by Azzurra Nox
* * *
Los Angeles, California 2010
Chapter One
The library’s storage area was filled with cabinets upon cabinets of files and reams of paper, along with various copies of the Classics. Lena’s back was flattened against one of the shelves. Michael’s lips were pressed against her own in an inviting wet kiss. Lately, the feelings between them grew more intense. She couldn’t even pinpoint why. The only thing she knew was that she needed him. Trying to concentrate on her schoolwork seemed useless, for her thoughts were filled with Michael. In class, she’d find herself idly daydreaming, and her grades in Algebra indicated that with a drastic plummet effect. She struggled understanding the formulas, and wished she could ask Jon for help, whom was clearly more analytically inclined than she was. But ever since he changed seats, the two hardly spoke. Outside of class she always saw him in the company of Sydney and Connor.
A part of her felt lonely. She missed Jon. She missed Amelia too. The day after her rupture with Jon, she walked into the Cafeteria without a sense of direction. She went from having close friends to having none at all. The feeling was terrible. Surveying the lunchroom she was about to walk out when Bethany called her over. She invited her to sit with them, and to her astonishment, she soon became a member of the coveted clique the Honeys. She still wasn’t too thrilled about Dior, but Bethany and Bailey had been nice to her. Or at least had made her feel welcomed and accepted, which was better than spending her time at school being alone. She often wondered how Hope could manage not having a friend.
Michael’s hands on her waist and lips caressing her neck brought her focus back to him. They were both breathless. Everything felt so new. She had never felt this way before, she couldn’t quite explain it. This love was like a drug. Initially she only felt the need to see him, talk to him, hold his hand. Soon, that wasn’t enough. She wanted more, expected more. His kisses were intoxicating. The kind that made her crave more and more, until they were both breathless and speechless with lips plump from the friction. She was like an addict seeking desperately her dose. Michael was the only one that could quench her insatiable thirst. He had become the oasis in the desert of her life. Whenever their lips met she was hit with overbearing emotions she had never experienced before, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the heat of the expanding sun. It was like the sky opening in half and sucking her in.
He interlocked his fingers with hers. She should’ve been in English Literature right now. No wonder she was doing poorly in her studies. But she didn’t seem to care.
“Maybe we should get back to class,” he whispered.
“But I don’t want to,” she pouted. His index finger traced the curve of her lips.
“Me neither.”
They were kissing again, hushed breaths, and fingers roaming. The storage room felt hot. Books lined up one by one on the shelves. A book fell to the floor with a loud thud, but it didn’t deter either of them from continuing doing what they were doing. He murmured in Latin, some words she was able to grasp, whilst others not, but it sounded so heartfelt and passionate that she didn’t care if she understood or not. Her long hair got tangled in his fist. She felt even more small and delicate in comparison to him. All of his movements oozed strength, but tenderness at the same time. It was so intoxicating and alluring. She briefly opened her eyes, and was startled to see a figure crouching behind a cabinet, making out only the back of the feet as though the individual were kneeling. Michael was still trying to kiss her, when she pushed him off of her. Her hands were firm, and he backed away not understanding what was going on.
“There’s someone behind that cabinet,” she pointed. She hoped it wasn’t any of the nuns putting files away, or better yet, one of the students who could easily blab her whereabouts to Father Bob who had recently begun questioning her over the numerous absences in class. The only valid excuse she had found was to tell him that she hadn’t been feeling well lately. It was easy for her to pull that off with her light weight, pale lips, and cheeks that held no tint of rose. But she feared that this excuse wouldn’t hold on for too long. Two weeks had been stretching it, she was sure.
Michael looked over his shoulder in direction of her pointing. Once he saw the figure, he walked in the direction of it.
“Wait!” Lena rushed after him. Once she turned around the corner she almost laughed in relief. “Hope, what are you doing here?” She was surprised to see her sitting on the floor with white ribbon set out in a circle, a candle burning in the center.
