Chapter One. Unnoticed.And.Ignored.
My name is Jaden Harkness, if you were wondering that is. And there was absolutely nothing special about me at all. Not my name. Not my face. My eyes aren't elegant or shining full of stars. My smile isn't dazzling. I don't have a talent to my name and I most certainly don't have one people know. I was invisible to the world, and for nineteen years, nineteen excruciating years, no one knew I existed. But all of that changed the day I turned twenty. Because on that day, on that dreary, chilling day, I met the two most unlikely people in all the world, in all the gaping universe, the only two people that changed my life- or more realistically, could ever give it back to me. This is the only story I will ever tell. This is the only story worth listening to. This is the story of how I started living.
My mother raised me alone. Her name (and I say was, because she died when I was seventeen) was Adrienne. Adrienne Alistair. We never spoke of why our surnames differ. I suppose she expected my father to appear one day, just as suddenly as he'd left, though I knew for a fact I had never met him. She never even told me who he was. She never spoke of him. Not once, to my memory did she do so. I suppose she thought she was protecting me- After all, any man who leaves a young woman pregnant, never to be seen again, can't be anything but bad news.
My mother was breathtaking to see, I remember that much. After all, why wouldn't I? It wasn't so long ago, not at all. Four years ago.
I remember her like a photograph. She was excruciatingly tall, and had a round, pleasant face that reminded me more of a princess than a mother. I suppose I treated her as such as well. She had brilliant, cascading blonde hair, straight as an arrow, and thick as fog at night. She always tied it back with a scarlet ribbon, giving her a dated, fifties era look, and smelled strongly of menthol and cinnamon. I remember her eyes- Her warm, honey-brown eyes that often rippled with gold- Small wonder anyone couldn't fall in love with them. And she was well-built, but perhaps that was from her age. She had never been with another man to my knowledge, other than the man who sired me, and I believe that was because she was as in love with him when she died as she was when she conceived me. And that was painful for her.
But the wounds were still fresh. I knew that whenever she looked at me. Her eyes reflected what she felt, and what she felt was heartache. Whoever he was, she saw him in me.
Maybe it was my face. My eyes. Perhaps my mouth reminded her of the man she'd kissed. Maybe it was in my voice. But whatever it was, she couldn't bear it. So she drove me out. She started to ignore me. She talked to me less and less, and saw me as little as possible. She eventually stopped telling me she loved me, and I knew it was because it brought her pain to do so. And that was the worst part. That was when it started, that feeling in the pit of my stomach, like no one was there. No one was watching.
No one cared.
I suppose that wasn't true either. I did, after all, have friends. A friend, that is. Her name was Oriana. And as her name would make it seem, she was born with the very stars in her eyes that I was missing. Constellations of them, galaxies of them. She was granted her hearts desire by everyone, because of every blessed thing she had been given. I envied her more than you could ever know. I blame her, partially, more so than Adrienne, for this invisibility. Oriana was perfect in every way, and next to her I looked like a filthy animal that would be better off euphonized. Because of this, I often thought about what would happen if I disappeared completely. And perhaps it was that, that incredible darkness, that self-loathing that brought them to me- But even those two angles didn't know I was there, not until it was almost too late.
I remember the night Adrienne died. The night the world lost a heartsick soul.
Oriana and I were on our way to a local Café to get a cuppa before the night was over. She, as always, would be ordering peppermint mocha, decaffeinated, with a shot of Irish crème, and I would simply be getting green tea. It was six thirty in the afternoon, on October thirtieth, two thousand and four. And it was snowing.
I suppose that should have been my first clue. Snow in London? Preposterous.
I sat in my room that evening. Oriana had decorated it, with her infinite knowledge of absolutely everything that looked good. The walls were a sickeningly golden shade of pink, wallpapered with gold-leaf and with candle-lit lanterns giving off a sort of golden light- In fact, sitting there in front of a massive mirror, I almost felt sophisticated- If it wasn't for the person staring back at me.
"Jaden?" Adrienne had called. Her voice distantly reminded me of bells- soft, tinkling bells, like the little ones at Christmastime.
My own voice was harsher and deep. "Yes?" Oh. And very, very quiet.
"Oriana's hear," She cracked open the door to my room a tick- The back of which was covered in gold leafing, the front painted white.
