f o r t y
It is only the next day that the weather allows Jack to come over. I remembered Edward mentioning that due to spirits interfering in some moments of my life, Alice cannot foresee those parts of my future. At first, I wasn't bothered at all by this fact, but after yesterday, I wish it was different.
I woke up gasping this morning, as I felt Alex Kim's cold fingers grabbing me in my sleep. After that nightmare, I didn't dare to go back to rest again. Flynn checked in on me during the night, scared that something might happen while I sleep. Once he noticed I was awake, he had brought me some hot chocolate, knowing that it soothed me.
At around 8 this morning, after I was able to shower and get dressed in more comfortable clothing, I continued some of yesterday's homework. It frustrates me that I am being forced to stay off at home for the next few days, until my injuries have healed, and the swelling has gone off a bit. Flynn brought me some soup, and I cannot help but wonder if he feels a tad bit guilty about the whole incident. I would never blame him, he is not at fault at all, but I wonder if there's another reason besides the 'the adult son of the family my late daughter hexed and indirectly murdered eighteen years ago, strangled my granddaughter'.
"Hey."
I look up from my Math equation, noticing Jack standing in the threshold of my room. He stands with folded arms and leans against the hard wood of the doorway, his amber eyes focusing on me. Even though it's only been three days, my soul reaches for him and begs him to come closer. It is like the yearning that will never be soothed, unless he is with me.
I open my mouth to greet back, but remember the doctor's orders to remain mute for the next couple of days, until my throat doesn't feel like it catches on fire each time I speak. Instead, I smile with tight lips at Jack and pat the space next to me, inviting him to join me on the bed. He crosses the wooden floor, and after a moment's hesitation, he sits down next to me, kicking off his shoes before putting his feet on my bed.
I wonder why he isn't in school, especially since he's already been absent for two days. If he continues this streak, they'll have to hold him back, or he'll need to attend summer school.
Jack's stare is guarded and careful as he assesses my injuries, from my braced neck to the bandaged leg. It luckily isn't bleeding any more. It reminds me of the day I had to get stitches in my hand - now, at least, I'll have matching scars. My hand is better, and the scars aren't even that deep, but it'll be there for a very long time. White and rippled against my skin. The look in Jack's eyes, is the kind that my mother used to give me whenever she found out I was lying to her.
"I should've been there", Jack whispers after a silence that had made me uneasy. My expression turns from confused to frowning, as I realize that is what the disappointment was. He is not angry with me, he's angry with himself, for not being there. Even despite him not being at fault at all, for an event that was set in motion eighteen years ago, he will still manage to blame no one but himself. In the graying light of rolling clouds that darkens our town, his silhouette looks tragic enough to romanticize. I want to tell him that I don't blame him, not even an ounce, and never will. Bad things are going to happen to me, and I know Jack will always try his best to protect me. The thing is, tragedy shapes you and makes you wise enough to tackle the next calamity.
"I should have been there", he says a bit louder, balling the bedsheets into his hands. I want to tell him that I was the one who insisted on some space after what happened in the cafeteria on Monday, but I feel like mentioning that topic would only turn the mood from tense to depressing.
"I should have protected you, and I failed", he declares with defeat, letting his head hang forward. His curls are windswept and I know he ran over, as soon as he thought I was awake. I put my homework to the side, and crawl over to Jack, careful not to put too much pressure on my leg. Jack looks up at my advancing figure, and automatically reaches out to take ahold of me. He folds his arms around me as I sit in his lap, placing my legs along his and pulling myself closer to him. Jack rests his head against my shoulder, although I can't see how that is possible with the brace in the way, and sighs deeply in both contentment and shame. My fingers curl into his hair, playing with the dark locks.
I wish I am able to speak right now, and reassure Jack that what happened, was not his fault. My mouth strains to open and disobey the doctor's orders, but Jack would not be impressed with that, despite it being protests to his statements.
"Here I was deathly afraid of a vampire hurting you, now that you're tainted with us. Meanwhile, a puny human nearly killed you", he spits out venomuously. The sharp words nearly cut me, as hatred for Alex Kim drips in his voice.
