Chapter Seventeen • Mixed Signals • Damien
?
Daniel Hawthorne, huh?
I fixate on the false name while I wash my hair with Lillith’s homemade shampoo (which I’ve become completely obsessed with, by the way.) I wonder why she gave Bunyon or whatever the fuck his name was a fake name. Does she not want her friends knowing she’s dating a musician?
And what the fuck was up with them holding hands when I walked in? And why the guilty look after she snatched her hand back?
I shake my head and step underneath the flow of the hot water, breathing out through my mouth slowly as I center myself, the stream fanning over my closed eyes as I carefully inhale through my nose.
Lillith and I aren’t exclusive. She’s allowed to hold the hand of whoever she wants, first of all. And secondly, the guy did use the same nickname that Wren used for her the one time I met her, so maybe they really are childhood friends.
Still, I can’t help but feel like Lillith doesn’t want to be seen with me.
I’ve tried a couple times to get her out of the house—even just for a walk down to the beach—but there’s always some reason she can’t.
She’s tired, her UTI is bothering her, she needs sleep before her next day of work and so on.
And don’t get me wrong, those are all perfectly valid reasons for staying in, but it doesn’t stop her from staying up into the wee hours of the night with me so we can kiss each other stupid.
So the excuses leave me confused and stressed out.
I’m probably overthinking. No, I am definitely overthinking.
But... man, I can’t get over the Daniel Hawthorne thing. What the fuck was that about?
I know I’ve spent too long in the shower when I hear my band’s music drift into the bathroom from Lillith’s Bluetooth speaker in the living room. She’s already closed up the shop and I haven’t even scrubbed my body down yet.
I make quick work of doing just that. She has a new bar of soap in the shower. This one smells like lemon and rosemary. It’s also incredible. Who’d have guessed a witch running an oddities shop would be so good at skin care?
I get out of the shower and change into some clothes I left here one of my previous visits. Some old black jeans and a charcoal henley. I brush my teeth with a toothbrush I also left on a previous visit. After using a bit of body spray I come out of the bathroom.
I find Lillith in her bed, reading from a teeny tiny book with... the thickest set of Coke-bottle glasses on. She looks up at me and blinks blearily from behind them, her silver eyes comically large.
I snort a laugh. I can’t help it. It just bubbles out of the back of my throat.
“What?!”
“Do you actually need those?” I ask through more laughter. “They make you look like some sort of cute gecko.”
She swats a hand out at me and I evade it, laughing harder because somehow the violence makes her look like an angry cute gecko. She’s like an adorable cartoon. She keeps trying to get me, but I think the thick glasses are messing with her depth perception.
She gives up and rolls over, closing her eyes, and the hand holding the tiny book drapes over her forehead. “Eugh—it’s making me dizzy,” she mumbles. “They were Nan’s glasses. This book is typeset like the fine print on a poster or something. I can barely see it without something magnifying it.”
She slips the glasses off and folds them along with the tiny leather-bound book. She opens her nightstand drawer and drops both items into it. I know better than to ask about what the book is about. Well, I know better than to ask and expect her to give a straight-forward answer, anyway.
I climb into bed with her as she rolls back over, gathering her up in my arms and tipping onto my back so that she’s half-perched on top of me. She smiles as she presses a kiss to my lips. She produces a small tin from somewhere and sets it on my chest.
“Behold. Magic ChapStick,” she says with a proud smile.
I pick up the tin and open it over the top of her head. It’s a milky white color and smells fucking incredible. More of that herbaceous quality I’ve really come to associate with her.
“Put some on me,” I tell her, setting it down on my chest, right in front of her.
She smiles as she settles in properly on top of me, her body slotting easily between my legs.
She wiggles a little closer, warming the salve with a press and swirl of her fingertips.
I try not to think about her making that same motion between her legs as she focuses intently on my mouth.
The edge of her sharpened nail drags on my lip as she applies the salve.
The dry soreness immediately calms down, leaving a cooling tingle behind. I press my lips together, distributing it a little more evenly. “How does it look?” I ask.
She snorts a laugh. “It’s sheer. It doesn’t look like anything.”
“Damn. You’re telling me this isn’t plumping gloss? I thought you were magical,” I say.
“Careful what you ask for—I’d love more surface area for biting,” she threatens.
