my emotions.
“And you’re wrong, you know,” he said. “You look exactly like you belong.”
A drop of water pooled at the end of his hair, hanging on precariously like a crystal bubble.
“You know your eyes turn almost black when you’re excited?” He was so close that I didn’t notice the little droplet going splat on my hand. “And your hair.” He played with a strand. “Like Medusa. It gives you away, the part you hide so well.” He traced my collarbone, letting his fingers play in the soft spot between.
I felt like soldered metal, glued to the spot by blazing blue irises. I wanted to jump back—from the touch, yes, but mostly the way he was looking at me.
“Roses.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “It’s the damnedest thing. I smell roses. Every time I’m around you.”
I stood there, not moving, not breathing, not wanting the moment to end. It was some kind of cruel spell.
“Shayda?” Jayne called from the door.
I jerked away from him before she entered.
“I thought you might need this.” She held up my bag. “You have a change of clothes in here?”
“Um...no.” I gripped the railing, trying to steady myself.
“You can borrow something of my mother’s,” said Troy. “They’re not back until tomorrow. She won’t mind.”
“No thanks,” I replied. “I’ll just put my clothes in the dryer.”
“No need. I’ll have your dress dry-cleaned and—,” He caught the expression on my face. “Right. Laundry’s over there.”
“What about you, Troy?” asked Jayne. “Want me take those wet clothes off you...I mean...em... for you?” She smiled, far from embarrassed about the slip.
“What’s going on in here?” Carol followed, hot on Jayne’s heels. “Can I get you some dry clothes, honey?”
Honey. Jayne rolled her eyes.
Dry clothes. Obviously she knew her way around.
“I’m fine.” Troy ran his fingers through his hair. “Why don’t the two of you just chill. We’ll be out in a bit.”
“Okay, darling.” Carol dropped another endearment before she left.
‘Okay, darling’, Jayne mimed behind her.
“Jayne?” He arched an eyebrow.
“I’m going, I’m going.”
“Wait.” I called her back. “Maybe you should call Elizabeth and let her know you’re going to be late. It’s almost midnight.”
“Sure.” She shrugged and headed for the living room.
“Always the responsible one, huh?” he said.
“Always the troublemaker, huh?”
“Not my fault if girls fight over me.”
“If you’re done singing your own praises, I’d like to freshen up.”
“Of course.” He bowed mockingly, but I knew it was an attempt to lighten the tension still lingering between us.
I stomped up the stairs after him, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the mahogany, each wishing it were headed the other way—out the door and away from him.
12. Free Falling
PAST
July 2nd, 1983
I looked in the mirror expecting to see The Swamp Thing. It was me, only raw and wild, a reflection I wasn’t familiar with. Instead of gracefully tamed layers, my hair had morphed into a riot of mad curls. My eyes had an odd sheen and my face was throbbing with color.
I sucked in my cheeks and examined my face.
Nope, I will never have high, chiseled Troy Heathgatesque cheekbones.
Stepping back, I cringed. My dress was clinging to every curve. I looked like a powerful opera had picked me up, dragged me through every aria between elation and agitation and dropped me, exhausted but oddly sated.
I stepped into the oversized shower and fiddled with the controls, shrieking as jets of icy cold water attacked me from all sides. There was a handheld shower, a ceiling mounted shower and several nozzles coming at me from the side panels. I tried again, paying more attention. Steam shower, rain shower, oscillating spray...I cycled through the options until I found a nice, comfortable setting.
I shimmied out of my dress and underwear, sighing as the water washed away the clamminess of the
“And you’re wrong, you know,” he said. “You look exactly like you belong.”
A drop of water pooled at the end of his hair, hanging on precariously like a crystal bubble.
“You know your eyes turn almost black when you’re excited?” He was so close that I didn’t notice the little droplet going splat on my hand. “And your hair.” He played with a strand. “Like Medusa. It gives you away, the part you hide so well.” He traced my collarbone, letting his fingers play in the soft spot between.
I felt like soldered metal, glued to the spot by blazing blue irises. I wanted to jump back—from the touch, yes, but mostly the way he was looking at me.
“Roses.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “It’s the damnedest thing. I smell roses. Every time I’m around you.”
I stood there, not moving, not breathing, not wanting the moment to end. It was some kind of cruel spell.
“Shayda?” Jayne called from the door.
I jerked away from him before she entered.
“I thought you might need this.” She held up my bag. “You have a change of clothes in here?”
“Um...no.” I gripped the railing, trying to steady myself.
“You can borrow something of my mother’s,” said Troy. “They’re not back until tomorrow. She won’t mind.”
“No thanks,” I replied. “I’ll just put my clothes in the dryer.”
“No need. I’ll have your dress dry-cleaned and—,” He caught the expression on my face. “Right. Laundry’s over there.”
“What about you, Troy?” asked Jayne. “Want me take those wet clothes off you...I mean...em... for you?” She smiled, far from embarrassed about the slip.
“What’s going on in here?” Carol followed, hot on Jayne’s heels. “Can I get you some dry clothes, honey?”
Honey. Jayne rolled her eyes.
Dry clothes. Obviously she knew her way around.
“I’m fine.” Troy ran his fingers through his hair. “Why don’t the two of you just chill. We’ll be out in a bit.”
“Okay, darling.” Carol dropped another endearment before she left.
‘Okay, darling’, Jayne mimed behind her.
“Jayne?” He arched an eyebrow.
“I’m going, I’m going.”
“Wait.” I called her back. “Maybe you should call Elizabeth and let her know you’re going to be late. It’s almost midnight.”
“Sure.” She shrugged and headed for the living room.
“Always the responsible one, huh?” he said.
“Always the troublemaker, huh?”
“Not my fault if girls fight over me.”
“If you’re done singing your own praises, I’d like to freshen up.”
“Of course.” He bowed mockingly, but I knew it was an attempt to lighten the tension still lingering between us.
I stomped up the stairs after him, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the mahogany, each wishing it were headed the other way—out the door and away from him.
12. Free Falling
PAST
July 2nd, 1983
I looked in the mirror expecting to see The Swamp Thing. It was me, only raw and wild, a reflection I wasn’t familiar with. Instead of gracefully tamed layers, my hair had morphed into a riot of mad curls. My eyes had an odd sheen and my face was throbbing with color.
I sucked in my cheeks and examined my face.
Nope, I will never have high, chiseled Troy Heathgatesque cheekbones.
Stepping back, I cringed. My dress was clinging to every curve. I looked like a powerful opera had picked me up, dragged me through every aria between elation and agitation and dropped me, exhausted but oddly sated.
I stepped into the oversized shower and fiddled with the controls, shrieking as jets of icy cold water attacked me from all sides. There was a handheld shower, a ceiling mounted shower and several nozzles coming at me from the side panels. I tried again, paying more attention. Steam shower, rain shower, oscillating spray...I cycled through the options until I found a nice, comfortable setting.
I shimmied out of my dress and underwear, sighing as the water washed away the clamminess of the
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