“Why do you keep calling me that? Do you think I’m a monster or something?” I don’t mean to sound as needy as I do, but the thought that I lived at Dahlia’s expense is killing me inside.
“Oh Lilith, my sweet, sweet flower.” I can’t see it, but I know that he’s smiling down at me. “Lilith, Adam’s first wife, was banished from the garden of evil for disobeying the orders of men. Ask who Lilith is, and you will receive a different answer: A she-demon, a spirit that brings death, a creature of the night, the deadly sin of lust, a night monster. But if you ask me of my Lilith? I will tell you that she is everything. Every gust of wind, every fallen leaf, each drop of rain.”
“But why?” I squeak, probably looking as pathetic as I sound. I want so much from a man I don’t even know.
Tingles cascade over my skin with his soft chuckle. “You have asked many questions, my dear lily. It is my turn to ask just one.”
My breath catches with anticipation as my body melts into his wandering touch. His finger runs over my lips once more and stops.
“Tell me, do you taste as good as you look?”
My eyes widen as his finger parts my lips, and I open my mouth on instinct, tasting the sea on his skin. Without another thought, I close my lips around him, tongue caressing his finger, and he shudders beneath my hands as a low growl builds in his chest.
He pulls his finger out and I’m shocked at the feeling of loss that strikes through my heart. Fingers disappear into the shadows of his hood, tasting me just as he said he would.
“Fucking intoxicating,” he rasps.
Unsure what to say, I stare at my fingers pressed against his chest and mutter, “Thank you.”
He makes a sound of approval. “Oh, my precious flower. The fates have truly made perfection.” He tips my chin up to look at him. “I cherish our time together. Soon, a lifetime will become an eternity. But for now, it is time for you to wake up.” He swallows my gasp when soft lips press against my own. “I will see you again, little love.”
Chapter three
Lilith
My lips still tingle from the feel of his, my waist still burns from his commanding touch. But it was just in my head.
I’m not crazy. It was just a vivid dream.
A very vivid dream. One that I coincidentally remembered for once.
I kept saying that to myself, over and over this morning, staring at the reflection in the mirror, and once again mourning the Lili that died that day. I can’t talk to Dr. Mallory about all the things the Faceless Man said to me, the way it made me want to squeeze my thighs together with the thought that he’ll be left with the taste of me lingering on his skin. But it was a dream; I just wish it wasn’t.
All Dr. Mallory would do is change my medication or up the dosage, but I can’t afford to see her again. Going to her three weeks in a row is not something my bank account is equipped for.
I can’t even afford to replace the microwaved pizza from last night. I just have to hope that Brit, in her good graces, might let me take home any leftovers though there usually aren’t any on a weekend. If I take the medication as soon as I get home, I’ll be too sleepy to be hungry. That is the cheapest idea.
The drive to Evan’s place feels longer than usual, my mind reeling too much to hide in the recesses of my ‘safe space’.
I start a little later on Saturdays and last night Evan texted to complain about his bad headache, meaning that he won’t be able to do our Saturday breakfast—not that either of us has anything more than toast to offer the other. It’s not like we have had breakfast on Saturdays often anymore.
Evan lives in a house in the student area of town. It’s within walking distance of campus, even though his job involves building houses with his hands and not paying someone else to read a book.
The weatherboards of the house could use some cleaning, but otherwise the place is as you would expect from student housing. A couple of empty beer bottles are piled on the porch, a makeshift flower pot made from broken tires along the driveway, and the floral netting in the kitchen has a tear in it that is visible from the street.
One of the flatmates, Madeline, usually makes sure that Evan and Tom keep the flat nice and reasonably tidy, so at least it doesn’t feel like I have to wipe my feet just to go outside.
I help myself into the property, trying to keep my movements as silent as possible. Madeline works dinner and bar shifts at a nearby restaurant, while Tom does security at night over at the university. Usually, I won’t see them come out of their rooms until the afternoon.
Madeline’s boyfriend, Nate, is pouring himself coffee as I walk in. The pitiful look he gives me makes my skin crawl and still I force myself to smile at him, but he looks away like the sight of me hurts him.
I follow the sound of hushed murmurings to the back of the house, where I find Evan and his strands of golden hair that shimmer in the sun and the smell of weed heavy in the air. Evan never used to smoke, but the accident was hard on him too. Dahlia’s boyfriend was one of his closest friends.
Sitting next to Evan on a portable lawn chair is a girl around my age, with hair spun from pure obsidian and skin of dazzling sepia. She looks up at me with the most enchanting brown eyes and quickly turns away. When I look at Evan, he only frowns as if I’ve interrupted something important.
She wraps her baby blue cardigan tighter around herself and stares at the unkempt lawn, avoiding eye contact with me.
I’ve never met her before. Logic and reason tell me that she’s probably Tom’s girlfriend of the week. But reality tells me that Tom’s girlfriends don’t stick around long enough to share a joint with Evan on a Saturday morning.
After my dream of the Faceless Man, I thought I’d draw my eyebrows on and apply a black line along my lids so that maybe I might feel as beautiful as the man in my dreams thinks I am. But even with the obsidian-haired girl’s flimsy pajama shorts and her well-worn woolen cardigan, I feel so inferior. How could the Faceless Man leave letters claiming that I’m beautiful when people like her exist? I wonder what it’s like to wake up and know what being pretty feels like.
“What are you doing here?” Evan says, lowering the joint to the ashtray. Heavy bags beneath his eyes that tell a story of a sleepless night.
I pull my bag off my shoulder and start rummaging through it. “You said that you had a really bad headache.” I manage to find the painkillers that I dropped in there last night—before the dream—and hold out the packet to him. “So I brought you some medication.”
Evan looks at my outstretched hand, then back at me. He blinks like I’ve said something crazy, then something in his eyes shifts, and he softens. “Thanks. The headache is gone now. But I thought I told you not to come by today.”
The small cardboard box bends in my grip when I drop my hand to my side and swing my attention to the obsidian-haired girl and her blue cardigan like she has something to add. Still, she doesn’t look up at me.
“You told me that you were sick, so I thought I’d do something nice and—”
He yanks the box of painkillers out of my hand and huffs. “Thank you for your help, but I never asked for it.”
I grit my teeth. The girl gets up and goes back into the house without looking at either of us.
“Shouldn’t you be at work already?” he pushes, barely avoiding watching the girl walk away.
“Who is she?” I blurt. Just say those five words, Lili.
Evan hangs his head back on the deckchair and groans. “Don’t be like that. I didn’t ask for a jealous girlfriend. Just chill the fuck out, alright?”
Heat stings the back of my eyes, and we both tense when three ominous knocks sound from under the house. It sounds exactly as it did yesterday morning in my apartment. Evan rises to his feet, assessing the lawn, the unease clear in his wrinkling forehead. He turns back to look at me and his gaze drops to my chest.