“She’s going to strike again.”
“Who is?” Michael interrupted.
“You mean that shadow girl you saw at the beach?”
“Yes. Her name is Adriel.”
The hair on the back of her neck rose when Hope uttered those words. Lena hadn’t seen the strange mist since the time she fell off the bridge, and yet whenever she thought about that night, everything was so confused. But there was something menacing in the way the fog had set in, crawling towards her till it engulfed her very being. She subconsciously moved closer to Michael, feeling like he could be the only one who was strong enough to protect her. There were so many things she didn’t know about him though. So many unanswered questions, but whenever she tried to gain more knowledge about him he’d cut her short, and curtly tell her that she couldn’t possibly understand and that some things weren’t meant to be shared.
“Who’s this girl you two keep speaking of?”
“It’s hard to explain, and you’ll think we’re crazy anyway,” Lena cut him off.
“Try me.”
“Remember the night you saved me? Someone had pushed me off that bridge Michael.”
“Someone supernatural,” Hope interjected.“She’ll probably strike again during the next full moon.”
“Why doesn’t she try to hurt you?” Lena couldn’t understand, since the mysterious creature had tried to kill both her and Jon.
“She’s not after her, that’s why. Hope can see her because she’s sensitive,” Michael said in a way that indicated that he knew more than he let on. He quickly stopped speaking, the expression on his face emanated with horror of someone who had spoken too much.
“How do you know that? Then who is she after? Me? Jon?” Her voice rose in alarm and anger.
“I, I don’t know. I was just speculating. This sounds a little crazy to be honest,” he chuckled nervously.
“I’m trying to keep her away,” Hope drew on the floor with a black Sharpie. The symbols made no sense to Lena.
“Can all this witchcraft mumbo jumbo actually work?”
“Lena, anything that’s done with faith holds a power that no one can understand,” Michael explained, as his hand kindly touched the top of Hope’s head in a way to acknowledge her attempt to try to keep the school safe.
Lena jumped as the bell rang loudly indicating the end of class. She was suddenly annoyed at Michael for not telling her anything, and was even more jealous over the fact that Hope seemed to know more than her. She wondered if Hope knew why he was so secretive and why he didn’t have a navel. That possibility ate at her brain like a vicious tumor.
“I’ve got to go,” she murmured, walking over to where she had left her messenger bag on the floor, dragging it up and pulling the strap over her shoulder. She walked past the two of them, “Have fun with your little Prue Halliwell,” but Michael grabbed her arm, keeping her there for a moment.
“What’s your problem?”
“Nothing, just let me go, you’re hurting me.”
He loosened his grip on her and she pulled her arm free. She rushed out the door and into the library. Hurt, she rubbed her arm and pulled up the white sleeve of her uniform’s button down shirt. Michael’s fingerprints remained red around her arm from his grasp and her flesh was slightly aching in protest. She hadn’t realized how strong he was until that moment. He couldn’t have possibly have hurt her intentionally, maybe he didn’t know how strong he really was compared to her. Befo
re anyone could question her, she quickly pulled her sleeve back down and tried to focus on getting to her next class on time.
Chapter Two
“Wake up! He’s here!” Sydney nudged him.
Jon rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he tried to look ahead of him. Sure enough, Connor’s hearse was pulling up right next to his car. He wasn’t used to waking up so early, especially since he had trouble sleeping. But he couldn’t say no to Sydney when she asked him to join her and Connor surfing. Zuma Beach was still deserted at this hour, save for one other surfer who was already waxing his board.
