~ Jase Charlton ~
I'm in love with Kriss.
I knew I liked her, but I didn't know I loved her. I've liked her for quite some time now - for well over five years, if my mental calculations are to be trusted.
But then today, at Taco Bell...
It was mostly the little things. The mischievous look glimmering in her compelling brown eyes as she stole my fries. The humorous outrage taking its place when I stole her fries in retaliation. The soft glow of her cheeks whenever she blushed - which was often. The way she made fun of my shameless staring, enraptured in the thoughtful look she got whenever her mind wandered.
And then I realized I'm in love with her.
It was when I ran my finger over her cheek, marveling at the smooth feel of her heated skin, that the thought flew through my head. She'd stared back at me, her thoughts unreadable, driving me to the brink of insanity.
What is she thinking? Does she feel what I feel?
I don't know. I don't know how Kriss feels. I don't think she knows how she feels.
I drove us all back to the manor after leaving Taco Bell, Megan stealing Kriss's keys and giving them to me once again, insisting that I was a much better driver than Kriss when she protested. As a result, Kriss told Megan she'd really drive off the road when they go back to the city at the end of the summer.
"Don't do that!" Jamie had exclaimed at that. "You might kill another chipmunk!"
I glanced sideways at Kriss. "I'm sorry, what?" I blinked.
Kriss bit her lip. "I ran over a chipmunk yesterday," she said flippantly, like she was talking about the weather or what she had for breakfast. "No big deal. Chipmunks become roadkill all the time."
Jamie had let out an outraged gasp, but said nothing more on the matter.
That was pretty much how the rest of the drive went. Small snatches of conversation, not-so-subtle sideways glances at Kriss, her either biting her lip or blushing or doing something else that sent a silent wave of torture rushing through me.
She doesn't know what she wants, I kept reminding myself. You've only been here a few days. Give it time.
I pulled into the driveway, starting down the long, final stretch leading up to the manor.
"You're definitely a better driver than Kriss," Megan commented. "She would have had at least five near-death experiences by now."
Kriss whirled around in the seat to face her friend. "I nearly killed us once on the way up here," she said in an informative and defensive tone. "One time. The drive from the city to Plattsburgh is much longer than the drive from Plattsburgh to the manor! Five hours longer, mind you!"
"You drove five hours?" I blinked. "My drive was only four. Why didn't you ever come visit me when you moved out here? It wasn't that long of a drive!"
"I don't know," Kriss admitted. "Father always said it was too far to drive, but he never really liked to travel, so..." she trailed off, biting her lip again, though this time it wasn't because of any awkwardness she felt.
It was the same way I'd trail off midsentence, the same way I'd wring my hands together, blinking rapidly, after Mom died. For months afterward, nobody really talked about her. Dad grew cold and distant, and even Weston and I started drifting apart.
Then we realized that what we really needed was to talk. Weston and I began sharing stories with one another, reliving the happy memories we shared with Mom, embracing the grief, the pain, rather than locking it away.
Dad... he never talks about Mom anymore. Even when Weston tried to assure him it would help. But he had just shaken his head, muttering something about leaving the past behind.
Kriss... I'm afraid Kriss is making that same mistake. From what I've witnessed, she and her mother don't talk at all anymore. Not about important things, anyways. And when one does try to reach out... the others lashes out. One step forward, two steps back.
She won't let herself succumb to the grief. She's locking it up, along with every memory she's ever had of her father. I know. I went through the same thing, though I released everything within a few months.
But for Kriss... it's been two years. Two years of locking away her memories and feelings have made her fear them. And I want to help her. I want to be there for her, to assure her to embrace everything, that she'll feel better - not tremendously, but slightly - afterward.
I won't pressure her, though.
I stopped the car outside of the front doors of the manor, pulling the key out of the ignition, and handed them over to Kriss. She smiled at me in thanks, sliding out of the car, popping the trunk as she did so.
"No peeking," she warned me, still smiling. "You have to wait."
I pretended to pout. "That's not fair," I muttered. "Everybody else has seen you in it."
Megan shook her head. "Only us three," she pointed to herself, then to Jamie and Sophie. "Nobody else had arrived when she tried it on. Everybody else saw the dress, but it was empty."
Mr. Abrams came out of the building then, smiling at us. I liked him. He had a sort of fatherly character about him that made me crave the nurture of my own father... something I haven't gotten in over five years.
