t h i r t y — f o u r
In his worn clothes, the man enters my room, with a whistling sound that echoes with each step he takes. His pale skin looks gray in the dim night light, and his eyes are bloodshot, with enlarged pupils that sees beyond this realm. His gaze finally lands my sleeping figure in the bed, and his slow steps grow rushed, as he staggers his way over to me.
In my sleep, I am clearly disturbed from whatever I am dreaming. My hair sticks to my skin in slick tendrils, and my nostrils flare as danger approaches. My hands are next my head clenched together in fists, that never relax.
The man leans forward, and grabs my shoulders, as if to shake me awake. His skin nearly peels off of his body, and saliva drools down to my face. The odor of decomposition fills my lungs, and I gag.
The man's mouth opens wider, screaming as he repeats one phrase.
"You left me! You saw me, and you left me! You saw me, and you left me!"
His hands fold around my neck, as if to replicate his own death, and he starts to restrict my airway, slowly strangling me in my sleep.
"They took from me. They took everything from me. Now, I want what's mine."
Gasping for air, I bolt upwards in my bed, grabbing my neck as I try not to suffocate from my nightmare. On my nightstand, the digital clock shows it's around 04:38 in the morning. I haven't been asleep for three hours, and I'm already having nightmares.
Sweat causes my pajama shirt to cling to my body, and I sluggishly pull the item off from me, cringing at the smell of sleep and body odour. I need to wash that as soon as the sun rises. The wooden floors are cold to the touch, and goosebumps spread across my skin as I move towards my bathroom. In the dark, without switching the lights on, I turn on the warm water in the shower, making sure it doesn't burn me, before standing under the spraying water.
Washing off the nightmare, my skin soon starts to smell like chocolate bodywash and strawberry conditioner. Any remnants of sleep goes down the drain, and I know I won't be able to return to bed for the rest of the day.
In the dark, I stare at the tiles that reflect the moon light that streams through the window. It acts as a mirror, and I am able to see my reflection.
"You saw me, and you left me!"
The man's hanging body had been removed from its position in the tree, but his spirit is restless. He seeks revenge, and he wants me to do it. That is the thing about human souls, we are entitled and expect that the world owes us every inconvenience. This trait makes us selfish, too. We will harm anyone who comes in our way.
"I can't help you", I speak into the darkness. It is eerily silent. The only sound that comforts me, is the sound of the shower. I clear my throat, and shut off the water. Grabbing the towel that hangs from a hook, I cover myself. Moving towards the sink, I blindly search for my matches and candle. Once I find it, I light the candle with the simple flick of a match. The aroma of cinnamon and vanilla fills the bathroom. I use the corner of my towel to wipe off the steam of my hot shower, off of the mirror. The condensation is wiped off, and I am able to see myself.
The moment I make eye contact with myself, a tall figure of a man behind me, can be seen in the reflection of the mirror. I gasp and turn around to face him, but he is faster. He grabs my arm and pulls it back, to push me down with impeccable strength - the type that holds anger in its grasp. My face is pressed against the cold counter, and a makeup brush pressed into my skin, hurting me.
The man leans forward, his lips moving against the shell of my ear.
"Help me", he hisses desperately in my ear. My bottom lip trembles as I whisper back, my voice wavering in fear.
"I can't. You-you've been dead for nearly eighty years", I inform him, shaking in his grasp. He presses down harder, putting all his weight on me. I cry out, feeling warm tears well up in my eyes.
"No!", he refuses to believe me.
"Yes!", I yell back, trying to pull away from him, but unable to budge.
"You died many years ago, and no one remembers you. A grudge is the only thing keeping you from whatever comes next", I ramble fast, hoping that I am able to convince the spirit. His hold on me loosens slightly, but he keeps me down to the counter.
"No", he whispers defeated, and I feel his nails dig into my skin.
"Look in the mirror. You-you were hanged, on the mountain. That's wh-why you've got those marks", I gesture towards the mirror with my chin. The man looks up, at the mirror, and the angry red marks aren't easy to miss, from where the rope chafed him.
