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Luke
Idrive her to an apartment building downtown. The place is flanked by a gas station and a large office building under construction, but the project looks like it stopped a long time ago. There is concrete piled against bent fences and a soft breeze looks like it’s going to snap the branches off a dead tree near the entrance.
I get out of the car and open the door for her. She gives me her hand, and I help her get out and step onto the parking lot. When she gets out of the car, she looks up at me and smiles, which means she isn’t paying attention when she puts her foot down.
She missteps, twisting her ankle, and her body falls forward. I know what’s about to happen in an instant, so I reach out to steady her by the waist, wrapping my arm around her.
She laughs in my arms, and I can feel her body shuddering as I hold her. The moment is over quickly and once I help her stand upright; I can see the pink flush on her cheeks. "Sorry," she says, her voice shaky. "I guess I’m not as sober as I thought."
"It’s dark here," I reply, despite being right under an automatic light that turned on the moment we pulled into the parking lot.
She laughs, shaking her head. "I thought lying was a sin."
She picks her head up to look at me, walnut eyes with golden rays, her pupils dilating as she looks at me. It’s hard not to see her appeal; her skin looks soft and warm, and the way her eyes glimmer in the moonlit parking garage make it seem like she’s the only person in the whole world.
I force myself to look away from her rosy mouth, from the way her lips are slightly parted. This feels like a trap. I should walk away now. Instead, I keep looking at her, my gaze flitting between her mouth and her eyes. "Are you okay?" I ask.
"Like, in general?"
I smile. "I was talking about the fall."
"I didn’t fall," she says, still looking right into my eyes. In the distance, I can hear traffic, cars speeding by and people honking at each other. "You saved me."
"So you are okay," I reply, unsure of what I’m supposed to say. She’s still looking right at me, inching slightly closer. I can smell the coconut on her hair and the mint on her breath.
I can see the ridges of her lips, a smattering of freckles on her nose and the top of her cheekbones, her septum piercing glinting in the electric light of the parking lot.
In the back of my mind, I know I should step away from her. I should tell her that it was no big deal, that anyone would have done that. I know I should tell her to go inside, that I’ll see her in the morning.
But I do nothing of the sort since my body is screaming to close the space between us and wrap my arms around her waist. I want to pull her body flush against mine and press her curves against me, feel the heat of her skin on mine.
Impure thoughts.
Sinful urges.
That’s what Trine Lange is to me.
She looks away from me, taking a step back until she bumps against the side of the rental car. She laughs, craning her neck back to look at it, then shakes her head as she looks up at me again. "I’m totally fine," she says. "Really. Just a bit embarrassed."
"Why?"
"Well, I should probably look where I walk," she says softly. "For a start."
I reach out, reconsidering halfway through, but it’s too late now. My hand is on her face, my finger tracing the outline of her jaw. I meant to reassure her, but the gesture is more intimate than friendly, and I think she realizes that a split second before I do. I think she’s going to jerk away, but she doesn’t. She waits for me to say something, and I know I can’t just jerk my hand away.
I don’t want to. Her skin is soft and warm. Her face feels like it fits perfectly in my palm and when she leans into my touch, her eyes still wide open, I cup her cheek with my open hand. "You don’t have to be embarrassed about anything," I say. "You haven’t done anything wrong."
She closes her eyes, her breath shuddering. "I don’t understand," she says under her breath. "I don’t understand why I’d be possessed out of anyone. I’m not even Catholic. I thought being possessed was a Catholic-only thing."
I pull my hand away, doing my best not to simply jerk away. I know this is giving her some comfort, but the moment she starts speaking about religion it’s both shocking and grounding, and her skin on mine doesn’t feel comforting anymore.
It feels like it burns.
"It isn’t about your religion," I say when I realize she’s still waiting for an explanation, sticking my hand in the pocket of my jeans. "Demons don’t care about what you believe in. It’s about what they can get out of possessing you."
"I don’t remember it," she says, her breath shaky as she closes her eyes tightly. "I don’t remember any of it. Not how this started, not how you guys came into my life, not the exorcism itself. Why can’t I remember?"
She sounds devastated, and I want to pull her into an embrace and make her feel better. But this isn’t about me, and I know that I shouldn’t touch her again. I would only be doing it for myself.
