Chapter 6
Two days ago, never would I have thought of finding myself in a predicament like this: rained in for a night and a day at Sky Daniels' house, ate homemade pancakes at two in the morning with said person and enjoyed it.
Sky and I never get along.
Despite orbiting each other our entire lives, we hardly cross paths. When we do, we part ways with insults. He's easier to ignore when he's not within hearing range, my sight's radius, or the topic of someone's conversation I happen to overhear.
But it's hard to miss that mountain of a teenager anywhere.
I am tall, reaching six feet but Sky's frame and height dwarfs me, making him appropriately intimidating.
It's why whenever our paths cross, I choose my words carefully, aware of when to walk away knowing that he's bigger than me and definitely stronger.
The truth is: Sky Daniels is never a world's distance from my thoughts. Not since our first fight back in kindergarten when he stole my juice box just because he thought he could. I retaliated by pushing him into a puddle of mud during recess.
Since that faithful encounter, he's become an eyesore. I used to hate the way he carried himself like he was better than everyone because of his family's name, but when his mother died, there was a change in him. He withdrew. Rarely spoke to anyone outside of his friend circle.
His eyes didn't sparkle with mischievous intent like they used to, nor did he carry himself like the proud, egotistical jerk I knew.
It was like getting a glimpse of the boy beneath the bravado.
But high school came. Puberty kicked in. He hit a growth spurt, got muscles. Graced us with the glorious return of the egotistical jerk and the disdain I once felt breathed new life.
Sky Daniels blossomed into a heartthrob, quickly gaining a promiscuous reputation. By this time last year, it became a weekly scoop for one of his flings or one-night stands to brag like he was God's gift to the universe.
That's all fine except when their praise inflated his already dinosaur-sized ego.
I returned to disliking him for acting like he was some kind of king, reminded of why we do not get along. He comes from money – old-money wealth. He carries himself like he's more important than everyone else and uses his social status to get what he wants.
He doesn't like me much either ever since that schoolyard incident in kindergarten.
So, it comes as a shock that I'm comfortable in his presence. Not the type of comfort one experiences seeing a familiar face in a room full of strangers, but the kind where it's safe.
"I texted the guys. They'll be over in a bit," Sky informs, pulling me from my thoughts, from the impossibilities of the last twenty hours, give or take a few.
I'm perched on a cushioned bench by the window in the upstairs gallery, watching the downpour. With not much left to entertain ourselves with, we migrated upstairs while his dad blipped in and out at various occasions mainly to make sure we're still inside the house.
As if we'd go anywhere with a storm outside. Except Sky's friends, apparently.
"Isn't that dangerous?"
The storm is ridiculous. Clouds overcast the sky in dark grey showing no sign of brightening any time soon.
Rain continues to pelt down in thick white, foggy sheets with a vengeance, creating a mist and obscuring the houses outside to silhouetted shapes, white or orange porch lights piercing the distance.
The streetlights have come on casting an almost eerie glow across the fog.
Lightning flashes, thunder crackles and claps, and the howling winds shake the trees to a mad rhythm.
School has been postponed.
We were awake when the power tripped at four this morning. It flickered at intervals for the next ninety minutes and didn't stabilize until five-thirty. Because the storm was so bad, Sky turned on the television to catch the six o'clock morning news.
There were two landslides. The one close to where I live is so bad that the landslip created a blockage and, in this weather, nobody is coming out to clear the roads. The other one happened near the coast where a chunk of cliff running along the shoreline broke away and slipped into the ocean.
But that isn't all.
The roaring winds damaged electricity cables and broke down a utility pole on the northern end of Jasper Falls. No one was hurt since the northmost end of town is mostly trees and woodland, with inhabitants scattered farther and farther closer to the coast.
Principal Dalton sent an email minutes after the broadcast, postponing classes until the weather eases up. Not long after, the power outage happened.
It's now afternoon.
The rain continues to rage. Electricity has yet to return. It's become so dark that we need candlelight and storm lanterns.
"They'll be fine," he replies.
Sky decided on inviting them since we've run out of things to talk about. I don't know him well leaving our conversations limited to trivial nonsense that don't veer toward personal topics.
I learned a few things about him and genuinely become invested in listening to him talk about himself, his friends, and the things he wants to do.
He spoke about his future aspirations after high school.
He doesn't want to go to college but if he does, he'll settle on joining the community college in Minerva since he wants to join the law enforcement unit in Jasper Falls.
I can see him in that field. He has the look, walk, and boldness to fit right in.
Of course, he tried getting something out of me.
I don't like talking about me.
And I felt bad bringing up his mom. He was so little when he lost her. I can't imagine surviving what he did. A home invasion gone terribly wrong, it's mind-blowing to think that he could have died that night too.
"You should probably call your parents and let them know you're okay," Sky suggests when I turn away from the window. He's stretched out on the long sofa, propped against the armrest. In his hands, he holds open a paperback.
