“To what?”
“Sh!” I hissed. “He’s left a message.”
“Cory,” Noc said in my ear, “I’m standing in your apartment and you’re not here. What the fuck is goin’ on? I got shit to do. I’ll be back tonight. You get this, call me.” The last was growled.
Noc was not happy.
Oh dear.
And I’d forgotten about him having a key.
“What was his message?” Tor enquired.
“He’s at the apartment. He has a key. He says he’s leaving but coming back tonight. Tonight! What do we do?”
“First, we deal with his access. How do we do that?”
“Uh… get my landlord to change the lock. But he’s lazy and returns phone calls about a millennium after you leave a message. He’ll never do it by tonight.”
“Why does he have to do it?”
“Because I don’t know how and he owns the building.”
“We can’t wait a millennium,” Tor pointed out.
“I know, Tor!” I cried.
“Calm down, sweets, how difficult is this lock changing?”
“I don’t know that either, I don’t know how to do it.”
“In this world, there are vendors who sell everything. In fact, outside of houses and places to eat, that’s practically all there is in this world. Is there a place where we can purchase what we require?”
Jeez, it sucked that Tor was the sensible and logical one, even in my world.
“Yes, the hardware store,” I informed him.
“Tell me how to get there, we’ll acquire what we need and I’ll change your lock. He won’t have access, one problem solved.”
Yep, it sucked that Tor was the sensible and logical one, even in my world.
“Turn right at the second light,” I replied.
He turned right at the second light then into the silence he called, “Cora?”
“Yes,” I answered the side window.
I felt his strong fingers give my thigh a firm squeeze and he murmured, “My love, everything will be all right.”
He couldn’t know that either.
But I didn’t tell him that.
I stayed silent and directed him to the hardware store.
Tor refused to allow me to carry the bags up to the apartment (two flights!), informing me, “Men do manual labor. Women do not unless they’re servants or common.”
I glared at him then let him do it. He wanted to lug a gazillion shopping bags and a million pounds of groceries up two flights of stairs? That was okay by me.
I turned on music and got out the toolbox my father bought me when I moved out of my parents’ house. I’d used the hammer and a couple screwdrivers but other than that, the set of tools in it were nearly new.
After Tor brought up the stuff, I handed him the toolbox, he perused it with some interest and I put all his clothes and the groceries away while he inspected the lock and then, like all things Tor, changed it without any ado.
He was testing it when I wandered to my answering machine because I saw it blinking. The numerical display said I had two messages. I stood by the box, hit the button and Noc’s (in other words, Tor’s) voice filled the room and I watched Tor still as he listened to it.
“Cory? Hope you’re feelin’ better, babe. On my way over. See you in five.”
“Is that me?” Tor asked.
“No,” I answered and his eyes went from the answering machine to me.
“No, sweets, I mean the other me,” he explained.
“Then, yes,” I replied and the next message came on.
It was my friend Selena.
“Got your message and just wanna say, don’t call back ‘cause I got your other message loud and clear. I can’t believe you have the balls to call me after you did what you did. Don’t call back, Cora, ever.”
I stood frozen to the spot, staring at my machine.
“Cora?” Tor called.
I didn’t move.
I felt his hand on my back. “Cora, who was that?”
“My…” My nose started stinging, oh shit, I was going to cry again! Damn the other Cora! “My friend, Selena.”
“Love –”
“What’d she do?” I whispered, staring at the answering machine.
“Sweets –”
I looked up at him, tears swimming in my eyes and whispered again, “What’d she do?”
Then a tear fell, then another because I could tell my parents (maybe) that I’d been in another world but I couldn’t tell my friends. They’d never believe me, they’d think I was insane or making crazy excuses for whatever the other Cora did.
And whatever Cora did, it sounded bad and I knew from experience Cora’s bad was the worst that bad could be.
Tor pulled me to the couch, sat down in it with me and gathered me in his arms. I pressed into his chest and held onto him while the tears fell silently.
“I hope I never meet her,” I whispered after awhile.
“I hope you don’t either, love, it’s rarely a pleasant experience.”
After he spoke, for some reason, I just sat there, cradled by Tor and thought about the fact that none of my other friends had bothered to call back, knowing now what that meant. Then I tried to think of how to rectify whatever happened. Then I realized I was right back where I started in Bellebryn when Tor first took me there. But this time, it wasn’t a bunch of people I didn’t know who hated me, it was a bunch of people I cared about. A lot.
I sighed into Tor’s chest.
Tor murmured, “This musician is a poet,” and I lifted my head and looked at him.
“What?” I asked.
His eyes came to my face then his hand came to my face and he used his thumb to wipe away the wetness as he answered quietly, “That song that was just coming from your box,” he tipped his head to my stereo, “the musician is a poet.”
I tilted my head to the side because I’d been so deep in thought I hadn’t heard what was playing. Then I twisted and reached for my stereo remote in the side table drawer. I used it to go back to the song before the one playing and the guitar strums of The Dave Matthews Band’s “Crash into Me” started.
I looked up at Tor who was studying the remote, he felt my eyes, his came to mine and I smiled.
“I love this song,” I told him.
His eyes dropped to my mouth then without a word he slid the remote out of my hands and tucked my face back to his chest.
Held by Prince Noctorno Hawthorne on my sofa, in my world I listened to a beautiful, sexy song.
When it was over, almost immediately the guitar strums sounded again (clearly Tor had mastered the stereo remote) and we listened yet again, the words washing over me and I heard them not for the first time but I heard their meaning for the first time – they were words full of yearning, passion, admiration and a love that sounded like worship.
And again, when it was over, the guitar strums came back but when they did this time, Tor dropped the remote on the side table, pulled me out of the couch, put his hands to my hips and slid them around so he could fit