"I want you to tell me how he hurt you, once you're able to", he speaks into my neck, his tone heavy with sorrow. I frown deeply, truly offended that he'd expect this from me. I pull away from him, lowering my brows into a glare. He notices my frown and shrugs carelessly.
"I have been imagining all the ways he hurt you, Blondie. It's a gift, after all", he flashes me a wry grin. My lips purse together into a thin line, before I turn my body to search for something. My phone is on my nightstand, so I lean over to get it. Once it's open, I go into my Google Translate option and type in a message, before clicking the 'pronunciation' option. A female robotic voice vocalize my message, without the attitude I would've put in.
'This pity party has to stop', I look up at Jack, giving him a pointed stare. He gives me a sheepish smile, waiting to hear the rest.
'You won't be able to always protect me, Jack. You're starting to sound like Edward, and I will dump you if you turn into him. I appreciate the thought, but this is not your fault.'
Jack glances down at the device in my hand, a weirded out grimace on his face that makes me give a silent laugh.
"I will never get used to the technology of the 21st century", a shiver runs down his back. It is peculiar to think about at times, that my boyfriend was born before the Black Plague and still isn't used to cellphones. One would have thought he'd be used to stranger things.
'Get used to this for the next two weeks', I grin at him as a horrified look washes over him. That is, before a teasing grin spreads across his lips and he leans forward, kissing the tip of my nose.
"Wait? Two weeks without your yabbing in my ears? This is great news", he jokes and flinched when I punch him in the shoulder, even though I know he hardly felt it. We spend the rest of the morning doing homework that we missed, and Jack sneaking kisses in between Math equations and French verbs.
I notice the saddened stares when he glances at my neck, looking the pulsating bruises. Once I tell him that I am not planning on filing an assault report with the police, he does become annoyed with me.
"Why not? He deserves to pay for what he did to you", Jack exclaims with vexed amazement. Throughout the night, I had tried to devise a plan. Yesterday, I had come to the decision that no one will ever hurt me the way I am hurting right now. I know that with Jack, I can smile and temporarily forget about the fact that I cannot swallow without tears streaming to my eyes. But each time I look in the mirror and take note of the blue and black bruises, I remember the terror I felt. This scares me, as I remember my mother having the same deviant look in her eyes. Although I love my mother, and never wish to have her anger that could wake Tartarus' pits.
I am not my mother, but I am my mother's daughter. I will not lower my voice and stay silent, in the way Alex Kim thinks I will do. I will hurt him and only he will know it is my act of revenge.
'Jack, let me take care of it. Your girlfriend is a witch, remember?'
Jack gives me an unsure stare, before he nods in surrender. My mother had taught me a spell once when one of her friends went through a traumatic event, and she wanted to punish the man who hurt her friend. At first, I never understood why fight fire with fire, but sometimes, fire keeps the flame of hope raging.
The ingredients are simple. Upon my request, Jack runs downstairs to the kitchen and grabs me a cucumber and some nails from Flynn's shed. He hands me the items before sitting in the armchair, far away from me, probably guessing what the cucumber represents. I smile in amusement, before looking down at the cucumber in seriousness, lowering my brows in concentration.
I first push some nails into the cucumber, repeating Alex Kim's name in my head a few times, as I imagine the pain I felt yesterday at the mercy of his hands. Each nail drives deeper into the fruit, and its juices run down my hands. It reminds me of my days in New Orleans. Jack knows to stay silent as I dig through my desk drawer, searching for the rope I'll use for the binding spell.
I tightly bound the rope around the cucumber, letting it loose in some areas and tight in others. I don't have the option of a knife, and I don't want to ask Jack to get one, so I grab a pair of scissors in my drawer, and stab into the cucumber a few times, screaming Alex Kim's name over and over in my internal thoughts. Jack shifts uncomfortably in the chair, his hand reaching down protectively towards his nether areas.
Finally, the cucumber hangs by a thread, and I stare down at it, nearly emotionless as I think my actions over.
"Alex Kim, know that I caused you this. Rage for me, and curse at me, but beg me for mercy, like I begged you. Know that it will never come", I think to myself, before lifting the fruit up for Jack to see. He flinches at the sight.
'Would you please bury this away from my house? I can't have it near me', I ask him one more favor, after typing the message into Google Translate. Jack looks conflicted and unsure, glancing down from the disfigured cucumber to me.