"I woke up a few months ago, in the forest, where they took me", he tried to recount his memory. This is, of course, incorrect. Time works differently to the dead. What feels like a month to him, but as well have been seven years in our time.
"I tried to leave the mountain, but I would wake up in the same place."
His remains must've been buried nearby. Unless he finds peace, he will never truly leave the mountain. Even now, as he's pushing me down, it is merely a flicker of his soul. It is my own fault, I accidentally summoned him in my sleep. The rage is mighty enough to help him be two places at once. Once the rage starts to diminish, he will wake up on the mountain in the morning, where he was murdered.
"Unless you forgive those who wronged you-", I mumble awkwardly, my speech distorted from my position.
"You will forever haunt the mountain. You must find peace, and I can help you", I offer my help, in a desperate attempt to get rid of the spirit. He pulls me up, holding my arm behind my back.
"You can?"
I nod, flinching at the pain that explodes as my arm feels as though it will snap any second.
"You will need to forgive your murderers. Are you prepared to do that?", I ask at the mirror, looking the man in the eye. The man stares back at me, contemplating my offer, before he spits back.
"No! You are lying! I ain't dead. You just don't wanna help me", his voice breaks at the end of his statement.
"I do! I'm the only one who can see you, you must know that", I try to reassure him that he is, in fact, deceased, but he throws me forward against the counter. I stumble and look at the man through the mirror.
"I am going back to base, tell the sergeant that they had me. He'll be real proud of me", he grins, despite himself. He is ready to jump back into war, to be able to tell his superior that he escaped the hands of the enemy. Except, he didn't.
"I gotta go home to my Maggie. She's waiting for me", he declares, before his figure dissipates into thin air. I close my eyes, feeling a sob that had been held back, make its appearance. Reaching for my mouth, to stop the noise from escaping, I cry into my hand, feeling the hot tears stain my cold hand.
Through my tears, I can barely see the mirror. The candlelight flickers wild, at the consistent movement in the air. My own face looks back at me, and I feel bile build up inside of me. The disgusting creature on the mirror looks terrified, and in a flash moment, without thinking about it, I punch the mirror. The glass shatters around my fist, breaking into my skin and falling into the skin. I cry out once the glass slices my skin, cutting through it and causing me to bleed. I grab the towel around my body, and use it to place pressure on my cuts. I blow out the candle, not wanting to start an accidental fire. Hissing at the feel of glass in my hand, I walk back to my bedroom, feeling exhausted from the terrifying encounter with the spirit.
He really thinks he's going to go back to his lover. My heart breaks at the idea that seventy years ago, a woman named Maggie waited for her husband or whatever, to come home. The only thing that came in his place, must've been a telegram, from the US Army sending their condolences.
I fall asleep to the vision of a crying woman, who would never see her man again. A restless slumber follows, with few visions of war, bombs and lost limbs. I cry out for men long dead, who step on landmines and lose their lives. Women in factories stare at the malnourished children, who wonder how the world will be when they're adults. They promise that they will try to be better, and create a picture-perfect world.
"Ophelia?", a strangled cry calls me. I wake up with heavy eyes, to see Jack looking down at me, his face contorted with pain. His eyes are pitch-black and strained, and his hands are balled together.
"Jack?"
What is he doing here? We didn't have any plans after last night, when he dropped me off after the beautiful scenery of the Northern lights. It feels like a decade ago.
He doesn't respond, but his eyes seem to be trained on something near my head. I follow them, and see that my sheets are bloodied and stained with red, with the pink towel I used, soaked with blood.
"Oh my God!", I yell out. I flinch as I feel something sharp move in my hand, and I realize there must be some glass left in my wounds. I was so tired, that I didn't care to clean my injuries, nor clean up the blood. Now, Jack is looking like he has seen hell, as he tries to restrain himself.
"Jack, get away!", I shout at him, cradling my hand.
"Don't put yourself through this", I warn him. He closes his eyes and swallows hard around a lump in his throat, before he runs his fingers through his hair. He grabs his smartphone from his jean pocket, and dials a number. It is barely three seconds, before someone answers.
