Page 47 of Grim

I think about all the final touches I was witness to, all the desperate moments of desperate souls clinging to metaphorical lifesavers, unaware that drowning is inevitable. Better simply to give in, to give over, rather than be stranded in the middle of the unforgiving sea.

“But I can.” Rue’s gentle voice breaks my melancholic meandering yet again.

“Yes, you can,” I assure her. “You still have some time left to feel the full experience of this world in every tactile, emotional, and sensory way you possibly can. And you should. I want that for you.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She shakes her head and waves her hand dismissively.

“I take it back then.” I undercut, but she ignores me.

“I can touchyou,” she says, realization dawning in her eyes.

Rue scoots herself to the edge of the couch, her hands clinging to the lip of the wooden frame.

“No, you can’t,” I insist pointlessly. I can see the wheels turning in her mind.

“Yes, I can. I’ve done it. Before you tied me up. Then you carried me. And in the portal, when I grabbed you. You were solid. To me, you felt real.”

The passion in her voice grows with each word she utters, ignorant to the fact that they cut like razor blades against my undead flesh.

“Never mind about that.”

“No, it’s important. That woman’s lips faded when they reached her husband’s forehead. I’ve thrown objectsthroughyou, Kane. ButIcan touch you. Why? How?” she says, rising from the couch and walking toward me.

An eerie sense of déjà vu plagues me as I replay our previous interaction, this maddening dance playing on a loop. I decide the only way to break the cycle is to let her in. Give her the rest of this part of the story.

“It’s another one of the side effects of your having begun the process of crossing over. I didn’t tell you before because I do not want you to do that.”

She continues her slow pursuit. “So, I can touch you.”

“Yes, you can. But are you permitted? No.”

“You can be touched again.” She marvels, completely ignoring me.

“But please don’t.”

“Have you felt physical touch since …” She leaves the sentence unfinished, and the silence hangs between us, momentarily stopping her approach.

“No,” I admit. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Centuries,” she says, her rich voice carrying a sense of awe.

“And I aim to continue the streak.”

“Why?” she asks simply.

Because I cannot be hurt again if I do not open myself up. Because the poets and romantics got it wrong. It is better to have never loved at all. Because without feeling, there is no pain, and a world without pain works pretty fucking well for me. I think all of that and say none of it. Rue fills the silence as she closes the space between us.

“Everyone deserves to be touched, Kane. Everyone deserves to feel.”

The words hit my ears with a deafening clang.

Rue inches closer as I retreat from the safety of the chair and find myself pressed against the far wall. Only, unlike last time, there’s no rope nearby to come to my rescue.

Rue presses in, her thin hips swaying rhythmically. She’s become a panther, and I am being stalked. She takes a final step and stands directly in front of me, looking up eagerly as I lean down at her. She closes her eyes, and I am pretty sure her next move will be to crane her neck and kiss me.

I am frozen. Physically incapable of movement and unsure whether I want to or not. But instead of her bringing her lips to mine, with my eyes and attention fixated firmly on her face, I feel it suddenly.

She locks her skinny fingers with my long ones, interlocking our hands at our sides, and she hums. The connection electrifies the room and burns into the center of me. Her hands are cold, but her touch is scintillating. I expect an onslaught of previous memories. I prepare my mind for a barrage of past moments, but none appear. No old nightmares surface. Just this. The power of the present radiates in this infuriatingly gorgeous creature.The confidence and brashness with which she has demanded this connection unlock something I thought I had thrown the key away to long ago.