Behind Your Back by Chelsea M. Cameron
“Just think about it. Please.”
He just stares at me for a moment and I think he’s going to kiss me. I wait for it, poised and ready. But then his eyes shut and he gathers himself.
He takes a breath and steps away from me.
“Fine. I’ll think about it. Now can I take my sister and go? Her routine is very important and I need to get her back to the Center.” I just nod and he’s gone from the room.
Three
“Lizzy, time to go,” he says as I robotically follow him down the stairs. She bounces to the bottom of the stairs and pouts when she hears him.
“Can I stay here? The man said that I could have cake and play with Saige and watch movies.” She claps her hands together and I can feel Sylas’ frustration.
He really wants to get away from us and it’s not going very well. Sylas steels himself and takes her arm. Gently, but firm.
“That does sound like fun, but I think we should go back to the Center, don’t you?” He gives her a smile and strokes her hair back over her shoulder.
“But I want to stay here,” she says.
“I know you do, but I think we need to go back. I know I promised we’d go to California, but I think we’re going to stay here. Won’t that be nice to stay here? You won’t have to leave your friends or the nice nurses. Won’t that be great?” Sylas speaks slowly and carefully, but Lizzy still isn’t convinced.
She looks into his eyes for what feels like forever and then she sighs.
“I guess.” We can all feel her disappointment, but no one intervenes. Not even Dad.
“It’ll be okay, I promise,” Sylas says, putting his arm around her and leading her toward the door. Even if he tries to head to California, it’s not going to happen. Sylas has his little team, but so does Dad.
“She could stay here, if she wants,” Dad says as a last ditch effort.
Sylas turns his glare toward Dad.
“No. She can’t. She needs to go back where she belongs,” he says.
Dad shakes his head, but sighs.
“I just want to get to know her,” he says. I move toward Dad. I know how much he’s aching right now. I can feel it too. I’ve barely had any time with her and now they’re leaving. They could stay here. Mom is off at some spa or something for the next few weeks, so we wouldn’t even need to worry about hiding them. Martha keeps her mouth shut. We pay her generously to do so.
Lizzy looks at Sylas with the kind of expression that someone would wear if they were begging for a pony. His anger drops as he looks at her.
“We’ll talk about it. Right now I need to get her back.” Dad and I both nod as we follow them toward the door. Sylas stops and pivots on his heel.
“Can I have my phone back?” he says. His car is here in the driveway. One of Dad’s henchmen went and got it.
“We’ll talk more soon,” Dad says as he hands over both Sylas’ regular phone and the burner.
“Sure,” Sylas says, and it’s not convincing at all. Dad leans close to Sylas and says something so Lizzy can’t hear. I’m sure he’s telling Sylas that if he tries to leave, it won’t go very well. Sylas nods and Dad pulls back.
“It was nice to see you, Lizzy,” Dad says. “Can I have a hug?” Lizzy would probably give everyone and anyone a hug, and complies.
Then it’s my turn as Lizzy yanks me into her arms.
“It’s so nice to meet you, New Sister,” I say.
“I love you, New Sister,” she says with a laugh.
Sylas pulls her away and gets her in the passenger seat, buckling her belt for her.
He only looks back once as he drives away. Even over the distance, the eye contact hits me like a punch. I shiver, even though it’s almost the first day of summer.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Dad mutters, as if to himself before he goes in the house.
I stand there for a while, half-hoping Sylas turn around and come back. That it will be like a movie with him running in slow motion and the music building and a mind-melting kiss.
But he doesn’t come back and I turn to go inside the house.
I spend the rest of the day in my room, going through my box of junk. Well, it isn’t junk, but some might consider it to be. It’s all the weird stuff I had to hide from my mother. Back when I was young and had to hide things from her. Now I don’t have to. Now I flaunt the things I do that she hates.
Like my tattoo. My appointment is tomorrow to get the color finished. I’m excited, but I wish Sylas could be there with me this time. It won’t be the same without him.
I have my septum hoop in my pocket and I fish it out and put it in. Dad isn’t a super fan of it, but at least I can wear it around him without worrying. I put it in and screw the little balls on the ends so it won’t come out.
Checking myself out in the mirror, I realize I should definitely wear this more often. It looks right.
I want to see Sylas. I want to get in my little red sports car and drive to his place and knock on the door until he lets me in. Then strip him bare and throw myself at him. He’d probably call the cops and Dad would have to bail me out of jail. That would definitely put a kink in his plans.
I throw everything back in the box and lay back on my bed.
This definitely isn’t what I planned to be when I was younger. Not at all. I always thought I was going to move to Florence or Paris or Budapest and marry a rich man who owned a vineyard or something. I’d spend my days drinking little cups of espresso and looking at paintings.
At least I get to look at paintings, even if they’re only in my books.
I should get back to my apartment. Do some studying or something. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get to my feet and tromp downstairs. I feel guilty leaving Dad here by himself in this big house, but I hate staying here. I don’t exactly have warm and fuzzy memories of my childhood. Sure, the pictures show me smiling, but I learned early on how to fake it until you make it. Not sure if I’ve made it yet.
