My Angel, My Devil (unfinished) by Tamara L. Garcia (books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

It was always out of appreciation for my family’s looks. I always thought each and every one of my family’s women is either beautiful or excessively cute-the same goes for the men in my family. Because of that I always compared the guys normal girls think are gorgeous or hot or whatever to my cousin or brother. That was always my pride.
I could be haughty about my family being beautiful inside and out, and no one could say anything about it. The only proof I need to make someone a believer is to invite them over for dinner. But that’s beside the point. The fact I think he’s handsome means girls are all over him all over the time. Well, if they can get pass his glare.
And I’ve seen how liking somebody can turn you into a complete bitch. I’ve also seen how it can tear you apart right after you’ve just reached cloud nine. It can turn you into something I don’t want to be, period. I have to be cautious around this guy.
“You look like you’re having your own inner dispute. How’s it going? Which side won?” he had one brow arched. He was half joking. His voice had a bit of humor in it, but he sounded like he wanted to know. I saw the makings of a smile somewhere there.
“It was too unanimous to be called a dispute. Reason won so easily it was pathetic. I need to watch more TV,” I said.
He leaned forward, clasped his hands together, and ducked his head inwards, as if to hide something from me. I heard a chuckle. Somehow I’m shocked. He seems like the kind of person who never laughed. Was I wrong? I sat up straight and realized pain was no more.
I was excited to hear his laugh. It tickled my stomach and it felt like cool ointment on a burning wound. “Sorry,” I said. He looked up at me suddenly. His face was a big question mark, and then it relaxed into knowing warmth.
“It’s okay; I kind of deserved it for hitting you that hard. You have a mean left hook though,” he said rubbing his jaw. “You’re a lefty, right?” I stared blankly at him. What?
“What do you mean? And no, I use both hands for writing.”
“What do you mean? I was talking about back at the house, when you asked me for a ride and your house exploded. I grabbed you and jumped out of the way, but you passed out. I slapped you a couple times softly. But you wouldn’t wake up, so I shook you then slapped you really hard twice. After that I was seeing stars. You woke up, but you looked dazed, so I carried you to one of the ambulances. The only injury I had was your punch, but that’s about it. Afterwards, you were taken to the hospital. They said you were physically unbalanced since you were in a state of shock. They said if you had plenty of rest you would recover in no time. Damien and Seth were busy with arrangements for the funeral so they couldn’t take care of you, and since I’m not your family I can’t take care of you.”
“Oh.” Oh. So that’s what happened. “When am I going to be able to get out of here?”
“In two days; it’s late right now so go back to bed. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.” He went to turn the lights off, and then paused. “Why did you say sorry if you didn’t mean punching me?”
I paused, and tried to hide a blush. “I didn’t know you were our neighbor. To be honest, I randomly asked a stranger to give me a ride to my place this morning.” I gave a nervous laugh.
He looked pissed, and then dropped it, looking like he was going to talk to me later about it. “So you don’t even know my name?” I shook my head a ‘no’ and he looked pained. His bored/pissed mix was back, and he turned off the lights. I have a temporary night blindness, so I could only hear him walk over to the chair and sit down. I lowered the bed so I could sleep and I got comfortable.
I was itching to ask him, so I did. “What’s your name?”
It somehow felt like things fell into a small sorrow around me. “People call me Salvage,” he said. He sounded guarded, and it couldn’t hear it audibly, but he seemed sad.
I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. It was a no-go. Still, I kept trying, and relaxed more. Then I felt hot breathe above me. How long has it been? Has Salvage already left? Or was this Salvage?
The hot breathe traveled to my ear and soft lips pressed up against them. What followed shocked me. Salvage’s deep melodious voice was husky and low. “You’re my angel, my devil,” he said. His hot breathe traveled to directly above me, and it felt like it was coming closer. Then his lips were on mine, first soft and carefully, then forcefully; more needing.
I couldn’t help it. My plan was to pretend to be sleeping, but I couldn’t help myself. I softly returned the pressure. His eyes opened and he froze, looking at me. I’m sure I looked completely flushed, plus I was breathing fast. Then my eyes adjusted, and I saw his eyes soft, and even his ears were red. He didn’t look surprised to see me awake.
He lifted my head up and said, “Mark my words, Christopher, I will make you mine. I will forever bind us together. I will always protect you no matter what. You are my angel, my devil, my savior and my damned.”
