Jasper
She hadn't called all day.
What did I do?
Was…was this about yesterday?
Had I hurt her?
I remembered. I remembered pushing her into the wall and she had said in her baby voice that made me succumb to everything she wanted, "You're mean." And I had asked. I had asked…promise me…promise me you won't leave my side. You won't betray me. You…
And she had stared at me with those big blue eyes and smiled happily, "We're meant to be together, Jazzy. You should make that promise yourself." And I had apologized for hitting her. Any man that touched a woman was scum and I had promised myself I wouldn't be scum like my father. She had a bruise the next day and laughed it off when I said sorry over and over again. Then I realized, I hadn't hit her there; I had shoved her into the wall and she had fallen. So how did she get a bruise on her wrist? Her abusive, fuck ex-boyfriend. I had grabbed her, out in full day, and screamed in her face, her eyes widening, widening until they took up that whole tiny face, tears in her gaze, her hands shaking. I hadn't yelled at her before, I always talked in soft tones, but…now…
"You're so mean," she had whispered in that same voice, eyes dragging over my face like she didn't know who I was. And I had shook her, shouting at her to stop, stop, stop, just fucking stop before I—
"No," I had whispered, "You're mean. You've been with him, haven't you?" She was perfect to me. My friends called her an idiot, since she allowed her old boyfriend to beat her to a pulp then go out with a seventh grader. She was actually really smart, exceeding all her classes. She was too loud though and was too ditzy and happy and smiling and grinning. Too much sunshine for some people. But she lit up my world…every speck of it. And she didn't even notice.
"He just pulled me aside in school. No big deal, Jazzy." And she had cupped my cheek and smiled rather largely, stretching her lips ear to ear with a sense of happiness. And I calmed. Because she had never had that. Happiness. She had been searching, searching for it so hard I thought she would start sniffing people for a tiny bit of happiness. I was isolated, alone and so was she, but with her big grins and gleaming eyes, she could make me do anything, be anything. And I hated to admit it, but I loved her silly grins and gleaming eyes and happy tears and overdramatic ways. I loved her giggling in my ear and the dimple in her chin.
"Charlotte," I gripped her slim shoulders, trying to make her focus, trying to make me focus from that cute way her lips twisted into a knowing yet nervous smile, "You promised."
She gave a beam, that dimple indenting deeper into her tan, soft skin. Her short blond hair was kept back today, outlining her high cheekbones and bright eyes, "I keep my promises, Jazzy. Don't worry so much, please." Then she squealed, ringing my eardrums, "Ooh! Cupcakes! C'mon, Jazzy."
And I forgot all about it. Until that day…
July 7th, 2008
Peter hadn't called me or visited me in forever. As a best friend, that should be his job. Usually, he would text me or ring me up for some coffee, complain about his sister and whine about school. I would laugh and bra about how everything was a breeze for me. I waited for someone to ring my doorbell, for my mom to yell up and say some annoying kids were outside for me. I would roll my eyes and curse before I lumbered down, but…nothing. Why was today so quiet? Why did everything seem to drag out longer, the seconds going by minutes, the minutes going by hours, the hours going by days? My stomach knotted uncomfortably, rang through my entire body until I had to lay down from a headache.
And I woke up to ringing.
My mother had gone out with a couple of friends. I didn't mind. I gripped the house phone and pulled it from the hook, pressing it against my ear with a big yawn, "Hello?" There was a crackle and a couple of thuds on the other side. I scratched my hair, trying to avoid yelling out to the salesperson or whoever the hell it was…, "Hello?"
"J-Jasper…" Peter. Finally. What a dick. He hadn't called all weekend. Ugh. I palmed my eye, trying to stay awake in the empty, dark kitchen. I ran my hand down my face and sighed out, "Jasper? You there?" More static and I heard sirens in the background. Gah. What did his sister do now? Molest a dog? She was such a flirt, it was terrible to even glance away from her shining cleavage. You got used to it after a while. "Jasper?"
"Um…," I rubbed my eyes again and nodded, even though he couldn't see me, "Yeah. Dude, what's up? You haven't called me? So, what's going on? You want to try the movies tonight? Just no sister for once, okay? I think we can see a PG-13 movie on our own, don't you think? I mean, do you remember the last time she went? How much free buckets of popcorn can she fucking eat, right? I thought the guy was going to burst out of his pants…Oh, well, I guess it can't be helped. Your sister is just a pervert, right? So…how about —"
"Jasper!" He shouted to get my attention and I paused, surprised. He had never shouted at me before. "C-Can you just listen for once? Please!"
I frowned and glanced at the clean counter, running a hand through my messy hair, "Um…okay. Just calm, man."
"Okay." He panted for a while, more noises in the background, almost like a keening and sobs. What the hell? Did his mom fall down the stairs again? I really wished he didn't call me with this shit…, "Um…Jasper, you should, uh, sit down, please?" What was up with this please? He barely said thank you. But I pulled out a chair, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach and the sweat pressing into my armpits.
