Chapter 15

Iyla

AN HOUR LATER, I WAS knocking on Zagan’s front door in a school-themed sweatshirt and shorts with my backpack slung over my shoulders. Nahla’s persistence and constant supervision remained right up until I got into my car. She’d been grinning from ear to ear as she watched me leave, and I was fairly sure she was more excited about this hang-out than I was.

Looked like my study buddy for the day was a demon. Yay. I briefly wondered if he was even any good at this stuff.

The door swung open, and a damp-haired Zagan stood there in nothing but black sweatpants, which meant his many tattoos and pierced nipples were on beautiful display for me. His human-looking blue eyes spotted my backpack, and he sighed. “You really did bring your stuff to study.”

I gave him an incredulous look as I breezed past him. “Obviously. I told you. I have to study for midterms.”

“Right,” Zagan said, drawing the word out. “Where do you study best? The couch?” He gestured to the lush, black furnishing. “Or the bed?” His lips tipped up with the last word.

I knew which one he’d prefer, but too bad for him, that wasn’t happening right now.

“The couch is good,” I answered. I sank onto the L-shaped couch and dropped my bag by my feet.

Zagan watched me with an annoyed purse to his lips as I unloaded my books, notes, pencil bag, and laptop onto his coffee table. I didn’t say another word as I heaved my Government textbook onto my lap and leaned back against the cushions.

“Remind me what you’re studying to become,” Zagan suddenly requested as he stood over me.

I glanced up at him before refocusing on the book. “An attorney.”

He made some sound of acknowledgement. “What made you want to be an attorney?”

“It’s a good career,” I answered, even as the disdain for the words burned my tongue. They were what I’d been fed by my mother. A good career. That was all I needed.

“Really?” he asked disbelievingly. He grabbed my legs, and I gasped in surprise. He held them up as he sat next to me then draped them over his lap, staring at me over my textbook. “What do you love about it?”

My brow furrowed. “What I love … about becoming an attorney?”

He nodded and held my gaze while I tried to think of an answer. My silence stretched on, though, and eventually, he sneered, “You can’t think of anything, can you? Because you don’t really want that job.” He cocked his head and pretended to ponder. “Let me guess. Mommy-dearest wants you to be an attorney.”

I couldn’t hold back my glare, beyond irritated that he was able to read my silence so easily. “Just because my mom wants me to do it, doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

“Fine,” Zagan relented. “So then tell me, Iyla. What drives you to do it? What about it gets your heart racing? What about it has called to you for as long as you can remember? What part makes your blood pump with excitement?”

I had an answer for each of those questions. They came to mind immediately—what part made my heart race, what part called to my very soul, what part made my blood pump with a certain hunger. But with a cold dose of reality, I silently acknowledged that my answers didn’t pertain to law or the judicial system.

Successfully playing a piece I’d practiced for weeks made my heart race.

Gliding my fingers over black and white keys as melodies filled a vast room called to every fiber of my being.

The sense of pride in my chest and the sound of applause from an outstanding performance made my blood pump with every bit of elation a human could feel.

I couldn’t lie to myself. I couldn’t lie about what I truly wanted, and apparently, I couldn’t lie to him, either. He saw right through me.

So I grumbled, “Stop distracting me. I need to study.”

It didn’t matter if I hated the degree I was striving for. It didn’t matter if I wanted to pluck my brain right out of my skull and chuck it across the room every time I had to sit through another class about policy or civil law. I knew my place. I knew what was demanded of me, and when I stepped out of line, there were consequences.

He mumbled something under his breath—an accusation about me being miserable—before grabbing my pencil pouch. He dug around in there, holding up and studying different pens and markers. I rolled my eyes at his constant, shameless curiosity of my belongings and focused on my textbook again.

As soon as I found where I’d been reading, Zagan’s palm landed on my bare thigh and a soft tip started dragging along my skin. I quickly looked over the top of the book and found Zagan drawing carefully on my upper leg with a black pen.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I screeched, trying to pull my leg away.

His hold on my thigh tightened to keep my leg where he wanted it. “I’m keeping myself busy while you’re reading. Just do your thing. Don’t mind me.”

“Why don’t you work on music or something?” I asked.

His lips pulled down ever so slightly, and the look in his eyes changed, growing darker and troubled. Instead of acknowledging my suggestion, he tapped his pen on my textbook. “Thought you needed to study. Get to it.”

Guess I wasn’t the only one who had issues. I’d noticed his avoidance of his own music when we’d gone to see Gemma last, and now he was ignoring a chance to go work on his songs. It was my turn to be nosy. “Why don’t you like your music?”

He drew back slightly, as if I’d slapped him. “What makes you think I don’t?”

I shrugged. “You didn’t like hearing it in the car. You mentioned the other day how you were supposed to be writing a new song but were dancing instead. So, what’s up?”

He stared at me in the same way I’d probably just been looking at him while he pried into my secrets. I wondered if he was going to be honest, or if he was going to hide from it like I chose to do.

“Study,” he finally snapped with another point of his pen at my book. “I can quiz you if you need me to. Maybe we can make a game out of it. You know. Get one wrong and lose an article of clothing. Get one right and get an orgasm. Something like that.”

So, hiding like me.

I laughed at his suggestion and not-so-subtle avoidance of my question. Shaking my head, I said, “Not happening. I don’t think I can have that many orgasms that close together.”

He raised his pierced brow and shot me a wicked grin. “So you do know this stuff already. Why the hell are we studying then?”

“Because you can never be too prepared,” I answered, readjusting my heavy book to focus on the text.

Zagan got quiet, seemingly letting me get to work. I figured he was just happy to not be talking about whatever was bugging him with his music. I glanced at what he was drawing, which was a line so far. I was glad to see he at least chose a pen and not a sharpie.

Still, I was unsure what his inner artist was about to bring out, so I said, “Please don’t draw any penises on me.”

His hand stilled against my skin, and his eyes narrowed at me. “I’m not a fucking child.”

I let him get back to his drawing, and I watched him long enough to confirm that he wasn’t drawing body parts. It looked like the start of a rose, so I turned back to my textbook. I wasn’t sure how long I flipped through old sections I’d learned so far this year. I jotted down key points, looked over old notes and exams.

All the while, that rounded point dragged across my skin and those warm fingers pressed into my thigh. He moved my shorts higher to continue his drawing all the way to my hip, and I didn’t even try to stop him. I actually found it kinda relaxing—the careful trailing of the pen and Zagan’s hand constantly on me, making my body prickle with warmth and awareness.

Eventually, my eyes burned with a need to take a break. I dropped the book next to me, rubbed my eyes, and let out a tired sigh.

“All done?” Zagan asked, the pen still moving over my leg.

“I wish. I’ll take a break from reading and notes if you’ll quiz me.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the couch cushion. The pressure to do well wound my shoulders tightly. I wanted this dinner with Mom. I wanted to hear her say, “Well done.”

“Sure,” Zagan said. His hand and the pen finally left my leg. “I finished my drawing, so I can quiz you now. I’m gonna grab a drink first. Want some water or coffee?”

“Coffee,” I immediately replied. “Please and thank you.”

He slipped out from under my legs, and I listened to his footfalls against the tile drift further away. I kept my head leaned back with my eyes closed until my curiosity to see what he’d drawn got the better of me.

When I looked at my leg, the exhaustion fizzled away as awe took its place. Wanting to get a better look at the image that took up the entirety of my skin from my panty line to my knee, I quickly leapt to my feet and went to the towering mirror that stood across from the stairwell. My mouth dried when I met my reflection.

I must’ve been studying for a long time, because his drawing was elaborate and beautiful . A round cage sat nestled in roses and vines, which looked too real and vibrant to have been made in the time they were. The door to the cage was open, and standing inside, looking at the open door, stood a sparrow.

I swallowed hard, and my eyes watered. It was gorgeous.

And heartbreaking.

Zagan appeared behind me in the mirror. The coffee brewing in the kitchen to our left was the only sound as he looked at his drawing then met my eyes in the reflection. “Do you like it?”

I stared at the drawing, one that could easily be mistaken as a tattoo. It made me feel beautiful, like I myself was a work of art. My lip trembled. “No.”

“Because you see yourself in that sparrow?” he challenged. “So much beauty beyond the cage. The sparrow could easily fly away. Be free. But it stays in the cage. Too afraid to even try opening its wings to soar.”

“Maybe it’s afraid of falling, because it doesn’t know how to use its wings,” I argued.

“Is it afraid of falling?” He cocked his head and leaned in closer to my back, dropping his voice. “Or is it afraid of flying ? Of realizing the safety of the cage had always been a lie, something that was actually hurting it instead of protecting it?”

A tear slid down my cheek as I held his unwavering gaze in the mirror. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t move. He turned and walked back to the kitchen while I stayed rooted to the spot. I looked back at the sparrow tucked in her cage.

I couldn’t be that sparrow.

I wouldn’t be that sparrow.

I vowed as I stared at my reflection that I’d one day spread my wings and fly.