"Carlisle? Can you please come to Ophelia's? I think she hurt herself really bad", Jack glances at my wound, before turning away. My bed looks like a war zone, as blood spread across the thin sheets.
"Yes, a lot of it. I am going to wait outside for you", he promises his adoptive father. They click off, and Jack forces a smile for me.
"Carlisle is on his way. Just hold on tight, okay?"
I don't have time to answer, as he rushes out of my room, so fast that I barely feel the wind of his departure.
My hand feels numb and I cannot believe my stupidity for not cleaning it up. It is probably infected. With a gasp, I realize I am naked underneath these sheets and stand up to grab a shirt and shorts from my closet. By the time I have struggled to brush my teeth, with a sink full of broken mirror shards, a knock on my bedroom signals that someone is here. I call for them to come in, and the dashing doctor steps into my room. His eyes first settle on my bloodied bed, before glancing at the bathroom, where droplets of blood leads from the room to my bed. Finally, Carlisle sees me, and he smiles encouragingly at me.
"Good morning, Ophelia."
I give him an awkward wave with my free hand.
"Sorry about the, uh, yeah", I apologize for the mess, embarrassed by my early morning actions. Carlisle waves me off, and gestures for me to follow him into the bathroom. I hobble along, not wanting to step into any glass. Carlisle cringes at the broken mirror, and the counter filled with streaky bloodstains.
"You've had quite the party, I see", he jokes and places his first-aid kit onto the counter, where there's no glass. I try to think of an excuse, but as I get ready to lie, my resolution breaks.
"I'm sorry, it's been a fucking long night, and I am just so tired", I give a watery laugh. Carlisle pats my shoulder, trying to console me. I will be honest, I have always been intimidated by the patriarch of the coven and have tried to avoid him in the past. He is a powerful being, who can easily snap my neck. Jack told me about his troubles from the past, and I do sympathize with him. He was forced to be someone, he didn't want to be. He had no choice, his consent was taken away from him. In a way, it is a bond I share with the Cullens. Most of them never had a choice in being immortal creatures.
"It's alright, Ophelia. Let's clean this and see what we can do about this mess", he gestured to the rest of the bathroom. He slowly unwraps my hand, and his face shows no emotions as he analyzes the wound. The blood dreid up to my wrist, as it must've traveled in my sleep.
"This will require stitches. I can see why you bled so much, too. You nearly severed a finger", he informs me, slightly lifting my index finger to analyze the digit. I close my eyes as he dabs rubbing oil into the wound, hissing as it stings.
"What did you do?"
"I saw a ghost and punched the mirror", I try to say nonchalantly, flinching when Carlisle uses a tweezer to remove a piece of glass. It clinks in the sink, with the rest of the larger shards of glass.
"As one does", Carlisle nods, trying to hide a smile. I smile in return, appreciating the effort at humor.
"Was it the hanging man?", he asks after a moment of silence. Jack must've told him about it. I nod wordlessly, recounting the events of the hanging man. If Jack ever wishes to take me up that mountain again, he'll just have to piggyback me, Fast & Furious style.
For the first time, I realize something. Maybe it is the lack of sleep that is messing with my cognitive thinking, maybe it's the delirious state I am trying to force myself in, but it is like a light bulb going off.
"Doesn't it bother you? The blood, I mean?", I ask him, gesturing to the floor and my hand. Carlisle gives me a patient smile, and turns to grab a needle and a medical thread. I close my eyes at the first contact of him sewing my skin together, feeling the way he tugs at me and trying not to gag.
"I have been practicing at my craft for four-hundred years. My compassion to help others, has helped to tune out the blood", he explains and lifts up the bloody rag,pincjed between his index finger and thumb, swaying it in front of his face in a showcase of his strength.
"See? I don't even notice it anymore", Carlisle grins before he throws the towel aside. I count the stitches, noticing that there are ten already, and he's hardly covered half of my wound.
"Jack tells me that you're traveling to Europe for the summer vacation", the vampire brings up. I nod and hiss as he tugs too hard at one spot. Carlisle flashes me an apologetic smile, before he continues.