“Dad?” I call out when I get downstairs. We should probably invest in an intercom system. Or I could just walk around with a bullhorn.
“Back here,” he says, and he’s where I thought he would be. In his office.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I walk in and close the door. He’s staring at a picture frame. I don’t need to see the picture to know who is in it.
“Thinking,” he says, putting the frame down and looking up at me.
“About?” I say, sitting down in one of the enormous leather chairs. It squeaks a little as I settle into it and pull my feet up.
“My past. All the mistakes I made.”
“Heavy,” I say, resting my chin on my hand.
“It can be,” he says, leaning back and sighing. “But we can’t go back, can we?” I shake my head.
“Nope.” What he doesn’t say is that he wishes he’d married Marina. But then he wouldn’t have had me. So.
Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
“I think I’m going to head back to my apartment,” I say, standing.
He nods again, and I know my words aren’t getting through to him. He’s going to be lost in his head for a while.
Homework doesn’t exactly occupy my mind, but at least it gives me something to fill the hours. I think about driving to Sylas’ place and sitting outside in my car, just to make sure he’s staying there.
I grab my keys a hundred times, but then throw them back in the ornamental skull I keep them in. The clink as they rattle around is loud in my quiet apartment.
I’m up all night, thinking and thinking and thinking. I should be exhausted, but I can’t get myself to shut off, even for a few minutes.
At least I don’t have nightmares, although since I started sleeping with Sylas, they’ve been fewer and farther between, except for that one time.
I’m still embarrassed about it, and mostly because I can’t articulate what it is that causes me to thrash and eventually wake up with a scream lodged in my throat and fear’
I shower and get dressed in a light tunic with a lace skull on it, black skinny jeans and boots. I’m getting my tattoo finished today, so I want to wear something that’s loose on top and comfortable enough to sit for hours.
I’m on my way to see Crash when I swerve at the last minute, and nearly cause an accident as I head toward Sylas’ apartment. His real apartment, not the fake one he took me to.
Finding a parking spot is easy, but I’m not too comfortable leaving my car in this neighborhood. Oh well. I’m willing to take the risk. I tiptoe up to his place and knock.
It takes forever for him to open the door, but really, it’s just moments.
“Hey, Sylas,” I say. Looking at him breaks my heart. Well, breaks it even further. It’s already shattered and the more I see him, the more pieces break off. Soon the bits will be so small, they’ll be grains of sand and I’ll have nothing left.
“What are you doing here, Saige?” he asks, his voice both irritated and tired.
“I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to finish my tattoo,” I say. I rehearsed this in my head and it went much better.
He crosses his arms, his tattoos bulging. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, so I can see a lot of the work he’s got on his arms.
“And why would I do that, Saige?”
I shrug, for a lack of a better response and say what’s really on my mind.
“Because I asked you to?”
He almost rolls his eyes. Almost.
“That’s not a very good reason.”
“I know it isn’t. But I thought maybe it would work anyway,” I say, pretending I don’t care as much as I do. I really, really want him to come with me.
“This isn’t another ploy to convince me to turn Lizzy over and do whatever your father has yet to tell me he wants me to do?” His eyes narrow and I know that even if I tell him no, he’s not going to believe me. Trust is the cornerstone of any romantic relationship and right now, we don’t have any.
“This isn’t that. If you want, I won’t say anything about him. Please, just… come with me. I know you want to see how it turns out. And I’m sure Crash would like to see you again.” Sure, that’s a great way to sell it.
“I’ll let you be Quinn,” I add, hoping that will be a bonus, but he doesn’t change his stance.
“Or not.”
I take a breath and give it one last shot.
“I’ll let you be whoever you want to be, as long as you come with me.” Now I’m begging, but I don’t care. I just… need him.
He stares at me for a few more seconds and I’m not sure if he knows that he’s leaning toward me ever so slightly. He blinks once and then says, “Let me change my shirt.”
We don’t talk much on the drive over to the tattoo shop, so I turn on the radio and find something I want to listen to.
“I love this song,” I say. It’s “Fire & Gasoline” by Turnpike Troubadours. It’s not my typical taste, but there’s something about Americana that makes me stop and listen.
He doesn’t respond, but I can tell he’s listening to the music. It wraps around us and soon we’re at the shop.
Sylas doesn’t get my door for me when I get out and I don’t expect him to. We’re not dating anymore. We’re not anything anymore. The game is over and now we’re two people who don’t know what we mean to one another.
The bell dings when we go in and Crash is waiting for us. He gives me a smile and a hug this time. Like we’re old friends.
“Nice to see you again,” he says to Sylas, holding his hand out to shake this time. Sylas returns the handshake and Crash leads me over to the chair, patting it for me to sit down. I flip my shirt up and unclasp my bra, but make sure to keep my front covered.
“Hold my hand?” I ask Sylas. He begrudgingly pulls a chair over and clasps my hand in his. It feels both different and the same holding onto him.
He gazes at me and there are so many things written in his eyes. Regret, mostly. I try to force myself not to feel it too, but I can’t help it. Regrets and mistakes. If only I hadn’t fallen in love with him.
