I pull his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing his smooth muscular chest. His hand holds tight onto the soft flesh of my hip and I let out an involuntary sigh.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers in my ear, and the brush of air that leaves his lips as it touches my neck is enough to make me want to melt.
“So are you,” I mumble quietly. He pulls back to look at me then, and a radiant smile shapes itself on his lips. A lock of golden hair falls forward onto his face and I take it, twining it around my finger for a moment, enjoying the silky texture. Then I brush it back so that I can see him properly. He brings his mouth back to mine and slips his hand further under my top, running his fingers over the lace lining of my bra, then exploring the skin beneath. His breathing quickens as I brush my hand over his collarbone and then over his shoulder blade.
“Let’s go to my place,” he breathes, while doing something absolutely wonderful to me with his hands. I have difficulty answering him, and then the reality of what he has said hits me. What am I doing? I should be gone by now, should have said my goodbyes and left. Yet here I am, shoving my tongue down Ethan’s throat. This is wrong, all wrong. I need to find the strength to do what is right for me in the long run, not what feels good in this moment.
I pull away from him, and it is probably one of the most difficult things I have ever done. My heart is screaming at me, urging me to fall into this man and never leave again. But my heart is fickle and only wants what it wants. My brain niggles away, scolding me for my bad behaviour.
“I – I have to go now,” I tell him. I seem to keep telling him I’m leaving and then not actually going anywhere. This time I will not be so easily overcome. The agony on his face when my meaning sinks in makes me want to go and throw myself into the Hawthorne and be done with it. I am a cruel, cruel person for hurting this man who has all but said he is in love with me. The look in his eyes stings me the most, I will never forget them in this instant. Pained, heartbroken, and disbelieving. He’d thought that when I’d kissed him I was also telling him that I’m staying. But I’m not.
“Stay one last night,” he says in a low voice.
I run my hand through his hair, capturing the memory, the feel of it, so that I will never forget. “Isn’t it better if we never know?” I whisper. “Isn’t it prettier if we part, having never known each other fully? I think it will be harder on both of us if we experience something that we will want again but can never have.” I wonder if I’m making sense to him.
“No Tegan, it is not better that way,” he answers, jaw tight. But I can tell he isn’t angry, he is simply trying to deal with the pain.
“Tell Delilah I said goodbye, and tell Lucas not to hurt Amanda,” I say, trying my best not to cry.
“No…” he replies, but as his dark eyes find my bright ones, he seems to see something. Something that tells him this is the way it must be. That he must accept it.
I fix my t-shirt and button up my coat before opening the car door halfway and pulling my bag up onto my lap. I’m just about to leave when I look back at him, I try to say something more but words fail me. Ethan takes my hand, holding it one last time.
“A tragic ending,” he says, as he squeezes my hand tight.
“All endings are tragic,” I answer. “In their own way.”
I try to pull my hand out of his, but he won’t let it go. The hurt on his face makes me hate myself for what I’m doing. He draws it to his lips and kisses it so tenderly, a small crack begins to form in my heart. It’s only going to get bigger and bigger.
Then, all of a sudden, he seems to push away his emotions, and of all things, he smiles at me. “This is not the end for us, beautiful. We will meet again.”
His words fill me with hope, and for some reason I believe him. Somehow, someday, our paths will cross another time, when the world is a less frantic place for me. Knowing that this isn’t the last time I’ll see his face brings me hope.
“You know what Ethan,” I answer. “I think you’re right.” Then I draw him to me, kiss his lips and get out of the car.
Tears fill my eyes as I walk in the direction of the main entrance to the airport. I tell myself to quit it, to snap out of the sadness. But it’s no use. I pull a crumpled tissue from my bag and wipe at the wetness. Once I’m inside I go and find the nearest ATM and withdraw some money. I shove the notes into my bag, along with the now soaked tissue and continue on to search for the bathroom.
The one I find is cold and sterile, off-white tiles on both the walls and the floors. There are six cubicles lining one side of the wall and the other side has several sinks and one long mirror. I check the cubicles to make sure they are empty, but it’s late at night so there’s nobody around. Most people are catching their flights, or sleeping on uncomfortable chairs in the waiting areas.
I hitch my bag up onto the edge of the sink and take out the scissors I’d put in with my other toiletries. I put the bag back down on the floor and stare at myself in the mirror for a long, lonely minute.
“It has to go, it all has to go,” I say to the empty room, clasping one big chuck of hair in my fist. I feel like a mental case, cutting my hair in a dirty airport bathroom. But I need to get rid of it, both because it is too easy to recognise if people come looking for me, and also because it is a part of the old me. It’s been with me through too much pain and trauma, a constant reminder, and I need that reminder gone. I need a fresh start. I take the scissors and cut off the hair I’m holding in my fist, and then let it fall into the white sink. Black against white. I’m going to miss it. Chop, chop, chop. More and more hair falls into the sink as I continue to cut.
Small nicks itch at the back of my neck once it’s all gone, and my black hair barely comes past my ears. A hard look for hard times, I think to myself after I’ve brushed off the rest of the stray hairs. I gaze at my reflection and I hardly recognise the girl who stares back at me. She is so sad. Too much has happened to her that can never be erased. Never washed away like chalk on a footpath when the rain comes. The marks of my experiences are there in plain view. The shadows beneath my eyes reveal the ghosts that haunt me. Ghosts of the knowledge that I am a fugitive running from a captor far more terrifying than the police.
I run my hands under the tap and watch as the water cascades over them. Why can’t water wash away your troubles? Life would be so much easier if that were the case. I make some final touches to my new haircut, a haircut that is as disturbed and erratic as my own state of mind. It’s not too crooked though, and it does sort of suit me in a strange way, so I don’t mind much. I wonder what the person who finds all of my hair in the sink is going to think. Little bits and pieces of it are also on the floor. I put the scissors back in my bag and zip it up before leaving the bathroom.
Outside I walk around for a while, watching people as they say goodbye or say hello or don’t say anything at all. When I come to the big lit up board displaying the names and times of all departing flights I stop and look up. Destinations run through my head as I consider which option to take. A man rushes past me, knocking into my shoulder. I right myself and look back up at the board. As I make my choice the last few weeks flashes through my head.
I clutch my bag tightly, feeling the comforting shape of Matthew’s box. We all have our vices. Not being able to let go of the past seems to be mine. It might not seem that way, since I’m leaving my entire life behind me now. But I have a feeling this isn’t the last I’ve seen of Tribane. I pick a city.
And the heavily made up blond smiles at me as I walk to the counter and buy a ticket.
If you enjoyed Tegan’s Blood and would like to receive a free copy of Crimson, a novella told from Ethan’s point of view, you can post a review to Amazon, email the link to [email protected] and you will receive the free novella in return.
Crimson: An Ultimate Power Series Novella
by L.H Cosway