by Celia Crown
Of us on dates, dancing to slow music in a disarray of my bedroom, and playful banter in pajamas about our tastes in art.
What would he think about me, a girl with a motto of living day by day and no future plans, when he finds out that I love—
Oh no.
Holy crap.
Abort, abort, abort! The mission is compromised, and my mind is overtaken by the sound of sirens because this is not happening.
Amplification of the realization grows stronger and everything suddenly makes sense; he’s always been there, and I love his company. I want to kiss him and I have imagined him naked in my dreams, and I thought that the dream of us laughing with children was a trick of the mind given our proximity and the time we spend together.
“Jackie?”
I stammer out a laugh, “W-what?”
“Is that what you want from me?”
My mind doesn’t bring a connection to the previous conversation we had.
“Do you want me to remember?”
My heart races; it’s exhilarated and free with the revelation that no man has ever made my heart want to punch itself out of my ribs.
“Yes, I want you to remember!” a smile stretches across my lips, feeling of murkiness lies with miles of desolate questions to this new discovery.
What I want to say is I don’t know, everything is one big Rubik's cube; pieces don’t fit together, and they don’t want to fit in their rightful place no matter how hard to try to move them.
I don’t have the skills or experience to deal with this complicated puzzle of my feelings.
Eli is strangely silent.
Chapter Six
Eli
“Anything?”
Big, brown eyes steal a glance towards me as the industrial buildings have blended into the background a long time ago. I stopped caring about the new highlights of the places Jackie had taken me to; nothing gets a rise out of me and not once did my body sense any form of familiarity.
“No,” I say as I shake my head.
“You weren’t even looking!” she pouts, dropping her plump, little ass on the high chair of a second-story food shop for a slice of deep-dish pizza.
“I was,” I’m beside her on the chair when she motions toward the window in front of her.
“Your eyesight was nowhere near the window.”
“I was looking at you,” I say, memorizing her startled eyes as a soft blush washes over her cheeks.
Pretty, little thing, I muse silently.
The waitress saves the day as the service of delivering food is free, a slice of pizza oozing with cheese and sauce lays on a plate in front of Jackie as she takes the fork and knife to dig in. We have been walking for hours around the city and nothing seem to jump out at me, and we have gone to places where she doesn’t think suits me.
A famous hair salon, a grand opening of a mall, and a traveling agency. I never knew someone could light up like a Christmas tree about travel brochures but having the urge to dye her hair ash grey takes the cake.
I had to be extra stern for her to listen.
I’d be damned if I let her hair get damaged by chemicals stripping away the rich colors. I take offense to any changes done on her, and my say in her body is an exclusive right.
I started to associate Jackie as mine for a while now. It just happened one day when she was separating the colors of red and yellow from the bowl of candy. They are meant to be vitamin gummies for busy consumers, but she takes it like she is eating candy.
One-color gummy has specific types of vitamins that don’t absorb well and may possibly cancel out the effects of the vitamins in both gummies. She takes the red ones but leave an entire bottle of yellow ones untouched and stored away.
“Do not deprive your body of vitamins; you are mine to care for.”
That was what I said to her and she thought I was talking about possessing her body. I want to do that too. I want to have her little body writhing under me and my lips devouring those shaky moans.
She finishes her food with inappropriate noises, and I’m thankful no one in the vicinity is close enough to hear her. Jackie has no concept of danger most of the times and it infuriates me. She would have been in trouble the moment she steps out of her apartment if it wasn’t for me.
“Okay,” she claps her hand to rid of the garlic specs from her tiny fingers. “Our final destination is the financial district.”
Jackie profiled me. She concluded that I was a businessman. She didn’t go into how she came to that, but it’s a plausible career choice for me.
I follow her out after getting out of the chair, and I’m still getting used to being able to put my weight on something. It’s an odd experience. I can stand and now I can sit on things. I wouldn’t feel the stiffness of the high chair. It’s like simply floating on top while slight pressure is on my ass.
If I don’t have a little concentration, I would phase through it.
“Huh,” Jackie taps her chin as she steps outside of the two-story pizza restaurant.
My eyes move from the glassed building adjacent to us, “What?”
“Could it be that you’re not from here? It’d make sense since you don’t recognize anything.”
That is a valid point that she’s bringing up, but it’s most likely not true. I am stuck here in this country and in this city for a reason. I wouldn’t be stuck here without some connection to this country.
However, I’m physically attached to Jackie and she does not seem to know me at all.
“Keep walking,” I nudge my chin towards the central core of the downtown district.
Jackie uses her headphones as a way of communicating with me without seen as a lunatic roaming free on the streets. I clear my throat when her body starts to shift towards the street and she jumps back to the side closest to the buildings. Drivers can be negligent, and I do not want her to be a victim of road accidents.
