The Dark Prince(The Dark Light Series #2)(50)
Sitting on the chaise lounge, his elbows resting on his knees, Dorian is here in my bedroom. I freeze where I stand, unable to do much more than breathe, and even that is a feat. The sound of my rapid heartbeat drowns out the music, blood rushing my ears and painting my face with a scarlet flush. How? Why? The questions are on the tip of my tongue yet I am unable to speak. I just drink him in, completely captivated and rendered senseless.
Dorian's sad eyes lock onto mine and a pained grimace flashes across his beautiful face. He's dressed in a simple tee and jeans and he's unshaven. Even with the bit of scruff and his hair a bit more unruly than usual he is still the most perfect being I have ever seen. He stands and cautiously makes his way towards me. When only a foot stands between us, he stops, his eyes never leaving mine. His scent surrounds me, permeating my skin and hair, and I take a deep breath before I can stop myself.
Little crinkles around his eyes and the paleness of his skin tell me that he's weakened. I just want to wrap him in my arms and hold him tight. I just want to make him better. Because having him here, seeing him after days of barely living on autopilot, I feel whole again. Dorian fixes me in a way that I could never put into words. His presence scoops up those jagged little shards of my heart and, piece by piece, puts it together again.
As if hearing my internal admission, Dorian sighs and opens his mouth to speak. But before any sound escapes, I am pressing a finger to his soft lips and shaking my head.
"Please. Don't. Don't say anything," I whisper. "Because hearing your voice will break me again. I won't be able to come back from that. I will crumble right here in front of you."
With pain and regret etched on his face, Dorian nods. He brings his hand up to my finger still on his lips and holds it to his face, nuzzling into my touch. Electric warmth ignites at my fingertips, crawling up my arm and to every nerve ending. His lips brush the inside of my palm before he rests it on his cheek and I gasp at the intimate contact, a sob building in my throat. Then he reaches out and strokes the length of my jaw gently.
We stand there for the remainder of the song- each of us cradling the other's cheek, silently reading the grief in the other's face. Just the simple, chaste gesture is enough to begin to heal the gaping wound in my chest. I could stand here and gaze at him all day without saying a word. Just enjoy the closeness of our broken bodies and the tenderness of his touch.
Dorian takes a tiny step forward, close enough for the heat of his body of mingle with mine. I look up at him with hopeful eyes, my hand still cupping his face. A tiny, sad smile plays at his lips before he presses them to my forehead. I instantly melt into his touch and my entire body hums with appreciation. But before I can respond, he's gone. And I am left standing there, my hand extended into plumes of grey, cradling the space where he was just seconds ago.
The song starts again, bringing me back to the here and now. Unable to make sense of what just happened, I walk over to the chaise lounge and try to piece it all together. Now that every sense is not clouded with all things Dorian, I let my mind focus on the emotion-filled words pouring from my sound system. My eyes quickly fill with stubborn tears and spill down my face as Bruno Mars belts his heartfelt plea to the moon. I realize why he chose this particular song for me and it could not be any more perfect. For countless nights, I watched Dorian stand at the window, looking out into the darkness contently. Sometimes he'd be completely silent and unmovable for so long, I would be bursting with curiosity at what the pitch-black sky could reveal. And he's telling me right now. He's telling me that he hasn't given up. He's still waiting for me.
I don't know how many times the song replayed or how many hours I stood at my bay window, gazing out into the night contently because I knew Dorian was doing the same. But as I crawl into bed, my body stiff with standing in the same position for so long, I realize it is the first night in four days that I didn't need to drink myself to sleep. I no longer need the numbness that is found at the bottom of a bottle. Because now, I have hope.
Chapter Nineteen
"Bitch, I don't give a damn what you say. You. Are. Going!" Morgan roars into the phone.
"Come on! I really am tired. It's been crazy busy at the store today. Besides, I don't have a costume," I plead into the receiver.
"Nope, not gonna work. I already have a costume for you. And don't give me that tired crap. All you do is freakin' sleep and, dammit, I want my friend back!"
