A/N : Many thanks to all of you who read the first chapter, and to those of you who have been patiently awaiting the next one. Let's see if you can guess who this chapter is about. And so, without further ado...
CHAPTER TWO – Blackbird
He stood upon the balcony of his apartment in Lower Manhattan, sipping his tea and staring at the murder of crows all lined up outside staring back at him. It's as if they were waiting for something. Waiting for what, that remains to be the unanswered question. It used to freak him out when he first saw them, perched on the electric wires outside his window. A symbol of death, he's been told. They've been watching him everyday for a good couple of years now. He often wondered if they had been waiting for him to croak, like the doctors who kept telling him he's going to die any day now for the past two years. Ever since they found his body floating on the New York Harbor, practically lifeless, with no memory of his past. They said he should have died that day. They told him it was a miracle that he was still alive today. And everyday, he's made it his life's mission to prove them wrong.
Not today, birds. Not today. He took one last look at the crows, then went back inside his room.
He showered and put on fresh clothes, and started to get ready to begin the day. Any day that he woke up in the morning was a good day, but today was extra special. He had finally achieved something he wanted to do for a long time. He fixed his tie, making sure it was straight. He normally doesn't wear a neck tie to work. He was more of a dark jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket kind of guy. But today, he felt the need to look nice. He stared at himself in the full-length Cheval mirror, into his eyes that were blue as the ocean, which always seem to captivate people. His raven dark hair that emphasized his chiseled features, which often enchanted women. Not that he'd ever used his good looks to seduce women. He was above being a cad.
He always thought that he must justify the right to exist. And no one can deny that he's earned his right to be alive on this earth. He's a fairly decent guy. He's environmentally conscious, he recycles, plant trees. He's kind to animals, the type of guy who would rescue kittens stuck on tree branches. He does volunteer work for the community and donates to charity. He's a lover, not a fighter. His record is spotless. By everyone's standards, he's an all-around nice guy. A little too nice, much to the chagrin of Jillian.
His cellphone chimed to the tune of 'Jack and Jill'. Speak of the devil. That would be Jillian, his best friend ever since he could remember.
"Hello, Jill," he greeted.
"Hello, hello," she singsonged in a cheerful voice. "And a very good morning to you!"
"Someone's in a good mood," he teased.
"I am in a GREAT mood! I have the most amazing news,"she said.
"Me too! You go first," he told her.
"Nuh uh...you go first. Because whatever your news is, my news will blow it out of the water," she challenged.
"Okay, fine. She signed the papers! I'm free of her, finally," he announced excitedly.
"You mean Fire Crotch let you go? Wow! Didn't think she had it in her. That is some great news!" she said incredulously.
He chuckled at the woman at the other end of the line. Jillian. Only he gets to call her Jill. His dearest friend, from what he can recall. A fellow survivor from the New York Harbor incident. They made quite a pair. Two broken people who were trying to find their place in this crazy world.
"She's a bitch," she said, breaking him out of his thoughts.
"She's not a bitch," he disagreed.
"She's a bitch to everyone else, save you," she insisted.
"Oh, you mean just like the way YOU are?" he asked.
"Yes, except I don't wanna use you body for sex. Cause that would be so EWWW!" she cringed.
"Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel like a million bucks," he snorted.
"Anyways, I'm glad that you are no longer the lap dog of Satan," she told him.
"That's not a very nice thing to say," he chastised her.
"Ummm, hello? I'm NOT nice!" she pointed out.
"Moving on, tell me about your amazing news," he switched the subject.
"Guess who had a callback to audition for the lead role in Aida?" she singsonged.
"YOU! That is great news, Jill! I am so proud of you," he congratulated her.
"Thanks! The audition's this afternoon. I'm kinda nervous," she admitted.
"Don't be. You'll be fantastic," he assured her. "You should come over at the pub later. I'll feed you. It'll be our double celebration."
"You had me at 'I'll feed you'," she laughed.
"Hey, maybe once you're this huge Broadway star, you can finally move out of Murderville," he said.