“I can imagine you as a businessman, a tycoon that commands his minions with intimidation and sheer power. You would be donned in a classic black suit and a silver tie to match the seriousness and maturity of your appearance.”
My chest swells with pride.
“Purple would be my first choice as an artist to bring out the greens in your eyes, but it doesn’t go with your personality.”
Jackie is a slow walker when she talks. Multitasking is asking a lot for her and people around her are dodging her body to get to where they need to go in a city that is meant to be busy. Her hands are animated and the wonder in her eyes when she giggles ignites determination in my heart. Being able to touch her one time will satisfy me.
I want to see if her skin is as soft as it looks, to see if it bruises as easily as she claims it does, and to see her blush flush down to her perky tits.
“I have never seen any businessman with tattoos, they might be hiding one or two, but you look like you have full body art.”
I flick my eyes down to my arms, and they are inked with patterns that mean nothing to me. She likes it too much as I have caught her on multiple occasions staring with blatant interest.
“How many men have you seen?” my teeth grind down as my jawline tenses at her words.
The thought of her even in a situation where she can see anything other than arms and legs of men punches me in the stomach with unease and a slight irritation of possessiveness.
“I see men every day,” she says, lips curling at my change of tone. “Why are you angry?”
“Do you see them naked?” I clarify and spitting those words sounds so wrong.
I hate feeling this way, helpless and vulnerable where I can’t grab her face and smother her with kisses to get men to back the fuck off.
She blushes, and my anger spikes another degree. My skin crawls and the growl vibrate in a silent storm throughout my chest.
“Never got that far with anyone,” she mumbles, heated and self-conscious with red cheeks.
I release a sigh that I didn’t know I was holding not to e
xplode on her. She didn’t do anything to deserve the newly discovered short-temper of mine when it comes to her. I find that I have very little tolerance to slow information that pertains to her. I don’t like not knowing a thing about her and that magnifies the physical distance we have.
“I prefer you to keep it that way.”
“You?” the twitch of her eyebrows says more about her bewilderment than her voice, “What—”
“Walk,” I say, and she does as I say.
Her steps are smaller as she nears a crowded group getting back to their companies after the lunch break. We pass them, and I stop her in front of a tall building that is a distribution office for a multibillion-dollar international company that provides financial investments.
The company is Stanton Investments and all the information is displayed on a looped video of a professionally dressed woman on the screen by the wall.
“This way,” I say, gesturing Jackie to the wall which is in the lobby of the distribution company.
Her doe-eyes roam the classy lobby before her eyes land on the moving display. I listen along with her and keep my attention on the details that reflect on the investment company.
A faint beep tips my attention to the left. My eyes trace the source of the noise to the cars and people outside. Nothing there would make that noise. It’s a distinctive and clear beep that overpowered the honking of cars.
It’s almost as if it is right beside my ear.
The lady’s voice draws me back again as she explains the concept of the company and how it only caters to affluent clients who have the money to afford the service and do business together.
This is marketed to the one percent of the population that sits on thrones of money, and it’s an effective marketing trick to get other competitive rich folks to have more under their belt than just their business.
They want to flaunt doing business with an international investment company that brings back even more revenue.
“Who is the CEO?” I ask, tilting my eyes down to Jackie who is looking a bit baffled.
She ignores me to favor the extravagant interior shoots of the company. Being ignored is a double-sided sword; I don’t have to deal with other people while being a ghost, but it means that Jackie can ignore me too without any physical ways to make her see me.
The lady says the name of the president and the owner of Stanton Investments.
Pierre Stanton.
A beep comes one second after another; the pace is steady, and my eyes narrow at the sound. It’s vaguely familiar; it’s as if I have heard it briefly somewhere.
There is no picture of the man and sparse information about his age being forty and a legend in the business world. Accomplishments and praises come through the woman’s mouth as her expression on the screen barely changes with her preppy tone.
“Jackie.”
She shoots me a glare; her eyebrows are active as she tries to communicate through nonverbal cues.
“Words,” I tell her, and her face warps into rigidness.
Her lips are tightly sealed, and she shakes her head. Defiant and utterly adorable, but it is not the time to wonder if I’ll be able to pinch those cheeks.
“Talk to me.”
“Stop asking me to do that! I’m going to look crazy!” she breaks the silence with a small shout, then she gasps at her own outburst and jerks her head around to see others who are looking at her in shock.
She smiles apologetically and turns to scowl at me.
“You are crazy.”
Jackie crosses her arms over her chest, pushing those round tits up. “You know what, Casper the Unfriendly Ghost, you need to tone down the evil energy. You’re going to bring out the hellfire if you glare any harder.”
I don’t realize how hard I’m glaring until I feel my forehead smoothing over. I’m not angry or upset at her, but I’m annoyed at the eyes on her and they are all disapproving.