"Morgan, seriously. I really need to start packing my stuff up and figure out where the hell I'm going to live. I don't have time for frat Halloween parties." I slump into my swivel chair and let my forehead hit the desk. Just the thought of leaving the lavish apartment at Paralia depresses me. Nothing I've found is even half as nice. But I can't see a reason to stay, considering that Dorian owns it.
"Gabs, I told you that Dorian doesn't want you to move out. He said so himself. Just call him. I don't want to lose my roommate and I damn sure don't want to move. There's no way we will find anything better."
I sigh, knowing deep down that Morgan is right. But ever since Dorian showed up in my room and played that song for me, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. I'd wait up for hours every night, praying he'd reappear. But after weeks of failed optimism without his return, that spurt of hope quickly vanished leaving me empty once again. I was back to my miserable existence: sleeping, working, eating, drinking.
"Look, you know it isn't right for me to stay there. He's getting married, Morgan. And I'm his ex-girlfriend. Technically, I'm not even his employee. I have no right to stay."
An exasperated grunt resounds from the phone. "You know good and well Dorian wants you to stay. Shit, you two need to talk this out yourselves and stop playing games. Between him asking me about you on the sly and you moping around like the walking dead, I have had just about enough! Now, listen, trick. You're going to this party. And you will have a good time. Do you hear me, Gabriella Winters? I need you to snap out of it!"
I make a pained noise, knowing I won't be able to get out of this one. I had been able to dodge social gatherings and weekend club-hopping for the past month with my usual ‘I'm tired and depressed' excuse, but I've pretty much run that one into the ground. And I've been a terrible friend to Morgan, leaving her to slay the boy toys of Colorado Springs all by herself. Not to mention, I haven't seen nor heard from Jared since that day in my room.
"Fine! Fine! Fine! You want me to go? I'll go, dammit! But I must warn you: I will get drunk. And if anyone- man, woman or child- comes at me crazy, I won't hesitate to slap a bitch." I slam my palm on the desk to drive my point home, even though I am alone.
"Yay!" Morgan squeals. "And I promise there will be no drama! Just good ol' fashioned fun!"
"Yeah right," I snort. "So what am I wearing for our night of douchery and debauchery?"
"I figured I'd be an angel and you could be a devil. Fitting, right?"
I shake my head to myself. "You have no idea."
The Kappa Sigma house at UCCS looks as if Party City's Halloween aisle threw up on it then sprinkled in some skanks for good measure. Of course, just about every chick here has used the holiday as an excuse to wear lingerie outdoors, adding a pair of bunny ears, a wig or fairy wings to justify it as a costume. Morgan and I are no better, wearing itty bitty tube dresses, hers in white and mine in red, of course. I wanted to wear jeans but could not bear another Morgan whine-fest.
I head straight to the keg situated on the back patio and help myself to a plastic cup full of watered-down beer while Morgan goes to greet some friends of hers. As I'm chugging away on my second cup, I spot Jared weaving through the crowd of festive party goers.
"Hey Gabs!" he calls out to me. He then stops to chat and talk to a group of frat guys before strolling up to me with a wide grin.
"Damn, girl! You look hot!" he shouts over the music, eyeing the red sequined minidress and heels, complete with glittery red horns. It's obvious that Jared's had too many, considering his lustful gaze.
I shrug. "It's Morgan's. She made me wear it. And what are you supposed to be?" I ask with a raised brow.
Jared turns around to reveal a red cape. "Superman?"
"Nice," I remark with a smirk. "So what's been up? Been a while since … "
"Since we got kicked to the curb simultaneously?" he snickers. "Yeah, it has." Jared's words sting and I know he's just trying to make light of a bad situation. Still, I'm not ready to start making jokes just yet.
"You ok?" I ask, hoping he'd drop the act and be real with me.
Jared shrugs then looks away at nothing in particular. "Of course, Gabs. Why wouldn't I be? Aurora's not the last chick on Earth. You live and you learn."
"Yeah, but you loved her. You just don't heal from that type of heartache overnight." Why am I even explaining this to him? Why is he trying to act like it doesn't even matter? That he wasn't hurt like I was? Like I still am?
"Actually, you do. You get over it and move on. It's not that hard. Maybe you should try it," Jared replies with a hint of disdain.