It's also safe to say I'm terrified.

                    Veah and I are sitting on a bench, the sound of a waterfall rushing behind us. Okami is gone, but we are silent now. Light trickles through the foliage, and though I breathe in the scent of lavender and honeysuckle . . . it feels poisonous now.

                    Watching Veah kill people was different. She might have been thrilled by the danger, but she didn't kill like that. With an axe, cleaving through the air, over and over.

                    That was . . . that was brutal. 

                    And I can still see the corpse in the corner of my eye.

                    My stomach lurches.

                    "One second," I say, before I throw up in the Garden of Eden.

                    I can still see that ravaged flesh, the drip of black blood. I can still see the way his eyes opened, his head at an unnatural language.

                     She kept going―even after he was dead.

                      And she smiled afterwards. She smiled like the only concern she had was that purple clashed with blood.

                       I can't do this.

                       I can't do this. 

                       I thought I could ignore the fact that the girl I'm falling for is a boss for the Japanese Mafia. But this is her life―this is who she works for, who has power over her. 

                       She is a criminal and this―this is why I like rules.

                       My breath comes heavier now. I grip the bench with one white-knuckled hand. The overwhelming feeling of it all rises up around me.

                       "Hey. Hey." 

                       "No," I say, shaking my head feverishly. "No, don't―don't touch me."

                       Don't touch me.

                       Her hand, just above mine―as though she might have reached for it―stills. Drawing back. And is that . . . no, it can't be. Hurt that flashes over her face.

                        I look away. Does that make me a coward?

                        "Breathe," Veah whispers. "Breathe, Kaya. Focus on me."

                        The sound of her voice is a tether, and I . . . I breathe. 

                         "Well, isn't this just heartbreaking," murmurs Okami's soft voice from behind. "And here I was, wondering why my favourite assassin was keeping you a secret."

                        "Leave her alone," Veah growls.

                        "Chimei-tekina megumi,"  Okami rasps. "You seem a little off edge. Could it because we've been apart for so long?"

                         Chimei-tekina megumi. Hunter called Veah that, too.

                         It meant Fatal Grace. 

                         "It's got nothing to do with that," Veah snarls. 

                         Okami only laughs. "Kaya Rivers," she murmurs. "You know, I think your little girlfriend has a secret you should know about."

                         Veah takes a dangerous step forward.

                         But I just saw this woman murder someone in cold blood, and I am not giving her the chance to hurt my girlfriend next.

                          My . . . wait, what now?

                          "Why don't I let Heaven tell you exactly what her secret is?" Okami says. "Because surely you must be wondering why it is she brought you to me."

                          "Because . . ." Because she told me it was too dangerous to ignore you. 

                           That doesn't feel like the right answer anymore.

                           Okami pulls out a small plastic bag filled with white powder, and she tosses it to Veah's feet. Isn't that . . . 

                            "There," Okami purrs. "The real reason."

                             It is a bag of crystal meth, and Veah picks it up with trembling hands.

                             "No," I say, because everything else empties out of my head. No.

                             "Oh, yes, indeed," Okami whispers. "I keep my gang members very loyal to me―you might even say dependent." 

                              "You drug them?" I say.

                              "No, of course not. That would defeat the purpose. I just give them a little bit every day. A little bit of stimulation, a little bit of addiction. It keeps them faithful, you see."

                               It dawns on me. "So they come back?"

                               Okami's smile is a knife's edge. "Yes, and they come crawling."

                                Veah's head is bowed. She is still looking at the plastic bag. Her hands are shaking.

                                 Project Basilisk. The Wyvern. 

                                 Maybe I underestimated how involved she was. How far deep she was drowning. And what was that saying, about the Mafia? Once you get in, you never get out.

                                "You brought me back because you're an addict?"  I hiss to Veah. 

                               Even as her fingertips tremble, I don't really believe it.

                               Because if it were true, while we were together, she would have been going through withdrawal. These past few weeks, she should have been jittering. Sweating. Feverish. 

                              She wasn't.

                              Which makes me think―which makes me think―

                              She's lying. Right to Okami's face.

                              I don't know why, but I trust her. So I say, "How could you?"

                             "Oh, now, now," Okami says softly. "I wouldn't want you to have a lovers' spat."