"I texted them."
"Do they worry about you a lot?" he asks, the question catching me off guard. I try to stay away from talking about myself, try changing the topic whenever he asks about me, but I see no harm in answering a question like that.
"My mom, most of the time. But Dad checks in too."
The light from the battery-operated lantern on the small table between the couches casts his frame in a dim light.
Half his face his shadowed in darkness yet he reads the fine-print novel with ease.
It's some fantasy romance novel that I recognize having fallen victim to Mom's book shopping sprees when I am with her in public.
She would gravitate toward the books with half-naked men on the cover.
I didn't think Sky would enjoy such things.
"I'm not a romantic," he suddenly says, not even lifting his gaze.
I swear I almost shit myself!
Sky chuckles. "I can tell you're curious. These novels belonged to Dale's sister. She didn't want to toss them, so she gave them away instead. Let's just say, this," he indicates the novel, "is her way of punishing me for a comment I made regarding her lame-ass book collection."
"But you read them?"
"They're amusing. Especially their never-ending takes on werewolves." He suddenly stiffens as if he's said something he isn't supposed to. His gaze flits over, waiting for a reaction but the only thing he gets is a raised eyebrow.
"Isn't that the point of fantasy? Werewolves don't exist so I don't see why it should be a big deal. Although it'd be kind of cool if they did. Hopefully, they'd be a lot cooler than the ones from Twilight."
"You watched Twilight?" he fires. His amusement grates on my nerves. It's like he enjoys teasing me about anything and everything that seems out of character for the persona of me he's crafted in his head.
Then again, he's slowly dismantling the persona of himself I have created too.
"Blame Sasha."
His smile eviscerates in a heartbeat. Gone is his amusement as he turns back to the book with clenched jaws. Ignoring the sudden change of mood, I continue talking, feeling the sudden need to explain myself if only to wash away the abrupt arrival of tension.
"I was forced to watch all five movies. Neither of us understand it to this day."
"Then why watch it at all?" The hostility of that tone comes out of left field. I'm surprised to find him glaring at me so coldly that it actually sends a shiver up my spine. His eyes seem brighter somehow. Like glowing blue fireflies piercing the darkness.
Or maybe it's the light messing with me.
I take his coldness into stride, not appreciating the way he's looking at me – like some kind of untamed animal assessing its prey.
When are the others coming by?
With a nonchalant shrug, I plant my feet on the floor. "It's something we've done for as long as I can remember. We watch crappy movies and talk about how much we hate them. What kind of books do you read then?"
We've progressed past the animosity that's existed between us for years. Able to hold civilized conversation without resorting to blows and jabs and insults. I feel the need to maintain that state of being because for once, it feels good not to clash with him over everything and nothing.
More importantly, it feels great to have a normal conversation with someone for once.
He gestures to the bookshelf off to the side behind the long sofa. "The first two shelves."
Pleased that the tension has dissipated, I inspect the spines to the best of my ability in the dim light.
A few are classics, some are contemporary stand-alone novels, and he has entire novel series I've always wanted to read.
Spotting a title that's on my to-be-read list, I tap the spine. "Can I?"
He waves me off without breaking away from his fantasy romance.
I pluck the book from the shelf and settle into the single-seater next to him with the copy of Lord of the Flies, a book I've always wanted to read but couldn't locate even a second-hand copy in any of the local brick-and-mortar bookshops.
A throw cushion on my lap, legs stretched out and propped against the small table since I'm so long, I flip the book open and start reading.
There is no exchange of words between us.
The silence is comfortable, the only sounds being that of roaring winds howling in the distance, heavy battering of rain on the roof, and flipping pages.
Still, I see him in my peripheral vision.
He's shifted about, assuming a similar position as me but his feet stay planted on the floor.
He says nothing when he to the window to the sheets of rain outside then to me.
I think nothing of it. To him, I must seem like a mystery he needs to figure out. Why do I act like a cruel bully at school when I'm actually the opposite?
I didn't lie about the peer pressure thing. It's half the truth, but the truth, nonetheless.
The other part isn't something I like talking about. I hate to be reminded of it, so I avoid it at all costs despite the daily reminders.
Pills. Verbal cues. Faces. The fucking mirror.
It isn't too long before I start giving up on reading. I'm past the first and second chapters, my speed of reading slowing halfway through the third chapter.
My vision starts to blur. My head pounds with a disgusting throb. I figure it has to do with the dim candlelight and that I'm reading a fine print novel in those conditions. But the ache worsens, and the words start slipping off the page.
Breathing deeply in frustration, I slam the novel shut. Toss it too hard on the wooden coffee table because the dull thud steals Sky's attention. He lowers his book.
Leaning forward, I scrunch my face, pressing my thumbs into the sides of my head, slowly rotating them to alleviate the pain.
