Pause

by CJ Adler

  “A little late for the warning, don't you think?” I retort carelessly as I peer over the steep cliff.

  If Jay hadn't reacted so quickly, then I would have fallen to my death— always a fun time. Still, the butterflies in my stomach are a reminder of my fear. I like heights as much as Harry Potter likes Voldermort.

  “If it were late, you'd be dead,” he replies back solemnly, distracted by the view, true peace flooding his senses. “Be more grateful.”

  I glance up at the sky before looking around, admiring the scenery. I let out a sigh of content as a comfortable beat of silence passes between us.

  The wind begins to blow harder. I glance up at Jay to see the breeze tossing his hair about in different directions, resulting in a messy look. I stifle my laughter because I'm positive that my hair looks ten times worse, and besides, the messy hairdo suits him.

  He blinks down at me, sharing a smile with me as if aware of what's currently running through my mind.

  “So, Jay…” I break the serene atmosphere, “tell me every single thing about yourself. Don't leave anything out.”

  “We're really doing this then?” he questions with a look of discontent.

  “Sure are, JT.” I nod in confirmation.

  He sighs, making his distaste in this little exchange obvious.

  I merely prod him on, pressing for some heart-to-heart stories.

  “Well, first off, I hate it when you call me that,” he reminds me with a pointed stare.

  I shrug innocently.

  He mulls it over in his head. “Let's see, I have two eyes, two ears, two hands, ten fingers”

  “Something I don't know.” I cut him off with a frown.

  “You might find this interesting,” he grins slyly, toying with me, “but I have ten toes too.”

  “What a coincidence, me too!” I feign excitement and clap my hands. “We have so much in common!”

  He stares blankly at me for a second before a grin filters over his features.

  “Jay,” I whine in persistence, sending him a flat look as I get serious. “C'mon, oblige me. Let me take delight in your life.”

  He swallows back a smile as he humors me. “You sure have a way with words.” He then shakes his head, adamant. “But, seriously, you don't want to know me. I'm no good. Never have been.”

  “That doesn't matter to me. I don't care. I'm a rotten apple too,” I reassure him, encouraging him to get on with it already.

  “I somehow doubt that,” he says, serious, as if having contemplated on it before. He changes the subject. “Your socializing skills could do with some work. You skip right through small talk and dive straight into the deep stuff.”

  I shrug. “Small talk has never been my forte.”

  He sighs as if disheartened by something. “My story isn't all that interesting anyway. Trust me.”

  “Try me and I'll trust you,” I challenge, stubborn.

  He thinks it over before nodding. “Fine. I'll vent to you but only because you're a stranger. I'll only agree to this as long as we go our separate ways after.”

  “Deal,” I lie.

  Reluctant, he sucks in a sharp breath before running his free hand through his hair, opening up. “I live on my own.”

  I nod, already taken aback by his words.

  He hesitates before going on. “My parents gave me up. Never met them, nor do I intend to ever meet them.”

  It's a lot to take in. Very unexpected.

  “I spent the first part of my life being raised in an orphanage. Later, I was adopted. My foster family gave me up too. I went back to being an orphan. I only have dark memories of the orphanage. Eventually, I broke out when I turned eleven. I got involved in all the wrong crowds and ran with the wrong people. I practically lived on the streets and did things I regret.” He stops talking and shakes his head. “I really shouldn't be telling you this. I'm just outlining a bad picture.”

  “I already had a bad picture of you in mind anyway. Now go on,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I got out of that crowd the hard way. Nearly got myself killed. Luckily, I had and still have good acquaintances to help me along. At seventeen, I landed myself a job as a bartender because the owner is a friend of mine—”

  “I thought friends are overrated,” I mimic his previous words.

  “Friends are. A friend isn't,” he corrects. “So, that's where I'm at right now.” He breathes out calmly, composing himself. “It's a terrible story.”

  I shake my head. “No. No, not at all. Quite the contrary actually.” I pause. “And now I sound like I just stepped out of the 'Little Miss Muffet' rhyme,” I murmur more to myself than to him.