"Yeah. I'm pretty excited. Flynn really is the best for constantly helping out. I wish I met him earlier", I sigh with disappointment. Fifteen stitches...
"He does, too."
A flash of confusion on my face encourages Carlisle to continue his statement, as it clearly bewilders me.
"It is not my place to say, Ophelia. But, I guess it would do no harm", he muses with a hum.
"I spent a lot of time with him, during your grandmother's illness. I have noticed one more than one occasion, whether they were together or alone, he'd take this laminated photo out of his wallet, and they'd stare at it. Your grandmother talked about how she thought you'd turn out. Your grandfather never said anything, but merely stared at the photo, of you. They loved you before they even met you."
I frown at his recounting, because it both hurts and delights me.
"But he didn't like me, when I first came?"
Carlisle pats my cheek, as he cuts the thread of the last stitch. Thirty stitches, traveling along my hand and up my wrist.
"Ophelia, dear, he had lost his daughter a week prior and he wasn't invited to the funeral."
An immense amount of guilt falls onto my chest like an elephant's foot, and I try to justify my actions.
"My mom's friend organized the funeral, and said that my mom had asked her not to invite any of her family. I wasn't even sure whether Flynn was alive, until Social Sevices gave me his address", I shrug and watch Carlisle use an earbud to use numbing cream on my arm.
"Flynn knows, but it doesn't hurt any less."
I feel like a scolded child. I know I should've spoken up when funeral preparations were made, but I was trying to process the image of finding my mom when she...yeah, when she died.
"It's not your fault, Ophelia", Carlisle uses his index finger to tip my chin up. He must've sensed that I feel guilty for taking away Flynn's only chance to say his goodbyes.
"You are a child. It was the adults who should have known better."
Carlisle bandages my arm, and pins it together with a safety pin. He gives me instructions on how to clean it, and when to come by to remove the stitches in a few weeks. At least I will have a cool scar. The sad part is, the backstory is too unrealistic for anyone to believe. I thank him for his help, and jump off the counter. In my bathroom, there is a waste bin for any trash I might have. I grab it to slowly pick up the shards of glass in the sink, being careful not to cut myself. Carlisle offers to help me, and before I can decline his offer, he's able to clean the sink with one swift move. I gasp at the speed, and thank him for his help.
The blood will need some bleach, and it will be difficult to go downstairs to explain to Flynn what happened. Carlisle seems to notice my hesitancy, and guesses the reason correctly.
"It's nearly 8 a.m. Flynn went to town, to buy some ingredients for the soup kitchen. He'll drop it off at the church, before he comes home", he informs me. Flynn is a schedule-tight man, so I can see how everyone seems to know his daily task.
Carlisle follows me dowstairs, before excusing himself. I thank him once more, and he lets himself out. I grab the bleach from underneath the counter, and place it inside a bucket with a mop.
Once I enter my bedroom, I notice the bloodied bedsheets once again. It looks like a massacre took place. No amount of hot water will take those stains out.
"Shit", I mumble and walk forward to pull of the bedding. The blood has dried a bit, but I try not to touch it. I don't want to dirty my new bandages.
"Alice bought you new sheets."
I yelp and turn around to face Jack, who is leaning against the doorway, staring at me from underneath his brows. His eyes are still tinted darker than the molten gold I've grown used to, but at least they're not coal black as they were earlier. In his hands, are folded sheets in a package from the store.
"You don't need to be here for this", I say for his sake, knowing that he is uncomfortable. His face isn't relaxed as it usually is and his eyes seem tight.
"I-", he clears his throat and runs his fingers through his curls.
"I am okay. To be honest, I wanted to talk to you about something you said last night", he places the new sheets on my vanity table. I ball up the ruined sheets, and walk past Jack to go downstairs to the laundry room. Maybe I can salvage the sheets, with lukewarm water and spinning it a few times, it can work.
"What's up?", I call over my shoulder as I bound downstairs. Jack flits past me, and by the time I arrive at the laundry room, he's opened the washing machine and already added detergent. I thank him and add the bundle. Just as I want to close the door, I remember another clothing piece.