"Ophelia..."
I know that tone, the tone that asks me whether I am sure about this, if I am prepared to do this.
"This scares me...what is the point of this spell? Is anything going to uh- fall off?"
I raise an eyebrow in confusion, before the meaning of his words sink in. A burst of hoarse laughter shakes through me, but I am able to contain it before I can continue with it. I decide to rather write out my response on paper, although it might take longer, I've noticed Jack getting more uncomfortable with my use of a cellphone.
After a minute, I hand the paper to Jack, who reads it out loud.
"Nothing will fall off, and his wife won't be able to get off with his di - Ophelia!", he cried out when he reads the rest of the note. I bet that if he were human, his ears would've turned pink, like mine usually does. I give a crude giggle at my risqué response, enjoying Jack's embarrassment. He rolls his eyes at me, unable to hide his grin before bending down to place a chaste kiss on my puckered lips. That's how I know that he's not mad at me, and he'll do what I kindly asked him to.
I watch Jack open my window, sliding it up and glancing down to see how far the ground is.
"I'll see you in ten minutes", he greets over his shoulder and jumps down, hardly making a sound. By the time I am able to lean out from the window to look where he is, he's gone. This gives me time to think about what happened yesterday, now that the vengeful thoughts are out of the way. I fall back in my bed, pulling the covers over me and snuggling deeper into its warmth.
Yesterday, before he attacked me, Alex Kim had told me that I reminded him of someone he knew. This, in itself, is strange to me as Neo told me not a lot of people dabble in the Wiccan belief in this town, if at all. Most of Calling Crystals customers are from the next city over, which is about an hour from here.
Who could I possibly have reminded him of? Could it have been my mother? No, that would mean he actively thought and reminisced about Jenna Lee. He even demanded to know where she was, while strangling me. If I can give him any advice for future strangulations - if you want to know where your victims' family is, maybe don't try to kill them.
Another strange fact is, Alex Kim didn't seem to know that my mama is dead. I would have thought that by now, everyone knew. It seems like something Nicole Kim would revel in telling her father. Why hide it from him? I mean, I was in the man's house (without his knowledge, of course) and she didn't think about mentioning it to him in the passing?
"Knock knock."
I look up from where I'm facing my pillow, to sit upright and notice Flynn standing at the entrance of my room. His blue eyes look exhausted from spending the night up, and a wave of guilt takes ahold of me. He was awake the whole night because of me. He gestures to a water bottle he brought, and I accept it, smiling in gratitude.
"I didn't see Jack leave", Flynn notes after a second, glancing around my room. I shrug indifferently and gesture to my armchair, offering him a seat. Flynn graciously takes it, crossing his knees together. He seems tense as he laces his fingers together, his lips turned downwards as he stares at the floor.
"School called. They want you back next week."
I nod as I nervously finger the eyelet cover of my quilt.
"Ophelia, I just want to apologize for what happened yesterday", my grandfather brings up nervously the elephant in the room. Instinctively, I reach up to graze the bruises that play peek-a-boo on my neck. Once I flinch, I look at Flynn and shake my head. What is it with those who don't hurt me, apologizing for the ones who do?
"No", my grandfather raises his hands up.
"Let me continue. You have been carrying around the weight of your mother's faults on your shoulders for a long time, I can see it. What happened yesterday, wasn't because of you, my girl", Flynn scoffs and shakes his head. I clench my jaw, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"But I know how you work, too. Your grandma used to work like that, too."
This surprises me - being compared to my grandmother. I hardly know her besides from her nightly visits and what Steve told me about her, although I do take his words with descretion.
"You just accept it when people hurt you, because you reason that that is how people mourn. It isn't, kiddo. You're not some outlet for people to use whenever they have pain. And I am guilty to that as well", he exclaims with shame, lowering his head. I want to reach out to him, but the truth of his words struck a chord. Is it possible that whenever someone hurts me, I take it? Do I really just accept it and believe that this is how the world is?
"You are a brave young woman. But the most courageous thing you can do, is to stand up for yourself once in awhile", my grandfather concludes, standing up from his seat. Within me, I feel something similar to a burning flame roast that scorches the edges of the hole in my chest. I want to apologize to Flynn for ever disappointing him the way I did.
