by Azzurra Nox
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes,” her cheeks felt warm. She was certain that they were red as beets. “I’m sorry…I..”
“Don’t apologize. You have no need to.”
“I..”
“Stop doing it. The apologies. Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Hold unto me, so you don’t fall,” he offered her his arm. There was something chivalrous about his action. For a moment she felt as though she had stepped into a Charlotte Bronte novel. She was no longer a bland girl with bad, unwashed hair, but a strong heroine like Jane Eyre, whilst Jon was her Mr. Rochester, the grouchy gentleman with a heart of gold. This analogy made her smile. It was the perfect closure to a day that had begun with a veil of grief.
Chapter Eight
The Calvary cemetery was spacious, with acres of rolling green land. All Souls Chapel was a Gothic edifice that was reminiscent of a similar church in Buckinghamshire, England. Jon had never been there, even if the place was located only fifteen minutes away from the heart of Los Angeles. He never really had a reason to go there before.
The day of the funeral, he stayed home locked up in his room listening to Amelia’s favorite radio station 93.1 Jack FM. He had smoked the afternoon away, not answering to Lena’s calls. There was nothing he had to say to her. Not since he suspected that Michael wasn’t human. For all they knew he could be working alongside the black winged girl. There was no other explanation, because no one can suffer no blood loss with the gash he had. He had to be one of them. One of those evil creatures. How could she love him? What was the point? He was here for stirring up trouble, not for romancing girls. But he refused to say that to Lena, because she was too infatuated to really understand.
He walked past the Stations of the Cross as he neared towards the cemetery campground. The plaques on the ground had various names and dates with personal inscriptions. Trying to find where Amelia was buried seemed an impossible mission. Until he noticed a fresh mound nearby with a garland of pink and white flowers placed on top. He approached the grave site slowly as though he were afraid to startle the dead below his feet. The name etched on the plaque made his stomach turn. Quickly, he looked away so that the feeling could pass. He crumpled to the ground. Maybe it was catching up to him, the sense of loss.
“It’s all my fault,” he murmured, as though she could hear him. “I’m sorry, Milly.” His fingers nervously fondled the mirror pendant around his neck. The soil was cracked from many months of no rain, the grass was superficially green but the roots below were yellowing. “I’m sorry,” he stroked the letters of her plaque in a way that he only had done so with her face. It almost felt like the first time he kissed her. How he moved in close to her, she thought he was going to whisper something in her ear. Instead he first placed a kiss on her nose, and then planted one on her lips.
Amelia used to tease him for his fascination with the band Nirvana. They’d spend afternoons with their albums blasting in the background whilst with camera in hand he’d shoot her in various poses and different locations. One time, at a skate park as Amelia tried to balance on a skateboard, she said to him, “I doubt you know everything about Nirvana. I bet you don’t know what Kurt Cobain’s last meal was.” The sun rays were creating ripples of gold, making her red hair look in flames.
“Sure I do. He was heating up a can of soup.”
Her mouth had dropped in an astonished scowl, not wanting to admit defeat.
“I know. I’m sick,” he quickly added almost in embarrassment for knowing this tidbit of information.
“Maybe, just a little,” she had laughed, jumping off the skateboard. It skidded beneath a bench. “But it’s why I love you,” wrapping her arms around his neck. For a moment there had been a small connection. He had almost been tempted to tell her more about himself. But then she pulled away, and it broke the moment.
A shadow obliterated the sun that was shining down on him. He looked up to see Lena standing there. She was all long blonde hair and ruffles. Her face seemed deathly pale against the black long sleeves of the short dress and eyes rimmed with heavy black kohl and mascara.
“Your mother told me you were coming to see her.”
“I wanted to be alone. Why did you come?”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.”
“But I am,” she knelt down, facing him, her hand reaching for his but he pulled away from her.
“It’s all my fault,” he looked away not wanting to look her in the eye because he started to feel his vision mist. “I lost her. Just like I lost Robert. It’s all my fault that he’s gone too.”
“It’s not your fault, Jonny,” she moved towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He looked down at the ground, blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall at any moment. Shutting his eyes tightly, he took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves and choked down a sob. Why did Lena come here? He couldn’t even mourn Amelia on his own. Why did she always have to be present, reminding him of his feelings for her? It was pure torture.
Desperate, he nodded. “It is my fault. That night at the pier, Adriel was there. Milly didn’t see her. She didn’t see her because she couldn’t. Don’t you understand? We see her because we’re broken! I broke Milly! And that’s why she saw her!” By that point he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they trickled down his cheeks, falling on the dry ground. He rapidly wiped them off, not wanting Lena to see him like this. Again, he felt her touch him, this time she pulled him into a hug. Too weakened by his emotions, he allowed himself to be dragged into the embrace without resisting. Holding unto her with all his strength, his hand slightly tugging on her long hair as he continued to feel the warm rush of tears scald his face.
“You didn’t break her,” she tried to console him. “Jonny, none of this is your fault. You did the best you could.”
“Adriel got to her! I didn’t do enough!”