“Such a sadistic little bird you are.” I tuck her hair behind her ears. She smiles warmly as she lays her head down on my chest and snuggles in. I close the tin of salve and set it over on her nightstand before wrapping my arms tighter around her.
“I missed you,” she says quietly as her weight sinks comfortingly against me.
I think about asking her about the whole Daniel Hawthorne thing, but decide not to.
Now that she’s in my arms, I don’t want to ruin the mood.
Especially when I’ve been missing her, too.
I do broach a different subject, though.
“So... Bastion Bramblethorn,” I say against her hair. “Interesting name. He sounds like a character in a Sondheim musical.”
She snorts and cackles. “Oh my god, why is that so true?” she asks before she sobers a bit. “I’m really sorry about the awkwardness with him, by the way. He’s mostly just a friend at this point.”
I put my hands up in a surrendering gesture. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, sweetheart. It’s not like you didn’t have a life before I rolled into town. I’m not owed anything. He seemed kind of arrogant but nice enough.”
“He’s definitely arrogant. But yes, he’s capable of being nice once in a while,” she says. “I’ve known him since we were both four years old.”
Something about that sits uncomfortably in my gut. For some reason, it would be more reassuring if he was just some random fuckboy she slept with once in a while. Maybe he’s not the interloper at all. Maybe I’m the one who’s the interloper.
I try to put that concern to rest, though. I’m the one she’s curled up with tonight, not Bastion Buttfuckwit or whatever. Besides, she seemed like she couldn’t be rid of him fast enough. I try to let that be a comfort.
“You alright?” she asks. “You seem a little off.”
Damn. The world’s most readable face strikes again.
“Tired,” I say as I run my fingers through her hair.
“Would you like to take a little nap while I make us some dinner?”
“And what is the dish du jour?” I ask. “I thought I was supposed to help you.”
She shrugs. “I like cooking for people. And if you need rest I want you to get it. Besides, if you’re going to practice more Tarot, you’ve got to have a clear head.”
I press my lips. “You sure? I’m not trying to turn you into a bangmaid or something.”
She snorts and kisses me again, her lips clinging to mine just a bit as she pulls away thanks to the salve she’s made us. “I think that requires banging,” she says.
“Lillith,” I groan, feeling guilty.
“I’m kidding! I don’t mind. And I don’t feel like a bangmaid. I feel like I really missed you and am excited to take care of you. Get some rest.”
She rolls off of me and the bed and I watch her hips sway as she leaves the room.
I worry about whether or not I can even fall asleep with my worries about the fake name, plus the fact that she hasn’t mentioned it, but I do. I fall asleep so quickly I don’t even remember it happening.
When I wake up, I feel energized in that sort of languid, content way.
Chappel Roan is playing on a Bluetooth speaker in the main room—“Kaleidoscope”, specifically—and Lillith is singing along with it.
She must really love the song, because she’s really belting it and she’s doing it well.
Her voice is angelic, and I find myself annoyed with Chappel for singing so much louder than the woman I’m rapidly falling in love with.
The whole apartment smells like olive oil and garlic and I realize I never got the answer when I’d asked Lillith what we were having for dinner.
I sit in a state somewhere between bliss and torture, because I want nothing more than to sidle up behind Lillith in the kitchen and wrap my arms around her.
But I also want nothing more than to listen to her sing her entire playlist, and even though I’ve only known her for about a week, I can tell that she would never sing in front of me on purpose.
She’s too modest for that. She’d act all mortified and shrink into herself.
I heave out a soft breath, closing my eyes and taking in every moment of her sweet voice that I can.
The metronomic rhythm of the ballad catches me, and I start keeping time with the gentle sway of my foot.
I get to lose myself to a few more blissful moments of peace before a weight lands on my leg and some demonic creature sinks their claws and teeth into the meat of my calf.
“OW. FUCK,” I shout before I can stop myself.
There’s a low growl from the void attached to my leg as I sit up, then the clatter of something loud in the kitchen. Lillith comes tearing into the room, turning on the light at the same time that the evil fucking cat starts bunny-kicking my foot and sinking its teeth into my leg again.
“What is going on?!” Lillith shouts.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I ask as I lean forward to grasp the forepaws of the little fucker and painfully extricate its claws from my leg.
I hold it up and away from me like it’s a frothing changeling, it wiggles in my grasp and lets out a growl. “Lillith, you have a cat?”