"Don't start," she warned him.
"I'll even help you look for a place," he offered. "There's a loft in NoHo for $3,800, SoHo for only $3,200."
"That's still too much to pay for...any 'Ho'," she quipped.
"You can't live in Brooklyn forever," he said.
"Yeah, I'm hanging up now," she told him.
"Okay, okay!" he relented. "Knock 'em dead at the audition, my Little Bird!"
"Thanks. I love you," she answered sweetly.
"I love you too." he replied, before hanging up. He smiled. Jillian was the only person he'd ever said 'I love you' to.
Looking at this desk, he gathered his things. Among them were the paperworks certifying that 'Jackson Crow' was now the sole owner of the pub he had been working on for over a year. He was glad that his 'business partner' allowed him to buy her out. It felt great to see his name printed in those documents. Or at least, the name that he gave himself, after he couldn't remember his old one. Jackson Crow...a lot better than the 'John Smith' alias that the hospital gave him. Jackson Crow, business owner. It had a pretty nice ring to it.
He had worked his ass off as head chef of the pub, The Broken Note. Always the first one in and the last one out. He set a good example, and treated his employees well. And with their help, The Broken Note became one of the most popular pubs in the East Village. Over 1,265 bars, clubs, and lounges in New York City alone, and people chose to go to his pub. It does his heart proud.
Speaking of his heart, he turned to the counter and glanced at the pill bottles on top of it. As much as he wanted to quit taking them, the medication was the only thing keeping him alive. He sighed, before taking one pill from each bottle, and popping them into his mouth. He drank a tall glass of water, took one final glance in the mirror to fix himself, then turned and walked towards the door and went on his way to work.
Inside the train, he sat and waited until they reached his destination, which wasn't until after a couple more stops. He took the subway everyday to work. He liked to watch normal people in their day to day life. He had become a casual observer of human nature.
He looked around him, at the people going to work, some of them headed for school, the rest of them maybe even off to do something recreational. Today was just another normal day at the subway. Nothing out of the ordinary.
That is, until he glanced out the window. That was when he saw her. Her beauty struck him to a halt. She had long, naturally wavy brown hair, with a hint of blonde at he tips, like a river of melted chocolate mixed with caramel. Her face was flawless, like a porcelain doll, only with olive skin. But what had him in awe was her eyes. Such beautiful, but sad eyes. The saddest eyes he had ever seen in a woman. Eyes that know the pain of loss, and were no stranger to tears.
He wanted to run to her, to comfort her, although he had no idea why. As if his body was being drawn to her, like a magnet, he bolted out of the train before it left the station, like his life depended upon it. He weaved to through the crowd, trying his damn best not to lose her. She stopped walking, as she saw another man trying to get his attention.
"Elena," the tall, dark blonde man, right about the same age as him, had called her.
Elena, whispered Jackson. That was her name. He tried to call out her name, but no sound came out. Without warning, he clutched the left side of his chest. His heart was pounding at an abnormally fast rate. He started gasping for air, like a fish out of water.
NO! he thought. He tried to calm himself down. Then, his heart rate began to drop at an abnormally slow rate. He staggered, as he started to lose his focus. And the woman he was chasing after slowly faded away from his sight. He could feel his body grow weaker. Maybe the crows were right that day.
Please. Not yet. Don't take me just yet. Not now. Those were his last thoughts, before he crumpled to the ground and lost his consciousness.
~END OF CHAPTER TWO~
A/N :
-So yeah, this chapter is mostly about Damon. (If that wasn't clear enough, then I probably should stop writing this story.) Any guesses on who 'Jill' is? What are your thoughts regarding the Delena missed encounter? If you're confused, don't worry. More will be revealed in later chapters.
-Song Suggestion : "Blackbird" by The Beatles.
-Shameless Promo : Looking for another fic to read? Please check out my other story (in progress), "What Dreams May Come".
-As usual, your thoughts and reviews are much appreciated. Thank you so much for reading.
