Chapter 14 #2
Everywhere we touch, a gentle warmth spreads, and when I close my eyes, the crazy neon purple strands from the last time we were together are back.
Though I don’t know what’s going on between us, I feel so safe and seen in his arms. I wish I knew more about their world, because I’m pretty sure this isn’t normal, especially for a Nom.
I wonder if he’s feeling this strange connection too.
He comes to a stop, and the rain cuts off, but the electrical storm keeps lighting up the greenhouse.
He sets me down gently, and a part of me wants to pretend to trip if only so I can be in his arms again.
Instead, I focus on how his purple energy still moves like wildfire through my veins.
Each of my heartbeats twists his neon magik with the glittering gold of mine.
My description sounds overly romantic and absurd, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s exactly what’s happening.
Once my feet hit the ground, he moves away. I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees as I struggle to deal with whatever’s going on inside me. Something that is apparently, entirely one-sided.
“You’re scared of storms, are you?” he asks, chuckling as he walks to the other side of the gazebo.
His question confirms my suspicions that whatever is going on is very much a me issue.
“Not really,” I mumble, staring out at the rain, breathing through the colliding chaos, and trying to save face.
I take another breath, forcing myself to stand up and pretend everything is fine, that he has no hold on me at all.
“I’ve just never seen a storm inside a greenhouse.
Plus, then I nearly face-planted. So, if you can give me a second to deal, that would be appreciated. ”
He does, which is unexpected, though this coincides with the rain restarting and another wave of his influence hits me.
I don’t pay the weather as much attention. The crazy purple ribbons are blurring in my vision and snaking through me with the same intensity as the storm. It’s like I’ve drunk a gallon of espresso, and all my insides tremble as I’m flooded with energy.
Whenever I glance his way, he’s watching me closely. Should I say something? Maybe he wants to. But every time I try to form the words, they’re lost by another rush of energy. As I stand and pace, I feel instantly better as the movement burns through this—his—weird energy.
I don’t stop walking around the perimeter of the gazebo until my thoughts make some logical sense. I stop at the entrance, staring out at the downpour. “What is going on?”
“You’ve never seen a storm, Nom?” he snaps.
I twist away from the deluge in the greenhouse, needing to see his expression in case I misheard.
The look on his face is as abrasive as his response.
Clearly, in the time it took me to deal with whatever I had going on, he has been going through something too, apparently—a whole damn personality transplant.
I wonder if we got struck by lightning and I missed it somehow because right this second he looks at me like I’m beneath him, and that hurts.
The pain slices through my expectation of him having been something different to all the other beings at Thales.
It might be grossly unfair, especially considering I don’t even try to communicate my thoughts with him, but what I felt only seconds ago was profound enough from my side, to eclipse words.
He scoffs when I take too long to answer. Which only inflames my wound.
I don’t have it in me to assuage whatever mood he’s fallen into or try to explain myself. By his expression alone, I can see I am nothing to him.
I turn back to face the sodden greenhouse. “Have I finished my detention?” I take extra care to keep any hint of emotion out of my voice.
“No,” he hisses, not masking the venom from his.
I don’t wait for any further response, stepping out into the torrential downpour. “I’ll get back to it then.”
“Maybe now is a good time to practice your shielding,” he mocks, as I walk away.
I give him a thumbs-up as I mumble to myself, “I can’t keep up.” I forgot about his supernatural hearing, but then again, I don’t really care what he thinks since he is listening in on a conversation he shouldn’t be. “You lot are all the same.”
I slam my shields up, ignoring him and his weird purple energy still slinking through my being. I’m drenched to the bone within a few steps, but rain is rain, I won’t die from it. Behind me, a door slams, and I don’t bother turning to check if it’s him. I know it is.
Thunder shakes the glasshouse, while lightning lashes above in flashes so vivid, it burns the tears from my eyes before they can fall. It’s unnatural how perfectly the storm matches my mood.
That thought pulls me to a complete stop.
The storm is his doing, or another magikal’s.
I shield my eyes from the constant flashing and walk to where the forest of trees stands thickest and look up.
The viewpoint gives me the chance to see what I missed before, magik is at play.
Now he’s not so close and his purple not blinding, I get the chance to see other magik is around me.
A kaleidoscope of colored light wafts like smoke around everything.
It’s like each living thing is giving off its own aurora borealis.
Looking at the plants, I can pick out a hundred shades of green.
Similarly, floating up from absolutely everything in the greenhouse—the trees, rocks, flowers, even the fruit still in the baskets—is a tapestry of color and life.
I have no idea what’s going on, or how I can see the strange light, but I know it’s because his purple energy is now inside me.
Though I have so, so, so many questions there’s no way I’ll ask him a single one.
I’d rather spend the rest of my life reading every book written, than ask him or his friends the answers.
So I wait until the violence of the storm passes, when all that remains is the heavy rain before getting back to work.
Locking out any thought of him or his friends, I lose myself in the manual work involved in gardening.
I remember the joy I got from days turning the soil, and pruning with my parents, and everyone back at the community center.
It’s as I find peace in those memories, letting go of the lingering anger and humiliation until I feel like myself again, that someone comes in.
“We’ve got five minutes, and we’re finished.”
I stand up, brushing the drying dirt from my hands, and turn to face the voice. A girl, wearing an apron and large rubber gloves, stands in the doorway separating the classrooms from the garden area.
“I’ll need a hand taking this to the kitchen.” I point to the baskets of fruit and vegetables, and she growls under her breath.
“Are you that useless? You should have done this by now.”
“I was told to stay here. Otherwise, I would have. I can do it,” I offer, making my way over to the baskets.
“Apparently, I have to help. As if I haven’t been punished enough already.” She leaves as quickly as she appeared.
I can’t help but smile. Every time I think about how he sent someone else to tell me that detention was over, instead of doing it himself, I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity.