True Intentions Page 6
He must hear me approach because he turns and then makes a weird gesture—
offering me his left hand. He wants me to join him on my Jeep's hood.
Is he kidding me?
I shake my head and lean against the Suburban, crossing my arms. I say nothing.
His lips form into a hard line, yet his eyes look wickedly amused at my unwillingness to sit with him. He jumps off the hood in one long stride, and leans against my driver's side fender, so we're facing one another.
"I acted rude earlier, so I want to apologize," he offers as his explanation.
He stares at me, seeming to be waiting for me to say something.
I honestly don't know what to say to his apology.
The longer the silence lingers, the guiltier I feel about holding a grudge.
"Well," he continues, pausing briefly. "I shouldn't have been rude, so I guess I'm apologizing. You're not really making this easy, and this is all . . . your fault."
I sense a little sarcasm in his tone, but I'm too irritated to care.
I shoot my eyes upward, and squint in disapproval.
Jerk.
" I am not making this easy?" I ask. "This is my fault, huh? How would you suggest I make things easier for you? Move back to Chicago, so you don't have to run around saving me?" I icily blurt out without thinking.
Why can't I just shut up for one stinking minute?
Words have always shot out of my mouth before my brain has a moment to catch up. I think that's a trait Aiden despised. Whenever we'd have a fight, I'd say something I'd regret later.
Sam narrows his eyes.
"Look, you can just go on hating me for being an ass earlier," he says.
"Or," he pauses again, and then a flirtatious smirk washes over his face. "We can start over?"
"Start over, huh?" I question, my voice guarded.
That's an interesting concept.
"So, then . . . . You're going to tell me why you wanted to stop me running this morning?" I ask, interested in what the definition of starting over means to him.
"Definitely not." He shrugs while maintaining his playful smirk.
Here we go again.
"Then, no deal," I sneer, pulling out my car keys from the front pocket of my backpack.
I pause briefly, then add bitterly, "Do me a favor and save someone else next time."
Arrogant Jerk!
"Is that what you want? Would you prefer I sat back and let whatever horrible things . . . happen without making an effort to prevent it?" he yells. He's obviously appalled at my last remark. I hit a nerve with that last comment— maybe even an artery.
His eyes are staring at me with such intensity.
And for some strange reason, I don't want to look away.
"I know you didn't want me to see what you and your friends were doing."
By the look in his eyes, I can tell I have his attention, but not in the way I'd hoped.
"And what exactly do you think we were doing?" he asks, his voice sounding wickedly amused by my accusations. Not denying them, but definitely interested.
"I don't know, maybe raping someone," I blurt out. The words come out in a weak, soft, whiny voice, not the assertive voice I'm striving for.
He busts into laughter and leans over as if in pain. "You are sincerely the most utterly absurd girl I have ever met!"
I sink back, leaning into the Suburban. I feel like I'm playing cards and just flipped over what I thought to be a pair of Aces only to find out I'm holding a pair of twos instead.
Maybe he's right . . . .
Any girl would give it up to him more than willingly.
I'm sure many already have.
I can't think of a comeback. I'm humiliated for suggesting such an idea.
His smile turns into a clear warning.
"Don't ever doubt that if I wanted to rape anyone, including you, there would nothing you could do to stop me. So, you might just want to start avoiding me."
His command sends a rebellious twinge through me. I can't help but be a smartass.
"Or I can just purchase some mace," I challenge, fully aware if I ever get put in the predicament of Samuel Perry trying to have sex with me, I may not try to stop him.
There I go again. I need therapy or at least some sort of rehab from this male drug.
"Go for it," he says in a mocking tone. I watch him as he pushes a thick lock of his hair out of his eyes, and then, as I blink, he's suddenly gone.
Had I just dreamt the entire conversation?
I'm more frustrated with him now than earlier today in class. I want to . . . . Crap.
I can't even think of what I want to do. A moment ago, part of me wanted to kiss him, to feel what his perfect lips taste like. The other part of me wanted to hit him for being so rude. I hate how he makes me lose control. It's like he is a figment of my imagination, something too perfect to be real. Well, let's say externally perfect. His personality obviously lacks a filter. His mysterious behavior is the most frustrating thing in this world.
Why did he stop me this morning? If his intention wasn't to stop me from seeing him do something illegal, then what exactly was he protecting me from?
That leads me to my biggest question.
How could he know I'd be in danger in the first place?
My instincts tell me there is a lot more to this morning. Maybe more than I want to know.
I hate him, and yet I am completely mesmerized at the same time.
What's wrong with me?
I know for certain: Sam Perry will not win this war, if that is what this is turning into.
I will get him to answer my questions, one way or another.
Chapter Eight – Seeking Answers
The rest of the week sucks.
Sam avoids me like I'm carrying some deadly disease. Each day he sits in a different seat toward the front of English class and then takes off as soon the bell rings, never giving me a moment to confront him.
It's unbelievably frustrating!
I never run into him outside class, never in the hallways, never at lunch, and never in the student parking lot. If he does occasionally make eye contact with me, he instantly looks away. His avoidance seems to add even more fuel to my obsession. It keeps me intrigued yet aggravated at the same time.
All I actually want is to talk to him. I keep reminding myself, there has to be another way.
On my way to the cafeteria, an idea comes to me.
* * * * *
"Sara, I need a favor." I beg her at lunch, my eyes pleading.
"What?"
Here goes nothing.
"I need you to find out what class Sam Perry has sixth hour." I whisper in her ear, using the same pleading voice.
"Why?" Her tone is wary.
What should I tell her?
I can't tell her about what happened when I was jogging last Tuesday. But I have to tell her something so she'll be willing to help.
"He forgot one of his books in English, and we have a big assignment due tomorrow. I don't know how to get it to him," I lie, instantly feeling guilty.
Unfortunately, I'm willing to do just about anything at this point, being so obsessively determined to see this stupid plan through.
She cracks a mischievous smile. "I'll look into it after we eat."
"Thanks Sara!" I give her a huge bear hug.
"Wow, all that to give him his English book, huh?" she asks. Her words come out more as a grunt.
I soften my grip and look at her. I want to confess and tell her I'm dying to talk to him. But I can't, it's too complicated.
Our eyes meet, and she winks. It's obvious I'm lying in order to get her help, yet it doesn't matter .
God, how I love Sara . . . .
* * * * *
I wait impatiently outside room 33D for the final bell to ring. Luckily, Sara also snuck me a pass to get out of my class a few minutes early, so I would be outside Sam's sixth hour class. My legs shake as I wait for the darn bell.
Is that even possible?
I hate feeling infatuated whenever his face enters my mind—, which is probably an average of twenty-three hours a day.
That's probably how every girl feels around him, I remind myself constantly to give my obsessive behavior an ounce of justification.
Could any girl not obsess over him?
He is pretty unforgettable. Once a girl meets him, he'll stay etched in her mind forever. I'm constantly taken aback by him, especially by his unpredictability. There is something different about him I can't put my finger on. Not just because he is so physically beautiful . . . . It's something else.
The bell finally rings, and the small knot in my stomach rapidly triples in size.
The door flies open, and students start rushing out of the classroom practically running each other over in a frenzy to get out of this penitentiary. When Sam steps out though the doorway, I quickly jump into place by his side.
"Can we talk?" I ask, trying to sound cheerful, upbeat, and pleasant. My sudden presence must shock him. He just stares with his mouth open, and his eyes glazed over.
He has that "deer in headlights look," and he's unable to speak.
"Why?" he finally manages to spit out.
Breathe, I tell myself.
You can do this.
"Because I want to talk to you for one minute, then I promise from the bottom of my heart to avoid you for the rest of eternity," I insist, praying it won't ever come to that.
He grins.
"Follow me," he says with a playful smile, and he leads me down another hall and out some side doors. Although I'm nervous, I'm also happy to get an opportunity to talk to him, finally. I need to get some things off my chest and hopefully get over my drug addiction.
He takes me to an unfamiliar area. We must be in the teachers' area outside the school. There are a few picnic tables set up with a great view of the forest, and only a small field of cut grass separates the school from the tree line.
The area is perfect—totally secluded.
He steps up onto the bench of the rectangular table and turns to face me. He sits down on the table, pulls out a ripe, Granny Smith apple from his tattered, navy backpack, and immediately takes a small bite.
"I'm all ears," he offers, chewing on the piece of apple.
Why am I so nervous?
I know I can't just sit and drool over him; I have to say something.
"Okay, I screwed up," I throw out.
He looks up and makes eye contact. I pause, unsure of what my next line should be. Although I'm not sure how long I'm stalling, I sense he's growing impatient.
Think of something. I tell myself.
I'm starting to panic.
"I never told you thank you," I continue my unplanned speech. If truth be told, I'm absolutely clueless how to get the answers to all my questions.
"It wasn't because I'm ungrateful, but because I don't know what to thank you for," I openly confess.
The uncertainty in his expression gives me no insight on what he might be thinking, so I continue my babbling.
"That is why I called you a rapist the other day. See, after you sent me away, I read in the paper about another girl. She was attacked in the woods by the dog bakery the morning before you stopped me."
I want to make sure he doesn't think I am totally crazy for accusing him of assault.
"So, I thought maybe you were involved somehow, like maybe you were the lookout or something." I'm practically stuttering at this point, my voice weak. The worst part is I'm unable to look at him; instead, I'm keeping my eyes on the ground and kicking dirt with my tennis shoes.
Sam appears amused. He grins arrogantly while taking bites of his apple. I had expected him to jump in with a comment or two by now. But, so far, nothing. I wait, but silence lingers in the air. He doesn't say a stinking word. The longer he stays quiet, the more my tension increases.
Why isn't he responding?
I can't go on without knowing his thoughts.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" I snap, realizing I sound desperate.
I start hyperventilating.
This is not going well . . . . Why do I panic when I'm around this guy?
Instead of getting angry and starting another battle, he laughs. "What do you want me to say, Ava?"
