by Layla Hagen
"I can offer happiness, too, not just suffering, Serena," he says with urgency. "I made you suffer, you think I don't know that?"
I don't think he truly knows how much he hurt me. I'm not sure I want him to know how many tears and sobs have plagued me since I've met him, and the creases they've carved all over my heart. So I grit my teeth and look away. There are kinds of pain that are better left unshared.
"But that's not all there is to me, I swear. I used to be a better person. I want to change. I want to be that person again."
"You won't ever be that person again, James. You can be whoever you want, but not your past self. No one can do that. Everyone changes for a reason. Whether we change for better or for worse, it's a choice we make." I swallow, biting my lip hard. To my astonishment, I don't feel any kind of discomfort in my lip. Too much alcohol, for sure. "But you can't go back to being the way you used to be, no matter how much you want to. That person is lost forever."
His features tighten. "So you don't think I can change?" He fixes the bottom of his glass with his gaze. "You don't think I deserve to be happy, do you?" His voice drips with grief and it tears me apart to know that I have caused it. The way his head is slightly tilted forward... it’s almost as if he's awaiting my words like a verdict.
"James, that's not what I meant to say. Of course you deserve to be happy. You're sweet and kind and wonderful… what I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't strive to become someone you were years ago. If you want to change, strive to be the best possible version of yourself now."
He twists his glass between his hands, still staring at the last few drops of champagne on the bottom of it. Under the table, I can feel him jiggling his foot. "You said everyone changes for a reason, right? Well, you are my reason. I have—"
"Why me?" I ask. I cannot help it. I recall Jess telling me James wants to change for me, and how convinced she seemed of it. The next words sail past my lips almost without my permission. "Why not Natalie? You've known her for so long…"
James snaps his head up. "I've known her for so long that I'm certain I'd never be the kind of person I hope to be next to her. I won't lie—it crossed my mind a few times over the years. I thought, since she'd seen me at my worst and for some reason still stuck around, why not try more? But Natalie and I would never work out. She knows that, too. She has a tendency to… not let me forget the past." His neck stiffens. "I don't think she does it on purpose. We just seem to bring out the worst in each other. There hasn't been anything romantic between us in years."
"That's not true," I say, remembering what the lark was saying to the other girls just before we entered the ballroom. "You made out with her not long before the party at your parents’ house."
A laugh bubbles out of him as he leans back in his chair. "You little stalker."
"She was bragging about it in front me and a few other girls," I say defensively.
"Yeah, that sounds like something Natalie would do." He frowns. "It wasn't really a kiss, more like an accident."
"How was kissing someone an accident?"
"If you must know, she was the one who kissed me." He gazes at me intently, both his palms resting on the edge of the table. "Do you really want to talk about Natalie? You asked me something else. I'd much rather answer that than continue to talk about her. You asked why I want to change for you."
I rub the back of my neck, my pulse quickening by the second. I wonder if there is any way I can take my question back, make him forget about it. I should have never asked him this. Because… why would he choose me? I'm just as broken as he is and have no extraordinary qualities to my name to make up for it. Surely, if he thinks long enough about it, he will realize that I'm not worth chasing around and impressing with trips to chocolate factories and ridiculously expensive hotels, all in order to fulfill my childish fantasies.
I try to count the buttons on his shirt, to give my mind something to do so I don't completely freak out, but they swim in front of my eyes—an obvious sign that the effort is beyond the capabilities of my inebriated neurons. I half-expect him to get up and leave any minute now. The revelation just hasn't hit him yet. But he doesn't get up. Instead, he tilts in closer, an ear-to-ear smile sprawling across his face. There's no hint of irony or his usual conceitedness in it. I don't think I've ever seen him smile like this.
He lays his arms on the table, beckoning me to put my hands in his. Hesitantly, I do so. The moment I touch him, my skin tingles with warmth, and I can practically feel the energy behind his smile sizzling through me, delicious and brisk, filling me up until I cannot help but smile as well.
