Read Online One Kiss: An Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy (Transmissions from The International Council for the Exploration of the Universe., #1) by Emily Kimelman, E.J Kimelman - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Kimelman, E.J Kimelman
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the pieces together for some time."
"When did you figure it out?"
She smiled. "Don't you want to hear what happened next? Don't you want to hear the story in order?"
"Yes, I'm sorry."
<<<<>>>>
CHAPTER EIGHT
O ver coffee the next morning Michael announced he was putting the whole thing behind him and concentrating on "the music". I'd pulled on my jeans but was still wearing Emmanuel's shirt. I didn't want to take it off; the soft cotton, the bigness of it, how it hid me underneath—Emmanuel's shirt made me feel safe. I nodded along with Michael. He agreed we must have been dosed with something. He turned his wrist a couple of times. "Doesn't hurt at all," he said.
"I don't feel hung over," I said. And it was true. That humming was still there, if not as strong; definitely it had begun to wear off. Yet I couldn't help but watch Michael's lips while he talked, and I caught him staring at my ponytail more than once, his eyes hooded and pupils dilated.
Emmanuel offered me a ride home and I accepted. He drove a pickup truck with rust along its fenders and a rattle to its ride. My bike was bungee-corded into the back. When we got to my place Emmanuel carried it up the stairs for me. I thanked him and told him he could go but he insisted on driving me to the hospital. I let him wait in my living room with a cold glass of water.
When I closed myself in my room I locked the door, sliding the small deadbolt into place. But then I slid it back, deciding that I could trust Emmanuel. Something in my gut told me I could. My fingers lingered on the bolt for a moment before I turned away.
I showered and put on sweatpants and one of my own T-shirts. When I came out Emmanuel stood. "Here," I said, holding out his T-shirt. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."
"Of course," he said, taking the soft cotton shirt from me. We didn't touch in the transaction.
We drove in silence across town to the hospital. I knew the route so well that I could have walked it in my sleep. Emmanuel stopped in front of the main entrance and put the old truck into park. "I'll meet you up there," he said.
"That's crazy," I said. "I'll be fine."
"I don't think they like people to leave alone after this kind of thing."
"I don't suffer from a lot of the side effects."
He looked over at me and bit down on his lip, his eyes boring into mine. Then he broke away; turning forward, he nodded. "Sure," he said. "I'll see you at band practice tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I said, my lips dry, throat aching.
I opened the door, and he turned and grabbed my hand. That buffer of electricity was there but felt more like pins and needles than a live wire. I wondered how long it would take for the drugs to totally leave my system. It occurred to me I should tell Dr. Tor about it. "Darling," Emmanuel said.
"Yeah?"
"Call me if you need anything."
"Okay," I said, pulling away from him. The door creaked when I slammed it shut. As I went around in the revolving door, Emmanuel's eyes found mine for just a moment before I entered the hospital lobby.
****
D r. Issa Tor and a representative from "Be the Difference" waited for me in an office. They stood up when I came in and smiled at me like I was some kind of hero. "Thank you so much for doing this again," Dr. Tor said.
The representative, a man in his early fifties with gray hair, a friendly smile, and the pallor of a person who spent too much time under florescent lights, held his hand out to me. "I'm Jimmy Gandolf," he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you."
I reached out to shake his hand but there was a snap of static electricity and we both pulled back. And then we laughed. "Sorry about that," I said, looking down at my hand. It looked fine. Normal. Pulsing? I breathed in, smelling the current in the air. Issa looked at me, his thick expressive brows bunched together. Jimmy Gandolf shook his head. "Sorry about that," he said.
I smiled. "No problem, I mean, I'm sorry. I, um..." I looked at the small conference table and the
"When did you figure it out?"
She smiled. "Don't you want to hear what happened next? Don't you want to hear the story in order?"
"Yes, I'm sorry."
<<<<>>>>
CHAPTER EIGHT
O ver coffee the next morning Michael announced he was putting the whole thing behind him and concentrating on "the music". I'd pulled on my jeans but was still wearing Emmanuel's shirt. I didn't want to take it off; the soft cotton, the bigness of it, how it hid me underneath—Emmanuel's shirt made me feel safe. I nodded along with Michael. He agreed we must have been dosed with something. He turned his wrist a couple of times. "Doesn't hurt at all," he said.
"I don't feel hung over," I said. And it was true. That humming was still there, if not as strong; definitely it had begun to wear off. Yet I couldn't help but watch Michael's lips while he talked, and I caught him staring at my ponytail more than once, his eyes hooded and pupils dilated.
Emmanuel offered me a ride home and I accepted. He drove a pickup truck with rust along its fenders and a rattle to its ride. My bike was bungee-corded into the back. When we got to my place Emmanuel carried it up the stairs for me. I thanked him and told him he could go but he insisted on driving me to the hospital. I let him wait in my living room with a cold glass of water.
When I closed myself in my room I locked the door, sliding the small deadbolt into place. But then I slid it back, deciding that I could trust Emmanuel. Something in my gut told me I could. My fingers lingered on the bolt for a moment before I turned away.
I showered and put on sweatpants and one of my own T-shirts. When I came out Emmanuel stood. "Here," I said, holding out his T-shirt. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."
"Of course," he said, taking the soft cotton shirt from me. We didn't touch in the transaction.
We drove in silence across town to the hospital. I knew the route so well that I could have walked it in my sleep. Emmanuel stopped in front of the main entrance and put the old truck into park. "I'll meet you up there," he said.
"That's crazy," I said. "I'll be fine."
"I don't think they like people to leave alone after this kind of thing."
"I don't suffer from a lot of the side effects."
He looked over at me and bit down on his lip, his eyes boring into mine. Then he broke away; turning forward, he nodded. "Sure," he said. "I'll see you at band practice tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I said, my lips dry, throat aching.
I opened the door, and he turned and grabbed my hand. That buffer of electricity was there but felt more like pins and needles than a live wire. I wondered how long it would take for the drugs to totally leave my system. It occurred to me I should tell Dr. Tor about it. "Darling," Emmanuel said.
"Yeah?"
"Call me if you need anything."
"Okay," I said, pulling away from him. The door creaked when I slammed it shut. As I went around in the revolving door, Emmanuel's eyes found mine for just a moment before I entered the hospital lobby.
****
D r. Issa Tor and a representative from "Be the Difference" waited for me in an office. They stood up when I came in and smiled at me like I was some kind of hero. "Thank you so much for doing this again," Dr. Tor said.
The representative, a man in his early fifties with gray hair, a friendly smile, and the pallor of a person who spent too much time under florescent lights, held his hand out to me. "I'm Jimmy Gandolf," he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you."
I reached out to shake his hand but there was a snap of static electricity and we both pulled back. And then we laughed. "Sorry about that," I said, looking down at my hand. It looked fine. Normal. Pulsing? I breathed in, smelling the current in the air. Issa looked at me, his thick expressive brows bunched together. Jimmy Gandolf shook his head. "Sorry about that," he said.
I smiled. "No problem, I mean, I'm sorry. I, um..." I looked at the small conference table and the
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