It was almost midnight. I had to make sure Scar had her meal. I put on some casual clothes, but then I changed my mind. What was I thinking? I changed into a sleeveless top and black jeans with a pair of white sneakers. I made sure to take out the pendant and put it in my pocket. I hoped the cancer wouldn't flare up while I was with her. I slowly locked the door of my room and was about to climb out through the window when Scar leapt at me and bit my left arm.
"Ouch, Scar, what the hell?" I muttered under my breath, holding onto my left arm. The cat sat on the bed and hissed, clearly showing her disapproval of me meeting her this late at night.
"Scar, please." I gave her a pitiful look and went over to her, scratching her head and giving her little kisses on her face.
"I've got to go meet her. Hey, this is me being happy, and I'm in love with her," I said slowly while adjusting my glasses. The weight of those words made me think about Mom. I didn't want to use those words ever again. But now, I finally did. Scar licked my palms gently, almost as if to show she understood. I gave her a light hug and climbed out the window.
I slowly stepped out of the window frame, my feet landing on the rooftop. God, what am I doing? I'm insane, I thought to myself as I crouched down and carefully crawled toward the edge of the slate roof. I was close to the edge, ready to turn around, when my hand slipped. I fell, nearly hitting the ground, when I felt a force behind me enveloping my back. Slowly, I landed on the ground, unharmed.
I stood up and adjusted my glasses, looking up to see Scar perched on the rooftop. She shook her head slightly and snarled. A smile of relief spread across my face as I turned and ran in the direction of Meredith's house.
*
"Welcome to my little house," Meredith said, her right hand holding mine. She shut the door behind her and led me inside. It was surprisingly spacious now that I was in. There were two elegant sofas, a mix of red and white, paired with a sleek glass center table that looked quite expensive. The design caught my attention—Mom always loved flipping through furniture magazines. Just how rich are her parents?
"Your parents, they travel a lot, don't they?" I asked, nervously rubbing my palms against the sides of my legs.
She guided me to the sofa and placed her hands lightly on my chest, giving me a gentle push to sit. Smiling, she sat down beside me. My gaze shifted to the glass center table, where a bottle of wine stood. Well, luckily my eighteenth birthday is next month. A little wine won't hurt. It's not like we're going to do anything crazy, I thought to myself.
"You can ask only two questions when we meet at night," she said, crossing one leg over the other and looking at me intently.
"I'll count the one you just asked as your first. My parents are abroad. They travel often for work, so I'm usually alone at home. I grew up this way—sometimes lonely, other times spoiled by riches. Does that answer your question, Jaze?"
She shifted closer, and I couldn't help but notice what she was wearing—a short, flared skirt paired with a crop top,full-length stockings and black tulle gloves that reached her elbows. She wasn't wearing any shoes. An urge to kiss her welled up inside me, and I leaned in, but she placed her hand gently on my lips, shaking her head in disapproval.
"There's one more question I know you've wanted to ask. Go ahead—I won't be offended," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.
"You wear gloves. I'm curious why you're so sensitive when I try to touch you," I asked, raising my hand to adjust my glasses, but she caught it and gently placed it on the sofa.
"It's a secret I've kept from everyone, even those closest to me. But I'll tell you, because I trust you."
She slowly removed her gloves, revealing her hands.
"My skin is sensitive to human touch. I was born this way. If I come into contact with someone, I can feel everything—every thought, emotion, like, dislike, pain, and suffering. You could say I become one with that person."
She placed her palms together and looked at me.
"I accidentally touched my mother when I didn't understand my powers, but I've never touched the opposite sex," she said, her voice steady yet vulnerable. Then, she slid the gloves back on.
"You've never had a boyfriend?" I asked, overwhelmed by what she had just shared. I'd never heard of such a condition. Sure, some people have sensitive skin, but the idea of being able to read someone's thoughts through touch? That was beyond any scientific explanation. While I believed her sensitivity caused pain or discomfort, the rest of her story was harder to accept. Still, I nodded in understanding and adjusted my glasses.
"I've answered both your questions. Now it's my turn to ask about you," she said, glancing briefly at the wine before looking at me with a gentle smile.
Why can't I stop shaking? I thought, trying to appear composed. I shifted closer to her. She looked surprised, and for the first time, I saw her scarlet eyes up close—so beautiful. Her cheeks flushed, a light blush spreading across her face as she smiled softly.
Meredith locked her eyes with mine.
"Have you ever loved anyone?" she asked.
I was so close to her I could feel her breath on my lips.
"No, I... um... I grew up all alone. I was more of an outcast growing up. I haven't really spoken to any girl about anything romantic. Actually, I haven't spoken to any girl at all—not since my past…" I paused, looking at her.
"I've never loved anyone," I concluded, resting my hands on the sofa.
She smiled softly and reached for the bottle of wine on the table.
"Have you ever had wine before?" she asked, placing the bottle between us.
"Yes, I've had wine. Maybe once or twice," I lied, but the way she looked at me made it clear she saw through it. My gaze shifted to her neck—the softness of her skin. I wanted to touch it so badly, but I knew it wasn't possible.
"When you look at me like that, I can feel how tense your aura is. I know You want me," she said, her soft, pitched voice catching me off guard.
I felt her right hand rest gently on my thigh as
She gracefully knelt on the sofa, rising into an upright stance before inching closer. She then settled onto my lap, her body melding gently against mine, her breasts pressing softly against my chest. With a delicate touch, she guided my left hand to her hip. In her other hand, she held a bottle of wine, the moment filled with an intimate silence.
She drew her face closer to my ear and whispered gently,
"I've always wanted to touch you. I hate that I have to wear these gloves, but even though I can't for now, I want you to feel me within you."
I raised my eyebrows, my lips pressed together in anticipation as her breath brushed against my neck, sending a shiver of pleasure down my body. It echoed the wave of ecstasy from our last close encounter. Gently, I grasped her hips, my eyes locked with hers, waiting, breath held, for her next move.
She uncorked the bottle of wine with her thumb and tilted her head back, taking a sip. I could tell she didn't swallow all of it—some of the wine lingered in her mouth. Setting the bottle down on the sofa, she slid her right index finger into my mouth, parting it open. Then, closing her eyes, she leaned in and parted her lips slightly. The glistening red wine poured from her mouth into mine.
Time seemed to slow as I drank every drop, savoring the rich taste. Unable to resist, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her tightly to me. My legs trembled under the weight of her body on mine as my hands instinctively caressed her back, though they didn't make contact with her skin.
A soft moan escaped her lips, barely more than a whisper, as she placed her hands on my shoulders. My eyes were closed, but they fluttered open slowly. A strange, unfamiliar sensation overcame me as my gaze fell on the right side of her neck.
I could feel my senses heighten. I saw the pulsing arteries of her veins, the rapid flow of blood coursing through her body. A primal hunger stirred within me—not the usual kind of hunger, but something darker, more carnal. It was the instinct of a predator, the overwhelming desire to sink my teeth into her flesh and drink to my fill.
I leaned in closer and closer, but the thought repulsed me. Shaking my head, I pulled back in disgust. Instead, I rested my head on her shoulder, the pleasure within me intensifying. We weren't intimate, not in the conventional sense, but it felt as though we were making love.
She moaned again, her voice soft and alluring. Slowly, I felt the wine take hold of me, spreading a hazy warmth through my head. My eyes grew heavy, and before I could stop it, I drifted into sleep, my head resting against her shoulder.