He does know who I am.
That at least gives me a slight self-esteem boost.
I shrug.
Okay, saying I love you, Ava would be awesome, but I'm dreaming.
"Would you like me to agree with you and confess I am a rapist or a lookout?
Would that get you to finally drop this issue?"
"No."
I know for certain, I don't want to hear those words.
"It would make me wonder why you didn't attack me."
I hear the sadness in my voice.
Am I crazy?
Talk about sounding like I have low self-esteem.
I practically just begged to be assaulted.
Why can't I think coherently—just once!
He stares at me for a moment, probably waiting for me to run away. Then he pulls his arm back and throws what remains of his apple over me and straight into the woods. The apple core glides through the air for an extended distance, although it doesn't appear he put much effort into his throw. He looks back at me for another moment, as though he is studying me with a greater depth than I fully understand.
"Did I mention I think you are the most utterly absurd girl I have ever met?" he reminds me, and rightfully so.
I nod. And although my mind tells me to look away, I resist and look into his beautifully wild, teal blue eyes.
I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and my head is about ready to explode from the adrenaline.
I take a couple steps toward him. Before I can reassess my intentions, I lean forward and touch his perfect, soft lips to mine. The sensation of our lips together is incredible. He immediately tenses up, and I instinctively pull away, but then he abruptly cups my face with both of his hands and pulls our lips closer together as if he wants more. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, and I taste his sweet, apple-laced breath. Before I have the opportunity to register the fact I am actually kissing Sam Perry, he jerks back, separating our lips. He shoots me a bizarre look—one of anger mixed with repugnance.
"What the hell are you doing, Ava?" he demands, jumping off the picnic table and increasing the distance between us.
He paces around while grabbing the light brown hair at the base of his scalp.
"I don't know, exactly," is all I can conjure up as a response.
I'm being completely honest. I don't know.
I don't know why I feel the way I do when I'm around him, why I want to constantly stay around him, and especially why I just kissed him when I've never kissed a boy in my entire life.
Nothing makes sense to me anymore.
If I had any idea what was happening to me, I'd try to stop . . . . I think.
"You don't realize what I am!"
"It doesn't matter," I answer back honestly. I don't care if he has a police record, or cheats, or skips school. It really doesn't matter to me anymore. So what if I'm attracted to the bad boy of the school.
My butterflies are fluttering like mad.
Then, I suddenly stop thinking about all the things he may have done.
What did he mean by " what" I am?
Is he just a bad boy or something much, much worse? Maybe he really is a rapist.
"It does matter, Ava! I could have destroyed you the other day. I should have destroyed you. Why do you keep making me realize I made a huge mistake?" His eyes look scornful as he says these painful words.
That comment—him feeling as though my being alive is a mistake—makes me feel so low—lower than I have ever felt before. I try to hold back the tears, but it is no use. I feel them pour out of my eyes. I grab my backpack from the ground and tur
n away from him, heading back through the same side door of the school we exited from.
I can't stand the thought of being around him for another second.
I can't remove the wounds he's just inflicted on my self-worth. They will probably remain for a very long time, maybe even forever.
At this point, it doesn't matter why he stopped me from going any farther. I don't care.
Chapter Nine – Angel of Light
As he watches her walk away, Sam knows he has deeply hurt her. It's obvious.
She'll just have to get over it, he reminds himself.
Will this mistake haunt him forever? How could he have been so stupid? As he thinks back to that Tuesday morning, his fury grows . . . .
Ava's suspicion toward his mysterious behavior is right on the mark. Sam Perry is indeed mysterious to say the very least . He has to be. Mankind lives in a physical, tangible, material world influenced by the invisible and mysterious spiritual world around them. That's where Sam Perry comes in: to influence mankind. That's what he has focused his efforts toward becoming good at since his birth into this new world in 1798.
His job is simple: to invisibly tempt. Not only the members of mankind who have poor or weak morals, but to influence everyone, which includes people who view themselves as righteous followers of God.
It never ceases to amaze Sam; the vast majority of people in this world have lost sight of the real connection between cause and effect. They seldom stop to think of the long-term consequences of their daily, sinful actions.
If Ava met the devil face to face, she would never believe it was him. Satan has always been depicted as a cartoon character in a red suit with a pitchfork or a ghoul so hideous that if she saw him, her instincts would kick in, and she would instantly know to run.
None of these characteristics are the truth.
In reality, she would find him attractive, engaging, and persuasive. Although Satan is the Prince of Darkness, he successfully presents himself as an "angel of light." A master of misrepresentation, he is the world's greatest advertiser packaging his product so it's attractive and appealing. In reality, it's deathly poisonous. That's where Sam comes in. He is the product.
He is the product the devil is selling to mankind. Samuel Perry is, in fact, one of Satan's angels.
Satan needs mankind to see his angel soldiers as good, beneficent, and trustworthy. He wants his products' abilities to appear enticing and inviting. Their ultimate goal: influence mankind toward sin and the rejection of God. The human race is completely unaware of how well Satan has been training his angels for this role.