.

“What choice?”

“To accept you no matter who or what you turned out to be. When you pulled my hand to your face that day in the park, I knew I would never be the same. And at first that was terrifying. You were saying some crazy shit.” He smirks but removes his hand from mine and then cups my cheek like he’d done that day so many weeks ago. “But then the dreams started.”

“You were having dreams?”

“Yes. At least, at first I thought they were dreams. Now, I think they were memories. Of the people I’ve been and the places I’ve seen. You were always there, of course. Steady and calm, just like you are now. So, I made the decision to find you. To live a life with you that I can remember. It seems to me that I’ve always been destined to find you, wouldn’t you say?”

With everything I am I want to scream to the world that yes, I agree , and Nixon will always be mine. That his soul is always meant to find me.

But what I say next will make or break his vow to accept me, regardless of what he might think now.

Taking a deep breath, I blow it out and say, “Even if the reason we always meet is because I’ve carried your soul to its resting place more times than you can imagine?” And then I await Nixon’s judgment. Will he flee again, or will he stay and fight for us?