"D'you want a few more minutes, love?" She stepped into my room, her tiny, size six Mary-Jane's clicking on the hardwood of my floor. I wished strongly, and silently, that she's stepped onto the carpeting. She smoothed out a few barely-there crinkles in her lavender cocktail dress. I put down the compact in my hand and stared into the mirror in front of me- through the mirror in front of me. My eyes were too big. And much, much too blue. There were hideous, misplaced yellow rings around my pupils, and the gold shadow I'd applied made them all the more prominent. My hair was too curly, much too long and dark, and made my face appear sunken in- or was that just from not eating? I couldn't be sure. The only good thing I observed in the mirror that night was that my skin faintly glowed, and that intensified when I smiled.
However, I avoided doing this, as my teeth were off centre just a touch.
"I suppose not," I breathed to my mother, sighing. "This is as good as it's going to get." I frowned in the mirror. The glow faded completely.
"What's that, love?" She hadn't been paying attention.
"Nothing."
"I don't see why you're getting so dressed up. You're only going for a cuppa." She said, placing her delicate hands on her wide, fleshy hips and pursed her scarlet painted lips into a critical smile.
She was correct, as she occasionally was. I was a bit too dressed up. But, knowing Oriana, I was going to be under-dressed as it was. I grabbed at a concealer stick off of my vanity and tore off the cap. I didn't need it. But somehow, there were circles underneath my eyes I wanted to hide. But what was the point?
I had lines eyes no one was going to look at anyways. And was dressed in deep burgundy, a soft, angora sweater Oriana had bought me off of one of the shops on Fourth Avenue, that was low-cut and showed off, well, nothing that would get noticed. I stood up. My jeans were too wide legged. Too dark. Overpowering. But what else could I do? It was cold outside, and that's exactly where I was headed.
"What's Oriana wearing, Adrienne?"
"Oh," my mother said breathlessly, smiling, "Something short. She's wearing a mint coat I'm sure I saw in that magazine, you know, that one she always is reading…"
I stopped paying attention. I loved Adrienne dearly, but she was shallow. And wrapped up in the life of someone she never gave birth to.
Leaving me alone. Invisible.
I grabbed my white pea coat off of the back of the chair I had been sitting in, threw it around my way too thin shoulders, and pushed passed Adrienne, who was still going on about Oriana's coat from that stupid, god forsaken magazine. I caught a few final words:
"…irl's radiant, Jay, I don't see why you can't be…"
I knew what she was going to say. Exactly what she was going to say. And it made me want to die, then and there.
I met my best friend, my only friend, Oriana at the base of the steep, rickety staircase of my mothers two-level flat.
"Oy Jay! I've missed you, yeah?" She said, flashing a blinding, dazzling white smile at me. She was beautiful. She was perfect. Her hair was swept back into a very becoming and very messy bun at the base, and side, of her perfect, square head. She had apparently gotten her hair professionally done- I spotted crisp, new blonde streaks in her hair that shone like starlight. Her eyes gleamed, emeralds imbedded in dark ringed, dazzling lids, which oddly enough complimented her short, cerulean blue dress more than the dress complimented her eyes. And the coat- Adrienne was right. It was that coat.
I tripped clumsily over the last stair.
Oriana caught me, however, being ever-present as omniscient as she was. She was strong for a seventeen year old girl. Strong, and perfect.
"Clumsy little devil, aren't you, Jay?" She set me right, smoothing out my own, less impressive coat. "Are you ready then? It's my treat, mum handed me fifty pounds this morning. Mint, yeah?" Oriana grinned that awful white smile in my direction once again. I smiled weakly at her.
"Yeah. Actually, I wanted to ask you something. I think our-"
She interrupted me.
"Oh, Jay, don't spoil our night with what you think." She waggled her little, glitter-tipped finger in front of her face and crinkled her nose, which I thought made her look like a skinny bulldog. "Besides," she started again, "I've got a much more interesting story…
It happened just a few hours later. Oriana was sitting at the café bar, flirting with the barista, getting him to buy her more hot chocolate, or whatever personal concoction he was making her. Whatever it was, it smelled faintly of cinnamon and strongly of lemons. Verbena, perhaps? I sat at the back of the deserted café, listening to the faint, soothing music playing through ancient speakers on the ceiling.
Street's like a jungle
So call the police
Following the herd
Down to Greece
On Holiday…
The light was low and faintly red, setting a beautiful glow across the entire place, occupied by only Oriana, the barista, and myself. I sighed into my green tea, wondering, just vaguely, why I was there. I could have been at home. But doing what?
I couldn't think of anything but the potential of sleeping. And maybe, just maybe, not waking up.