“It’s not what you didn’t do. We’re fighting something that’s bigger than us.”
“All I know is that some screwed up shit is happening. Someone wants all of us. We don’t even know if she’s working alone. You heard Hope, she doesn’t think Michael is human. He’s probably one of them too. How can we trust him?”
“He’s not like Adriel.”
“How do you know? Have you ever asked yourself why we can all see him? Whilst only a select few can see her? Have you?!” he disentangled himself from her, rubbing his face clean with the back of his hand.
“Why do you hate him? He saved you from drowning!”
“Who ever asked him to?! Maybe I didn’t want be saved!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
He grabbed the garland of flowers from Amelia’s tomb tearing them apart. Lena looked at the spectacle in horrified silence as he shouted, “What’s the point of living when you lose everyone you care about?!”
The colorful petals felt soft in his violent hands as he scattered the flowers out, throwing them in the air in rage as they fell around them. Some nestled in Lena’s hair, giving her a Botticelli angelic look that he wish he could covet but was too angry to notice.
“You act like you’re the only one who’s ever lost anyone! Stop pitying yourself!”
The two of them stared hard at one another, both breathing heavily from the commotion and anger. He scrambled to his feet kicking at the flowers, and crumbling them under his sneakers.
“Stop it!” Lena stood up, “Stop it!”
“I don’t want to see her here! She wanted me! That monster, that angel, it had come for me, not her!”
“You can’t change events. Stop kicking yourself for that. You can’t go back and make things right! We can only live with the choices we’ve made whether we like them or not!”
“Milly doesn’t belong here! It should’ve been me in that coffin, not her!”
“Stop saying that!”
“Why? What does it
matter to you?”
“It does matter! I care about you dammit!”
“Is that why you came here?!”
“YES!”
“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to forget you? We can’t be friends!” Until I love you, he thought. He stomped his foot on the ground for growing emphasis, turning to walk away from her, wanting to get as far away from her as possible. She was too close. Too tempting. His mind kept racing back to the time he kissed her at the theatre. It had been the beginning of Amelia’s downfall, but the birth of his growing fondness for Lena. A few people looked in their direction from a distance, and Jon wondered if they heard their shouts from so far. He shrugged the notion away with nonchalance and tried to steady his breathing, but he was seething.
“I’m sorry, Jonny. You know I love Michael.” Her voice was now quiet, said in a sliver of a gasp as though she were too embarrassed to admit it.
“What’s the point? He’s not here to play Romeo.”
“How can you say that?”
“Do you really think that you and him can be together? Wake up, Lena! He’s not even human! You think he’s here to fall in love? Or that he’ll whisk you away and live happily ever after? Get real!” He turned around to face her, watched her lip quiver on the verge of tears and yet he didn’t feel remorse for any of the words he had just spewed so savagely at her.
“Why are you so cruel?”
“I’m not cruel. I’m realistic.”
“No, you’re cruel. I don’t know why you’ve changed so much.”
“I haven’t changed. I’m just not fake. You want me to candy coat your reality just so you can stop popping your happy pills?”
“What’s your problem? I came here because I was worried! Because I care! I don’t deserve any of this!”
“I know you care for him deeply, and the ultimate tragedy is knowing that you will never stop,” the weight of those words were like a bleeding ulcer that expanded to the point of bursting in an explosion of vibrant red. He quickly walked past her, not turning around to face her for a final time when he said, “Don’t come looking for me anymore. Just leave me alone. I might as well be dead to you.”
She was sobbing, and he had to fight the incessant urge to turn and pull her to him. To hold her tight till both their pain combined evaporated into the mist of the setting sun and the approaching fog. But he did none of this. Instead, he pushed himself onwards, never looking back. Every step was made of iron whilst his limbs felt like two ton weights. The only thing he could focus on as he left the cemetery was how Amelia shouldn’t have been the one to die, and how he was going to avenge her death even if he would die trying.
Chapter Nine
It was a typical Saturday morning in Rodeo Drive. Sydney looked up at the sky with a sigh as the sky was overcast in grey, thinking about how it would permeate for a month. Every year in June it would do this. The phenomenon was nicknamed, “June Gloom.” Just as the rest of the country was approaching summer, in Southern California it was the opposite. Morning and evening fogs were normal, as the city became laced with a dreary atmosphere. The tall palm trees lining the sides of the road looked out of place with the dark sky and absence of sun. Rodeo Drive was lined with shops on either side. Sydney had gone there in hopes to find the perfect prom dress. Jon hadn’t spoken of taking her yet, but she assumed that he’d be going since he was up for Prom King, and chalked it all up to him being too distraught over Amelia’s death to have asked her just yet. At least, so she hoped. She had spent the past two weeks lingering around his locker thinking, Maybe today he’ll approach the subject. Maybe today he’ll ask me. But nothing.
