by Azzurra Nox
“But Milly, I do,” the wind was cool against his red finger-stamped cheek. His thoughts went to Lena, wondering where she was right now, worried if she was upset or if she hated him for putting her in an awkward situation.
“You can’t treat people like this Jon,” her voice cracked, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You can’t just use them for sex and then leave them for some stupid virgin!”
He hadn’t known that fact about Lena and was surprised that Amelia knew but then again perhaps the two of them had told each other things she and he had never spoken about.
“I don’t care what she is.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I don’t. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I love her, Milly. I really do.”
“WHY? I’d do anything for you! I don’t want us to end,” she looked down at her feet, tears dripping from her cheeks and rolling down her chin. He moved towards her, his hand reaching out for her face, collecting the wet streams of desperation from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he hugged her, she resisted at first before wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace as though he’d never let her go. She burrowed her head against his chest and sobbed. Two lovers sharing a tragic moment. He was certain that they painted a grim picture. Her shoulders rising and falling from her sobs as he held her close to him thinking that he could contain her emotions as the wind tore at their garments relentlessly. This was such a heartbreaking scene and he would’ve allowed himself to feel the proper amount of sorrow he should in a moment like this, but his mind could only focus on Lena’s warm lips and the way her mouth invited his to continue, tongues twisting, and heated breaths. He wished he could feel the same amount of desperation that Amelia was feeling. The heartbreaking realization that something had been broken and could never be mended. But he couldn’t. His heart used to be a wasteland where no seed of hopes could flourish, but Lena had changed everything. She was his hope. She allowed him to feel something he was certain he was incapable of ever feeling. As much as it tore him to admit it, especially with Amelia clutching desperately at his clothes, he knew that he was in love and that nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter Thirteen
The tears blinded her as she walked alone along the bridge, the Los Angeles River, only a strip of water below. The sugary soda had dried out leaving her hair feeling sticky and matte. She still had the taste of Jon’s kiss in her mouth. A part of her knew that she had done something terribly wrong in giving in to Jon’s kiss, but at the same time it had felt so good and immensely right. Confusion throbbed at her temples like a sledgehammer against a stubborn nail. Pulling out her pink mobile she contemplated over calling Jon and asking him to come pick her up. Her father was working late at the university and she had assured him that she’d have a ride back home when he left her at the theatre earlier that night. Now, she was walking alone on a street she hardly recognized.
She hadn’t thought about the consequences when she ran out of the theatre in a maddened frenzy. At that moment her shoes had become like Hermes’ winged sandals giving her the ability to disappear out of their sight at an incredible speed. Jon had called out for her and she had ignored him. She looked behind her shoulder once to see if he was coming after her and was disappointed to notice that there were no traces of him nearby. He was probably busy trying to console Amelia or attempting to explain their kiss to her or both.
What had the kiss meant to her? She wasn’t even sure. She only knew that she had welcomed it and without much reserve. Black was strewn down her cheeks from the liner melting. She resembled a distraught Taylor Momsen, tangled hair and black tears. Crushed, she stopped walking. She rested her palms against the cement of the bridge as she looked down at the nonexistent river below. Right now the water looked innocuous, but she had been told that the levels were known to rise, causing the river come to life with its fury. You just never knew when it could happen. Like most things in life, what looks safe can turn out to be the danger you’re avoiding. She sighed. But it was a different sigh than she had been accustomed to before. This was a sigh that seemed to shake her soul, rattle her whole being. A sudden spasm overtook her as she was violently jolted back to another place, miles away, of when she had felt a similar sense of anguish, and her whole body shook.
Christmas lights adorned the doors of shops and kiosks that had all the garish festivity treats on display such as caramelized almonds, roasted chestnuts, and chocolate covered orange slices. Lena loved this time of year, it was her favorite holiday. She’d walked from one kiosk to another sampling all the treats until her belly was full and a satisfied grin spread across her face. She intended to the do the same thing that year, as the years before.
“Hurry up!” her mother urged her, as she nibbled on a cream filled caramel dough ball, her hands getting sticky from the sugar as she attempted to flip through the pages of a music magazine. The city of Catania thrived with life as the radios played seasonal melodies whilst others broadcasted the latest hits.
“Give me a second!” she said, setting down the magazine on the rack as her eyes scanned the various titles. It wasn’t a particularly chilly night, although she wore a red wool coat whilst her mother wore a brown fur coat.
“It’s mink,” she had told her, when she first bought it, as Lena ran her hands across the soft fur with a tinge of sadness.
“How sad they had to die for this,” she remembered telling her. Her mother simply dismissed her with a pat on the head. Now, from the corner of her eye she could see her mother waiting impatiently as she looked up at the rack. Something had caught her eye.
Cut Here, the title of a novel gleamed in red letters, placed appropriately across the neck of a faceless individual, with blood crawling down to indicate a sever in the skin. She was about to lift the book from the rack when her mother tugged at her hand.
“Your father is waiting for us, and it’s getting late,” pulling her away.
Looking down at her watch she noticed it was only eight thirty.
“It’s not late at all!” she protested but it was useless. They were walking away from the newspaper stand, towards the parking lot where her dad was waiting for them at the car.
