by Xavier Neal
With a gasp I shake my head. “Belle's gonna be mad at you...”
He shrugs. “I'll deal with it.”
Playfully the two of us get into a paint war in front of his wall. Paint splashes off of us and onto it while we're play fighting, laughing so hard, we can barely breathe. Occasionally I start to paint something on his wall, which is when he attacks again painting my toes or my hair. Somehow, through all the laughter and playful wrestling, I manage to paint something that resembles piano keys, a couple more music notes with heart bottoms, a pencil, a journal, a brown box that's supposed to be a picnic basket, a tie, and a fedora. In the very middle I sign my name.
The moment I finish signing my name, I see Justin double over in pain, his hand clutching at his chest. Terrified that the paint is poisonous, that maybe we shouldn't have been playing with it the way we were, I drop the can and rush over to him. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”
“I...” He struggles hard to gasp. “I can't breathe...”
At the top of my lungs I begin to scream, “Oh my God! Help! Someone help!”
“No...” He shakes his head. After a moment he regains his composure and stands up. “I'm okay.”
“No you're not.”
“I am. I swear. You just...you wrote your name on my heart. Literally.”
Both my arms fly around him, hugging him tightly. “I was so scared.”
“I'm okay baby. I swear.”
We stay embraced tightly until I feel my sanity settle back in. Sweetly I whisper in his ear, “It's your turn...”
Justin swallows roughly. “You sure?”
Nodding, the two of us split, and gather up the cans. Justin tilts his head the way we came before leading us to the opposite side, passing back through the hallway room. He tosses the empty cans in a bin and leads us right up to a blank stone wall where my name is at the top.
“When did this get here?”
“When you filed your official papers with Hook today. It automatically gets added here.”
Hearing him say his name, causes me to wince. “About him-”
“Nope.” Justin shakes his head. “We're past that. We're good.”
“You sure?”
“It's your name on my soul. I’d say that's a yes.”
Seeing the blank canvas, I slowly turn to face him. “What are you gonna paint?”
Justin smirks, places me right in front of him, and his left hand on the wall, fingers spread. He outlines his hand like a kindergartner before he moves it to add a small band on the ring finger, implying we're married. Glancing over my shoulder, I feel a rush inside of me, to wanna be closer to him. To wanna experience more with him. To be consumed by him and only him.
I press my body closer to his, the hand around my waist stroking me softly. Justin drops a soft kiss onto my lips before declaring, “I love you...but this is gonna hurt.”
The last mark of his signature is directly followed by a straining pain in my heart. I open my mouth to cry out in misery. Desperate to collapse over. Anxious for the agony to subside.
Softly Justin rests his lips against my face, whispering, “I'm sorry it hurt...”
The ache feels like someone is chiseling each letter on the delicate muscle pounding in my body. It's as if I'm having a heart attack, an anxiety attack, drowning, and suffocating all at the same time. This is much worse than being shot! Now to the point I feel I could black out from the pain, it stops.
Justin drops his chin onto my shoulder. “Is it over?”
I nod. “Does everything in the world have to hurt so damn much?”
“Just about.” He chuckles his sticky arms clinging to me. “It's how we all know we're still alive.”
Not sure his logic is one I agree with I furrow my eyebrows in response. When I move around in his grip again, it becomes apparent just how dirty the paint battle turned us. “Shouldn't we get home and get cleaned?”
With a grin he states, “We don't have to get home to get cleaned.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup. Trust me...” I smile softly. “After all I am your soul mate now.”
Chuckling lightly, I help him clean up the paint cans. On our way out, Justin disposes of the empty cans once more, before leading us back to his jeep. However, instead of heading home, or the direction I assume is home, he pulls up onto the beach, allowing me to admire the deep crystal blue water touching the sand.
“Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
He chuckles, “Come on.”
Still weary, I ask, “Where are the mermaids?”
“On land.” He looks out at the jagged rocks further out in the water. “They're slaves of the sea during the day, but walk around and party on land at night. A balanced combination.”
The moment I climb out of the jeep, my heels sink into the sand. Quickly I wiggle out of them. After I toss them back into the vehicle, I take the hand Justin is offering me, and let him lead me to the water. While I was bracing myself for freakishly cold, I'm thankful when I find out it's perfect. We wrap ourselves together, engulf ourselves in kisses that vary in speed and pressure at the same time our hands rubs away the proof of what we did tonight. As the water rocks around us, keeping our bodies meshed, I find it easier and easier to get swept away in a further desire to prove how much I trust him. How much more of myself I can give.