He walks over to me, and plants a kiss to the top of my head. Through teary eyes, I watch as he moves towards the door, giving me a final glance over his shoulder.
"You make me a proud grandpa, kiddo. You just need to stop setting yourself on fire to keep others warm. Eventually, you'll burn out."
I wait until he is out of the room and listen for his descending footsteps to the first floor, before I allow myself to gasp a mournful breath that shakes my core. I never knew that Flynn thought that. If anything, I think I am one of the most selfish people I know, but hearing that one of the most important people in my life asking me to be less selfless, is strange. With the aim of cleaning my reddened face before Jack returns, I walk over to my bathroom. Flynn had installed another mirror, and I am able to look at my reflection while opening the faucet. My blue eyes resemble a sad Sunday morning, the kind you spend wasting by looking out of the window and wishing for better days. My lips are cracked and blue bruises beneath my eyes reveal how little sleep I have. But despite all this, I realize something - the sharp edges of my usual smirk has softened into a patient smile and kind eyes. There is not biting features in me anymore, but the round glow of something I don't recognize.
I have grown soft during my time in Homer, Alaska. My mother's biting edge that I had inherited, the selfish ways I had used to protect myself back in New Orleans, has faded into a girl who thinks before she speaks, knowing that words are like a bow and arrow, and once you release the arrow, it will make its impact on whatever is in its way.
There is no shame in being soft, as one shouldn't allow the world to harden you. It comes with the price of feeling the world's pain, and this is my flaw. I allow the world to hurt me, to protect people from themselves. In a way, the manner I word it in my thoughts, it sounds like someone who has a savior complex. This isn't my aim at all, not consciously. I have to promise myself that I will not protect people anymore, for the sake of it. No more.
Jack finally returns and has brought me snacks, which means I owe him a million kisses. He doesn't complain though, as he leaves tender kisses on the bruises. His lips feel like feathers on me, and I flutter my eyes closed, appreciating the soft touch. He covers me in a blanket, pulling me closer to him while he read through my copy of Circe, the book Alice and Jasper gifted me on Christmas.
He doesn't seem to notice that I am deeply entrenched in my thoughts, while I aimlessly draw circles on his chest. My biggest secret, that I know Edward has been keeping safe once he saw it, is one where I am protecting the person I loved the most, simply because I thought her pain was an excuse to had hurt me like that. I want to tell Jack about it, I want to tell someone about how hurt I was at the fact that my mother left me to the mercy of others.
For years, it is like there was a barrier to the memory. I tried to stay objective when thinking about it, and almost feeling ashamed that it happened to me. Now, as I lay it down parallel to what Flynn told me earlier today, I realize that what I've been doing wrong unto myself for the past seven years.
"So I've been thinking, for your birthday, maybe we can - hey, what's up? Are you in pain?", Jack asks concerned when I push myself into a sitting position. I grab the water bottle Flynn brought earlier, taking a big sip of it. It tastes sweet, with water and honey mixed together to soothe my vocal chords
It does help, if only temporarily, and I clear my throat. Jack looks at me, wary for what I am about to do. My hand goes up to my throat, almost acting like a pillar of support, and I open my mouth to talk. The first few sounds scratch against my vocal chords, and it is painful as words form. Jack widens his eyes, and lifts his hand to stop me.
"Don't speak, Ophelia. It's fine, type into your phone."
The thing is, this is too personal to type into an electronic device. I need to tell Jack now, or I'll never be able to do so. My courage is fleeting.
"I...have to...tell you...something important", I am able to get out the words. Jack flinches at the sound, and his face morphs into one of sadness and disbelief. He can't belief a human did this.
"If...I don't...tell you now-", I don't complete the sentence, shrugging at Jack and hoping he gets it. Thankfully, he does. I will continue to speak, even if it takes the whole night. Pointing at myself, I start the tale of my tragedy. My voice still scratches but I take sips of honey water that soothes it, and I am able to talk without much pain after a few words, until I have to drink some of it again.
"I was not born with the ability to see ghosts", I start off slowly, glancing up at Jack through my eyelashes. Jack frowns at the direction of the conversation, not expecting the topic.