"We got masks!" he announced, standing on the steps. "Mrs. Green had the maids deliver them to your rooms!" he frowned. "Where are the others?"
I assumed he was talking about Weston, Pipes, and Cordelia.
"Since you were my brother's ride," I began, "he went with Pipes and Cordelia."
"An unwise decision, I'm sure," Megan said.
"They left right after we did," Sophie added. "They should be here soon."
Mr. Abrams nodded. "Well, if one of you could use your phones to... umm..." he fisted his hands, moving his thumbs up and down.
"Text?" Megan guessed.
"Yes," Mr. Abrams rubbed a hand over his balding head. "Text! If one of you could text one of them, tell them to just pop the trunk and leave Miss Gail's dress in the back. Mrs. Green told the maids to bring them up for you..." he gave Kriss a meaningful look. She shuffled her feet in response.
"I can do it myself," she said, returning the butler's look.
"I know you can," Mr. Abrams responded. "But - and this is your mother speaking, not me - we thought it best if you rest for now."
Kriss frowned. "Rest? Why on Earth do I need to rest? I've done next to nothing today!"
"I mean," Megan elbowed her. "Jamie did drag all of our asses over to Plattsburgh. And then you spent a good hour flirting with Jase at Taco Bell. That's something."
Kriss's face turned a shade of pink. But she's not denying anything... hmmm... After a moment of staring at Mr. Abrams, glaring at him, she finally nodded, jaw clenched, and stalked indoors, leaving the trunk open - though I half-expected her to close and lock it out of spite.
But that's not Kriss's style, now, is it?
I caught up to her in the foyer, where she was looking... livid, for lack of a better word. All this over carrying a dress up to her bedroom?
"Hey," I said, standing at her side. "You okay?"
She turned to me, eyes blazing. Woah... tread carefully. "Honestly," she spat. "I don't need people doing the mundane tasks I can do without any grief! Is a little independence too much to ask for?"
Ah. I keep forgetting - Kriss cut herself off from the simple life she grew up in, with people there to do the chores and mundane tasks she was forced to do when she moved to the city. I reached for her hand, holding it tightly.
"Kriss," I said softly. "Don't forget, it's their job to help you with these types of things. They're here voluntarily. It's not like they're being forced to be on everybody's beck and call twenty-four-seven."
She was silent for a few moments, the quiet inhale and exhale of her breath the only sound emanating from her. She sighed.
"I know," she said. "I just feel bad, making people do things that I can easily do too. I don't like feeling helpless."
Helplessness. A feeling I know well. A feeling I felt as I stood by Mom's hospital bed, watching her cling to life for that last dreadful day. Wishing there was something I could do to make her pain go away. Knowing there was nothing I could do but be there. Feeling completely useless as she sucked in those last breaths, until she couldn't anymore.
Watching Dad distance himself, witnessing Weston fall into a downward spiral. Knowing I couldn't ease their grief, as I too was bathing in it.
Until we learned to overcome it.
"Hey," I said, still holding onto her hand. She's not pulling away. "How about we go and watch a movie or something?"
There was a slight uplifting to her lips. "As long as you promise to not do anything stupid," she said. "Like last time."
A stroke of genius, if you ask me.
"I promised I wouldn't do anything unless you initiated it," I reminded her. "And I'm sticking to that promise. I told you, if you decide you want our relationship to be strictly platonic..." however much it pains me. "I'll be all right with it. But I will not cut you out of my life."
I can't cut you out of my life. A world where Kriss is merely my friend, where she marries somebody else, loves somebody else, while I stay on the sidelines, silently suffering, is better than a world she's not even in.
Something flashed across her eyes then - some unknown emotion, a glimpse of her thoughts, so fast I nearly missed it. But then her expression was unreadable once again, her thoughts barred from me.
Another product of losing her father? The Kriss I knew five years ago could be read like an open book. Has she learned to hide her emotions?
I don't think I could ever gain that much control over myself.
"Okay, then," she said, already heading across the foyer to the living room. "Have anything in mind?"
A grin spread across my face. "I have ideas, but let's browse through some different options first."
We settled on watching a few episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Settling onto the couch, Kriss being careful to keep a few feet of space between us, I pressed play all episodes.