“I see you two made it!” Connor walked towards them as Jon reluctantly got out of the car. It was cold at this hour, and Jon had no idea how they both were expecting him to get wet with that chill and slight fog along the marine layer in the sky. Sydney was already in her wetsuit, she had insisted on getting dressed prior to arriving at the beach. Her golden blonde locks tumbled down her back and seemed to glow against the black of the wetsuit. Jon tried to seem enthusiastic but it was difficult when the thought of getting on a surfboard made his stomach turn. He didn’t trust any bodies of water, even if he knew how to swim. Although swimming in a pool was entirely different than swimming in an ocean. An ocean was vast and full of perils with its mysterious creatures and aquatic plants. Sydney had joined Connor, and the two of them were exchanging an animated talk as Jon looked over at the ocean. The water was grey, as the fog creeped in and the waves slowly began to rise in a moderato crescendo.
He thought about Lena. Her dance performance still etched in his memory like an indelible part of his existence. The way her arms moved gracefully in a heartbreaking embrace around the dancer who played Erik after he cried for not being the holder of her heart. The tears she shed onstage that looked too real to be faked for a role. His heart had beat fast against his ribcage, wanting to escape from him and run to her like a lovesick fool.
“The waves are starting. Get your board out and get ready,” Connor told him interrupting Jon’s thoughts. He nodded, although his heart was still in his memory of that night than in the moment. Pulling on the wetsuit, the hair rose on his arms from the brisk air. His right hand was healing and was in a removable cast now, that he slipped out so that it wouldn’t get wet. If only he could clear his mind and his heart from Lena. She planted herself in the very core of him and now it was difficult for him to pluck her out. He wouldn’t be able to extract her without prying pieces of his soul along with it. Why hadn’t anyone ever told him that love would just be a barren vault of suffering? He despised all those poets he had read about in Literature class who gave people a false impression of what love was really about. His stomach turned at the notion that he had yet to feel what it was like to love and be loved in return. Envy grated at his emotions, turning his thoughts to pitch black.
Sydney pulled her hair up, rendering her birthmark more visible. But her smile illuminated her face, and for a moment he wished he had his camera with him. She could be so beautiful. He watched her walk slowly into the waters, then turn around to beckon him to join her and Connor. The surfboard was both heavy and light, unsure if he had properly waxed the board, he nestled it into the sand, standing up.
“Do you know how to get on the board?”
“Yeah, Sydney has been showing me all week on the beach. But I haven’t tried it in the water yet.”
“There’s no time like the present.”
The ocean looked immense. A vast body of liquid that in comparison he felt tiny, almost insignificant. The waves were rolling in, and he tried to keep in mind what Sydney had told him. How to keep calm and to keep his eyes glued to the horizon. Never to look down, that was the first rule of surfing. He lifted the board up out of the sand and walked towards the water, meeting up with Sydney. The water was freezing. The second his feet came in contact with it, his toes recoiled from the cold.
“Don’t worry, you’ll do okay,” she assured him. “Just remember what we practiced all week.”
“I know,” and lay the board on top of the water. He took a deep breath and pressed his chest against the wood, starting to paddle out. He kept his eyes on the horizon, just as Sydney had instructed. The sun was beginning to peek a little, but the clouds were cloaking its efforts to shine. A wave was coming in his direction, gaining momentum as it approached. Jon tried to hurry up and jump on his feet. His balance was unsteady as he attempted to ride the wave. He could hear both Sydney and Connor cheering him on, and he looked back at them for a moment. That’s when he lost his footing and plunged into the icy waters.
The impact with the water was sudden, and he felt the salt burn the inside of his nose as it engulfed his nostrils. He struggled against the waves, his arms flailing and legs kicking. When he rose up, he hit his head against the board. A piercing pain throbbed along his left temple. Then he felt something wrap around his leg like a hand curling its fingers around his ankle and pulling him further down. Panic gripped his limbs, and he thrashed wildly. He opened his eyes for a moment, the salt inflaming his vision as he made out the vague form of a body and a mass of black. Don’t be afraid. A pricking terrifying feeling rushed through him as he made out who it was. The girl that had slit his wrists. But what was she doing underwater? Maybe he was imagining things. He closed his eyes, and jerked his feet harder back and forth, trying to disentangle himself from her. The need for air became almost intolerable and against his will his mouth sprang open filling up with water.