                             "You brought me back here because you wanted a fix?" I shout.

                              Veah doesn't even look up. Her eyes are hungry now.

                              I need to act the part. I need to be betrayed. This is a dangerous game Veah is playing, but I trust her. I trust her. 

                              "A little quarrel," Okami says, and her eyes shine. "But I have just the remedy."

                              I notice she is wearing a different kimono now. Sea-green.

                              "What remedy?" I say, coaxing tears to my eyes. "Because nothing you can say will fix this." 

                              "I've arranged for you and Heaven to stay in one of my personal bathhouses." Okami's red lips are full, honed into a smile. "It's yours for the night, and no one will interrupt you."

                              "A bathhouse?" I say in disbelief.

                              "And a room," Okami says, just a breath. "I want you to rest for the night, because tomorrow . . . tomorrow, I have something planned for you, Heaven."

                              The Wolf's eyes linger on me.

                              And her words are barely a whisper over the stream of the river and the song of the birds. Dark and lilting. Taunting. 

                             "Oh, don't worry, Kaya. I have something special planned for you."

                              "Kaya, I can explain," Veah says, as soon as she has finished combing through every inch of the bathhouse for spies and listening ears.

                             But I can't pay attention to her. Not when there is lotus-scented steam twirling through the air, and an enormous glowing pool that spans the entire floor. The ceiling reaches high above us, supported by magnificent Roman columns, and this entire place . . . cast in the light of turquoise and dancing shadow, it is gorgeous.

                              My mouth is probably open right now.

                             "Kaya," Veah repeats. "I promise, I can―"

                             "I'm not mad."

                             "You're . . . not?"

                             "No," I say, still mesmerized by the glow of the water, frothing at the edge of the white marble floor. "I know it was a lie."

                            Her eyes widen. In the turquoise light, her eyes are almost green, and her hair is a deep blue. She looks mystical―she looks like a goddess.

                            "I figured it out," I whisper. "You didn't go through withdrawal while we were together."

                            "I could have found my fix somewhere else."

                            "You didn't leave my sight, not once."

                            "But . . ." She shakes her head. "How? How could you―"

                            The answer is simple. "I trust you."

                            Her eyes search mine, like she is looking for doubt, for confusion, for hesitation. And she finds none. Because I have trusted her since the moment she took a bullet for me in my kitchen. Even if I denied it, even if I tried to run away . . . 

                             "So . . ." I say, trying to catch my breath from the heat of her stare. "This plan of yours. It must be good, if it involves lying to the Wolf."

                            A grin. "Oh, it's good alright."

                            Sudden worry strikes me. "You know, that was a risk earlier. What if she hadn't believed that show you put on? And what if she had forced you to put that stuff in your body? You'd be high right now."

                            "What can I say?" A half-smile. "I was convincing."

                            "I hate you," I moan. "Seriously."

                            Veah takes out the plastic bag from her pocket, slitting it open with a knife. Emptying it.

                            "Please tell me you didn't just put meth in the water."

                            She raises an eyebrow. "Worried it will lower your inhibitions?"

                            Well, the meth will dissolve and its distribution throughout a pool that is half the size of a football will be next to nonexistent. So, no, I am not worried about lowering my inhibitions, but I'm sure there is a rule about dumping a plastic bag full of drugs into a bathhouse. 

                            I open my mouth to tell her just that, but―

                           Something―maybe it is the way she is looking at me, or maybe it is the intoxicating scent of steam―stops me.

                           Maybe rules aren't really my priority right now.

                           I ask, "Does your plan include staying here tonight?"

                           Her smirk is ridiculously attractive. "It actually does."

                           Warmth rises in my cheeks. "Then you won't mind, will you?"

                           "Mind what?"

                           I am already pulling off my shirt, tossing it behind me. It only takes a moment longer to let my pants puddle on the floor, until I am in nothing but my bra and panties. 

                          Simple black, but from the way she is looking at me, I might as well be dressed in the rarest silk.

                           Or nothing at all.

                           The idea burns through me, and I know a blush must be pinkening my skin. Steam clouds between us like a veil, and I use it to my advantage as I take my first step into the pool.

