Within/Without

chapter twenty-one.

Val

My hands are shaking; even now, a quarter mile away and only getting further, they're still shaking. I'm replaying the moment over and over again in my head. The cascade of ID cards filling the space in front of me. The faces of my past blinking back at me. The sickening look on Simon's face, like the very world as we knew it was falling apart.

And oh, how it has.

The night air's chilly, but I barely notice, my heart is pumping so fast. My skin and the blood underneath it are warm, and as I hurry towards the nearest bus station—careful to stick near to streetlights—I keep trying to console myself. It's all a joke. One big, terrible joke. Isn't it?

But that look on Simon's face—of pure terror, like this was his worst nightmare, and here it was, happening right in front of him—seemed awfully real. And the birthmark. He's right; I have seen it somewhere else before. Multiple other places, actually.

This can't be real. I don't want it to be real.

I reach the bus station; thankfully, it's empty. I sit and wait for about five minutes before my nerves grow to be too much, and I can't wait, and I need to be home.

I unlock my phone and dial the only person I know will be up this late. To my relief, he picks up almost immediately. "Val?"

"Caz. Caz, oh thank God."

He sounds more apprehensive now, his words rushed. I cradle the phone to my ear, just glad to hear something familiar, something true. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to...?"

"Yes," I say. "Yes—something happened. I...I can't tell you exactly what, I don't think. But just—"

I exhale, swiping away at tears I didn't even notice had fallen.

"Caz, can you come get me?"

He's here in ten minutes, his sedan rolling towards the curb, window down. Though the night renders most of his face in shadow, I can still see the worry written all over it, the frown at his mouth, the slight furrow to his brow.

I climb into the passenger seat; it smells like fresh leather and cologne. His eyes are on me; that much I can tell. He's expecting something. An explanation, maybe. But I don't exactly have one. I'm a shapeshifter, Val. That's not an explanation. It's a joke. That's what it is.

"Val?"

"I don't want to talk, Caz. Can you just take me home?"

He hesitates, but puts the key in the ignition, and turns it. The car's engine roars to a start, and I lean my head against the window, trying to forget Simon's lips on my lips and his hands in my hair and his fingers between my fingers. I was weightless with him, and now—now I just feel sick. How many firsts, I wonder, have not been firsts at all?

"A bad Tinder date?" asks Caz, pulling into the street again. I don't realize until that moment that he's still in his pajamas, his hair askew at one side. He dropped everything to come here, which both concerns and delights me.

I scoff. "As if I'd have a Tinder account."

He shrugs. "It wouldn't be the worst thing on the planet."

"It'd be close enough."

The car fills with an eerie silence once again; well, a near-silence. Beneath us is still the whir and hum of tires against asphalt.

Caz stops at a stoplight, which casts a muted red hue against one side of his face as he turns to look at me. His eyes are wide, brown, bottomless. They beg me to tell him something I can't. "Look. I know you said you don't want to talk. But I'm worried, Val. I know you'd never ask for me unless something was really wrong, so can you just talk to me, please? Tell me what's going on. I'm not asking you this as your editor, but as...as your friend."

I know that I can't tell him, but truthfully, I don't know why. What has Simon done to deserve my protection? What has he done at all, really, except manipulate me, lie to me?

The hue across Caz's face shifts to green, and he waits a moment, like he's waiting for me to spill it, right then and there.

When I don't, he grunts and hits the gas.

I ask, "Do you believe in the occult?"

Though his eyes are on the road, I see Caz blink. His pupils are glassy in the dark. "The occult?"

"All the strange things. All the unexplainable things. Phenomena. Fanciful creatures," I say, feeling like an idiot, even as I do. "Do you think all that stuff could be real?"

Soon enough we've turned down my street; sooner, even, than I would have thought. Caz parks the car in front of my red-brick townhouse; all the lights are off, meaning Jo and Charlie are probably fast asleep. I exhale a little. If there's anyone in this whole world I need to talk to right now, it's my sister, and she's not even awake.

"I don't know, Val," Caz says to me, killing the engine. His seatbelt zips back to the seat as he unbuckles it. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think it could—or maybe I want it to—be real. Other times we have to wake up, though, and pay attention to everything we already know exists, you know?"

"Yeah," I say, reaching for the door. "Yeah. Maybe."

I turn away from him, but his hand catches my own: "Val."

When I turn back he's closer, much closer, his lips one brief decision away. I war with myself, suddenly. It would be so easy to kiss him and forget about anything else that happened this night. It would be so easy to drown the thought of Simon away, using Caz's lips as my weapon. It would be so easy to forget.

But I can't forget. I look at Caz and I see Simon. His fiercely red hair and the freckles across his nose and that shy little smile of his, like he's so happy that he's trying to savor the rest for later. Caz touches me, and I feel Simon. Simon wrapping his hands around my waist, Simon tipping my chin up towards him, Simon whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

So I pull back.

I open the door, edging backwards into the night, as Caz watches with alarm.

"Val?" He asks, the frown returning to his face. "Did I do something wrong? Should I—"

"I'm sorry, Caz," I tell him, shaking my head—more at myself than at him. "I want to, but I can't."

I shut the car door, and I go inside.