"The ability came when I was eleven years old. I did not know my mother could see ghosts until a few-", I flinch once again, and take a sip of water. Although Jack is concerned, he looks curious as well, leaning forward and pressing down on his leg. He is like a child hearing a ghost story, except this story has many layers of horror to it.
"Until a few months ago, when Steve told me."
Jack looks baffled for a moment, and I realize he doesn't know who Steve is, which is ironic as Steve was such a prominent figure in helping me figure out who and what Jack was.
"Steve knew my mom, back when she was alive. He told me about you too. He's been watching your family for a few years now", I grin before a cough misshapes my smile. Jack's mouth falls open, sneering slightly at the idea that someone's been stalking his family for years. I would also be freaked out, if I nonchalantly found out someone's been watching me.
"Steve is dead, by the way", I quickly mention, hoping to ease his worries. Maybe I'll introduce them someday. Jack's shoulders relax and he nods, quietly encouraging me to continue.
"I don't know why she didn't tell me that she could see the dead. One night, when I was eleven years old, there was a lunar eclipse that year", I clear my throat, feeling it drying out again. Behind my eyelids, I remember waiting outside of my apartment, as my mother was locking the front door. She seemed nervous, her hands were trembling and the keys fell from between her fingers. Outside, the moon was high up in the sky, large and red as blood.
"That's pretty cool, Mama", I had remarked over my shoulder. She didn't like it if I called her Mom or Mother, saying it was disrespectful. I think she reasoned that once I did start calling her that, I wouldn't be her baby anymore.
"Yes baby", she mumbled although I knew she wasn't paying attention. She seemed on edge, and her blue eyes looked up to the moon too. For a moment, I could have sworn she was ethereal, like the goddesses she told me about at night. The red glare of the moon looked like streaks of blood running down her face. Suddenly, she turnt around and marched towards the staircase of the apartment complex. Stacey from downstairs said that the place was haunted, she had saw a dead man walking around with a rope around his neck. I told Mama about him, but she told me to never speak to Stacey again.
"Ophelia?", my mother's voice was biting and cold, calling for me. I ran down the corridor, catching up to her before she grabs my hand in hers, holding it tight. We walked down the streets of the French Quarter, and like each time we passed through, I stared at the nightlife. It's still early in the night so there were few people in the city of the dead. Mama said that late at night, people come out and do bad adult things.
The further we walked from home, the darker the streets became. Even at eleven years old, I felt the ominous and foreboding promise of the future. With each step we took, the more nauseous I became. Fog rolled up into the streets, which did not help my anxiety. Streetlights were a graying white that offered more shadows than guidance, and the wind in the willows we passed, sounded like whispers.
"Where did you say we were going?", I looked up at Mama, whose jaw was clenched and her eyes stark on the road ahead of us. Her nails dug into my hand, and I regretted even asking.
"To some friends, baby. Come on", she pulled harder on my arm. Soon, the streets became unfamiliar and I didn't recognize any street names. My mother's heels click against the gravel of the sidewalk, and it sounded like ticking of a clock, edging forward in time. A distant river found its way beneath the bridge we crossed at that moment, and it felt like a surge moving through my feet. I tripped in shock over my own feet, but my mother caught me in time. Her annoyed glare scanned over my body, searching for any scratches before we continued walking.
"Is that a graveyard?", I gestured to the dark plot next to us. Of course, I knew that it was, but the silence was deafening and I wasn't used to it. Our conversations were usually filled with happy chatter and jokes. The fog seemed to have thickened and bit at our ankles. Just the previous week, I had caught Mama staring at herself in the bathroom mirror with mascara stains rolling down her cheeks. She had come home from her job as a tiller from the supermarket downstairs from us. I had wondered if she was worrying about the white pile of bills that were stacked up on our counter. It glared at me while I was doing my homework.
These bills were a reminder that, unlike some of the kids in my class, we had to turn about each cent before spending it. Mama was happy I was tall enough so that we could share some clothes. I wanted to be pretty like Mama, she wanted to spare expenses. For my eleventh birthday, I blew out the candles we used the year before, and wished that I could get a job to help Mama out.
Once I saw her crying that night though, I knew that it wasn't about money. This was the weeping of the soul, the kind that numbs you after awhile. My teacher said some moms and dads get like that, and that when they yell at us, it's not them. It's the dark monster that follows them around.