"Hey, Jack? Can you please get this green shirt in my bathroom? It's in the shower", I ask him. Before my words are cold, he has sped away and returned before I can react. He adds the shirt, and I turn on the machine.
"Well, last night, you said that uhm-", he seems a stuttering mess. I frown at his strange behaviour and gesture for him go follow me to the living room. I still need to clean the bathroom, but Jack seems distressed by whatever is on his mind. Once we're seated, opposite one another, I turn to Jack.
"What's wrong? Did I say something that might have offended you?", I think back to my and Edward's conversation in the woods. Edward promised me after we talked, that no one could hear us. Did Jack listen in?
Jack shakes his head, and I sigh with relief. He plays with his fingers, looking down at them and obviously nervous about whatever is on his mind.
"Jack, if it makes you anxious, we don't have to talk right now", I offer him an out. Jack looks up at me, suddenly determined and fierce.
"No! It's been on my mind for awhile, and last night, well - okay, last night, you say that you won't live forever", he brings up, using his hands to emphasize a shrug. I nod slowly, unsure what his point may be.
"Yeah? Jack, I know you've not been around humans that long, but we get pretty old, dude", I give a small chuckle, in an attempt to light the heavy mood. Jack doesn't laugh, but instead he seems annoyed at my attempt at humor.
"I know, Blondie. But, well, I've been thinking about what you were saying, about us."
I notice him swallowing a tense lump in his throat, before he chews on his bottom lip, trying to convince himself of something. My own heart speeds up at the change of topic, and I frown at the direction we're going.
"Jack, there's no pressure. You can't force yourself to love someone. If you don't love me, that's...that's alright", I manage to say, even though it hurts.
"I love you, and you know that. But if loving you means to set you free, then..." I trail off. Am I able to let Jack out of my life? It seems a damn near impossible feat. Four months ago, I didn't know he existed. Now, I can't imagine my life without him. He's like a lifeline to me, pumping oxygen into my lungs and helping me live. It sounds dramatic, I know. I would cringed at it too, a few months ago.
Jack shakes his head, giving me a wry smile. He knows what I was about to offer, but he also knows that it would not be an easy task.
"You-you can't, Blondie. You and I...okay, maybe I should explain the concept first", he speaks to himself, tapping his chin in thought.
"Alright. So do you remember that story about Zeus, the one you told me about soul mates?", he asks me. Of course I remember it. It is one of my favorite memories of Jack. But why bring it up?
"Yes?"
"Good, that's good. Well, it is true, to an extent. Minus Greek gods, of course."
My brows lower into another confused frown, as I try to comprehend his words.
"Why would you bring that up?"
Jack clears his throat, taking a deep unnecessary breath. I've never seen a nervous vampire before, and if Jack could sweat bullets, he would.
"Jack, you look like the preacher's daughter waiting for the pregnancy test's results", I joke. Jack finally cracks a smile, rolling his eyes at me.
"Blondie...Ophelia", he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Oh-oh. He's using my full name. I nervously bring my hand to my mouth to chew on my thum's nail, but hiss at the burning sensation that comes from a cut.
"You've seen how my family loves their other halves", he starts slowly, trying to bring up an example. He doesn't wait for an answer, as he continues with his analogy.
"It is not unknown for my kind to have these perfect halves. It is almost like they were designed to fill the parts in which we lack. We have, well, we have soul mates", he shrugs and roll his thumbs together. His eyes try to read my expression, but I am still not sure where this conversation is going.
"Yay for you?", I congratulate him flatly, raising my hands as I shrug. Jack groans and stands up to move from his couch to mine. He gently takes my injured hand in his, and I nearly cry with relief as his cold skin chills the burning sensation of the cuts. His thumb gently rub circles on the back of my hand, as if to divide my attention from our conversation.
"Vraiment? Vous êtes un peu bête par moments!", he exclaims with a sigh. I gasp and slap his hand, knowing what he just said.
"I'm not dumb, Jack. I'm confused."