I felt a shift in the air, and heat rose all around me. The air around us shivered, shifted, and danced as if it were flames. His eyes were determined, like he had more to say, but everything went dark.
• • • •
In the morning, Damien kept to his promise and came in with a big smile plastered to his face. He was wearing a long sleeve with silver necklaces, and his pants were black with chains and a piece of fabric loosely looping itself around to the other side of his waste. He held up a bag of apples and his fingers had silver rings on them, the ones you see Japanese rockers wearing all black wearing. “I brought something to eat,” he brightly said.
“Thanks,” I said. I motioned to his rings and said, “I didn’t know you had those imported. When did you get those?”
He looked down at his fingers. “Obaa-chan sent these to me a month ago,” he said. “She said that I would look cute with it on,” he said, looking at the rings with a blush.
“Knowing Obaa-chan, and seeing you now, she was right. Omai wa homono kawaii.” I can’t remember the last time someone said that to me. When I was five?
His blushed deepened with his smile. “Ah, but you’re really cute, too,” he said eagerly. Make that a moment ago, I thought to myself.
Although he was probably only saying it out of courtesy-I know of no one who could say that honestly. Plus it’s not like I really aim to be cute or beautiful. I’m content with being comfortable with myself; with not wearing really tight and revealing clothing, with not having to slather on makeup making my face heavy, with not having to put on shoes that make you look like a giant (and should also have a safety warning if you ask me-one trip and you might break your neck).
Damien sat down and attempted to make apple rabbits. He cut himself by accident numerous times, and was on his fourth apple rabbit. The other three looked messed up, but not as bad as it would have been if he hadn’t practiced, which he did. It was clear on his face as he tried to get the ears right and accidentally cut half of one ear.
“Give me the bowl,” I said. It’s nice to see him try this for me, but it was getting sad. Seeing the number of cuts I’d see it fit for me to step in. He handed me the bowl, the knife, and the apples. In no time at all, I finished the last apple rabbit and stuck tooth picks in all of them. I looked at his rabbit apples. They were disfigured, but really cute in a way.
I picked one up and began bringing it up to my mouth when Damien stopped me. “Ah, don’t eat it,” he said sounding disappointed. “It doesn’t look good to eat and it’s already gotten brown. Let’s just throw them away.” He sounded even more disappointed at the thought.
I shook his hand away and ate it. It was somehow salty and it lost some of its juice due to his hard grip, but I swallowed it regardless. “It’s good,” I said. It felt as if he visibly brightened.
We both finished the apple rabbits and were talking happily. When I was laughing at a joke, he suddenly looked thoughtful. “Hey Chris,” he said. “We’re moving to Japan after the funeral.”
“Huh?”


Chapter 4
We’re going to Japan after the funeral. Wonderful, I thought, just wonderful.
I rubbed the smooth surface of the box that Damien gave me earlier and sighed. It’s not like I’m ecstatic to stay in America. Japan won’t be bad. I’ve always loved going there. There was an air about it that welcomed me.
“Oh yeah, Chika-chan,” Damien said after a silence that seemed to last hours. “I’ve brought you this.” He held up an old looking circular box. It was ceramic and it was wide and round at its corners. On all four sides of the box, there were keyholes. Each of them was a different color; one was white, another was black, another was red, and the last was golden. I just stared at him with a huge question mark on my face.
“Um, the police found this and told me it was only a few of the things they could salvage.” He looked at the box. It looked like he didn’t want it. I took it from him with a huge grin on my face, and thanked him. “I saw it and had an urge to give it to you. I don’t know why, but I’m really glad I did so.” He smiled he smiled and continued, “Probably because your smile makes me happy!”
He excitedly hugged me. My smile got warmer, and my eyes thawed. I didn’t even know they were frozen over. Huh. “Thanks,” I said. “Damien, you’re really too much sometimes.” He just looked up at me and smiled deviously. He planned this.
Not many people could see through Damien’s plans; the guy’s smarter than anybody will probably ever give him credit for. I fiddled with the box, wondering if the keys melted in the fire. Or, they probably salvaged the keys and forgot to give it to Damien or something. Then something inside me clicked.
Everything about the world shifted slightly, and I became lightheaded. It wasn’t like