After Justin declares, we're both clean enough, we head back to the beach where he produces towels from his trunk. I see in both worlds he's always prepared. The two of us dry off before we settle on a blanket just feet away from the water. His legs are wide open with me nestled between, so the back of my head rests against his chest. Justin's arms hold me close while my attention drifts to the pink light twinkling in the distance. Looks like mornings coming already. I swear, I sleep less and less every day.
Softly I sigh, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What Lily said about you sleeping with everyone you like...is it true?”
Clearing his throat, he rests his head on top of mine. “Not everyone. There are lots of females who are interested specifically in my reputation. No reason to deny us both what we want. Lily made it very clear while she was taking care of me she wanted to see if the rumors were true. And I didn't stop her.”
“So...how come-”
“Peyton,” he snaps. “I'm not going to sleep with you like everyone else because you're not like everyone else. And honestly...I'm not ready.”
Puzzled I respond, “Wait what! You're not ready? You're not ready? It's not like it'll be your first time!”
“No it won't be, but it'll be yours.” Is he telling me this because he could sense that this is where my thoughts earlier were leading? Is it so bad to wanna take that next step? “Besides, I've never had sex with a girl that I'm in love with, let alone my soul...” His fingertips wrap with mine. “…mate. I wanna do it right. Now is not that time. When it comes, it comes. We have a life time ahead of us to figure out when exactly that is.” Justin plants a soft kiss on my cheek.
Perfect. He's just so perfect at moments like this. Even in unpracticed ways of life he still manages to say and do perfect things. While they say no one is perfect, he treads awfully close to it. Lying, thieving, and conning aside.
We enjoy the water whistling, which sounds like soft melodies. With my eyes drifting closed I ask, “Can I ask you something else?”
“Is it more about my past sex life? Because I really don't-”
“No. It's not about that.”
“Alright then. Ask away.”
“Can you tell me what happened the first time you met Peter?” The question receives no response causing me to pop my eyes open. Looking up, I see a bizarre distant look on his face. Cautiously I proceed, “I....I...I just know, each Lost Boy can only tell his own story. I wanna know yours.”
He nods, shuts his eyes for a moment, and hangs his head. I remain silent. Maybe I should just let it go. Maybe it's more than I can ha
ndle.
Pressing his lips together he gets lost in himself for a moment. “Promise me, no matter what you find out, you won't be upset.”
Nervously I agree, “Promise.”
Justin stands up, leaving me alone on the blanket. He strolls over to the edge of the water where he picks up a wet stone and clutches it tightly. He continues just standing there, attention off in the distance, body frozen in place. Knowing I don't want to push him too hard I impatiently wait, thankful when he finally heads for me.
“You okay?”
Justin plops down beside me, raises up his pant legs out of the sand and holds the rock out for me.
“Close your eyes and clutch it tight...”
Confused I roll the smooth stone around in my hand for a moment before following his instructions. As soon as my eyes are closed, I feel a jerk in my head. Suddenly there's film rolling in my brain and I'm the star.
I adjust my black tie over my tuxedo shirt while keeping one eye on Evangeline. Her overpriced black cocktail dress for the evening, has a more modest slit than I'm used to seeing and frankly, I'm thankful. I've had enough time with the girl's legs to last me several life times. She catches me eyeing her and shoots me a small wink, her fake eyelashes annoying from here. Why do all women born in this lifestyle feel the need for those?
My hand casually strokes the stubble on my chin, desperate to shave it. The only thing more pathetic than females obsessed with looking like something out of a magazine, is females with a daddy complex, forcing me to have something as innocent as facial hair to keep their mind at ease.
Arriving in front of the historical building, the door is opened for us. Security is in full swing by the six men waiting to escort us up to the event. Evangeline slips out, clutching her small hand bag close to her body. It's show time.
I appear like I'm going to climb out too when I stop to check my jacket pocket. Pretending to search for my wallet in a panicked fashion, I know I can't overcook it or this entire thing is blown. She's been harder to convince than the others, but when I make it out of this, it'll have been worth the extra miles. This is my final score.
“Damn it,” I grumble, reaching out for her to turn around. Curious she lifts her high arched eyebrow. “Honey, I forgot my wallet.”
“Seriously Bruce?” She huffs, security speaking into their earpieces between trying to usher her faster towards the party. “You know no one's allowed in without their ID.”
“I know-”
“And I told you repeatedly to grab it-”
“I know-”
“And you insisted you had it!”
“Evangeline, you can either keep bitching at me or you can shut the hell up, get your ass inside, and let me go get it.” She loves when I raise my voice and speak disrespectfully. Her father treats her the same way. Sometimes I think it's the only thing she responds too.
“Go.” She pouts. “Go baby. I'll stall father. Just...just be quick.”
“As quick as the drive can be.” I point to the door for her to shut. “Now, excuse me.”