"You make me feel things that I haven't felt with anyone else. Things I didn't even know I could feel. Your kisses… you have no idea what your kisses have done to me, Serena. How they've healed me… I—I never feel as whole as when I make love to you." A dire emptiness surges inside me at his words, starting from the most intimate part of me, culminating in a shiver I don't succeed to disguise. James chuckles softly and my cheeks flare up. "A smile from you can make everything better. It's the first time I spend more time thinking of someone else than I do of myself. And it feels damn good. There's nothing I'd rather do in this life than make you happy. Your happiness is everything to me. The first time I saw you in that bar, you radiated innocence and sweetness. I think that's what drew me to you. You didn't seem to belong there at all. But then again, I'm not sure where you could truly belong. The real world doesn't seem a good enough place for you. You belong in a dream—a fantasy world. If you let me, Serena, I will build that world for you."
His words are like a balm to me. They fill my mind, my body… every cell of it. They find their way to my core, brimming over the creases carved by tears, healing them with the most powerful salve there is: hope.
"James, y-y-you've," I stutter. "I don't know what to say. My head is spinning." I untangle my hands from his and massage my temples, because my neurons have chosen the worst moment to start doing somersaults.
James smirks. "That, I think, is not my doing, though I'd love to take credit for it. I think it's the five glasses of champagne you've had."
"Oh. There were five? I… right, I need time to think this through," I say.
"Patience isn't my strongest suit either. But I want you to take your time and think this over. I don't want you to rush into a decision. Do you want to return to your apartment?"
"Are you kidding? I'm in my own version of Tolkien's Rivendell and you think I will leave it to return to my apartment? It's good enough even without elves."
The truth is, I have two other reasons why I don't want to leave. First, my head throbs so badly that I don't think I can survive a car ride without throwing up at least once. And second, my apartment is the last place I want to be. I can pretty much guarantee that Jess won't come home until morning hours, and with her gone, it won't be long before the depression triggered by Kate's birthday will overpower me. I stuffed that place with too many memories of her. How ironic that the alcohol in my blood can make the whole room spin in front of my eyes but can't make me forget about Kate's birthday.
"Do you want to go to your room now?" His voice snaps me back to reality. "It's only ten o' clock, but…" He points with both hands at me, amused, as if saying, you look like you can't stay up for much longer.
"Going to my room sounds excellent."
The second I get up from my chair, I realize that wherever the room is, it can't be close enough. I gulp and clutch my tiny envelope bag tightly to my chest. The spinning only gets worse when I start walking. James walks slightly behind me, holding his hand at the small of my back. We take a turn into a small corridor past the reception desk, and, to my dismay, arrive in front of a spiral staircase.
"No elevator?" I ask, eyeing the set of interminable stairs.
"Would you have asked about an elevator if you were at Rivendell?" James whispers in my ear.
"No," I giggle. "I would've asked the elves to use some of their magic to levitate me to my
room or something."
"Ah, I can do that without any magic," he says and swipes me right off my feet.
"James, no," I half-cry, half-laugh, clinging to him, praying not to throw up. James's chest reverberates with laughter. He's got one arm around my back and the other one under my knees. I keep my eyes closed the entire time, taking in deep breaths. The scent of his ocean and musk cologne travels down my throat, exciting and calming me at the same time.
"Right, I have to put you down, or I won't be able to unlock the door," he says, and I almost tell him I'll gladly sleep in front of the door if it means I can remain in his arms.
He opens the black wood door with a creak and turns on the light.
"Wow," I exclaim. Despite the fact that my brain is spinning inside my head, it can still acknowledge the gorgeousness of this room. It's not exceptionally large, but the black furniture, the four-poster bed with creamy, transparent curtains around it, and the oval mirror next to it give the place a luxurious, royal air. "Where is your room?" I ask suspiciously.