"Mama, I'm scared", I admitted shamefully as she pulled me through the gates of the graveyard. My mother didn't respond and instead, she seemed to increased her speed, dragging me behind her. In the distance, I noticed a yellow flickering light on a hill, surrounded by graves. I wanted to ask my mother if I could leave or wait right there, but a mumble that exited her lips, forced me to keep my lips shut.
"Don't look at them, don't look at them", she kept repeating to herself. Look at who? My eyes wandered around the graveyard, searching for anyone my mama might have been referring to. It was too dark to make out, but I felt eyes watching us, and this scared me even more than the impending doom.
We raced up the hill with the light, and I gasped once I saw the hooded figures. Their faces were hidden by dark shadows and the hoods that kept their identies hidden. Instinctively, I dug my heels into the ground, stopping us from advancing to the figures. My mother turned around to socld me, but once she saw my terrified stare that glanced between her and the figures, her eyes softened.
I knew my mother would never deliberately have placed me in trouble's way, but desperate people will at times, seek solace in the pain of their loved ones. I didn't know the hooded figures, nor the staffs they held in their hands or the burning candles that smelled like incense and tea. Their presence did leave a sour taste in my mouth, one I couldn't deny.
"Ophelia, my young witch, fear not", my mother whispered as she held my face in between her palms, allowing her thumbs to stroke my cheeks.
"Mama, I want to go home", I pleaded with her as a tear ran down my cheek. My mother wiped it away, closing her eyes in an internal debate.
"They're not going to hurt you, my dearest one", she whispered once she reopened them. I have met all my mother's friends and they were not like these hooded creatures. They were kind and showed me cool magic tricks, promising that they'd show me someday.
"Are they witches?"
My mother hesitated for a second, before shaking her head.
"Not the kind we know, my kin. Known that I love you, and I'd never cause you any pain, but I need you to trust me, my sweetest", she begged me while placing a kiss in the tip of my nose. With great wary, I glanced behind her at the people, who patiently waited for my answer.
"If you loved me, Ophelia, you'd do this for your Mama."
I take another sip from the nearly empty water bottle, glancing over at Jack's facial expression. It is easy to see what he thinks, by means of his features. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and allows the world to see it.
"Your mother said that to you?", he asks with stunned silence that follows his question. I nod slowly, scoping to see what his reaction will be. He does not surprise me as he crushes the wooden ornament in his hands to sawdust, not noticing his strength until the dust flies into the air. I knew that once I started to retell the tale of my downfall, I will have to be considerate of who hears it. Jack already does not have trust in those who practices witchcraft, so this memory does not help my case in redeeming them.
"What happened then?"
Of course, I could never forget what happened next. My mother was handed a golden-tip knife, which she used to cut her wrist. I remember gasping at this sight, as she squeezed blood into a metal cup, filling it halfway before she accepted a rag offered by one of the members to dry it up. She tied it around her wrist, but the rag was quickly blood-soaked.
The head member, a tall figure with a rosebud crown on their head, stepped forward and took the cup filled with blood from the person holding it. He dipped the knife into the cup, and handed it to my mother. Blood ran down her wrist onto her clothes and the ground, following her like a trail. I looked at the gold knife, which was now stained with blood. Suddenly, two pair of hands grabbed me from behind, pulling me backwards and deeper into the circle. I screeched and turned aound, trying to escape their grasps but to no avail. Their fingers dug like talons into me, and I pushed my head up to look at my mother, crying for her.
"Mama!"
My mother glanced away from me, her eyes heavy with guilt and determination. The moon rose higher with each step they took, before they dropped me into the middle of the circle. I raced to stand up and run away, but strong hands grabbed each of my limbs and pulled it straight. Leather bands tied around my wrists and ankles, and I started to sob as the leather dug into my skin. A low chant from the other members filled the eerie air, as they repeated a single phrase in a language I've heard my mother used during spells. Slowly, it seemed as though their voices doubled and sped up, while raising in volume. My body slowly grew from writhering to numb as my head lulled back and my lungs sunk with stagnant air caught in my blood vessels. In my ears, the sound of my heartbeat roars like the rivers that surrounds my city.
