My Soul to Take

Her dark purple gaze dropped to his mouth. "What happened to you?" she asked, that husky voice filled with concern.

"Oh. This." Shane's grin stretched into a full-fledged smile, stopping just short of reopening his split lip. "Just a minor disagreement, that's all."

"A minor disagreement?" she repeated dubiously. Thankfully, she didn't question it further and opened the door wider to allow him entrance.

Shane stepped inside and took a minute to survey her private space. It was depressingly utilitarian. Standard white stucco walls, two beds that would pass an Army barracks inspection, two stable wooden desks. The only evidence he saw that she'd attempted to personalize the room was the full length mirror on the door and the lavender scented candles on the nightstand beside the left bed. Even her bed didn't stand out as hers, just a black comforter and a pillow.

All through his perusal, Layla watched him. He was acutely aware of her purple eyes on him and he finally turned to face her. "It's nice," he said. "Spartan but nice."

She shrugged. "I'm not materialistic, that's for sure."

"Definitely not materialistic," he agreed, doing another sweep of the room. This time, he noticed something distinctly personal. A photograph in one of those small 4x6 frames, right beside her laptop on the desk. Without waiting to ask for permission, he picked it up, studying it closer.

In the photo, Layla stood with Luke and some other guy on a sandy beach. Crashing waves were in the background, the sky pretty dismal and gray like a storm was brewing. Layla had this beatific, radiant smile on her face, her arms wound around the nameless guy's torso. Luke stood on the other side of the guy, chest bare, leaning casually against a piling, looking bored and disinterested. The guy, though he held Layla close with no reservations and had an easy grin on his face, looked vaguely uncomfortable being stuck between the two of them. It was something in his gray-blue eyes, like he was being constantly pulled between them.

Shane tamped down the uncharacteristic jealousy that flared in his chest, kind of like heartburn. "Who's this?" he asked.

"That's Ryan. He was my best friend."

Something in her voice had him looking over at her, at the sorrow that made her grape eyes darken until her pupil was nearly indistinguishable to the iris. "Was?"

"He died a few years ago," she murmured quietly. "Drowned."

Before he could even question her about that - because, God, she must have seen his shadow and known what was coming - she forced a tight smile. Taking the photo from him, she promptly changed the subject. "Mom captured Luke perfectly in this picture," she said. "This is classic Luke."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean he's always like he is right here. Disinterested." She shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, but he spends a disproportionate amount of time either hating everything or being completely apathetic. There's only been a few times he's actually smiled and let his guard down."

Sitting down on her window seat, watching her as she spoke, he realized they really didn't know all that much about each other. "What about your mom?"

"Hmm, my mom," she mused, wandering around the room while she thought before settling in the middle of her bed, legs crossed Indian-style. "She's inconsistently a mother. Before you ask, I mean that she'll be all doting and loving one minute and then turn around the next and tell us to get lost for a while because she needed space. She's spent the time since my father left searching for a suitable replacement husband, one who's much older and more loaded. Now that she's found him, she doesn't have much interest in us anymore, not that she ever had much to begin with."

"Your dad?" he questioned softly.

"He's an archeologist, believe it or not. A wife and kids was too much domestication for him; he's a free spirit. Split shortly after Luke and I turned three. We're pen pals, nothing more. I'll get post cards from him periodically, the last one coming from Egypt. He used to write to both me and Luke but when Luke kept throwing the letters to him away unopened, his letters started coming at even longer intervals before stopping altogether. Father doesn't even ask about him anymore."

She laughed quietly but it sounded pretty mirthless to Shane. "You know, I've always been saddened by the fact that Luke doesn't understand me but I realize now that I don't understand him either. He's always been so fearless, while I'm afraid of almost everything. Even when he came out to me and Mom, it was like he couldn't care less what we'd think of him, although maybe that's admirable. He just said, 'Got a C on my algebra test, got detention for cussing at the teacher and I'm gay. I'm going to the movies now.' Mom was shocked to say the least but I think I knew already so it was more a confirmation rather than a revelation for me."