For the first episode, everything was fine. The pilot episode of the show is definitely one of my favorites, after the two Halloween Heist episodes and the Pontiac Bandit ones. And we can never forget the Jimmy Jab Games, though I've only watched that episode once - season two ended just last week.
Then episode two started, The Tagger.
"Here are two pictures. One is your locker. The other is a garbage dump in the Philippines. Can you tell which is which?"
"They're both the locker," Kriss whispered urgently to the television.
"Hey, don't spoil it!" I protested.
Giving me a look, Kriss reached out, temporarily closing the distance between us, and gave my arm a shove. "You've seen this season many times," she said. "I can tell. You're practically mouthing the words before the character even says anything."
"I have an addiction, okay?" I confessed, grabbing her hand before she could pull it back away. She let out a noise of protest, but she was also laughing. Grinning at her, gripping her hand more tightly, I pulled her closer. She tried wriggling away.
So, I did what any sane person would do.
I started tickling her.
"Jase!" she gasped, her face bright red from the fit of laughter she had succumbed to. "Jase, s-stop it..." she started laughing harder.
"What was that?" I grinned. "Don't stop? Your wish is my command!"
"J-Jase, p-p-please..."
The lights flickered.
Kriss noticed this, immediately rolling away from me, taking up residence on the other side of the couch.
"Are you okay?" I asked her, seeing the way her gaze immediately flicked upwards to the lights, her face visibly paling.
She stared at the light for a moment longer, and, certain they wouldn't flicker again, turned back to me. "I'm fine," she said. "Let's keep watching."
I tried to focus my attention back on the show. If Brooklyn Nine-Nine was good at anything, it was keeping me distracted.
But Kriss was even more distracting.
She was staring solely at the television, seemingly enraptured in the show, but from the way she kept biting her lip, her fingers flexing, before she balled her hands into fists, her mind was clearly elsewhere.
The door opened then, and Kriss jumped, blinking rapidly. I turned, frowning, as Cordelia and Pipes walked into the room.
"Cordelia? Pipes?" Kriss looked mildly confused. "Can we help you?"
Cordelia made a shooing gesture with her hand. "Liam and I want to watch Titanic," she said. "So move."
Kriss crossed her arms. "You have a TV in your room," she said. "Why can't you watch Titanic upstairs?"
"My room doesn't have surround sound," Cordelia explained. "This room does. Moverse."
"Jase and I are using this TV," Kriss didn't move an inch. "And, unlike you, I don't have a TV in my room."
"Let's just go, Delia," Pipes said, pulling at his fiancé's hand. "She's right. We can just watch it upstairs..."
"No," Cordelia glared at Kriss. "You've been in here for forever," she complained. "Stop hogging the good TV."
"We've been in here for thirty minutes," I said, looking at the DVD player. "Isn't Titanic over three hours long?"
"We'll go," Kriss said, a wicked gleam in her brown eyes. "If you ask nicely."
Cordelia was silent, her jaw clenched shut.
"Come on," Kriss said, gesturing with her hand. "At least add a please. Otherwise, I'll have you groveling at my feet."
That image made me snicker with amusement.
Pipes sighed. "Delia, let's just go..."
Radio silence from Cordelia.
"Please," she finally said, her teeth gritted. "Can we use this TV?"
"There, that wasn't so hard," Kriss grinned, triumphant, swiping the remote away from me and turning the television off. "Enjoy your movie!" she said, throwing the remote back onto the couch. "Though, not too much..." she glanced at me. "Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls."
I smirked. "I don't know about you, but I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all of this."
"You're crazy!
This is easy. "That's what everybody says, but with all due respect Miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here."
"I know, it doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it."
"That's one of the good things about Paris: lots of girls willing to take their clothes off - "
"¡Bien, bien!" Cordelia snapped. "We get it. Can you leave now?"
Kriss dragged me over to the library.
The goddamned library. Of course.
She visibly relaxed within its walls, suddenly seeming like she was truly home.
"This is my favorite place in the manor," she told me, immediately heading for a bookshelf showing books that have obviously been well-read. "Every one of these books contains an escape."
I followed after her. "Is that why you love reading so much?"
She paused in her perusing, staring at me for a long moment. "Books allow me to focus on the problems of others, temporarily forgetting my own," she finally said. She turned back to the bookshelf, scanning the covers. "I know you were helping me make fun of Pipes and Cordelia in there..." she began. "But you've obviously seen Titanic a lot."