  Jay hears anyway and blesses me with one of his rare chuckles. He doesn't waste a second to ask the same of me, “What about you? What don't I know about you, other than your name?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “I forgot that you don't even know my name.”

  “You will have to tell me your name eventually, Klutz, and I'll be counting on it,” he says, overconfident as always.

  “Well, don't. It's not happening,” I tease.

  “So, I tell you my life story and get nothing in return?” he asks with a frown. “What a way to play the game. I see how it is.”

  “You get the privilege of me gracing you with my glorious presence.” I nudge him playfully.

  “And I'm truly humbled by your company.” He humors me yet again. “But

  I'd be more humbled if I knew your name.”

  I shake my head.

  He sighs. “Then you owe me your story, at least.”

  “Well,” I begin, “what do you want to know?”

  “Anything.” He shrugs. “Tell me about your family,” he suggests when I come up with nothing.

  Of all the things he could have asked.

  “I don't really have one, not anymore. My mother died in a car accident when I was four. My father remarried three years later. Five years down the line and my dad divorced her and left me with her. He said he was done with us. She took me in, and though she hates me, I'm forever in her debt. I'm a prisoner,” I explain briefly, aware that he's not the judgmental type.

  “Someone once told me that your past is not what defines you,” he replies.

  “I live by that.”

  He didn't strike me as the far-reaching type.

  I grin, in good spirits. “This is exactly why I've selected you to be my friend. You live in your own little world going against all the beliefs of society. You have your own realm and you're the king of it. It's refreshing to be around someone who doesn't follow the ways of this world,” I admit, unashamed.

  He sends me a heart-stopping smile, teasing me. “And because I'm awesome right?”

  “Mhmm.” I press my lips into a thin line and nod along to his words.

  “Don't patronize me.” He chuckles, turning back to face the cliff and all its wonders.

  “Me? Patronize you? I'd never,” I joke, messing with him. I watch him and smile to myself, inquisitive to know more about him. “Do you come here often?”

  That sounded like a pick-up line.

  “Only when I feel lost,” he confesses. “So yeah, I guess I do.”

  The one thing that I've come to admire about Jay is his honesty. He says it like it is.

  “Don't worry, it only happens to the best of us.” I wink, hoping to assure him that he's not alone.

  “Yeah?” He arches a brow at me in surprise.

  I nod.

  He stares at me for a second longer before breaking eye contact.

  “We're too young for all this sappy nonsense. Lighten up. It's time we do something fun. What do you say we get out of here?” I ask, bouncing the question off of him, awaiting his response.

  “Alright but I just know that I'm gonna regret this, Anonymous,” he agrees, leading the way back to his car.

  “You know it!” I exclaim in excitement as I skip after him. “You also love it?”

  “Do I? Do
I really?”

  “Of course you do!” I chime, knocking him with my shoulder in a teasing manner before running ahead of him. “Now let's go get arrested!” I cheer. “Whoo!”

  He just gives me a look as if to say I have too much energy. “Can the arrest wait, 'cause I'm kind of hungry?”

  “At three in the morning?”

  “Yup.”

  “Me too,” I admit sheepishly.

  “Want some ice cream?” he asks, a carefree grin on his face.

  “You bet I do! I'll never say no to ice cream. Bubblegum flavor, aww yeah!”

  I fist pump the air.

  “Gross.”

  “Your face is gross.” I retaliate.

  “Do you ever stop?”

  “Do you ever start?”

  “That depends on what you want me to start.” He winks as he passes me by.

  I laugh, amused. “For now, nothing.”

  “So there's a 'for now,' meaning that one day you would want me to start something?” He tests the waters, stopping mid-step.

  “Shut up, JT,” I deny it.

  “What did I say about calling me that?” He crosses his arms over his chest in defiance.

  “I don't remember,” I lie and tap his chin lightly in mock thought.

