“But it starts with a seed, like a rose bush, doesn't it?” Robbie comes towards me again, effectively cornering me in the hallway. My hand drops to the handle of my bedroom door, and it swings open behind me. I step back over the threshold and stay there, as if this bit of space between us will protect us both. Robbie doesn't follow, not at first, and instead pauses in the hallway holding my most precious possession in her hands. “So you're pushing me away because you're afraid?”
“I haven't felt fear in a decade,” I say, which isn't entirely true anymore. Robbie makes me feel fear. Whether that's a good or a bad thing, I have yet to decide. To add insult to injury, I decide to add, “not since you were in diapers.” Robbie laughs and shakes her head, tucking chocolate hair behind her ear. She looks nothing at all like Aliyah – more athletic, less curvy, smaller breasts, bigger eyes – but I can't help seeing my dead soul mate in every fucking glance.
“Since I was eight, Luke. A kid, just like you were. Like … you still are … ”
“I am a grown fucking man,” I growl, taking a step forward. Robbie doesn't move, and I don't break the threshold. “How dare you.” I run my fingers through my hair and try to act indignant. I don't enjoy entertaining the thought that my growth was stunted by Aliyah's death, that I haven't ever really moved on from that state of mind I nurtured when I was eighteen. Because I have had that thought before and hearing Robbie echo it only makes it worse. “Why are you still in my house? Why don't you go home?”
“Why don't I help you paint instead?” Robbie asks, cradling the book against her chest again. “Or rip up your carpet? I'm good at getting up those pesky tack strips.”
I drop my shoulders and take another breath. The beast had been praying Robbie would come into my bedroom, lay across my bed and spread her legs for him. Lucas had been rooting for the other side. Not that I don't want to fuck Robbie – my stiff cock certainly tells its own story – but I can't. Not again. Not ever should've been my mantra, but I've already gone and fucked that up.
“I have a date at six, so I can't stay too long, but it could be fun. You don't get a lot of fun in your life, do you, Luke?”
“A date?” The words roll from my tongue before I can stop them. Robbie glances away, down the hall, like she's expecting someone to walk in on us at any moment. Audra, maybe? With my anger now in check, I step back into the hallway, startling Robbie out of her search. She snaps her blue eyes to mine.
“I have a date with a guy from school.” Robbie shrugs like it's inconsequential to her, but I can see the heavy set of her feelings weighing on her shoulders like stone. Is this my fault? Have I poisoned this girl already, to the point where she doesn't even want to go on a date? “We've had these plans for awhile,” she explains, as if I need to know this. The sad part is, I want to know, even though I also have a fucking date for six o'clock. Hmm. How terrible is it that I've gone to wanting to know the whereabouts of a couple of teenagers? “He was in Europe for his great aunt's funeral, but he's back now, so … I guess we're going out.”
“Try not to sound so enthused,” I spit, moving past her and into the room, kicking an empty cardboard box across the floor with my foot. It hits the bookcase and comes to a stop. “If you're going to paint with me, you'll need to keep your excitement contained.”
Robbie laughs and shakes her head.
“See, you do have a sense of humor in there somewhere.” I give her a dry look and then start loading books into the box. I'm not ashamed to see a couple of romance novels in the mix. After all, reading is an escape, a chance to see and do and feel things you never normally would or even could. Love. A couple of times I tried to delve into others' worlds, find the love committed to the pages, and soak it all in, just to remember. But remembrance can be quite painful, and the thoughts still sear my brain. “Where should I put this one?” Robbie asks after a moment. I don't look at her, continuing to fill the box with paperbacks and the occasional hardcover.
“On my bed,” I say, the thought of Robbie entering my bedroom sending the beast into a frothing fervor. As soon as I hear her footsteps moving away, I reach down and cup my crotch, enjoying the rush of pleasurable sensation down my limbs. I should be sending Robbie away – I know that's the only possible solution for this nightmare I've now created – but I don't. Maybe she is right? Maybe I am still a child who doesn't know any better? A kid cloaked in a man's body, drenched in the blood of a beast. Is there anything scarier than that? Who do you think starts all the world's wars?