Touch-Starved

by Celia Crown

  This was the second day where he ventured out beyond his comfort zone, and I have felt every single emotion being amplified. The strange anxiety turned into fear gnawing at my heart. The thump of my blood laughed in my ears as it took away the other sounds, and my eyes had not been able to focus on anything.

  Dinner time rolls over, and Danni had to kick me off the couch for me to be proactive. She couldn’t read my mood and she didn’t care that I fell on my face. Danni wants dinner to be done at a certain time so we don’t sleep with a stomach full of undigested food.

  Danni and her medical knowledge about the health risk of sleeping on a full stomach. I stopped listening to her after she said I would have pain in my gut or was it intestines? Anyway, my night goes fine when I eat a late dinner since sometimes Danni would be on a date with Scott.

  Anyone with eyes can see where her night would go, but Danni likes to live in denial.

  That woman has no shame of stringing Scott along, and I think he likes the challenge. He would come to the apartment to pick her up for a date.

  I met him when he had flowers in his hand; that already put him on the top of my list for potential love interests for Danni. If I’m being honest with myself, he is the only option that I approve of.

  That doctor in the hospital is a douchebag with his prestige Ivy League medical degree and a dozen published papers on whatever medical findings. I didn’t meet him, but I picked up Danni’s call and he was on the other line.

  His voice was the epiphany of a narcissistic asshole.

  Eli doesn’t come home from dinner and stress will have my hair falling on my food, but Danni gives a well-aimed kick to my shin and I nearly dropped my fork down on the pasta.

  “Eat your food and quit your moping.”

  I gasp, offended with a hand on my chest, “I’m not moping.”

  “You are, and it’s ruining my appetite,” she notes sardonically, “What happened this time? An argument with Eli? No, let me guess, he finally told you that your picky eating habits are annoying.”

  “You can just comfort me like a normal friend,” I grumpily mumble under my breath while poking at the ginormous meatball.

  It’s my fault for rolling them that big, but I was ambitious and we needed to use up all the ground beef before it went bad. We had gotten through half of it when we made tacos the other night and that left the other half for tonight.

  Two big meatballs were hard to cook. I had to brown them on all sides with oil before shoving them in the oven and guestimate how long they should be in there. When they came out, they were perfectly golden and beautiful.

  I patted myself on the back for the accomplishment, but then Danni had to come in and shatter my giddiness with her sarcastic remark about their shape.

  They were perfectly round because the perfectionist artist in me needed them to be even.

  Appearances are deceptive; the inside was dried and crispy from overcooking in the oven. I ate the pasta and meatballs with the tomato sauce; we had leftover sauce anyway so it would be a waste not to use it.

  “I’m eating sandpaper,” Danni coughs behind her hand with her knife raised.

  “Be quiet. I’m eating barbed wire,” I say as I chew the extremely al dente pasta noodle.

  If she cooks them one more minute under what she thought was al dente, I can hold the string of pasta and let it go down my throat in one straight line.

  “I cooked them according to the recommended time,” she argues with a clear of her throat.

  “I don’t know what you did, but this is not recommended for consumption,” I roll my eyes as I work my jaw in overtime.

  I’m going to be bloated and sore tomorrow, but I don’t have anything planned so I can stay home to nurse my jaw from this dinner. Danni has a morning run with Scott; they planned this morning workout for a while now after I had eavesdropped on her conversation with him on the phone.

  I am a natural creature of curiosity; she should know by now that I have to know everything about her. It’s material for gossip when we are in the middle of our Friday movie night, nothing beats the old fashion chitchat of drama.

  I used to have this classmate in my Junior level art class. She has the most gorgeous blue eyes and curly brown hair. She has the most racially ambiguous name and facial features ever; no one in the class knew what the heck she was.

  She took that opportunity to make a running joke for the whole semester. She came in with new accents every day to mess with people, and some were convinced that she’s Filipino with her perfect Tagalog. Others thought she’s a mystery that should not be solved if they know what’s best for them, and I was one of them.

  I like the enigma that comes with her presence, and there would be gossip about her every day. A classmate saw her with a woman on a horse, a day filled with men surrounding her and giving her kisses, and another day she would be her by herself.

  Everyone is taught to never judge a book by its cover, but people being out in the world for the first time without the supervision of a guardian is bound to have problems. People talk and talk until rumors so far out of this world birth themselves.

  It’s hilarious how she went from raggedy Anna to spiteful Regina George depending on who the narrator was.

  “How is—”

  The doorbell rings once; my voice cuts off as Danni and I stare at each other across the kitchen table.

  It’s late, and we aren’t expecting anyone. Our landlord doesn’t come to our door for anything. He just leaves notes in the mailbox that’s attached to the wall of the apartment or he calls one of us. Voicemails are the go-to when we are busy with our own work.

  My phone is always silent when I’m working on my art. There is a specific time that I give myself as the timeslot for concentration. I work better when I have a set schedule so my day isn’t messy with poor time management.

  “Yours?” I ask Danni quietly.

  She shakes her head, “No, I don’t have anyone coming over. You?”