"Blondie, why I'm telling you this, is because, well, you and I...", he trails off suggestively, his gaze encouraging me to understand. I do, and my mouth falls open into an 'O' sound, as I comprehend what he's telling me. Jack is to me, like the sun was to Icarus. A temptation, that held him on a high and blew the wind underneath his wings, letting him soar above. Except, Icarus fell, and I am falling, too. Maybe not the same type of falling, but the kind that people tell stories about. My eyes fall down to our linked hands, and back up to Jack's eyes.
"How do you know?"
"Rosalie and Alice knew immediately, with their partners. Carlisle and Edward, it took a bit of time", he gives me the backstory of his family's relationships.
"With you, I realized on the beach that night. It just clicked, like a puzzle piece", he admits to me in a sheepish whisper. That night, as I played guitar, I asked him something - to take a chance on me. Where I was serenading him, without meaning to, he came to a life altering realization. I remember that when I opened my eyes and saw him staring at me, our noses brushed as I sighed a breath of anticipation, for something that never came. This thought reminds me of the aftermath, of distance glances and longing touches. My eyes widen at his confession, and I pull my hand back from his.
"Why did you push me away, though? I never kept anything a secret to you."
For once, Jack looks at a loss for words, and he shakes his head, not knowing how to verbally express himself. Maybe he has the correct thoughts, but to be able to put that what matters into intelligent words and sentences, takes skill.
"At first, I thought I was something of a novelty to you. But as I learned to know you, I realized you would never do that to anyone. And I never wanted to force it on you. It's a force to be reckon with", he lifts his shoulders. He looks guilty, and I want to take his hand to reassure him it's alright.
"And I would never do anything without your consent. But last night, when you told me you love me-"
"You realized that I did this, willingly?", I complete his sentence for him. Jack nods in agreement.
"You silly boy", I scold him quietly, bopping his nose. He scrunches his nose together into an adorable frown, and I giggle at the sight.
"You act as if you are so hard to love, when loving you is like breathing. Effortless and natural."
I understand his reasoning, and I appreciate it. He was prepared to sit with this knowledge, for the sake of my comfort and safety. I reach up to pull Jack into a hug, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. The vampire laughs and pulls me closer by the waist, knowing that this is me appreciating him putting my feelings as a priority for him. His hand strokes my back and I sigh in content, feeling as though a weight has lifted off of my shoulders. I pull out of the hug, a wide smile adorning my lips.
"Thank you, for always putting me first, Jack", I thank him and stroke his cheek with my thumb. He leans into my hand, closing his eyes. His eyelashes rest against his cheeks, and I am envious of his beauty, that shines from within. It is at this moment, that I decide to be daring. I know that I won't get another moment like this, and knowing now that Jack is the yearning within my soul, it feels just right.
I slowly lean forward, hesitant in my actions, before diving in. Jack's eyes are still closed, so he doesn't see it coming, until the heat of my lips press against his mouth, molding it into a kiss.
I expected his lips to be cold and like the stones of my necklaces, that I would rub my lips against to experience the coolness of the crystal. It is not so. It is like the first scent of flowers in spring, and the first storm after a dry season. It is refreshing, and perfect, and fulfilling.
Jack takes a moment to reciprocate the kiss, but when he does, it is like a shift in the universe. I can see all things ageless, behind my closed eyelids. His fingers dig into my hair, pulling me closer as if he cannot get enough. My own fingers get hooked into his curls, playing with them and I continue kissing him, like I have always wanted to. I could kiss him for an eternity, and it is possible, but I break away for a fresh breath of air.
Even though Jack doesn't need it, his breathing has quickened, and his eyes smile up at me. They are so bright, that Apollo would get jealous of the sight. They are so kind and open, that it excuses any sin he has committed. Even though as a human, he has committed many atrocities, his kindness as an immortal, is overwhelming.
We stare at each other, his fingers tracing the space underneath my eyes while my hand stil curls into his hair. I am so elated, I can break the skies to chase the moon.
"Oh Ophelia", he smiles against my lips, pulling me in for another kiss. Just as our mouth meet, he pulls away to finish the lyrics.
"Heaven help a fool who falls in love."