  “What did I say about boundaries?” He fires back at me, swatting my hand away.

  “Don't remember,” I lie.

  “Do you have amnesia or something?”

  I might have Jaynesia.

  “Wouldn't remember.”

  “You're so infuriating.”

  “Thank you. That's sweet.”

  Perplexed, he glances my way. “That wasn't a compli—” he stops himself and changes course, admitting defeat, “—you're welcome.” He gives in. “You're so damn welcome.”

  “Don't be petty, JT. It's not an attractive look on you.”

  And so we continue our banter as we walk side-by-side, a new friendship formed, out of the dark forest and into a lighter and much brighter world for the both of us; that light, as we soon discover, being the headlights of a car, a car that doesn't see us in the night, a car that almost ends up killing us.

  Gotta grab life by the horns.

  Chapter 9

  Joyride

  “JT, when I said let's get arrested, I never meant it literally. It was more figuratively speaking, if you've even heard of that.” I blame him. “Clearly not, seeing as here we are,” I speak my mind as I motion toward the cell that we're stuck in, and then gesture toward the bars that we just so happen to be behind of.

  Jay stays slumped up against the wall on the dirty floor of the cell. He is still glancing up at the ceiling, tossing a coin up and down in his left hand as if bored out of his mind. “In my defense, you did ask to get arrested. Who am I to deny you your wishes?”

  “That's the worst defense ever. Do you always just randomly spout out complete trash?” I ask, exasperated with his nonchalance.

  “Of course, it's natural talent. It's a gift I was born with,” he states casually, not bothering to take his eyes off the forsaken ceiling.

  “I hate you so much right now,” I retort, hardheaded.

  “I've heard worse.” He shrugs. “You'll get over it eventually.”

  “No, I won't,” I argue. I'll have to pull off 'Prison Break' to get out of here with the way things are looking.

  “You do realize that you were also involved, right? I never took the car for a joyride on my own, remember? You're as much to blame as me, so quit pinning it all on me. I'm not your scapegoat,” he protests.

  “Yes, you are!” I stomp my foot in dismay, needing to shift the blame so that I don't have to face the consequences.

  He senses my apprehension. “This isn't the first time I've spent a night in jail. Relax a little. There's no other place on earth where you can truly embrace your inner thoughts like a jail cell,” he says, looking to the nonexistent bright side of things.

  I furrow my eyebrows, displeased. “Wow. Aren't you just charming? You little optimist,” I reply in sarcasm. He's really not helping despite meaning well.

  No one should be optimistic when they're sitting in a jail cell, even if it gives you time to clear your head. Clearly, your head wasn't very clear when you landed up in jail in the first place.

  “Bells is going to tear me apart when she comes to bail me out. I've never done something this extreme.” I panic as I pace up and down the cell. “I haven't even got arrested in 'Monopoly' for goodness sake, but here I am, stuck in jail. Jail, dammit!”

  Jay sighs and rolls his eyes as if I'm exaggerating. “In my second defense, you should have run faster when I said so.”

  “You don't get a second defense!” I snap at him, agitated. “And now you know that I'm a slow runner for a future heads-up.”

  “Evidently so,” he retorts, gesturing to the cell.

  I glare at him as he stands up to brush the dust off his hands, indifferent to our situation. He stretches his arms out above his head and catches my stare. He merely grins, unfazed by my anger.

  I force my eyes away when his shirt rises. I distract myself, walking up to the bars to bang my head against them repeatedly once again, still wishing for superpowers to bend the bars apart and make my grand escape.

  Jay's drops the coin and I'm snapped from my cell dreaming.

  I glance ahead of me, making out the cell opposite ours. In it is a butch- looking woman with tattoos and piercings covering her body. She notices me staring and flips me the bird.

  Jay laughs at this, having seen the exchange.

  My mouth falls open at her blunt rudeness. For once, I didn't even do anything. “Oh, you are so lucky I'm behind bars!” I yell at her, not in the mood to put up with people like her—Jay's kind of people.

