Chapter 15 The Eating Ocean #4
Had he walked in, seen her staring vacantly at the map, and thought her engrossed in her studies?
She felt the slightest bit guilty, wondering what he would have done if he’d known her mind was a thousand miles away from the present.
Lambspeak, or any other Strike for that matter, hadn’t used the opportunity to communicate with her. Maybe Jackson’s fear about her mind drifting was an extension of the tension he felt just having come straight from his curse.
Paris had said adjusting to this new life would be difficult for him, and he had been somewhat paranoid about it all.
Ella exhaled slowly, brushing off her guilt and reassuring herself that everything would be fine. It was easy to create monsters when there weren’t any worth fighting. She needed to relax.
She stared at him now, wondering what it would mean for her to relax.
Her mind had made its own ludicrous suggestions involving Jackson over the past few days.
Ella crossed her arms, her stare morphing into a speculative glare as she watched the man who had changed the nature of her thoughts with such ease.
There was no danger, no stark, looming threat, and she’d laughed so much lately that she didn’t recognize herself any longer.
Maybe that was really why letting the mind drift was so dangerous?
Though she was sure that wasn’t the danger Jackson had referenced, it felt dangerous to her.
She was imagining a life of subdued bliss, and quite frankly, felt delusional.
As if Jackson could sense the direction of her thoughts, one eye opened and he turned his head only slightly to look at her.
His coal black hair was in disarray, black shirt stretched across his chest from turning on the couch.
He wore black socks and gloves too, as if he were accustomed to it like some kind of uniform.
“Hmm?” The sound hummed from his chest as he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Nothing,” Ella replied with resolute vigor. He kept watching her for a moment and as if noticing that her brooding discontent had reached some kind of peak. He peeled off the couch and walked over, leaning over the desk.
He reached over her, peeling back her papers, examining her notes, his head hovering over her shoulder as they looked at them together.
He acted as if she’d invited him gladly into her space, and lately such interactions had felt less strange and more comforting.
He always seemed to like being close, only for the sheer enjoyment of proximity itself.
It had started as a joke, but he was very much like a dog.
The thought made her smile.
“Any progress?” he said, Ella examining his expression as she tucked hers away. His eyes flickered down to hers, curiously catching the end of the smile.
There was a deliberate pause, as if he were waiting for it again, or at least some explanation.
She didn’t offer any, but didn’t want to look away. She asked herself the question she’d tried to avoid asking the past several days.
Why hadn’t he kissed her again? She was tempted to ask him now.
Maybe for a ROSE, a kiss, even a kiss like his, was something else to be shared. Maybe it was just a comforting gesture. She wondered why she didn’t just ask him. She was a grown woman.
Maybe she really had become delusional. These weren’t feelings she was used to and perhaps they really had run off with her mind.
Why haven’t you kissed me again? She practiced in her mind, hoping that when she said it aloud, she’d sound more curious and less disappointed.
Before she could think to open her mouth, there was a subtle flicker in his eyes, changing the very nature of their gaze.
He exhaled as if caught under the strain of a great burden, one perhaps that had been thinly concealed under every look and lingering touch. It broke now with the nature of their closeness, as if it had been waiting to break for a while.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he said, and the words were filled with such grief and longing that it didn’t matter that they didn’t make complete sense. He said the words like that first kiss had happened years ago and like they hadn’t been spending every day together since.
He said the words as if he’d been suffering for her forever.
Time seemed irrelevant, because with all of the emotion that those words embodied, it felt as if they’d known each other for a century and been separated for a century more.
Almost urgently, she leaned toward him, her hand finding his face. His words didn’t speak to reason, but the heart, and she was compelled by the mixture of sadness, want and something akin to a deep and mysterious bond.
She leaned forward and kissed him to medicate that mysterious wound.
As if he’d been waiting all this time for permission, he wrestled her into his arms. Close and tight into his chest, his body surrounded her, hands guiding hers against his chest and into his hair, predicting the paths they wanted to take.
Very soon, this no longer felt like a second kiss, but one of a million and she had to lean back if only to ground herself back in a version of reality where she recognized herself again.
He let her go, but still said nothing, and the silence seemed to speak volumes in a language she didn’t know how to interpret yet.
“Ella,” he whispered, tipping up her chin and kissing her again, pulling her close to his body as if in a moment he might have to let her go forever.
Breathing her in a final time, he stepped away, “don’t jump to any conclusions.
” He warned her, puzzling her as he stepped off and looked to the door a moment before someone opened it.
She jolted as if from a daydream and turned, catching the eyes of her visitor who seemed to notice the alarm on her face immediately.
“Jackson?” she breathed and then looked into the room to find it empty.
Jackson, no longer dressed in black, but in standard brown pants and a lose white shirt, searched the room and then his eyes landed back on her. “What’s wrong?” He asked, scanning the room again as he re-read the shock on her face.
Ella walked through the room in a circle and then back to her desk, hands pressed to her face and then her lips where his touch had lingered.
She eased into her chair. Was she losing her mind?
She wasn’t just imagining this. This didn’t exactly feel like the ‘adjusting’ Paris talked about, and it certainly wasn’t her coming to her senses.
She clasped her hands over her ears. The present moment was too painful again and her mind wandered elsewhere.
“Ella–” Jackson started, but before he could continue, he vanished, and there the other version sat, back on the couch, teacup in hand.
“If you want to keep talking to the present version of me, you’ll need to keep your mind trained on the moment. Don’t let your thoughts wander,” the Jackson wearing black said.
Ella stared, blinked, and he was gone. She imagined herself back in the room with Jackson in the doorway.
Jackson was focused on the couch as if he’d just followed her eyes. “You were talking to him,” Jackson said.
“You,” she whispered, and her heart raced as the realization of what had just happened crept in. “That was you, a version of you, but you’re,” she gestured to him in the doorway.
She stared at Jackson, whispering the word in awe as he mirrored it with alarm.
“Lambspeak,” they both said.