I could not move when the head member moved forward cut my shirt down the middle, exposing me to the other figures. I wanted to hide myself from them, as I was not comfrotable with my anatomy, but my limbs felt like lead that anchored me down to the ocean floor. The figure kneeled down next to me, removing the torn material from my torso, before they revealed the knife. In the red moonlight, the knife appeared to be black with red stains glowing in the nighsky. I wanted to scream and run away, but whatever the people were mumbling, kept me paralyzed.
It burnt when the knife met my skin, drawing something on my shoulder. An electric volt moved through me, causing my eyes to roll back in my head. Within me, it felt like I was swaying in the air from a rope, holding onto it for dear life, before the rope untangles and snaps, sending me to space. It felt like I was floating to the stars, looking down at my body that caved within itself. Around me, people I've never noticed before, started to appear, glaring down at my body. The cemetery stayed to fill with dreadful whispers, along with the chanting of the members in the cloaks.
"That...", I clear my throat and lift my hands to adjust the neck brace. My voice sounds awful and I know that it'll taken longer to recover due to my disobedience to the doctor's orders.
"-is how I started the...uh, gift...of seeing ghosts."
Jack stares at me with an gaping mouth, his petrified eyes wide with disbelief. It is a peculiar sight, and despite the heavy atmosphere, I find myself nearly giggling at it, poking at his dimple. He catches my hand in his, and presses his lips against my knuckles, leaving feathery kisses. Once I pull away, to pour myself a glass of water from my bathroom, I hear Jack sigh deeply.
I return to the bed, careful not to hit my leg when I sit on the sheets. Through his jeans, my knee presses against his thigh. I have to bite down on my bottom lip not to smile, but Jack is too entrenched in my tale to notice it.
"Your own mother sold you out like that?", he asks while shaking his head slightly. It sounds like he's more talking to himself, as if trying to connect the webs the spider is spinning. I can't talk anymore, as my throat is throbbing from overuse and my vocal cords are blazing hot. Flynn will have my head if he knew I talked.
I pull my homework book closer, writing on the notepad and showing the note to Jack. He glances over the curly handwriting, which doesn't sway him from his opinion.
I am okay now, it wasn't easy at the beginning, but I'm alright now.
Jack closes his eyes shut and I know he's trying not to imagine the entire event in his head. Even though I was the one who loved through it, I still struggle to believe at times it really happened. That is, until I see the headless spirit of a little girl walking around with her small hands reaching forward to guide her.
"Ophelia, you don't 'have' to be okay with it. Rage, Blondie!", Jack opens his amber eyes with his pupils dilated in overwhelming emotions.
"Your mother never should have placed in you that type of situation, Blondie. No matter what the reason", he grits out and stand suo, flexing his hands in an attempt to control the anger that burns within his veins. Around us, I notice flickers of a vision similar to what I experienced that night, and I know Jack is imagining it with me. If I had known he'd be torturing himself with this, I would never have told him.
"I never should have told you", I mumble exactly that, looking down at my fingers. Jack pauses in his step for a second, realizing I am upset. I understand he is upset with my mother's actions, but I did not tell him the tale for him to judge my mom. I wanted to do what Flynn suggested, and stand up for myself, and that meant going back to the beginning of it all.
I didn't tell him, of course, the most personal part of the ritual. After I plunged back to my body, like a gasp for air that exhales through the mouth of a corpse, I screamed once I noticed the crumbling bodies of those long gone. I remember my mother looking around, her gaze growing wider and stunned as she noticed something for the first time. Back then, I never understood her words and simply waved them off as being confused, but now as I retold the story to Jack, I make a chilling discovery.
Jenna Lee barged past the strangers surrounding us as I screamed, pulling me into her arms as I dug my nails into my skin, trying to claw away at the visions of the dead that surrounded me.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for this. It was mine to carry, it was mine to carry", she cried as I buried my head into her shoulder. I previously thought the strange ritualistic event was meant to open my third eye, which wasn't as developed as my mother had hoped at that age. Instead, I had grown insights to a world not meant for the living, and that was what she was apologizing for. All those nights I had spent twisting in bed, terrified of the things I viewed, she had lived through them before.
She had given me her gift, without meaning to.