"Not far away from here." His eyes twinkle. "The terrace is great." He walks to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors opposite the entrance, and swings them open. I gasp as a breeze of fresh air fills my lungs, and for a fraction of a second my surroundings come into focus and my head clears up a bit. I immediately realize that spending some time outside is the best shot I have at waking up my brain from the slumber it's fallen into.
I make my way toward James but stop abruptly less than a foot away from him. At the side of the glass doors lies a black backpack I know only too well. It belongs to Jess.
I raise my eyebrows at James. "How did this backpack get here?"
One corner of his mouth twitches playfully. "Ah, Jess packed some of your clothes in it. She thought you might need some for the weekend."
"You were awfully convinced I'd agree to stay here, weren't you?" I wrack my brain, trying to figure out how she managed to sneak it inside the taxi without me catching on, but I can't for the life of me.
James grabs his hands behind his back, tilting his head to one side. "Actually, I wasn't, but Jess insisted she should send some clothing, just in case you want to change. Though I have to say you look lovely in this dress. And of course, you know I'm a great fan of you wearing no clothes at all."
"I only agreed to stay here tonight," I say, trying to ignore the hot shiver that coursed through me at his words. I dart past him, stepping outside on the terrace, which is twice as large as the bedroom. The sound of water flowing is much more intense here than it was when I rolled down the window in the cab. There are two lounge chairs on the terrace, but I don't sit on either. I just walk to the edge of the terrace, leaning against the railing, holding my bag under my arm. And though the distance to the ground isn't far—we're only on the first floor—I discover that looking down is something I'd better refrain from doing until the alcohol is gone from my blood. One glance in front of me and I learn why the sound of flowing water is so pronounced.
"I didn't know there was a waterfall. I didn't see it last time I was here."
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yeah," I say. It's not particularly high, maybe no more than seven feet, but it's splendid. On the other side of the waterfall and river is a thick forest, bathed in moonshine. "This whole place is."
An earsplitting sound coming from my bag startles both of us. I open it slightly and take out my phone. "The battery is low." I smirk, blinking up. "I bet Jess didn't pack my charger."
"That's perfect." James grins. "I'll just drop my phone in the river and then no one can bother us." I put my phone back in my bag, and my fingers touch something smooth and silky, and I freeze in the act. The black ribbon.
"Found a spare phone inside?" James jokes.
"No," I say in a disturbingly high-pitched tone. I clear my throat, getting the ribbon out. "I found this."
James raises an eyebrow.
"It belonged to Kate… it was on one of her dresses and…" I swallow hard. "Never mind how it got here." I drop it back and close the bag. "It's her birthday tomorrow." I walk away from James and sit on one of the lounge chairs. The mattress on it is soft and a little cold. I lie down on it, putting my hands behind my head, gazing at the stars.
"Would you rather talk about it or forget about it?" James asks. He sits on the edge of the other chair, inches away from me.
"I don't know," I say truthfully. "Her birthdays are the most beautiful memories I have of her. Somehow, she always managed to be sober on those days. Even on her last birthday."
"What did you do on her birthdays?"
"Oh, nothing fancy. Usually my mum would prepare a roast chicken and bake a cake in the evening. Before dinner, Kate and I would get up on the roof of our home and release a helium balloon, and watch it soar up in the sky until Mum would call to us that dinner was ready." My mother's voice rings in my head as if she were calling to me right now, Catherine, Serena, get down here girls before your father eats the chicken all by himself.
"A balloon? Why?"
"I don't really remember why; I just know we always did it. It's one of the earliest memories I have of us together."
I was six, dressed in a bubble-gum-pink dress, the same color of the balloon we released that day. Kate had the brilliant idea to test whether she could fly with the balloon and almost slipped off the roof. Shh, don't tell Mum, Kate said, all giddy and breathing heavily. The ten-year-old Kate was an adorable miniature of the person she would become in her teen years: exquisitely beautiful—with round, clear eyes, silk blonde hair—and reckless.
