The Watcher

Even angry, Michael was stu

Don’t be ridiculous, Mia!

“Mia?” Heather’s voice called me back to reality.

“Mm-hmm,” I replied absently.

“Farouk was offering you a ride,” she whispered. “He lives the closest.”

“Oh.” Composing myself, I turned to Farouk. “Do you mean Friday?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Uh, sure. What time?”

“We’re going to meet at the coffee shop by the theater at six-fifteen.” Heather filled me in on what I’d missed. I was too embarrassed to admit I had been staring at the two most attractive guys I’d ever seen and wishing they were fighting over me.

“How’s six?” he asked.

“Good.”

Curious about the argument between Damiel and Michael, I kept an eye out for them all afternoon but I didn’t see them again. By the end of the day, I began to worry. What if Michael had been hurt? The fact that I was concerned only for Michael was telling. I didn’t expect things to happen with Damiel, and when he wasn’t around I found myself completely un-attracted to him. It seemed whatever I felt resulted from being in his presence, like he had some kind of vortex of charm everyone got sucked into—including me.

Not being around Michael filled me with a kind of longing I’d never felt before. He made me angry, he made me happy, and I would endure anything to spend a few moments with him.

The rest of my classes dragged and the teachers piled on the assignments, trying to prepare us for mid-terms. By the end of the day, I carried the burden of a full workload to my locker. I was packing for the bus ride home when a warm hand touched the base of my spine, sending a tingle right up to my neck.

I whirled around and saw Damiel smiling wickedly beside me. “Got enough books?”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered, shouldering my bag.

“What do they say about all work and no play?” His dark eyes twinkled, but I noticed for the first time they weren’t warm. He stroked his hand up my spine to my shoulder, and another tingle ran through me. “Maybe it’s time you played a little. How about it? You game?”

I wondered what kind of game he meant. He stood so close it was almost dizzying.

“You should see the homework they’ve given me this week.” I wasn’t sure how to say no to him, or even if I wanted to, now that he was near me again.

He lifted his hand from my shoulder to brush my cheek, and I noticed small cuts on his knuckles that appeared to be mostly healed. When I looked into his eyes, my reserve buckled, like I was forgetting where I was—who I was—and the pull of his presence drew over my skin. He was bewitching, and I was being reeled in.

Then something broke the fixation, a sound perhaps, or a rush of cool air. Suddenly remembering where I was, I looked away. A few students milled around, talking at their lockers, filling their backpacks, and readying themselves for the trip home.

At the end of the hall, Michael focused on the two of us, singling me out. My spine stiffened. I’d done nothing wrong. Was I supposed to be some kind of nun? A vestal virgin? I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and wished he’d stop looking at me like that, as though I’d disappointed him.

Damiel glared at Michael and the air snapped between them, sending a ripple right through me. Touching my chin, Damiel turned me to face him. His smile spoke of pleasures promised. Pleasures I wasn’t sure I was ready for yet, but I found myself yearning for them nevertheless. Bringing his lips to my ear, he whispered, “Think about it,” before he turned and walked away.

I blinked in the direction where Michael stood and shook the feeling off. He was gone, too. Sadness settled into the base of my stomach. Why couldn’t we talk? Wasn’t that what normal people did?

I grabbed my bag and rushed down the hall to where I’d seen him. He wasn’t there, so I ran outside and found him striding toward his car.

It was pouring out but I didn’t care. My umbrella was at the bottom of my bag and fishing it out would take too long. I didn’t want to stop for fear I’d miss him.

“Hey!” I shouted after him.

When he stopped and turned back to me, my breath caught. He could be such an impressive figure. Tall and strong, he wasn’t afraid of his anger; it seemed to be a force that welled up inside him, one he could completely control. While he didn’t throw it around, I sure didn’t want to cross him.

“What?” he said hotly as I approached his car.

On the road behind him, deep puddles formed into gray pools. Michael stood, his car door open. Rain soaked his already damp hair as tiny streams of water poured down the sides of his face. Even his eyelashes were wet.

My step faltered. My own anger cooled.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I don’t get you. Why do you seem to be watching me all the time?”

He mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t hear. At least he didn’t deny it.

I tried a different approach. “Did I do something wrong?”

“How do you feel right now?” he asked, as though that answered my question.

“Fine,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely true. I was confused, exhausted, sad, and ashamed of myself for that look of disappointment on his face when he saw me talking to Damiel. More than anything, I wanted him to touch me as Damiel had.

He sighed and pressed the remote on his keychain. I heard the passenger doors unlock. “Get in.”

I looked at him, hesitating. Did he mean it? He gave me a nod and motioned inside. Gathering my dignity, I got in and closed the door.

“Fasten your seatbelt,” he said, shifting the car into gear. It still smelled new inside.

Rain had already soaked through my shirt; it clung cold against my skin. I wished I’d worn Gore-Tex. I tried to wipe the water off my face with wet hands, for all the good it did me. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

A ride home. That meant I had five minutes with him, tops. I was going to ask my questions even though I didn’t expect to get any answers.

“Why does it bother you when Damiel speaks to me?” I blurted out, telling myself I wanted things, Michael, to make sense.

His expression was intense but completely unreadable. I had to remember to breathe. He returned his focus to the road. “He’s taking from you.”

“What does that mean?” I wondered if taking meant flirting. “What is he taking?”

“How do you feel when you’re with him?”

How did I feel when I was with Damiel? Flattered, as though I was someone attractive and interesting. It was never about Damiel. It was about me. Being alone with Michael in his car was different. It wasn’t about how attractive I felt, it was a deep longing that I could hardly put into words. In that moment my whole body thrummed with it, and I found myself wishing Michael would notice me the way Damiel did, even once.

I could sense his attention on me as he waited for an answer, but I couldn’t face him. I focused on my school bag, playing with its stuck zipper.

“Wishing I was with you,” I whispered.

All the color left his face and it was his turn to look away. I realized that for as much as I’d listened to Heather advise Fiona about guys, I didn’t know a thing.

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked it. A heavy silence grew between us. The rain thrummed against the roof of his car and my heart stuttered anxiously against my ribs, like a hummingbird flapping its tiny wings.