“You ready?” Crash asks me, patting the area he’s going to work on. I take a deep breath and nod. The buzz of the needle brings me back to last time I was in this chair. When I was so much happier.
The first stroke has barely a whisper of pain and then he gets down to the nitty-gritty and I bite my bottom lip between my teeth. I wanted a lot of color, so it’s going to take a while to get all of it done.
When Crash finally lifts the needle, I can’t believe he’s done. I feel like I’ve been sitting here for days instead of hours. Sylas has held my hand the whole time.
“Okay, get up and take a look.” I get to my feet, a little stiff, but I’m careful not to move too quickly and wrench the tender skin of my back. I go to a full-length mirror and look over my shoulder.
It’s exactly what I wanted, only better. The colors are too bright right now, but they’ll fade and be perfect.
“What do you think?” Crash asks.
“I love it. I absolutely love it,” I say. I can’t take my eyes off it.
“Good. That was a nice piece to do. I’m glad you like it.”
“I do. I really do.” I look up and see that Sylas can’t take his eyes off my back either. Now there is longing in his eyes. As if he wants to reach out and touch me. Then, of course, he scans upward and finds me watching him watching me. He looks away.
Crash tapes me up and goes over the care instructions again. I put my shirt back down and re-clasp my bra. Ouch.
I pay Ruby, who tells me how much she likes my tat and then we’re out the door. I wish I could go back to those hours of pain because at least I was holding his hand.
“Thank you for coming with me,” I whisper as I get back in the car. The seat hurts against my skin, but it’s bearable.
He doesn’t answer and I can’t take it anymore. The pain has made me bolder.
“We need to talk, Sylas. We really need to talk.” I do and I don’t want to talk to him. He looks straight ahead, his jaw clenched.
“Fine. But I’m not going back to your father’s house.”
“Deal,” I say, and finally start the car.
Four
We end up at my apartment. He definitely doesn’t want to go to his, and mine is mostly neutral territory. Well, as neutral as the two of us can get.
I need a drink, so as soon as I toss my purse down on the table by the door and throw my keys in the skull, I head for the kitchen. Finding nothing but wine and whiskey, I pick the latter and grab two short glasses. I pour some for both of us, but bring the bottle with me as I walk into the living room. Sylas is already there, waiting for me.
“It’s the only hard stuff I have on hand. This moment seemed like it needed alcohol,” I say, handing him a glass. He takes it without comment and we both sip in silence. I take a step closer to him, but he backs up and then sits on the couch.
“You’re right,” he says, finally speaking. His voice is rough, as if he wants to say much more, but is stopping himself.
“What do you want to talk about, Saige?” he says after he’s drained the glass. I take it from him, fill it up and hand it back. We’re both going to end up wasted if we keep going like this.
“I want to… I don’t know.” I’m the one who wanted to talk and now I’m tongue-tied.
“Apologize?” he says with a nasty smile. Something like that. I look into my glass, wishing it had the answers.
“Yes? No. I’m not sorry for what I did. I’m not sorry for how it turned out. I did care for you, Sylas. Do. Do care for you.” But not love. I won’t say love. I can’t say those words to him again. Even if they’re true.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, throwing back another swallow of whiskey. I join him and I’m grateful for the burn in the back of my throat that takes up residence in my belly.
“It does. It really does,” I say, looking at him from ove
“You’re still playing the game, Saige. It’s over. You don’t have to play me anymore. It’s not going to change anything.” The alcohol is starting to numb the pain.
“I’m not playing, Sylas.” I set my glass down and lean forward a little. I’m not trying anything, I just want to be closer to him.
“I swear to God, if you try and kiss me, Saige,” he says, glaring at me, his eyes cold and blazing at the same time.
I pull back and pick up my glass again. I shouldn’t have done that.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to. I just want us to be able to talk. We need to be able to be civil to one another. I want to get to know my sister.” When I mention Lizzy, his eyes lock with mine.
“You knew about her the whole time, didn’t you? Be fucking honest with me.” His tone is just as hard as his eyes, and I can’t blame him.
“Yes. I knew. But I never met her before we brought her to the house. I didn’t support my dad telling her that she was my sister and he was her father. I didn’t think it was right to drop it on her like that. You have to know that, Sylas. I didn’t want to do it that way.” I reach out to him, trying to touch him and make him understand, but I drop my hand before my skin brushes his, and look into my glass before looking back up at him again. Yet another thing I shouldn’t have done. My tattoo is burning, but it’s secondary at this point.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that, but I’m not sorry that it did. I’ve always wanted a sister,” I say. The last bit is a whisper.
“She’s not your sister. She’s my sister,” he bites out.
“She’s both of our blood.” In a strange twist, now Sylas and I are related through Lizzy.
“You don’t know anything about her.” He throws back what’s left in his glass and grabs the bottle for a refill.
“No, I don’t. But I want to. We want to take care of her. There is no nefarious motive here, Sylas. My father wants to make up for all the years he wasn’t there. He thinks about her all the time. It kills him that he didn’t get to raise her.” He laughs bitterly before taking another sip. If we’re not careful, we’re going to drink the whole bottle.