She finished eating the caramel dough ball, searching her pockets for a napkin. Like always, she never had one. Her mother walked a step ahead of her, her heels clicking against the asphalt.
“I wasn’t finished looking though,” she began, wiping her sticky fingers in the inside of her pockets, “There was a book I wanted to get.”
“Then why didn’t you?” her mother’s voice was distracted as they waited for the lights to indicate when they could cross the street. They both had long blonde hair that flowed down the middle of their backs and deep brown eyes.
“Because you pulled me away so fast! I didn’t have time. I really want it though,” she didn’t care if she sounded whiny, she couldn’t get the image of that book cover out of her head. She wanted to know more about it. They crossed the street with the rest of the holiday shoppers who were hauling four or six bags all from different stores. They spotted her dad and walked towards him, but Lena didn’t stop with her moaning.
“Can I go back to get the book? I really want it!”
Her father heard her request and being the good-natured man that always wanted to make her happy, consented her to her wish. “Just make sure to hurry up, it’s getting late,” he reminded her.
“Oh I will!” she ran cheerfully back towards the shopping center of the city, almost forgetting to wait upon the pedestrian crossing.
She got lost in the midst of the crowd once more, finding herself back to the kiosks selling coconut crepes and buying one before heading in the direction of the newspaper stand. She managed to squeeze her way through the maze of people, until she reached her destination.
Cut Here, glistened the title, and in smaller print the name of the author, Madoka Yoshimoto. She quickly grabbed the book from the rack and paid. Damn, she thought, it was close to nine, her dad would be pis
sed by the time she got back to the car. She’d simply tell him that there had been a line at the checkout, she reasoned. She just didn’t want to go back home when the city was alive with seasonal cheer. The air held a fragrant sugary scent to it from all the pastries. It was sheer heaven. Reluctantly, she made her way back towards the parking lot. There was a sudden screech of a motorcycle racing down the street followed by screams. Another sound, like that of wings flapping wildly in the air transpired in the winter night, but soon forgotten, because of the commotion.
“Oh my god!” she heard people exclaim distraught.
Confusion suddenly engulfed her senses as she held on tightly to the book inching her way closer to what everyone was staring at. The first thing she noticed was the blood on the asphalt. Deep red. The second thing was the brown fur coat, also smeared in blood. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, she felt dizzy, dropping the half eaten crepe on the ground. She couldn’t even utter a single word until her eyes moved farther up the street and that’s when she finally screamed. A blood-curling shrill she had never heard herself make until that moment. The ground beneath her seemed to sway, her legs couldn’t handle her weight and buckled. Darkness met her before her fall. In the distance, in a half conscious wake, she could make out of the sounds of Christmas carols mingling with the horrified screams from the shoppers. Happy Christmas, it’s the best time of year!
Lena had trouble breathing. She shut and opened her eyes a couple of times trying to regain control of herself. The flashbacks always came like deadly razors ready to inflict their pain in her when she least expected them to. She began to feel unstable. Cold sweat broke loose on her forehead like crystal drops. Her hands rummaged through her messenger bag for her pills, but couldn’t find the bottle. Panic seized her with its manic clutch, and she shut her eyes trying to will the the anxiety away. But it was too late.
Thoughts began to pervade her brain. A frightening vision seduced her senses. How easy it was to allow herself to fall below. To become one with the river. She wondered how high up she was. It was a fleeting moment, but enough to invoke her malaise.
When she opened her eyes, she noticed that the fog had begun to slither between the streets like a venomous serpent, slowly approaching its hapless victim. The sound of sirens filled the night, but another sound, much less urgent, but just as loud, resonated. The sound of flapping wings grew louder, almost unbearable. Lena looked up in the direction that the sound came from, and saw nothing but white. A strange flowery scent permeated the misty air. Violets.
“Follow me…” a voice echoed.
She lifted herself up on the bridge’s railing, and sat down. Her feet dangled in the air, as she stared down at the river below, the waters hidden by the white wool of the fog. It seemed to swallow her whole, the pure whiteness enveloping around her waif body. The fragrant perfume of blossoms intoxicated her senses. Her mind became a blank slate. Her hands let go of the ledge. It was almost an inebriating experience, feeling suspended amongst the clouds.
A soft, almost feathery touch caressed her cheek. “Don’t be afraid,” the voice whispered, “Trust me.”
Suddenly, an abrupt shove to her back caused her to fall off the bridge. With eyes wide open, she made out the outline of a black wing as a blood-curling scream escaped from her lips. So many thoughts flooded her mind in that instant. How she was too young to die, or how she shouldn’t have left the theatre on her own. Or how she couldn’t possibly die now, she was going to be starring as Christine! How unfair to die now that Jon had kissed her. No, she wanted him to kiss her once more. It couldn’t be the last time. But was it going to be her last night? In the air, she closed her eyes tightly, feeling her body plunge swiftly downwards without restraints as though someone had thrown a sack of bricks overboard. The wind was fierce, slapping her chilled tear stricken cheeks as she was met with a cloak of darkness.