Shane listened intently to everything she had to say, absorbing these tidbits about her life like a sponge. It was shocking to discover how very similar their home lives were. Absentee dad, an almost reluctant mom. The only major difference was their relationships with their siblings. Layla and Luke really didn't have much of one but Shane and Evan couldn't be closer if they tried.

He thought about his brother. Though he had watched Evan struggle with leukemia, distressed that he couldn't assist in the solitary battle against Death, he often took for granted the health Evan had reclaimed. But what had Layla said earlier? Death was lying in wait inside Evan? The cancer was in remission, and in some cases it stayed dormant for the rest of their natural lives, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. It was a sobering thought. Evan could succumb to the sickness again at any time.

'Well, color me depressing,' he thought.

"Listen to me," Layla said with a self-deprecating little laugh. "I'm going on and on about myself. What about you? Evan did all the talking earlier."

Actually, she hadn't said much about herself at all, just her family. Shane would have liked to hear about her, but he allowed her to pass the conversation baton to him.

"Um, my family's not so different, really," he admitted. "Parents are still married but they both do their own thing. Dad's the one that's been there for us the most but he's devoted to his work. He's hardly ever home. Mom is.... Well, she's an alcoholic. She's a morose drunk and stays in a depressed stupor 24/7. I remember when Evan first started getting sick, before we knew what was wrong with him, I started to notice these big bruises on him. He stopped eating and if you knew him you'd know that was abnormal 'cause the boy eats his own weight in food daily. I went to Mom because Evan kept telling me he was fine. Mom didn't do anything at first, not until Evan came down and his pants fell down around his ankles. He'd lost so much weight because he couldn't stomach anything that he was skeletal. The doc told us the cancer was so advanced he probably wouldn't have survived had we waited even a week."

He cracked his knuckles, teeth gritted. Even after three years, it still made him so fucking angry. "I blame Mom. Dad was away at the time so it was up to Mom to be doing the parenting. She didn't notice anything was wrong with him and even when I went to her with my concerns, at first she just told me I was paranoid, that I was creating problems where there were none."

The look on Layla's face was sympathetic without the slightest trace of pity. Or maybe that was empathy he saw there. Even if she hadn't gone through his particular situation, he had a feeling she'd dealt with similar ones concerning her ability.

They talked for hours, finally getting into more serious and personal territory. Shane wasn't even aware of the time passing as he told her about his dreams of playing basketball back home at ULA. She, in turn, confessed that college wasn't a top priority for her directly after high school, but later she would like to refine her art at the Pratt Institute. She showed him drawings she'd done right here at school and the attention to detail was superb. There were quite a few of him - sitting at his desk but gazing out the window in a morning daze, suspended in midair in his basketball uniform, holding onto the rim after doing a slam dunk - and he noticed her blush deepen as each depiction was revealed to him.

As the room grew dark, forcing her to switch on the bedside lamp, they found themselves both lounging on her bed. Shane was stretched out lazily on his side, propped up on his elbow, and Layla sat near his knees with her legs drawn up to her chest, chin on her knees as she faced him. She was finally comfortable enough in his presence that she brought up Ryan and told him everything about her best friend.

"He was everything I wasn't," she said softly. "Confident and popular. I was amazed when we first started hanging out but he got through my defenses and somehow got me to open up. When I saw his shadow I.... I had to go away for a while. I missed his memorial service and when I came home I was still so despondent and miserable. Mom had announced she was sending me and Luke here and the night before we left, I tasted alcohol for the first and only time. I got so drunk, lost my inhibitions that kept me so rigid and I got a tattoo. It's not something I'm proud of."

"What'd you get a tattoo of?" he asked, imagining a tramp stamp of a butterfly or rose or even Ryan's name somewhere. He should have known Layla wouldn't be so predictable.

With a blush reigniting in her cheeks, she turned her back to him, lifting her shirt up to her shoulders and deftly unhooking her bra. There, between her shoulder blades, about six inches tall, was the Grim Reaper. A black cloak concealed his body, head included, but the tattoo artist had inked two red orbs in the hooded face for its eyes. A scythe was in its left hand, but the right arm was raised, a bony finger pointing outward. It was eerie and disturbing and clearly showed how Layla thought of herself.