The familiar emptiness inside my chest that always gets the better of me in these moments starts creeping in. It's slightly different than other times, though. I don't know why. Less intense. And not nearly as suffocating.
"You've got such a lovely smile," James says.
I turn my head slightly in his direction. "I… I was just replaying a memory in my head."
He moves over on my lounge, his blue eyes searching me, not in a lustful way, but in a warm, reassuring one. "Can I lie next to you?"
I hesitate for a few seconds, then shift a few inches to the right, turning on one side, to make space for him. The mattress caves in as he lies down on his side, and then we are face-to-face, our lips almost touching.
But I don't lean in for a kiss, and neither does he. We lock eyes for a long, long time, before I huddle against his chest. And as he kisses my forehead in one soft brush, putting an arm around me, I know what's different. I know what makes the emptiness more bearable and the memories sweeter.
He does.
Tears appear in the corners of my eyes, and I let them fall, one by one, until I drift off to sleep.
I wake up covered with something soft and warm up to the tip of my nose. A blanket. I sit up, pushing it away. Goose bumps appear all over my arms and legs as the night breeze chills me. It's still dark. I press my palms on my temples, my eyes closed. My head feels lighter than before, and the sensation of nausea at the back of my throat is gone. It's only after I open my eyes that I realize I'm alone. The portion of the mattress where James lay is completely cold—a sign that he left some time ago. My insides start quivering. Maybe he went to his room. The lounge chair isn't much of a bed, really. The stiffness in my neck is proof of that. Or maybe he left for good, a small voice whispers in my head. I shake my head, attempting to chase the thought away, but only manage to stir to life some of that nausea I thought was gone. I take in a mouthful of air, pondering for a few moments what woke me up, when I hear the call.
"Serena." It's James's voice.
I spring to my feet, wobbling a little on my sandals, and looking to my left and right.
"Where are you?" I call, grinning.
"I'll wait for you to figure it out," James says, and I can tell by the way he sounds that he, too, is grinning. "It's more fun."
The sound doesn't come from the bedroom, but inexplicably, from the edge of the terrace, so I walk toward there and b
end over the railing. Sure enough, James stands on the ground, leaning with one shoulder against the wall and beaming up at me.
"You sleep like a rock. I've been calling out for at least ten minutes," he says.
"What on earth are you doing down there?"
"Pondering whether I should bring a ladder or…"
I gasp. "You want me to jump down there?"
He grins, unhitching himself from the wall, hands in pockets. "Correct."
"You've got to be kidding, right?"
"Come on. It's not that high."
Truth be told, it isn't that high. But I've never been much of a climber, or jumper for that matter.
"Whatever happened to just walking down some stairs like a normal person? There must be other ways to get there. "
"I picked the least boring one." James winks, holding his arms up. "I thought you'd find it romantic."
"It kind of is," I admit with a giggle. Unless I break a leg, or my neck. I bite the inside of my cheek, eyeing the wooden railing for a few seconds, then swing a leg over the railing, careful not to damage my pink dress in the process. The edge of the terrace on the other side of the railing is just wide enough for me to stand on my toes. I bend my knees, holding onto the railing as best as I can. The ground really isn't that far away. I could almost touch James's raised arms if I extended one of my own. But the sinking feeling in my stomach refuses to let go.
"You'll have to actually let go of the railing to be able to jump, Serena," James jokes.
"You don't say."
I slowly release my right hand from the railing, holding tight with the left one.
"That's it," James says, touching the tip of my fingers. "Jump, baby. I'll catch you."
Gritting my teeth, I let go of the railing completely, and lean forward.
"Aargh," I yelp, as I crash into James's arms, almost knocking him over. My feet land with a thump on the ground. The heels of my sandals have sunk almost an inch into the soft earth. "My shoes are so not right for this," I say.