"What's…," I swallowed, "What's going on, Peter?"
"Are you sitting? Are you by any glass or anything?" Well, I'm in the kitchen, right under the giant picture of my mom and me, and there are drying glasses by the sink, but, right now I just wanted to hear what he had to say. "Jasper?"
"Yeah, no. I'm not. I'm in my room, man." I mumbled, ignoring how bad the lie tasted on my tongue, "Just tell me. C'mon, it can't be that bad."
"Right," I heard him murmur sarcastically, "It's…Charlotte."
How could those two words make a picture break? Oh. It was my fist. Blood gushed from my knuckles and dripped down to the wooden floor. I heard Peter's intake of breath as I tried to get myself to feel the pain, to feel anything…Nope. Nothing. I was empty and he hadn't even told me. I gripped the end table under the broken picture with my bloody hand.
"Char? What's wrong? Did that fucking asshole hurt her again?"
"N-No, Jasper. And get away from the fucking glass!" he shouted. I moved away from the broken glass, ignoring the way it bit into my bare feet and felt the blood fill the slits. I made it to the couch and grasped onto the golden furniture. He took a deep breath and continued, "J-Jasper…I'm so sorry. She's gone."
Gone.
Gone.
Gone?
No, that's impossible. With her wide eyes and bright grin. Of course not. She couldn't die. Not with…me there. She was fine. I was sure. This was just some fucking joke. I knew he hated Charlotte. Maybe if I get them together…they'll get the fuck along. I should call her phone now, maybe tell her what I thought, how big of an idiot Peter was. 'He said you were dead, fucking stupid ass, right?'. And she would laugh and invite me over and I would press my hands against her back, warm and smooth with little dips and arching spine and hot breaths and, "Jazzy, Jazzy, Jazzy…Oh, there…yes…"
Blackness. Where was the door? Hadn't it been…?
"Jasper," his voice made the blackness thicker, "Jasper, it was her birthday today." Birthday? Did she tell me that? I should get her something. God, I was so vague, "And her boyfriend…her ex I mean," What the fuck did he have to do with anything? Hadn't I already kicked his ass? "He picked her up. And he remembered. And…she went with him."
"What?" A word from my stiff lips. Finally.
"What, what?" Peter panted out, "She went with him, Jasper. And…he was racing down the road, on the wrong side. And…I guess he got distracted—"
"Distracted by what?" What, what, what? What…was happening? She was…What? Charlotte doesn't die…then it came out, "That fucking slut!" I shouted out, crunching my hands together, "She said it was over between them! She had promised!"
"Jasper! Jasper, are you listening? She's dead! They're both dead!"
And then…I laughed hard, sadistic chuckles that made my throat burn and my stomach clench with some kind of foreign emotion, "Fuck, Pete, he remembered her birthday and she got into the car with him? If I told her Merry Christmas would she fuck me until tomorrow?"
He didn't say anything, but his breathing deepened.
And I remembered. Her bright smile and her quirky dimple and the twinkle in her blue eyes, "I promise, Jazzy! Cupcakes!"
…
…
Back to school. It was better this way. Much better. With me in my junior year, I was able to focus, able to become whatever the hell I wanted to be. I clenched my hand around my pencil and wrote down on the paper. It seemed that's all we did. The teacher would tell us to tell our name and etcetera etcetera. Without Peter in my class, there wasn't much to do. With these solitary walls and keen eyes, it was useless to whip out your cell phone. Lousy ass school. But I had agreed, I had agreed to go to this school. And Peter had gone because I had. And it was better, but not as good as the public school.
Yep. I was in private school and as much as I hated it, I loved it too. The school was good for college applications and resumes and the teachers weren't half bad in their teachings. And here, you knew you could hold a conversation with that person because they had enough brains to hold an interesting discussion. My other friend, not so close, but Peter and I agreed he was good enough, Riley, since he was such a huge pervert, decided he only came here for the girls. I would admit, it was nice, the uniforms, I mean, though I hated the ties, which I refused to wear, and white button down and khaki pants. The girls got it easy with a short skirt that barely reached the middle of their thighs, high dark blue knee socks, a white button down and the blue ties. It was nice that they liked to spread their legs in class, show off their long legs, but didn't they get tired of that breeze? With the girls not doing any better than average whores, I had no one to turn to.
Before…
—I promise, Jazzy —
—Do you know what happiness is?—
—You're so mean—
"Jasper? Jasper?" A hand waved in my face. It was pale. That was another problem. Everyone in fucking Washington was pale as fuck, but seemed to be fair skinned with ugly tans when they went somewhere every weekend. It made my stomach churn. I blinked and stared into the dark blue eyes of my best friend, who stuck with me through the thick and thin and told me…
—She's dead —
—Aren't you going to the funeral—
—You know she loved you —
"Peter, hey, man." I said, scratching a hand in the back of my head. Mostly, nothing had changed between me and Peter. After everything, the hate and drama and screaming, we had merged and decided to fuck it. Nothing else mattered for a while but friendship and homework. And I soon realized, I depended more on myself than on Peter, which was better than usual.