"As you can see, I wasn't in a healthy frame of mind after his death," she muttered, shivering as his fingers traced the figure. "Adding alcohol to the mix just exacerbated the problem."

Something came over him at that moment. Seeing the self-image she had of herself scarred forever on her back, hearing the sorrow she still felt in her voice, he just wanted to comfort her and get even closer to her. Maybe it was taking advantage of her in a vulnerable state but he didn't see it that way at the time. All he was doing was following his instincts, but most especially his heart.

Sitting up, following the path of his fingers just seconds earlier with his lips, he trailed kisses around the Grim Reaper. His hands, of their own accord, settled on her slender hips, thumbs rubbing small caresses across her smooth skin.

A gasp hitched in her throat. She turned to face him, dislodging his hold, her bra remaining unhooked but her shirt fell back into place. Her wide purple eyes searched his face for some internal question and she must have found the correct answer because her body fairly melted against him.

Winding his arms around her, he pulled her onto his lap, his raging hard-on pressing eagerly against her thigh. He felt woozy, which was understandable, as all the blood in his body had centered in his groin. It felt like they were sequestered away in their own world, in a place where time had no meaning, nothing mattered but the two of them.

One arm remaining around her tiny waist, his free hand curved around to the nape of her neck, fingers tunneling into her long, luxurious obsidian hair. Their faces inched closer and closer until finally their lips connected. It started innocently enough, like the brief kiss in the auditorium, but soon his tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart. Her tongue tentatively met his own, causing a groan to issue from his mouth. It was, above all else, a kiss of exploration, finding and settling into a gentle yet hot kiss.

"You're beautiful, Layla," he whispered when they broke the kiss to catch their breath. He was fast losing his tenuous control but it was imperative he tell her this before continuing. "You're beautiful and generous and warm. You shine so bright and pure, like the light at the end of a dark tunnel. You are not and will never be anything like the Grim Reaper."

Her eyes swan in tears for a moment and she blinked rapidly to make them disperse. Taking a deep breath, she placed her cool hands to either side of his face, eyes locked with his as she touched her lips softly to his own, initiating their second kiss of the night. His heart was beating erratically in his chest, matching the hummingbird fluttering of hers. Never before had a girl affected him so much, to such an extent that one touch to his cock would cause him to blow, but at the same time one small kiss made him feel ten feet tall, his heart on the verge of bursting with too many emotions to identify.

Just by the tentative, hesitant way she acted with him, he knew she was a virgin. He was a big guy, six foot six inches and muscular, with a dick that was in proportion to the rest of his body. Layla was barely 5'5", with narrow hips and a very diminutive stature. Always before, he'd been damn proud of the wood he brought to the bedroom, but at that moment he couldn't help but wish for smaller equipment. Damn, this had to be love if he was wishing for a tiny cock.

Hoping that if he gave her enough preparation it wouldn't cause too much discomfort, he layed her flat on the bed, stretching out alongside her. Their parallel position just made their height difference more apparent but he ignored that, bending his head to reconnect their lips. He undressed her reverently, unwrapping her like a precious gift, alternating between kissing, nibbling and caressing each section of skin he revealed. When her shirt and bra hit the floor, he molded one pert breast with his hand, lowering his mouth to the other one. Her nipples pebbled under his ministrations, her body undulating restlessly beneath him. Carefully, he removed her skinny jeans and underwear.

Kneeling beside her, he gazed down at her gloriously naked body. Though the too evident ribs and hip bones concerned him, reminding him too much of Evan when he was sick, the rest of her body was.... resplendent. A graceful, slender neck, smooth shoulders, pert, high breasts, a flat, almost concave stomach. He peppered kisses along each part his eyes devoured, finally ending up between her legs, staring at the moist, hot space every fiber of his being craved. Layla was moaning nonsensical words, her body shifting on the bed, and it only intensified as the tip of his tongue flicked her clit. At the same time, he rubbed a single finger around her opening before sinking it inside her.

He brought her to the brink of orgasm twice, tongue laving attention to her clitoris, his fingers working at her small opening. When he could slide three inside her comfortably and her thrashing and moaning reached a crescendo, he shucked off his clothes and rolled on a condom he found in his wallet, one of three - hey, he was an optimist. Blanketing her body, he kissed her, their tongues tangling. He nudged her legs wider apart, settling his hips between them, the tip of his dick seeking out her entrance. Thinking of ripping the band-aid off so it hurt less, he laced his fingers with hers and plunged deep in one forceful thrust.

