He opened his mouth to retort, then sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I softened. “It’s not like we’ve had a lot of time. But Phillip…what's really bothering you?” I asked him. He didn't answer, only paced back and forth like a rat too big for its cage, covering the entire room in two strides, then turning around and doing it all over again. “Phillip,” I said. “Come sit down.”
He paced the room once more, then reluctantly sat down on the bed beside me. It gave a loud creak and he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. “Can you believe I slept on this every night? I don't know how I could walk the next day.”
“You were a kid,” I said. “Kids’ bodies are much more forgiving.” Truth was, his body was more than forgiving now, now that he was whatever he was, but I decided not to bring that up.
“It seems like a million years ago,” he said, looking over at the bookshelf in the corner, which was filled about 50/50 with comic books and vinyl. “God. To think I passed so much time here, just reading comics and listening to music. Practicing my bass, thinking about girls.”
“I can't believe I'm in Phillip Deville's boyhood bedroom,” I said. “I've got stars in my eyes.”
“Oh, stop,” he said, looking at me with a shy smile. “Surely the novelty has worn off now.”
“Not really,” I answered honestly.
“Even after I've gotten you in so much trouble?” he asked.
I leaned over and touched a finger to the tip of his nose. “All the trouble just makes you that much more handsome.”
He groaned.
“I can tell it's hard for you, being here,” I said softly. “I'm sure Jason understands that, too.”
He swallowed. “You don't know the half of it. It'd be hard anyway, just because, you know, the last time I was here, so were my parents and my siblings...” He trailed off. “And they're all gone, and so is Barb, and so is Kim. So many ghosts here, so many memories. I never thought I'd see this place again, and all that's hard enough, but then I find Jason here, and he's not doing good. But at the same time, it's so nice to see him, to have him around.”
I followed the direction of his gaze to a framed picture on the dresser. I recognized it from all the way across the room – a young man, with curly white-blonde hair and startling bright blue eyes. He was wearing a grungy, green plaid shirt open at the chest, revealing the key hanging from a black cord he'd always worn. He had his arm around a young Phillip, who was clad in his usual black t-shirt, but with shorter, spiked up hair. Both had on eyeliner. Both were laughing and holding cups of beer. Kim Reznik, who had no spells to bring him back, who was lost forever.
“You should talk to Jason,” I suggested. “Without judgement. You owe him that much.”
His face was solemn and pensive. It hurt my heart to see him looking so melancholy. “You're right,” he said finally. “I guess I'm just afraid of what he'll tell me. That I'll be even more angry with him, or-” he bit his lip “-worse, myself.”
“But you'll talk to him?”
“Yes,” he said, holding his fingers up in a scout's honor gesture. “I will.”
I took his hand in mine and kissed it, then tucked it into my lap. “Did you ever have a girl up here?”
He laughed and turned his head. “I'm gonna have to plead the fifth on that.”
“Damn,” I said. “I was hoping I'd be the first.”
“But I haven't had a girl up here since I was fifteen,” he admitted. “I moved out not long after that. And I can tell you, Stormy,” he pulled me close, his breath mingling with mine, “you're the only girl I've had up here that’s mattered.”
“That's not very nice to the other girls.”
He placed a lingering kiss on my lips. “I'm sure they'd say the same thing about me.”
“I doubt that. You are famous, after all.”
“Was famous. In my other life.” He kissed me again, long and slow, and pulled me close to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew his face in closer, breathing in his smell, tasting his warm, salty skin. He reached his large hands up and ran them through my hair, loosening it from the clip, letting the strands run down my shoulders. He deftly avoided the bump on my head, his fingers caressing my scalp, something nobody had ever done before. Such a simple, almost nurturing movement, but it felt so good that my skin erupted in goose-flesh. His hands were so huge, he cradled my whole head in them as he bent his mouth to mine and parted my lips with his teeth.
His kiss was long and deep and full of need. I could feel the tension melting away from him, his shoulders relaxing, as he kissed me. His hands were still in my hair. I ran my own up his chest, to his shoulders, and up his neck, resting my fingers behind his ears, feeling the exquisite bones of his jaw. He was so strong, so perfect. I found myself wondering, not for the first time, if he'd always been this other-worldly, or if it was the spell. It didn't matter – he would have been perfect to me regardless.
We broke apart, both coming up for air, and he traced his lips down my collarbone, stopping to whisper in my ear, “I want you so bad.” His voice was full of intensity, his hands rough and frenzied, running over my clothes, fumbling, urgent.
I pushed him back on the bed, resting on top of him, straddling his waist. I leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. His hands trailed up my hips and under my shirt, resting on my bare lower back, warm and electric. “I want you too.” I leaned down and kissed him again, letting my lips linger against his, teasing, gentle, until he groaned and kissed me back, hard. His hands fiddled with my pants, finally unbuttoning and unzipping and getting them down to my knees.
“What's the rush? We've got all night.” We had both forgotten all about the sauce bubbling over downstairs.