It’s so easy to give in. Don’t fight it. It was a soft seductive voice repeating those words in a continuous manner that it became a mantra burning in his brain. Jon fought with all his forces, until his limbs were too tired and heavy to fight and he slowly began to give in to the sensuous voice. It was lulling him like a mother’s arms holding an infant and humming a lullaby. Maybe if he’d only let go he could stop feeling so tired. He was ready to give in, the hand around his ankles pulling him further down when another pair of hands, much stronger, were pulling him upwards. For a moment there was a seesaw effect where he kept being pulled back and forth, until the grip on his ankle weakened and he felt the rush of air slap him across the face. He tried to take a deep breath but only coughed loudly. Opening his eyes he couldn’t make out who was dragging him out of the water. Too many voices for him to distinguish or to put a face to, and talking seemed impossible. Every time he opened his mouth, only coughing ensued. A loud hacking sort of cough, like he had just gotten his first gulp of air after being oxygen deprived for months. He saw Sydney’s concerned face hovering over him, the sun casting a shadow down. That was the last thing he saw before blacking out.
Chapter Three
The afternoons felt endless now, the minute hand moved in slow motion teasing Amelia with the solace of the next hour approaching but it was never fast enough. Her room felt stifling, the walls appeared to close in on her creating a prison or enclosed vault of despair. She felt restless and couldn’t concentrate on her studies or on anything else. The only thought she had in mind was Jon, and how she wanted him back. Seeing him in school everyday was killing her little by little, more so when he was in the company of Sydney Stam. How could he possibly like someone like her? She found herself asking herself that rhetorical question time and time again. Sydney was a freak, how could Jon find her attractive? It burned her to know that he was spending his days with her now. She missed the way they would take walks together, listened to music till late at night, and place her head against his chest so that she could hear his heartbeat. Bitter tears welled up in her eyes. It was difficult to keep them in lately. Every time she walked into Photography class he was there. His hair falling loosely over his eye, and scribbling away at the notes that Sister Rose wrote on the board about the shutter speed and how to capture the perfect lighting.
Photography used to be her favorite course. It meant she got to sit next to Jon, or spend time with him in the dark room. In which she mostly used her time in there as an excuse to makeout with him. She was terribl
e at art, and her photographs were the testimony of her inability to capture beauty in simple things. But Jon on the other hand could make art out of photographing frying pans filled with oil or bamboo sticks. He had the uncanny ability to make any girl captured by his lens become instantly gorgeous. She loved it when she was his muse and he’d spend hours shooting her.
Her heart sank the other day when they were both in the dark room and she noticed that he was developing photos of Sydney. She despised the way he managed to make her look stunning, and most of all, normal. All the shots taken weren’t capturing her birthmark, leaving her to look like a model.
“Is she your new muse now?” she wanted it to sound casual but the question had ended up sounding like an accusation drilling right into his brain.
“We’re friends, and she’s pretty so I asked her to pose.”
“Don’t give me the friend crap, you two are dating. The whole school knows about it!”
“What do you want? We’re not together anymore. I thought you could be reasonable about this, but it seems like you’ve become so irrational lately.”
Irrational? How could he fathom the notion of them being apart? How could she ever be okay knowing that he wasn’t hers anymore? Her heart ached so badly for him. The days seemed to last for weeks, and the silence that reigned over her room was unbearable. How could he not see how she was falling apart at the seams?
“I meant nothing to you?”
“I didn’t say that,” he sounded tense as he sloshed the prints in the chemicals with the thongs. “Stop putting words into my mouth.”
“Then why? Why did you break up with me? I’d understand if you were with Lena right now, but you’re not. You could’ve come back. I love you.”
“That’s the problem right there. You love me. YOU. I don’t. I’m not in love with you.”