  “I have no friends,” I say, and I only notice how self-deprecating that sounds when it reaches my ear.

  Danni shoots me an amused half-smile that laughs under her breath, “I’ll go check.”

  I vehemently shake my head. The aggressiveness of the shake cracks my neck and I wince at the pop in the back of my head.

  “Are you crazy?” I whisper with eyes bulging out of my sockets, “The rational response is to not answer!”

  The person on the other side of the door changes to knocking on the wood; the strength behind it has my stomach rolling as I put my fork down.

  “I’ll go with you!” I mutedly hiss.

  My eyes search for weapons that I can use in case we are being robbed by the person at the door. I’ll die defending myself and go down in history as the girl who wielded a sword made of toothpicks.

  I was bored and I wanted to use my hands, and therefore, the sword was made with hours that I would never get back. I have to live life to the fullest, being judged by people who mean nothing to me.

  “Okay, open the door slowly,” I sniff through my nose, holding my sword at my shoulder while cursing Eli in my head for not being here.

  I could use him right about now. He can just poke his head through the door and see who it is. We can see too, but I don’t want Danni’s eyes poked through the peephole.

  “Who’s there!” I lower my voice to turn it into that of an officer of the law.

  There are laws that make it illegal for me to impersonate an agent of the government, but this is a time for desperate measures.

  My take on the voice is bad and the knock comes again. This time, it is so loud that it makes my shoulders jump in shock.

  Glancing up at Danni, I expect to see the same anxiety as mine and I’m prepared to protect her with any means necessary.

  She is unimpressed, stoic and unblinking.

  Am I not supposed to defend my home?

  Danni puts her hand on the lock and releases it, and she’s opening th
e door before I can get a word out that she’s being reckless.

  It turns out I’m being a moron.

  It’s Scott at the door with a smile on his chiseled jawline, his muscles straining against his moss green shirt and he holds a bouquet of flowers.

  “For you,” he says and hands them to Danni.

  She accepts them with surprise in her eyes, but she welcomes him in our apartment without consulting me first. A woman in love will ignore all things until she is acted upon a force big enough to wake her from her swooning.

  I’d be swooning if someone gave me that beautiful bouquet. It smells expensive; the pollen tickles my nose and I rub it with the back of my hand.

  They actively ignore me to stare into each other’s eyes; a scene like this would be the most cringe-worthy memory she would have if she didn’t look away just now.

  I know I’m a third-wheel with a toothpick sword in my hands and I know I look funky, but Scott simply smiles at me with his million-watt smile that has been weaponized into a useful tactic to bring down Danni’s guard around men.

  She didn’t have any bad experience with men for her to have Fort Knox around her heart; the worst experience she’s had was when a boy from Freshman high school dumped her for a girl that he’s trying to get over with.

  Danni was named the Rebound Girl for a week before everyone forgot it when new drama rises from more interesting breakups.

  “Hey, Jack.”

  My lips twitch as I lower the sword, “Hey, Scottie. What brings you here?”

  “I wanted to surprise Danni,” he says, eyes flicking towards her.

  My heart warms at the gesture, “Well, don’t let me interrupt. I’ll be in my room. I have to finish my work.”

  I set the weapon down by the wall and wave my hand enthusiastically. My thumbs shoot up behind Danni’s back as an encouragement to him while I skip into my room.

  I’ll clean up the dinner mess later, and as I walk past the kitchen chair, Eli manifests from thin air. I yelp into mid-air. I leap up one foot as he startles me with his amused half-smirk. My heart is lodged in my throat as he stands there with his burly arms crossed over his chest. My eyes zero in on the ink on his skin and I had drawn them out many times.

  “Y-you’re late!” I shout, pointing an accusing finger at him.

  He cocks an eyebrow, “I do not recall giving you a time.”

  “It’s past dinner,” my nose wrinkles at him; a displeased breath knocks out of me as I turn my head away from him.

  “You were worried,” there is no accusation in his tone, and his smile is gone too.

  “Still am. I thought you got sucked into another dimension.”

  I was scared that he wasn’t going to come back once he had gotten a taste of what freedom felt like. I shouldn’t hinder his progress, and I felt so selfish for thinking that he wanted to stay with me.

  “Who is she talking to?” I hear Scott’s voice behind me.

  Danni’s pokerfaced and wry tone peaks, “Don’t worry about her; this is what happens when creativity hits.”

  “She talks to herself,” Scott punctuates each word with bafflement.

  I huff and cross my arms as the speak with no intention of bringing me into their conversation.

  “This is mild,” Danni replies.

  I stomp towards the bedroom, lips puckering in a pout and bump my butt against the door to get it to close. I had to try it twice because the first time was too weak; it barely moved and the second time slammed too hard.

  “You missed me.”

  “Be quiet, plastic bag. I can hear you smirking.”

  Eli and his ridiculously handsome face brighten with delight; he steps closer while I stand my ground. I will not back down from his unfairly beautiful eyes and his toned body. They are distractions that I’m working on ignoring.

  “I missed you too.”