Once it's closed, I call to the driver to take us back to the loft she's been begging me to move into with her. The drive back is faster, giving me just a few moments to replay the plan I've spent so much time perfecting. As soon as we arrive back, I hustle into the building and insist to the driver it won't be too long. And it won't. I had the money transferred on a timer just moments before we left. The time lag that's set up will leave me the smallest window of time to become traces in the wind before they investigate.
I travel up the stairs quickly, not wanting my body time stamped on the elevator camera. I had the stairwell cameras cut out just seconds before I arrived back knowing those are less crucial to fix. To my surprise each floor I pass is eerily silent. They're never like this. There's a woman who lives on the third floor with a loud bird that never stops squawking and on the fourth there is someone who constantly blends something at all hours of the day. Yet right now there's nothing. It's odd. Really odd. Something about all this feels off. I slow down with one flight left and begin to assess my surroundings. On our floor, I notice a couple unfamiliar faces passing by me, a few others lingering around chatting with each other. They're also unfamiliar. A little out of place. With my key I let myself in and lock the door behind me. Have I done something to raise suspicion? Maybe I should go back to the party and wait for another chance to escape? No. No, I can't. I can't spend another mindless moment listening to her ramble or her father's bullshit politics. I can't. I won't. Besides if I wait any longer, they'll spot the missing money, and I'll be back to square one.
I enter in to the bedroom we've been sharing, pull my duffel bag from a hidden panel in the wall of the closet, and throw it over my shoulder. Swiftly, I lift up the mattress where a portion of the money I have ciphered from her is laid out in crisp bills waiting for me. Clothes I've returned for the cash. Jewelry. Jet Skis. Art pieces. Her impulse to shower me with presents is almost as strong as my impulse to cash them out.
In the process of putting it away, I'm stopped by the sound of someone clearing their throat. I look up to see a male I don't recognize. He's not much older than me, if at all. From his position leaned against the wall, he looks like this isn't his first time here. But that doesn't make sense. If he'd been here before I would know. She doesn't have a brother. She wasn't smart enough to cheat on me and from the combination of his age and the way he's dressed, there's no way he's an FBI agent.
Nonchalantly I bite, “What?”
The male adjusts the collar to his green polo. “Looks like you're about to collect on quite a payday.”
“Observant of the obvious.”
“I am.”
“It's a useless skill.”
“Maybe to some.”
“Let me clarify. I have no need for that in my life.”
He lightly chuckles and slides a hand in his pocket. “How about the need for an escape plan that doesn't end in handcuffs?”
“I'm not going anywhere in handcuffs. Another reason I know, you know, nothing about me. Now, if you'll excuse me.”
Before I have a chance to exit the room he states, “How about I know your real name? Justin Ryan.”
The announcement of something I rarely ever say out loud successfully stops me. When was the last time I used my actual name? I do my best to not appear rattled. “So?”
“Age? 17.”
I don't look it. I haven't looked my actual age since I was a preteen. Just like it's not documented anywhere that I'm anything under the age of twenty one. My smooth voice that hit puberty early plays a nice hand.
“Profession? Con Man. I mean, if that's an actual career. I mean I consider it one, but that's just me.”
Impressed, but smart enough to not admit or deny anything, I simply shrug as a response.
“You've spent the last two years of your life charming your way in and out of women's lives. Young and old. However you prefer them younger because they ask less questions. They fall in love first and think about it later. Like after you've made away with a hunk of their fortunes.”
That and it's less creepy to seduce someone closer to my age than twice it.
“Amount you've profited? Just over a million dollars.” The way he's rambling the information sounds like it's come out of a file that's been started about me. Another reason to get the hell out of dodge.
“Tell me something not documented on paper about me.”
“You play the piano. Quite well. Typically sad love songs with a heavy jazz influence. Too sappy for my taste, but chicks dig it.” When I don't deny the less known fact about myself he pokes. “Oh? Now I have your attention?”
“Barely.”
“I'm just curious as to where you're headed Justin Ryan who I know nothing about? Fiji? Mexico? Brazil?”
I roll my eyes. Pathetic he thinks I'm dumb enough to tell him. Doesn't help I'm not sure for the long run at the moment. Those are places I've toyed around with, but a yacht that sai
ls up and down international waters that won't bother me sounds better. I like boats.
“That's fine. Don't tell me that. How about this? How do you plan to get there? With the limo the police are searching right now? Or the plane the FBI ceased at 8 a.m. this morning?”
“You're bluffing...”
He tilts his head the direction of the double doors that lead to a balcony attached to the bedroom. “See for yourself.”
I rush over and peek out the glass to see the police questioning the driver. Shit...This isn't good. This doesn't usually happen until I'm long gone.