"What's wrong?" I somehow hear him over the piercing pounding in my head. It's becoming more excruciating with each second.
I should've never picked up that damn book!
"Do you have painkillers? Paracetamol? Ibuprofen? I've got a headache." Tears prick my eyes as the pain doubles, flipping my stomach. I straighten a little, not wanting to vomit all over the rug, focusing on keeping whatever is left in my stomach where it belongs.
My vision swims, the room dancing and blurring. I clamp my hands down over my head, sinking all fingers into my scalp.
I hear a soft gasp and I'm not sure if it came from me. A thud follows and then quickly retreating footsteps. A stray tear leaks out and I suddenly have the strongest urge to be away from here.
I want to be at home with my parents where it's safest when these migraines happen.
Sky comes back with a glass of water and two pills. "Take these. I found some Ibuprofen."
I down it immediately, praying that it works fast. How embarrassing would it be if I pass out? It's happened before, but passing out here and now might freak Sky and his father out.
"Anything else I can help do?" he asks as the pain climbs, making me wish I that could cleave my skull in half and physically remove it.
"Not unless you can magically ease pain."
Sky goes silent. Then, "Not magically, but I can try a massage."
His offer leaves me in such shock that I remain quiet, trying to ebb the pain on my own. Sky's fingers slip around my wrist, pulling my hand away from my head. The sudden contact forces me to look up where I find genuine worry etched across his face.
"Let me help you. Tell me where it hurts."
"My head. And my neck."
He moves behind the sofa, instructing me to lean back a little. I do as I'm told, wanting the pain to stop before I collapse.
My lashes flutter, my jaw tightening when his fingers brush the nape of my neck, and through my hair.
I don't care that Sky Daniels of all people is touching me so casually.
I'm in so much pain that I'll sell my kidney to make it go away forever.
Tingles zip across my skin shooting down my arms when he starts kneading his fingers into the column of my neck.
My eyes fall shut as my muscles immediately begin to relax.
An involuntary moan slips out. I go rigid and my eyes fly open, hardly able to understand how or why such a sound came out of me.
"Jace?"
Heat flames to my cheeks.
"Shut. Up."
His cackle comes as a response making my cheeks grow warmer but his humor at my expense fades when he continues with the massage, paying particular attention to my head and neck.
My head lolls, shoulders relaxing, and my eyes roll back into my head.
I could fall asleep right there from how good it feels. I almost do when he switches it up.
His hands are warm against my skin as he slides his fingers down to the base of my neck, fingers kneading as he continues a path to my shoulders.
Chills explode everywhere, the pain ebbing away into nothing. My jaw tightens with exhaustion, the absolute silence overwhelming my senses, springing tears of relief.
Another soft moan slips out startling me like no other.
Oh, hell no!
I should've thanked him for the Ibuprofen and battled it out. That would've been less embarrassing.
The hairs on my neck stand on end at Sky's dangerous proximity. He's so close that the heat of his body seeps through the sweater he gave me.
"So, you like my touch?" I can hear the laughter in his voice. "I've barely started, and you've already moaned twice."
This fucking guy! How dare he flirt with me so openly?
"Bet your little girlfriend couldn't get you to do that," he teases. It's the mention my relationship that has me getting my rump off the sofa. And apparently, he finds it funny.
"Stay there!" I snap, moving to the furthest spot on the long couch. I wince as the tiniest of movements amplify the pain tenfold.
"Why?" He tilts his head as if he doesn't understand the meaning behind my behavior. My sudden need to get as physically far as possible from him. "Isn't your migraine still causing problems?"
"I'll fight it out. Just...don't do that again."
It bothers me that I'm not repulsed by his actions. I have a girlfriend whom I have loved since middle school and yet, I've no issue being this close to someone who isn't her. If Sky and I were close, maybe I would react differently. Take his flirtations into stride because I'll know he's joking.
Except, I don't have that luxury. We're not friends. And I can't tell if he's joking or if he's flirting with me for real.
"Are you sure?" he presses. I glance over, taking note of the complete one-eighty. Gone is any trace of that teasing gleam, in its place, genuine concern. "Maybe you should lie down."
That sounds like a good idea. And maybe closing my eyes too.
Without waiting for him to say another word, I stretch out, my muscles instantly relaxing. Sky rearranges the throw cushions and removes a few. He wanders off, disappearing somewhere else as I get comfortable.
My gaze lingers on the lantern's glow and when the migraine pulses again, I close my eyes, bringing a hand to my face.
Sky returns once more, his bare feet softly padding against the floor.
The lantern goes out, darkness bringing ease to my eyes.
A wave of sleepiness washes over me, and I surrender to the grips of unconsciousness just as a warm blanket is pulled over my body.
I faintly register the soft sensation of electrical tingles zipping through my scalp and the soft tousle of my hair around gentle fingers.