“No, that’s not the case. He’s rich, actually,” I remark quietly. “His whole family is very wealthy.”
“Even better!” Morgan squeals. “It should be easy enough to find where his family lives with a little snooping. Geez, Gabs, you sure know how to pick ‘em!”
“Well, of course I didn’t know that when I met him! But I guess it doesn’t hurt. At least we’ll be living in luxury,” I grin.
When I shared Dorian’s job offer with Morgan, she was ecstatic. Luxe and the boutique, Cashmere, are within a block of each other, and Paralia is only a three minute drive as well. We already mapped out our carpooling route to work and toyed with the prospect of walking during sunny weather. I secretly relished the fact that Paralia is so close to the Broadmoor, though I had hoped that Dorian would just move into his apartment complex so we could be neighbors. I have no desire to live with him though; I need my space. Weekend sleepovers are enough for me right now.
“Oh! So you talked to your parents?”
“I did, and unfortunately, it didn’t go as well as I thought. But hey, they’ll have to deal with it. I’m an adult and they can’t keep me locked up forever.” Or away from my best friend, for that matter.
“Well, they’ll get used to it. Besides, you’ll be rooming with me. And have I ever steered you wrong?” Morgan sneers.
“Oh hell, too many times to count,” I say shaking my head, and we erupt into a fit of girlish giggles.
Late that evening, after downing a bottle of cheap wine in the privacy of my bedroom, I am mindlessly tapping away on my laptop. I’ve been avoiding my parents all day, and though I know I’ll have to face them eventually, I’m just not over our argument. After checking the usual social networking sites and growing tired of the many self-absorbed, idiotic posts and pictures, I pull up a search engine and type in a telephone directory in Greece. I know I shouldn’t, and even feel ashamed for trying but I look up Dorian’s last name. Zero records are found. Shit. Well, that was a waste of 60 seconds.
Still not satisfied and a little influenced by Morgan, I decide to Google ‘Skotos Greece’ instead. A page full of definitions and religious depictions pop up. I click on the first one and read the meaning and origin of the name with shocked, horrified eyes. My heart is racing and I can hear it pounding loudly in my head. It’s as if time has stopped around me. I no longer hear my iPod playing in the background. I don’t hear the ticking of my alarm clock. I don’t even see the images flashing on my muted television. All I can see are the words printed in black and white in front of me on my laptop computer.
The definition of Skotos is Darkness.
Terms such as ‘immoral,’ ‘ungodliness,’ and ‘evil’ accompany it. I quickly hit the back button and click on another link, certain that I have stumbled upon a hoax. I open the next webpage and read on about Greek mythology and the origins of Skotos. Still the same theme- sin, shadiness, obscurity, the absence of light. The absence of Light.
Could I be reading this correctly? Am I looking too far into this? Dorian’s name would be translated as Dorian Darkness. Dorian of the Dark. That can’t be true. Dorian is anything but Dark. He’s helped me, soothed me in my times of need. If I’m really being honest with myself, I know he’s something but not Dark. Anything but Dark. If he were, I would be dead by now. He wouldn’t have helped me when I was troubled and weakened. He wouldn’t be so gentle and caring. Yes, there may be a dark element to him, especially in the bedroom, but I asked him for that. That was my darkness beckoning him. It needed to be fed; I had been stifling that side of me for too long. If anyone is Dark, it’s me. Not Dorian. Not my Dorian. If he was Dark, I wouldn’t need him like I do.
Right?
In an effort to convince myself that this is all bullshit and nothing more than a cheap Merlot-induced mind-fuck, I power down my computer and close it shut. No random webpage is going to sway my opinion of Dorian. He is good and kind and thoughtful, the opposite of everything the Dark stand for. There are other supernatural forces out there. He must be something else. But definitely not Dark.
I lie back on my bed and try to wrap my head around everything that’s happened in the past few weeks. They have been more eventful than the past 20 years of my existence. I’ve found out that I am the product of a Light-Dark love affair that killed my parents and made me the target of a sadistic killer. Jared confessed his love for me after knowing how I’ve felt all these years. I met Dorian, the man who has opened my heart to more emotions than I’ve ever felt and given me more pleasure than I ever imagined. I have to ignore the warning bells sounding wildly in my head and lead with my heart. Dorian is not Dark. He would never hurt me. He cares for me, just like I care for him. I have to believe that. I have to hold onto it. Because whatever he may be, whatever paranormal blood runs through his veins, I love him.