                           The water is warm, and it is bliss against my tender skin.

                           How many injuries have I gotten in the past week alone? Probably more than in my entire life.

                           Each step into the water makes me moan. The gentle ripples lap at my skin, kissing my thighs, my ribs, until I am shoulder-deep and the edges of my hair swirl over the surface.

                          "Are you coming or not?" My voice echoes. Bold. Daring.

                          For once, it doesn't feel like I'm pretending.

                          And I realize it is because she makes me feel like that. She makes me feel beautiful.

                          When I look back, Veah's eyes are black with desire. 

                         The steam laces through the air, and even from a distance, anticipation unfurls within me.

                          I think I'm ready to jump her bones.

                          Her eyes still on me, Veah removes her jacket. Her shirt. Her pants. My eyes slide lower, to the valley between her breasts, to the taut edges of her stomach.

                          My mouth becomes dry.

                          And with each of her lithe, graceful strides into the water, something in my stomach coils. Electricity, twisting and writhing. 

                          Oh, you've got it bad, my conscience whispers.

                          With every step, the waves slip over her, glossing her skin. Her hair darkens in colour, clinging to the sharp curves of her face as she submerges herself shoulder-deep.

                          Face to face now, she is so close I could touch her if I dared.

                         The water is glowing around us, casting her face in turquoise shadow. Carving her features in dark curves and beautiful edges.

                         "What's this?" she whispers, as she traces one fingertip against the scar on my collarbone.

                         "A homeless woman from the shelter. She wanted the coat I had."

                         Her eyes darken, as though she might rip out the spine of anyone who has tried to hurt me. "And this?"

                         A little nick on my chest.

                        "Walked right into a bookshelf." I laugh softly. "It was at the public library. I didn't show my face there for months."

                        "How about this?" Her words are a breath.

                        I frown at where she is pointing, a healed cut on my arm. It looks a couple weeks old. "I don't know. I don't remember."

                        A couple weeks ago, we were at the Halloween party.

                       Veah said she wasn't the one who handcuffed me, which begs the question: Who did? 

                       Probably some drunk frat boy, I tell myself. And maybe I hit a door. Maybe that's how I cut my arm. 

                       I don't really believe it.

                       But I say anyway, "I saw a tattoo behind your ear once, and I wanted to ask you about it. But later . . . I guess I forgot."

                      Veah seems to know what I'm talking about, because she smooths back a lock of her hair, revealing the elegant curve of her neck.

                      It's a little bee.

                      "What does it mean?" I ask.

                      The water froths between us. Veah lifts a slender shoulder. "I believe that there doesn't have to be a deep philosophy behind tattoos. I think that if something is beautiful, you should cherish it, surround yourself with it. It was Kant's theory of aestheticism in art in 19th century Europe."

                      I have never felt gayer than in this moment of my life.

                      Talking about the history of art with a beautiful girl who is less than five feet away from me, dressed in almost nothing.

                      "And . . ." I catch her hand, circling her knuckles with my fingertip. I'm curious about her. "This?"

                      I never noticed it before, but on each finger, she has a spiraling tattoo.

                     "A different aspect of my life. Honor. Bravery. Freedom. Loyalty. And love."

                      A sword. A serpent. An ocean wave. A rose stem. And her pinkie―

                      The night I first met her, I thought it was special makeup. But I realize now that the tip of the finger has, indeed, been cut off.

                      "How?" I breathe.

                      "When I pledged my service to Okami, she wanted me to prove myself to her. She gave me the knife, and she waited. So I . . . I drove it through my own finger."

                      I recoil. "Holy shit, Veah."

                      "It was that or lose my parents," Veah says, with quiet ferocity. "There is nothing I wouldn't do to save the people I love." Her voice falters. "If someone ever took you, hurt you―Kaya, I would move heaven and hell to get you back."

                      A slow smile forms on my lips. "Heaven and hell? You sure God wouldn't remind?"

                     There is something dark and ferocious and hot about the way she looks right now. 

                    "If you were in trouble, Kaya, not even God could stop me from getting you back."

>>>

I think I'm setting unrealistic romantic expectations for the love of my life.

UPDATE: Found the love of my life. Not unrealistic after all.

From the moon and back,
Sarai