* * *
When Lena came to, she found herself in the arms of a young man. Her heart raced and she grabbed unto the stranger with force, not wanting to let go, afraid that if she were to let go, she’d have to feel that desperate sense of nothingness below her feet again. But this wasn’t the case anymore once she noticed that he was standing on firm ground. His face was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, eyes that resembled clear cut emeralds and long chestnut brown hair that fell over his forehead in disheveled waves.
“How did you do that?” she whispered.
He looked down at her, his hand brushing up against her cheek.
“Do what?”
“Save me? How did you do that?” Her throat scratched from her scream, lungs still burning from the fear of never breathing again.
“I saw you jump off the bridge and rushed to catch you.”
“That’s ridiculous…” she wanted to argue but she was feeling lightheaded from the intense emotions. The notion of losing her life had never hit her so profoundly until tonight. Not even the night she had taken an overdose of barbiturates, had she felt so at loss for her life. A glimmer of hope resided at the last minute, as she had forced herself to throw up. Her father finding her seated on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet with pills and vomit smeared on the tiles.
The stranger smiled softly at her. His skin was a white, pale hue, complimenting hers.
“Tell me your name at least,” a quiet plea, but she could barely keep her eyes open.
“Michael,” he replied but his voice sounded far away as the black overtook her senses once more. She was limp in his arms, unable to move. Her final thought before losing conscious was, I’ll gladly die to be held in your arms.
Chapter Fourteen
A week had passed since Jon and Lena had spoken. In Algebra class she avoided him like the plague, making sure not to make any eye contact whatsoever and staring off into space whilst Sister Agnes explained how to chart results on a graph. He looked at her. She seemed radiant but distant. Not the same. She had begun to obsessively scribble in her notebook for the whole week and initially he figured that maybe she was intent on taking notes since she had stopped asking to see his, but when he casually leaned forward to look at her notebook he was astonished to see that it was filled with song lyrics, doodles of hearts, and the letter M. Jealousy gripped his heart tightly at that moment. Who the hell was this M? And was this why she had suddenly become cold with him? Things had been awkward between them since the kiss. Mostly because of Amelia’s reaction. He cringed thing about it. But the image of their kiss lingered. He had called things off with Amelia, attempting to explain how he wasn’t in love with her and staying with her would only cause her more damage, but she refused to understand. Now the three of them had separated, their friendship tainted by his selfish ways.
He tried to pay attention to what Sister Agnes was explaining, but couldn’t when Lena was busy looping her initials with the mysterious M. He jot down a few key formulas, then tore out a sheet of paper to write her a note. When he was done, he folded it.
“Lena! Hey!” he whispered, but she didn’t seem to budge, looking at the board with disinterest and a gaze that indicated that she was deep in thought but not with the subject at hand.
“Mr. Russe!” Sister Agnes said sternly as he tried to talk to Lena.
“Sorry, I just needed to borrow an eraser,” he quickly commented trying to get her to divert her attention from him. He hated being in the spotlight.
“Jonathan, you know what we think about lying. Especially when I can plainly see that your pencil has come well equipped with a functional eraser.”
Jon despised how no one could fool Sister Agnes into believing their not well thought out fibs. But he tried to quickly repair, “You’re right. I’m sorry. My excuse was pitiful. I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t bring along any graph paper and was asking Lena if she’d allow me to borrow some.” He was safe in that lie as he indeed had forgotten the graph paper in his locker that morning.
Lena turned to him, giving him a look stating, Are you happy now that you go
t my attention? And slipped him a few sheets of graph paper on his desk.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“Very well. We may get back to the lesson now if Mr. Russe sees it fit,” the young nun gave him a despotic glare challenging him to attempt to defy her authority but he did nothing. The moment she turned her back to write on the board, he threw the note over to Lena. It landed with a soft sound. She jumped back a little startled, and was about to undo the folds to read what he had written when unbeknownst to both of them, Sister Agnes had marched over and snatched the note from Lena’s hand.
“This isn’t the time nor place for petty love notes,” she said as Lena stared up at her with a confused expression painted across her features.
“But…Sister Agnes…it just fell on my desk…”
“A likely story,” unfolding the paper as a small smirking smile formed at the corner of her mouth when she read the message before loudly stating, “Students, Mr. Russe thinks that it’s vitally important for him to disrupt class so that he can say, I miss you, to Miss Martin, how sweet,” her voice held a mocking inflection.
Embarrassed, he didn’t know what to do. He wished he could have a clever retort as his classmates snickered at the nun’s derision. Instead, he stood up, snatched the note from the nun’s hands, and stormed out, ignoring that she was calling after him to stop. He couldn’t remain in there one more moment. Not with Lena looking at him with a pity in her eyes that he had never seen before. Poor Jonny. Poor lovesick Jonny. What bullshit, he thought. He wasn’t going to stay there and take that sort of treatment. Not even the threat of detention deterred him from leaving.
His walk was quick and brisk. He didn’t even notice that Amelia was in the hall escorting a new student around till he ran right into her. She fell backwards.
“I’m sorry, I…” his eyes met hers and he got quiet. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night. She had called him several times but he had refused to take her calls. The mobile ringing endlessly till the voicemail picked up. Seventy-three messages. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to even one of them.