Saving Jasper | ✓ [COMPLETE]

Chapter Two [r]

He stares at me and I stare right back. Neither of us move; I’m too caught up in the moment. I think we equally assess one another. What I find isn’t displeasing to the eye in any way. He is tall, much taller than me. Much like his hair, his eyes are dark, a dark gray color. In shade, his hair is almost similar to mind. In a strange way, I almost find that comforting. If we can’t match personalities, at least our profiles can align well. Dad looks between us; he arches an eyebrow expectantly.

            “Hi, I’m Charlie,” I say. My voice breaks the ice and Dad’s face lights up with a smile.

            “Jasper, this is my daughter. She’s your age, I’m sure you two will find lots to talk about.” It is typical Dad of him to do that, as if we’re old friends in the process of a forced reunion. Dad smiles widely, proud of himself for introducing us. Across the room, Jasper sort of smiles. The corners of his lips curl up so faintly, if I hadn’t looked closely, I’d have missed it.

            Dad’s phone call seems ages away already, though it had only been two nights ago. My promise to him shines in the forefront of my mind, not to be forgotten.

            “I can show you around, if you’d like,” I say to Jasper. He nods his head, crossing the room to join me. He stands a safe distance away, arms hanging loosely at his sides. I lead him upstairs. “This is my room—”

            “Where you sleep?” Jasper’s face contorts and the space between his eyebrows crinkles.

            “Yeah. It’s where I sleep.” I chug right along, determined not to lose myself in Jasper’s confusion. I have to tread carefully; I cannot treat him like a child. He is seventeen after all. “This is the bathroom, and that door there leads into your room. Would you like to see it?”

            My question is lost as Jasper steps into the bathroom. He stands before the mirror, looking at his reflection. I watch from the doorway. His fingertips gently brush over the side of his face.

            “Charlie,” he says, not looking at me. “What is this?”

            “It’s…it’s a mirror. It reflects an image of you.”

            I step into the bathroom and stand beside him so that we’re shoulder-to-shoulder. The top of my head just reaches his shoulder. He smiles.

            “My room, can I see it?”

           

            Before sitting down on the edge of his bed, he wanders the room’s perimeters. I think back, back to Dad’s phone call. The woman, a nurse at St. William’s, kidnapped him a few hours after he was born. She kept him in her basement, one room to be exact. His room. He’d never left that room in all those seventeen years she had him for. Would he identify this room as a prison cell, too?

            “Do you like it?” I ask, trying not to seem too hopeful. From his spot on the bed, he gives a slight shrug of his shoulders.