Melissa wondered why she had agreed to go to the prom with Cooper Silverdale. He wasn't her type. A small boy, consumed with his own importance, with too much to prove. He'd been oddly hyper all night, bragging about his family and his possessions nonstop, and Melissa was tired of it.
Another faint whisper caught Melissa's attention, and she turned.
There, too far across the crowd to be the source behind the sound, Tyson Bell was staring straight at Melissa over the head of the girl he danced with. Melissa looked down at once, shuddering, trying not to care who he was with, forcing herself not to look.
She moved closer to Cooper. Boring and shallow, maybe, but better than Tyson. Anyone was better than Tyson.
Really? Is Cooper really the better option? The questions popped into Melissa's thoughts as if they came from someone else entirely. Involuntarily, she glanced up into Tyson's heavily lashed dark eyes. He was still staring.
Of course Cooper was better than Tyson, no matter how beautiful Tyson was. That beauty was just part of the trap.
Cooper babbled on, stumbling over his words as he tried to capture Melissa's interest.
You're out of Cooper's league, the thought whispered. Melissa shook her head, embarrassed for thinking that way. It was vain. Cooper was just as good as she was, as good as any other boy.
Not as good as Tyson. Remember how it was…
Melissa tried to keep the images out of her mind: Tyson's warm eyes, full of longing… his hands, rough and soft against her skin… his rich voice that made even the most common words sound like poetry… the way just the lightest pressure of his lips against her fingers could send her pulse sprinting in her veins…
Her heart thumped, aching.
Deliberately, Melissa dredged up a new memory to combat the rebel images. Tyson's iron fist smashing into the side of her face without warning-the black spots blossoming in front of her eyes-her hands bracing against the floor-vomit choking in her throat-raw pain shaking her whole body-
He was sorry. So sorry. He promised. Never again. Unwanted, the image of Tyson's coffee eyes swimming with tears clouded her vision.
Reflexively, Melissa's eyes sought Tyson. He was still staring. His forehead creased, his eyebrows pulled together, grief-stricken…
Melissa shuddered again.
"Are you cold? Do you want my-?" Cooper half-shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and then stopped himself, his face flushing. "You can't be cold. It's so hot in here," he said lamely as he withdrew the offer, buttoning the jacket back into place.
"I'm fine," Melissa assured him. She forced herself to look only at his sallow, boyish face.
"This place kinda sucks," Cooper said, and Melissa nodded, happy to agree with him. "We could go to my father's country club. There's an incredible restaurant, if you're in the mood for dessert. We won't have to wait for a table. As soon as I mention my name…"
Melissa's attention wandered again.
Why am I here with this little snob? asked the thought that was so strangely unfamiliar in her head, though it came in her own voice. He's a weakling. So what if he couldn't hurt a kitten? Isn't there more to love than safety? I don't feel the same need in my stomach when I look at Cooper-when I look at anyone besides Tyson… I can't lie to myself. I still want him. So much. Isn't that love, that wanting?
Melissa wished she hadn't drunk so much of that vile, burning punch. It was impossible to think clearly.
She watched as Tyson left his partner stranded and crossed the floor until he stood right in front of her-the perfect broad-shouldered football hero cliché. It was as if Cooper didn't exist there between them.
"Melissa?" he asked in his melting voice, sorrow twisting his features. "Melissa, please!" He held his hand out toward her, ignoring Cooper's wordless spluttering.
Yes yes yes yes yes chanted in her head.
A thousand memories of desire rocked through her. Her clouded mind buckled.
Hesitantly, Melissa nodded.
Tyson smiled in relief, in joy, and pulled her around Cooper and into his arms.
It was just so easy to go with him. Melissa's blood ran through her veins like fire.
"Yes!" the pale dark girl hissed, hidden in her stall, and a forked tongue of flame lit her face with red. The fire popped loud enough that someone might have noticed if the bathroom hadn't still been full of shrill voices raised in irritation.
The fire receded, and the girl took a deep breath. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then closed again. Her fists tightened until the pallid skin looked like it would split over the sharp ridges of her knuckles. Her slim figure began to tremble as if she were straining to lift a mountain. Tension and determination and expectation were a nearly visible aura around her.
Whatever difficult task she had set for herself now, it was clear that completing it was more precious to her than anything else.
"Cooper," she hissed, and fire poured from her mouth, her nose, her ears. Flames bathed her face.
Like you're nothing at all. Like you're invisible. Like you don't exist! Cooper trembled with fury, and the words in his head fed the rage, brought it to a boil.
You could make her see you. You could show Tyson who the real man is.
Automatically, his hand reached toward the heavy bulge hidden beneath his jacket at the small of his back. The shock of remembering the gun cut right through the rage, and had him blinking rapidly, like he'd just woken from a dream.
A line of goose bumps flashed down his neck. What was he doing with a gun at the prom? Was he crazy?
It was such a stupid thing, but then, what else could he do when Warren Beeds had called him on his thoughtless brag? Sure, it was true that the school's security was a joke, that anyone could sneak in anything they wanted. He'd proved that, hadn't he? But was it worth it to have a gun at his back, just to show up Warren Beeds?
He could see Melissa, her head on that stupid jock's shoulder, her eyes closed. Had she forgotten Cooper completely?
Fury bubbled again; his hand twitched toward his back.
Cooper shook his head more vigorously this time. Insanity. That wasn't why he'd brought the gun… It was just a joke, a prank.
But look at Tyson. Look at that superior, smug smile on his face! Who does he think he is? His father is no more than a glorified gardener! He's not afraid I'll do something about the fact that he stole my date. He doesn't even remember that I brought her. He wouldn't be afraid of me if he did. And Melissa doesn't remember I exist.
Cooper gritted his teeth, hotly resentful again. He imagined the superior look on Tyson's face vanishing, turning to horror and fear as he stared down a gun barrel.
Cold fear snapped Cooper back to reality.
Punch. More punch, that's what I need. It's cheap, gross stuff, but at least it's strong. A few more cups of punch, and I'll know what to do.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Cooper hurried to the refreshment table.
The dark girl in the bathroom scowled and shook her head with annoyance. She took two deep breaths and then whispered calming words to herself in a throaty purr.
"There's plenty of time. A little more alcohol clouding his mind, taking his will… patience. There's plenty still to attend to, so many other details…" She gritted her teeth and her eyelids fluttered again, for a longer moment this time.
"First Matt and Louisa, then Bryan and Clara," she told herself, as if she were working her way down a to-do list. "Ugh, and then that interfering Gabe! Why isn't he miserable yet?" She took another steadying breath. "It's time my little helper got back to work."
She pressed her fists to her temples and closed her eyes.
"Celeste," she snapped.
The voice in Celeste's head was familiar, even welcome. All of her best ideas came like this lately. Don't Matt and Louisa look cozy?