Walking up to the Prada boutique, she entered it. The sales girl quickly recognized her from the times she had gone shopping with her mother, and went out of her way to offer her chocolates and tea whilst she showed her various dresses. Sydney sat down on a plush velvet stool as she looked at the numerous dresses with a bored expression, until the girl pulled out a pale pink dress with a rhinestone bustier. The fabric was a combination of silk and sheer layers at the bottom. Her eyes sparked in interest until she thought about how she would conceal her legs. Black stockings would look horrible in such a pretty pink dress.
“Would you have that same dress in black?”
“But this color will look so beautiful on you with your skin tone,” the girl said in her usual excited sales clerk manner to entice her to purchase the product.
“I hate pink,” she lied. “Do you have it in black?”
“No, unfortunately we don’t. But we do have it in green.”
“Let me try it.”
The girl brought her to a dressing room, bringing along an emerald green version of the dress along with the original pink.
“I really do think you should try the pink one too though.”
“Okay,” she grabbed both dresses, and shut the dressing room door. The store played soft pop music. She could hear voices in the dressing room next door and easily recognized them as belonging to Dior and Bethany.
“Does this make me look fat?” she heard Bethany question her friend. There were shuffling sounds as the two of them tried on dresses.
“Just a little,” Dior said, “Black is slimming. Blue just isn’t your color.”
Sydney rolled her eyes at the girl’s conversation. Bethany Thomas was so emaciated that she probably was ninety pounds at best, and Dior only preyed upon her friend’s insecurities. It made Sydney feel uneasy about it, seeing that she was right next door to her and she knew that she wasn’t keen on her since Jon had begun dating her. Everyone at school knew how much Dior liked Jon, and how she failed miserably in gaining his attention. She pulled off her clothes, along with her veil and slipped into the pink dress. It looked stunning on her. The fabric clung to her curves in a flattering manner accentuating her breasts.
The color played off her English Rose complexion beautifully. She smiled, turning around looking at her reflection from over her shoulder. Her smile quickly turned to a frown when she noticed her legs beneath the dress. The black from her birthmark were noticeable under the layers because of the sheer quality. She didn’t even try on the green dress yet, knowing that it would probably suit her needs better because she could wear black stockings easily with a dark color. A heavy lump settled in her heart. This was the perfect dress and she was unable to select it because of her legs. She wondered if she could use white opaque stockings to fix the problem. That was a valid option.
“I thought you were planning to go to Prom with Jonathan Russe,” Bethany chirped from the dressing room next door.
Sydney’s heart froze in place, ceasing to beat. This couldn’t be true.
“I wanted to, but he’s not going.”
“What do you mean he’s not going? He’s been nominated, he has to go!”
“You know him, he’s weird like that.”
Suddenly, Sydney felt very foolish. The dress looked silly on her like she was trying to emulate a diva. She could see remnants of her mother’s sex appeal in her in that getup. Here she was, racking her brain with possibilities of how to look gorgeous for Jon, and he had no intention of going to the Prom. That’s why he hadn’t asked her. He wasn’t going. Furious tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away so that they wouldn’t fall on the dress and stain them with the melted eye makeup.
“So who are you going with?”
“I haven’t decided yet. If Michael wasn’t so hung up on Lena, I’d pick him.”
“Oh please, Dior. That’s unlikely.”
“Do I detect a negative tone?”
“No, it’s just…Michael loves Lena,” Bethany said as though she were talking about two literary lovers rather than two teens she knew from school.
Sydney’s ear was pressed against the dressing room wall now, trying to catch the rest of the conversation that was going on.
“Unfortunately for him. I don’t know what he sees in Lena.”
“She’s a cool girl.”
“Sure, if you say so. I’m only tolerating her in our group because you seem so fond of her.”
“I like her. She’s a good friend.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sydney heard Dior zip up her dress and walk around, the click of her heels almost irritating.
“Are you sure Jon isn’t going to Prom?”
“Yes, he told me so.”
“He’s such a weirdo. I don’t know why you like him. He’s always hanging around charity cases like Sydney and Hope.”
“Who’s Hope? Remind me.”
“You know, that weird girl who always has dirty hair and is a loner.”
“Shut up! Are you serious?!”
“Yes!”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I saw him walking with Hope just the other day, and yesterday they were hanging out after school.”
“No way!” Dior’s voice rose an octave as Sydney’s stomach somersaulted at the news. What was Jon doing getting chummy with Hope? They weren’t even friends. Could it be possible that he fancied her? No. No, that’s ludicrous.
“Have you decided who you’re going with?”
“Not yet. Maybe someone from ballet class.”
There was a knock at Sydney’s door and she jumped up in agitation.
“Is everything okay in there? How does the dress fit?” the salesclerk inquired.
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” she quickly shouted back trying to get the girl off her back.
“Come out, let me see how you look,” she probed.
Stuck between the do or don’t, Sydney reluctantly opened the door, stepping out. The lights shone down on her almost like spotlight, allowing the color to really come alive. She tried to smile, but it came out crooked from the nervousness. Please don’t let her notice my legs, she prayed. Just at that moment, Dior and Bethany walked out of their stalls as well looking utterly gorgeous in their ballroom gown dresses.
“Hello Sydney,” Dior eyes moved from her head down to her toes. “Getting ready for Prom?”