Jackie is different from many people, and I attested to that on many occasions. A small part of me wants to show her off to the world that how special she is. As exquisite as she is, Jackie is mine and only I can see that quirky side of her. Admitting that I feel insecure is an understatement and fear encourages it. I’m a damn ghost with no future, and she is a girl with everything going for her.
I cannot fathom the murderous compulsion I have when I have thought of her being in the arms of another man, a man who could be her future husband with their future children. I want to be the one that fills in that space. I want her to look at me in ways that I imagine her to.
I want her to look at me the way she’s looking at me right now.
She looks at me as if I am her whole world.
“Jacqueline,” my throat rumbles with a rasp.
She no longer cares for the eyes on her, “What is it? Are you hurt? Feeling sick?”
Her questions are redundant, but her concern calms the scuttling sensation on my arms. I can’t be harmed, catch a virus, or feel what normal people feel. It’s nice when she frets over me even if it’s uncalled for. It means that I’m important to her and she treasures me enough to worry.
“When we return home, I would like to discuss a matter with you.”
Emotions flash across her eyes swiftly. I can identify some with the help of her other lovely features. Concern, fear, and uneasiness form that tremble on her bottom lip.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper when she says it, and it’s a delicate whimper that shatters the regularity of my breathing.
“No,” my hand falters when I remember I can’t touch her. I make my voice firmer instead. “No. You did nothing wrong.”
“It sounds like I did,” she murmurs.
“We will discuss it at home. Let’s move,” I nudge my chin towards the exit.
Her little feet speed out the door with my legs catching up to her with ease. Jackie weaves through people and follows the path that got her here.
I like it when she listens to me. The sense of control solidifies when she doesn’t question my motives at times and the blind trust gives me hope. The hope of anything; a miracle and a twist of fate that I can get out of this loop between the hovering of life and death.
With the amount of intellectual knowledge in my head, from gradual return or new materials being absorbed through books that I commanded Jackie to turn for me, I wasn’t able to understand myself.
Every day’s tomorrow is a mystery, and I can’t give her a definitive answer to anything when I don’t know what will happen a moment later.
False hope will do her no good; it’s not fair for me to make her a promise that I have a good chance of not being able to keep.
“Eli?” she sneaks a peek to me from the corner of her doe-eyes.
Tires screeching on the streets, voices of pedestrians, and the smell of April shower from a distance all fade away. The world of mine revolves around Jackie; coming to terms of my feelings isn’t surprising in any way.
I have always known that Jackie holds a special spot in my heart.
Loving her through the hopelessness and distance between worlds is profound. Yet I have mustered the courage to accept what my heart has already set out on doing.
I was doomed the moment her eyes met mine through the red convertible at the beach.
“Are you… are you hiding something from me?”
Deciding I hate the tentative approach, she has no reason to be hesitant when I’m just her Eli.
“No.”
Bodies shuffle through the crossing of an intersection like the time of the music festival. She gets swept with the crowd as time doesn’t wait for anyone. I’m attached to her side again, a constant presence to her loneliness that she speaks up on days where she is not in the mood that suits her.
It’s fine. She’s still my Jackie.
“Would you tell me?” she says, biting her plump bottom lip.
“Would you lie to me?”
It’s a rephrase of her thoughts t
hat grinds my temper, those words stringed together in a sentence that should never come out of her mouth and directed at me. I do not approve of it and I am going to set the record straight, I am going to wipe that seed of doubt in the back of her mind with the limitations that I have.
“I will never lie to you,” I say as she stands still at the other side of the intersection. Cars pass with blurs of colors and pedestrian whizz by her in a flick of their coats.
“However, I will keep things from you. I do it because I believe it is best for you, and if you truly wish to know—ask me, and I will tell you everything.”
Jackie chokes a whimper, “I won’t ask you, not until you’re willing to tell me on your own volition.”
“Thank you,” a whiff of sweetness brush against me when she smiles.
I am in love with Jackie, and I’m terrified.
I can feel it; it’s a change manifesting in me, and there is no way to tell where it’s coming from. The warmth that shocked and filled my lungs with the shape of her scent coerces my fists to curl so they don’t reach out to her.
Every step of the changes in me connects with Jackie in some way possible. There is always a small string that attaches these connections and they may be flimsy yarn strings, but they are there.
She has me and I have her; we are meant to be.
“Let’s go home?” Jackie spins around, a radiant sunshine smile spreads on her pink lips and the whites of her teeth gleam in happiness.
I’m content.
Calling their dingy apartment home rolls off my tongue rather smoothly. There is no animosity or any ill-feelings for a home that Jackie had picked. It’s not the best living conditions, but it makes her happy with her friend.
She and Danni call it home, and it’s my home too.
I have a place to call my own and a woman to call mine; the stakes are higher than our first meeting.
What I have in mind will either break us or fit the pieces of our lives better. Every ancient clock needs maintenance; it cannot continue to run on its own with a singularity that keeps peace and constancy.