"It was one of Mom's favorites," I said. "I watched it with her a lot growing up. Even when she was dying in the hospital, she called me, told me to get my ass over there to watch it with her, or she'd beat my ass with a spork while simultaneously haunting me," I sobered, grief welling up inside me. "It was the last thing we did together. She died the next day."
Kriss placed a hand on my arm, understanding flooding into her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "Though I'm glad you had the chance to say your goodbyes to her. At least it gives you some form of closure..." she stiffened, her hand flying away from my arm, balling into a fist. She inhaled once, deeply, and exhaled slowly. Then she relaxed and blinked. "I envy you for that."
Help her, Jase. She needs to feel her grief.
I cupped her face with a hand, keeping my eyes fixed on hers. "I can help you," I said. "I can help you not be so afraid to think about your father."
She froze, though, to my relief, didn't pull away from me. "What?"
"Distancing yourself from your family, bottling up your feelings, locking away all memories - Kriss, I went through that!" I kept my tone soft, reassuring. "It may help at first, but it's not a long-term solution to your pain."
She tore away from me, backing up, leaving a canyon of space between us.
Don't pressure her.
"Trust me, Kriss," I talked as though I was talking to a wounded animal. But Kriss is no animal. "You've been keeping everything inside your head, hiding it away, to the point where you fear its release. You fight against it, every time, and it worsens. You torment yourself silently, day after day. But I can help you overcome the grief."
She hesitated. "How?"
Yes. Good. Tread carefully, now.
"Unlock your memories. Let yourself feel the grief. Succumb to it, even. Talk to people about your father. Share fond memories. That's how Weston and I dealt with our mom's death. And it works."
She shook her head. "That's you, Jase, that's not me."
"Just try it," I kept my voice encouraging. "If it doesn't work, then you don't have to do it again. Try doing something you'd usually do with your father," I stopped, searching my mind rapidly for an activity I know she'd do with her father there, by her side. I remember the other day, at the theater, the way she panicked right outside the doors, terrified to step inside the building that used to be her second home. How she kept fighting off panic attacks in the auditorium, staring at the stage.
Attacks all linked to her father, I realized now.
Suddenly, I knew what she needed to do.
"Sing, Kriss," I said. "You need to sing. In front of me."
Yet again, she hesitated. She tensed, freezing at my words, as panic rose up in her eyes, moving across every aspect of her body. She closed her eyes, her lips moving slightly.
You can do this. You just did it. Remember the feeling, her lips chanted.
Her eyes opened, she took a deep breath.
And choked up.
"I can't," she said. "I don't know why I can't. But I - " she started shaking. "I c-can't. P-please don't m-make me..."
I was beside her in a heartbeat, pressing my thumb into the palm of her hand. "I won't make you do anything, Kriss, not unless you want to."
Damn you, Jase. You just couldn't leave well enough alone.
She didn't stop shaking. Overhead, the lights flickered. Her gaze immediately glanced up again towards the lights, and, like before, she jerked away from me.
"Kriss," I murmured. "Look at me. Breathe. Focus solely on breathing."
She did as I said, closing her eyes as she tried to slow her breathing pace. The lights flickered again, but this time, she didn't notice.
The lights overhead winked out.
She still didn't move.
We stood there, in complete darkness, not saying a word.
Not until the mournful, terrifying sound of a piano started echoing through the room.
But the manor doesn't have a piano, right? I thought it collapsed.
Kriss's eyes flew open, widening as she reached the same conclusion I have.
"I recognize this song," she whispered. "It-it played during Father's funeral."
I, too, recognized the tune. I've heard it in movies, though, not in real life.
It's a funeral march.
No idea where this chapter was trying to go half the time. God, improvised writing is hell (and yet I do it anyways).
Not that this is completely improvised. I have a chapter-by-chapter summary of what I want to happen in the book, it's just all of the in-between stuff I add in to make the chapter longer isn't at all planned. My tactic is to just write out random words and hope they make sense.
Anyways, I guess I should be conversational and ask you some questions.
How many of you love Krase as much as I do?
How many of you absolutely hate this ship and want me to rain cannon-balls down on it?
Why is the funeral march playing? I won't bother asking who, since I think we all know the answer to that, what with the flickering lights and all.
And finally...
What's your favorite quote from Titanic?
Don't forget to vote and comment!
Love you all!
~ Evie.