  My heart pounds at the same tempo as my blood. I’m warm and tingly when his gravelly voice purrs with earnestness.

  “You’re forgiven.”

  I can never be mad at him; his infuriating smugness is one of those things that makes him Eli and I want to shower him in kisses.

  “I wasn’t aware I had done anything wrong for you to be angry at,” Eli’s lips turn to a smirk.

  “I’m starting to miss the days when you just grunted like a caveman,” I comb a hand through my messy brown hair; the tangles snap at my fingers as I tug on them as he stops advancing when he gets in front of me.

  “I am capable of returning to that state of mind,” he warns, light brims in his green eyes.

  Dread obnoxiously screeches in my head, “No! It took me months of hard work to get you to be my friend.”

  Just when I think he is a decent ghost, he goes and says something that makes me question what his motives are.

  “I have no intention of staying as your friend.”

  “You could have just said you find me weird; you don’t have to hurt me like that.”

  The corner of my room looks very interesting and I decide to keep my eyes there. It’s hard to face him when there is pain reflecting in those gorgeous hues. I pray that one day with him as a human would be enough. I just want to hold him one time to know that I had him as mine.

  “I want to be more.”

  My eyebrows fall crookedly, “Best friend will always be Danni’s spot.”

  His intentions are obscured, and I can’t interpret them.

  “I have no intention of replacing her.”

  Thank goodness. Danni will have to fight for her place with a ghost that she doesn’t believe exists. I have no proof to make her believe so she thinks Eli is a fragment of my imagination that stayed longer than my other muses.

  “Good, good. Now, let’s set some ground rules before you go drifting again. We need a curfew.”

  His eyes narrow in an effort to stare me down, but I am not afraid of him. He can glare all he wants and even into my sleep. There are rules in this apartment that even Danni obeys.

  We made up this rule a long time ago as a precautionary measure. Neither of us was to stay out beyond nine at night and if we do, then it must be both of us or Danni is getting laid.

  “I do not need a curfew,” he growls, canines sharp and deadly with the curl of defiance on his lips.

  I don’t really need to worry about him since he’s a ghost and he can’t be physically hurt like me, but I would still like to implement that rule on him to give me a piece of mine when he ventures outside on his own.

  “Eli, my stubborn cactus, I’m going to draw a symbol on the floor to trap you—”

  “No.”

  We’re locked in an intense gaze. He’s not backing down with his answer, and I’m slightly hesitating because I have gotten weak over time. He is my weakness and he will use it against me if he knows, which is why I must win this battle without giving myself away like a fool.

  “Eli.”

  He repeats with my tone of exacerbation, “Jackie.”

  My neck strains from the angle that I have to stare up at. He’s too tall and too buff to fit into my room without drawing attention to him immediately. Even my drawers are as tall as him and they take up half of my room. Eli has this charm on him that makes him stand out more than people who actually have physical bodies.

  Meat suits; it’s one of the ways a television drama called it.

  “Why do you have to go against everything I say,” I groan with a hand scratching my head in frustration.

  “One more day,” he smiles, running his knuckle along my cheek and down my jaw.

  A brush of air trails after his touch; a shiver runs down my spine as I meekly mewl as the shuddering air taps on my rumbling heart.

  “I’ll be yours soon.”

  Chapter Ten

  Eli

  Following and searching for a louder beep for days takes a toll on me. I feel heavier and sore when I return to Jackie. Her eyes would be glassy and the redness around the rim of her eyes would cause her eyes to burn.
She tries to brush it off as tiredness getting to her.

  I know better; she is affected by the distance like me.

  I don’t tell her what I found out. I don’t want to give her false hope of something that might not come true.

  I found my body.

  The physical part of me is in a private hospital run by my own company, Stanton Investments.

  I am Pierre Stanton, the owner of a multibillion-dollar company that runs on international waters. Piece by piece, I remember things that I couldn’t understand without more context, but I understand most parts to put them together.

  I remember my childhood and the strict upbringing of my father who wanted me to take on his route of becoming a Politician. He had paved the road of his success for me to follow, and his company was already in my name.

  I just had to sign it to make it official.

  We never had a great relationship, but we have gotten better once I stood up to him. I wanted my own life, not the golden gates that he kept me in to show off to his prestige friends and their carefully structured children.

  The moment he had found out I wanted to go to Cambridge rather than the university our generation went to. I don’t want that legacy; my life is my own legacy and I’d be damned if I let anyone take control of me.

  Fate can take the red strings and strangle itself with it.

  We only started to talk again during my last year at the university, but I wasn’t much of a socialite to care about the graduation ceremony so the three of us went to dinner later that night.

  My mother was the meditator between my father and me. She had been for a while and did a damn good job at it, but I avoided their home like the plague when the arguments have gotten worst in the past years.

  We could have handled the issue better, but the stubborn gene is passed down in the male generations. It’s beneficial when I’m a businessman, but it’s a terrible thing to have when I have the pride of a bull.

  We aren’t there yet, but time is healing wounds that weren’t meant to be there.

  However, fate was not kind with my rebellious phase and attempted to take control of my life again.