"Sorry!"
Always should be someone you really love…
I remember the glass shattering in my hands. Tea, scalding hot tea seared the insides of my hand and my legs where it had splashed everywhere. I screamed, or maybe that was just in my head. I can't remember. I felt these little pinpricks after I slammed my arm onto the café table, out of sheer shock from the tea splashing everywhere.
I looked down- There were the remnants of my glass lying everywhere, and I felt them scratching at my arms. I lifted them- No damage.
Someone had ploughed into my table- Apparently, not seeing it or me.
I turned my attention to the person who then had a white, fluffy towel pressed into my hands, who was apologizing again and again in a honey sweet voice. It was a police officer. Off duty, apparently, but one nonetheless. I recognised his light, windswept sandy hair and his piercing blue eyes from the child's park on the corner from our flat- That was his post.
"'Sokay. I'm alright," I said, pressing the towel onto my wiry, burning legs, wincing, because it still hurt like being branded.
"I didn't see you there."
"You and everyone else."
"Hmn?" He said. His attention was on the angel sitting at the bar. Her arm was gently cocked and curling the ginger hair of the Barista, who was leaning close to her, in a total trance, genuinely in another world all together, full of him and her. The officer was staring at Oriana, who had her mouth open in horror, staring at me as if she was seeing me for the first time.
And was disgusted.
The police man turned back to me and blinked a few times, apparently forgetting why he had entered.
"I'm looking for someone named Jackie Harris? I think that was it," He blinked again and pulled a black-lacquered PDA out of his copper-buttoned pockets and checked it.
"Yeah. Er, no. Jaden Harkness. Do you know where I can find her?" His voice started to trail off as his eyes slid from the screen of the pager to Oriana.
Oriana broke in. She stood up, sliding gently off the leather bar stool, and gently licked the bottom of her lower lip, staring at the policeman, pursing her lips afterwards.
"Jaden? Why would you be looking for her?"
I didn't say a word. She pulled up the glittering, sequined hem of her already too-short cerulean dress, and put her hands on her vivacious hips. She definitely loved the attention she was getting. The policeman was entranced, totally enthralled. He couldn't look away- he didn't even blink. His golden blonde eyelashes fluttered, as if he had been hit with some dreadful curse- Except he liked it. It was Oriana's perfect figure, her sensual nature, her garish, sexy glances that he couldn't tear himself from.
"…Her erm… I got a report… Talk to… personal… mother-"
As soon as he said 'mother', my ears perked up, hanging off of every word. What about her? Why the hell would a policeman come looking for me, especially involving my mother? She'd never done anything wrong in her life.
"Adrienne? She's neat," Oriana mentioned casually, biting her lower lip, winking at the officer. "What about?"
"She uh… well we really aren't sure… have to… Jackie…"
Oriana snickered, covering her mirth with her glitter-fingered hands. She spun around and went back to the bar. I watched the officer's blue eyes follow her there, and his breath get shallow. I could almost feel it, his hot breath. He wanted Oriana. He needed her. He was shaking.
"I'm Jaden, actually." I insisted. I pulled on the black coat of the officer.
"I'm looking for Jackie."
"No, you're looking for me." I stood up, more than a little disheartened. I felt a trickle of warm liquid fall from my knees to the floor- the tea was still spilling down my legs.
"Er…" he checked his PDA again. "Yes. Your mother, um, Adrienne Alistair? We're terribly sorry to inform you… She's… deceased."
I stood there, frozen. Oriana's eyes shot up. I caught a flash of them out of the corner of my eye. They were horrified. Almost as horrified as mine. I couldn't breathe. He was joking. He was joking, right? He had to be.
"..What are you talking about? I've only been gone two hours." I whispered in broken disbelief. I felt my voice waiver and crack like the ice coating the windows of the coffee Shoppe. A thousand awful pictures, morbidly realistic, raced through the back parts of my mind- Everything I've ever said wrong to my mother, that I was the cause of her pain. It was my fault. My fault she was dead, wasn't it?
His voice broke my train of thoughts.
"We think it was suicide."
And my heart sank into the floor- into the ground. It was my fault. It was all my fault. And even in that moment, when I could feel hot, acidic tears trickling down my face, and Oriana's strong, flirtatious arms suddenly thrown around my too-skinny shoulders, that Policeman who had broken the news to me was more concerned about Oriana. More concerned about the angel off of the barstool than the girl who had just lost her mother.
I felt myself fade away that night.