Layla's body went rigid beneath him, eyes squeezed closed, her fingers crushing his in a brutal grip. He stayed still, waiting for her body to adjust. His heart had picked up the erratic beat again, blood rushing in his ears. Tunnel vision gave him a perfect view of her perspiring, strained face. As soon as the lines of distress in her forehead eased, smoothing out, he unclipped the leash he had on his hips. Drawing almost completely out, he waited a second until her eyes opened again and were locked with his, then he sank back in. Three more thrusts and Layla's hips began rising to meet him, more instinct than anything else.

His orgasm was already building but he was determined to wait for her first. It was a pride thing. Without warning, Layla's body went rigid again, for an entirely different reason, and her mouth opened wide. Quickly, he covered those luscious lips in a kiss, catching the keening cry that escaped from her very diaphragm. Her feminine walls contracted convulsively around his dick, triggering his own orgasm. He got in five more quick thrusts as he started shooting his sperm into the tip of the condom.

Both of them, with their breathing labored, lay in blissful silence for several long moments. Layla twined her arms around him, her face buried in his shoulder. She murmured something he couldn't quite catch against his skin before turning her head and laying a gentle kiss to the furiously pumping vein in his neck.

Making quick work of getting rid of the used condom, he settled on his side, drawing Layla close, protected in the circle of his arms. Nothing mattered in the moment. Not getting busted for being in her dorm after curfew, not his imminent death. It was all forgotten, unimportant.

Everything else paled in comparison to having Layla in his arms.

~*~Chapter Four~*~

The murky light of dawn filtered through her bedroom window, waking Layla from a slumberous sleep. She stretched her arms above her head, pointing her toes, deliciously achy.

She had no idea what had come over her last night. Layla had never before behaved so wantonly but Shane's imminent death had been a heavy weight of her heart and she knew she had to seize this opportunity with him before it disappeared. She really hadn't expected her first time to be that enjoyable, either. There had been numerous horror stories circulating about other girls' firsts, and they had made Layla understandably wary.

Not that Layla had ever really expected to lose her virginity at all. Her middle school years had been spent with boys keeping a distance from her until Ryan but even when she'd found that connection with him, she'd never seen them advancing past friendship. And then Shane had captured her interest, and later her heart. She'd been resigned to unrequited love and had just about convinced herself that was enough to keep her fulfilled through a spinster life. That and her future dozen cats would keep her warm at night.

Last night had surmounted and far exceeded her expectations. The pain at first had been sharp but very brief. Considering his size, that was unbelievable but so true. She spent the night cuddled against his firm chest, her bare breasts pressed to the top of his washboard abs, head on his muscular pecs. That was the first night of dreamless, restful sleep she'd gotten in years. Usually, her sleep was plagued with phantasmagoric nightmares.

Rolling to her back, she swept her arm out to find Shane but encountered only empty space. Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up in bed. No trace of him remained. His clothes were gone, there wasn't even an indentation in the mattress where he'd slept. Disappointment crashed over her, eclipsing the joy she'd been experiencing only a minute ago. She should have known she was just another notch on Shane Chambers' headboard.

Shoving her fingers through her tangled black hair, she flopped back on her bed, turning her head to check the time on the alarm clock on her nightstand. A folded sheet of notebook paper blocked the digital readout.

Frowning, she tucked the sheet around her, modesty reasserting itself even though she was alone. Plucking the folded note from the table, she unfolded it and began reading.

'Layla, I'm so sorry. I wanted you to wake up in my arms but Mason sent me a text telling me that Coach and Mrs. Fitzgerald are taking the team into town to start our conditioning early. Apparently, the gym in town is bigger and better equipped than ours, though I think it's because Coach has a meeting with a scout from ULA. I'll be back around lunchtime and after school I'll have to make up my morning classes. But after that would you possibly want to do something? Again, I'm really sorry for running out like this. Hope there's some forgiveness in my future. Shane.'