  Jay raises an eyebrow at me for not backing down, impressed, but then erupts in laughter again when the woman raises both her middle fingers to me.

  “Are all prisoners this unfriendly?” I ask aloud, stupidly.

  Jay sends me a flat stare in turn. “No, most are absolute peaches,” he says in sarcasm. “They're prisoners, Klutz. What the hell were you expecting? Marshmallows and rainbows?” He mocks my cheery outlook on life.

  “No, I was expecting unicorns and rainbows,” I correct him. “Idiot.” I huff under my breath.

  Jay shakes his head at my stubbornness, shoving me aside to grin at the woman behind bars. She drops both middle fingers at the sight of him. I crinkle my nose in confusion when she sends him an ugly smile between the few yellow teeth she has left.

  “Jay Taylor always comes back for more,” she speaks up. “Couldn't stay away from your cell buds, huh?”

  He grins. “You know me, Jenny, could always use a friend.” He stops to spare me a glance, jutting out his thumb in my direction. “Except for delusional ones like this.”

  Score!

  I throw my fist to the air in victory. “Heck yeah! You accidentally admitted to us being friends.”

  My archnemesis throws her head back and cackles. “Yeah, that princess looks like a handful. How many times a day to you have to groom her or take her shopping? Too high-maintenance for you,” she agrees with Jay after having observed me thoroughly.

  I grit my teeth in fury and force Jay away from the bars as I try to squeeze my head through, ready to attack. “Just you wait 'till I get out of here, you butch witch!” I jeer.

  I hate being pampered. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know how much cereal I put in my milk.

  The woman grits her teeth in frustration and yells aloud at the top of her lungs as she tries to break the bars with her bare hands, reminding me of the Hulk.

  I swallow anxiously.

  The jailers come running at hearing all the commotion, the other prisoners stirring and becoming rowdy in the process.

  “Nice going,” Jay reprimands, shaking his head at me.

  “She started it!” I defend myself.

  Jay ignores me, quickly lifting me up over his shoulder before
throwing me down in the corner of the cell to prevent me worsening the situation. “Let me handle this. You had to call her a witch?”

  “She called me a princess,” I remind him.

  He scoffs in disbelief. “We should guillotine her. She called you a princess. How do you go on living when insulted like that?” he asks in sarcasm.

  “I can't. That's the whole point!” I glare up at him. “Oh, and for future reference, ever pick me up again without my consent and I will personally chop your hands off and feed them to you in a jar of homemade butterscotch cookies.”

  “Why butterscotch?” He arches an eyebrow, not bothering to question my motives.

  “Seemed appropriate. I like butterscotch. It takes second place after bubblegum,” I say, nodding fervently.

  “Noted, though you really didn't leave me with many options back there.”

  He defends himself against my accusations.

  “Step forward.” One of the jailers beckons to Jay and me.

  I'm going to be knighted!

  We obey; well, I do, Jay stays put. Thus, I push him forward that he almost stumbles against the bars. “Stop being difficult, we're in enough trouble as is!” I whisper-shout at him, forcing him to comply with the cop's demands.

  “Yeah, 'cause I'm the one being difficult.” He scoffs under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest in an act of defiance.

  “You two youngsters had your one phone call, correct?” the cop asks us.

  I don't rely on Yolanda but, rather, my friends or friend, for that matter. I called Bells but, unfortunately, the numb-nut didn't answer her phone. I left her a voicemail instead:

  'Hey, Bells. It's me. Aqueela. Your detested yet bestest friend. The friend that you would do anything and absolutely anything for. We even have a 'getting rid of the body together' pact, in case of murdering someone. So, let me get straight to the point, I, Aqueela, your amazing friend who has done plenty for you, have been arrested and need someone to bail me out...that someone is you. 'K, love you, bye.'

  It isn't such a bright idea to mention 'burying the body' pacts in front of police officers...they don't take to it lightly. As if they didn't deem us sketchy as is.