"Ready for lunch?" He asked, holding up a couple of bills. I nodded, grabbing up my own bag so we could make our way out of the room. Riley soon joined us, gushing about women and other nonsense when I suddenly stopped. I don't know why I did, and Peter and Riley walked ahead of me, but I did and I turned, eyes searching, searching, searching for whatever. I had felt it, that presence that was funny, but created that heavy flutter of my heartbeat, the weird sensation in my stomach, this, this strange, strange feeling that made my palms sweat, made my throat dry. My stomached churned again, from the familiarity of it.
—I want to feel happiness—
—Will you help me find it, Jazzy?—
I had had this feeling before. With her. She had always made me feel it, always made my mouth dry and nervous, and my eyes widened, searching, searching, searching. Where are you? But she's dead. Dead. And I knew, there was no reason to look for her. Because she was gone. And I was glad for that. She had promised, promised, that she wouldn't leave me, that she wouldn't betray me. It was her fault that she was dead. Not mine. Then the feeling intensified as I walked, which was impossible, because I was Jasper-fucking-Whitlock and I didn't freak out like this, I didn't allow my emotions to get ahead of me.
Bad hair dye, short skirts, all the same…same…same…same…
Fuck!
—You like me, don't you, Jazzy?—
"Jasper?" I blinked hard and looked over at Peter, "Do you want to get some pizza? Or just stay here for the chowder?"
"What do you think?" I walked around him as he laughed. I didn't want to leave the school for some reason. I didn't want to leave…whatever I was feeling. Familiar crystal eyes stared at me from behind thick glasses. I mushed my eyebrows together as Alice looked up at me. I had hardly felt when her tiny body had knocked into me. She had the dimple in her chin and the eyes, but not the smile or blonde hair or the giggle. She wasn't like her sister…so why did I?
—Do you want me to give you satisfaction?—
—Alice…—
—Don't think about her. Think about me. I'm not my sister—
—…—
—Harder! There! —
—Alice!—
God, what was wrong with me today? I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead, trying to rub away the memories, her pale, elegant back, the little freckle on her jaw, her short black hair, the curls between her legs…Never again. What I had did…was so…But I didn't regret it. I don't regret anything.
And neither did she. Those dull blue eyes stared up at me, her glasses making them flash unnaturally, "Move." She pushed past me, knocking her shoulder into my side. She wasn't as short as…her, and she wasn't as cute as her either. How could they even be related?
"What's wrong with her?" Riley muttered grumpily, staring after the girl.
Peter shrugged, but shot me a look. He knew what I had did and he knew what I felt. He didn't call me out on it though, and he didn't have to, "Who knows? You know ever since her sister died, she acted this way…"
"Yeah," Riley sighed, "I guess."
"Shut up," I muttered without turning my head. We finally broke through the sea of students, the girls eyes mostly, how I hated it, on me while I tried to smile and act like it was nothing and laugh when people cracked jokes.
And there it was again. That feeling, in my gut. I was getting closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Almost…
Big brown eyes.
I didn't see anything else for a quick second. It was almost too amazing. With specks of gold and amber and wide, innocent. They looked around curiously, taking in everything, roaming over the lockers, the other girls, who looked plain compared to her. And then they locked with mine, widened, widened…
And why did my heart triple? My throat went dry again? She was it. I found it. Straight cinnamon hair and heavy bangs that hung over her eyes.
Pale, creamy skin, I hadn't seen in so long. Everyone had a tan, well, fake tans and I hadn't realized how tired I was of seeing orange skin.
She was tiny.
I hadn't noticed that at first.
Too tiny.
She would probably reach my chest, a couple of inches from my jaw, and her hips were slim, tiny waist, little legs, pale and spotless and little breasts that fit her tiny form perfectly.
While I stared at her blatantly, taking in every aspect, I vaguely felt Peter's hand on my shoulder, pulling me back, saying something in my ear. I hadn't even realized I had been walking towards her, like a lion stalking an elk.
Why did she remind me so much of…?
—You're so tiny, Char—
—Am not—
"Who's that?" I heard Peter whisper to Riley.
"Leave her alone." I said instantly. It didn't matter if her name was Shit Face.
All I knew at the moment was that she was already mine.
Good, bad? I don't know why I wrote this. I have a vivid imagination and I was watching this show like, I dont know, five years ago, and this story reminds me of it. Well, the dead girlfriend part. Anyways, I'm not sure where I'll head with this story. Maybe I'll dream something up.