A.N - I'm so sorry for the delay in updating. Note explaining stuffs on my profile. But yeah. Just so you guys know, I'm no where near done with this story. I just thought of a wicked (in my opinion) twist. I'm liking it.

Anyway, hope you're still with me. I'd love to hear from you. xD


Chapter Nine

"What the hell were you two thinking?"

Darn it. I should have known something was going to happen. There I was feeling so sorry for myself, because the guy that I was halfway to falling in love with shared my freaky gift, and crying on Paul's shoulder. Who, yeah, also shares my freaky gift.

I was trying to figure out how to explain to Jesse that I see dead people – totally like that little kid from The Sixth Sense – and he tells me that he knew already. And I get pissed?

Sheesh, what is wrong with me?

Well, I suppose Jesse did lie to me. And he was planning on getting close to me before we even met. So I can't be sure that he likes me for me, or because some priest three thousand miles away told him to like me.

But…

I don't know if any one else has noticed this or whatever. But, Jesse is pretty hot. And Spanish. How am I supposed to stay mad at that?

So I jumped out of bed – where Paul had placed me carefully after I'd run out of tears and he'd high-tailed it pretty quickly out of there. Too girly a moment, I'm thinking – and started to pull on my denim jacket when I got a phone call.

From the police.

We have a gentleman in here by the name of Paul Slater.

Idiot.

But, yeah. I should have known. Paul can be entirely too overprotective sometimes.


The first thing I noticed was that there was another man in the cell with Paul. The second was that both of them were bruised and bloody. The third, and final, thing was that the other man was none other than Jesse de Silva.

"What the hell were you two thinking?"

I couldn't help myself. It just kind of blurted out.

"It was his fault."

"He started it."

Their simultaneous replies were almost comical with their similarity. You know, if they weren't incarcerated.

"Querida?" I stiffened at his voice. How could it still affect me like that? I was mad at him. Stupid body reactions betraying my mind. "I'm sorry. I lo-"

"You," Paul interrupted with a snarl and a shove. "Do not get to speak to her. Let alone say that."

Wow. Go Paul. And there I was still reeling from the possibility of those three little words being said.

"What happened?" My words clearly dismissed them both, and by the sheepish looks they gave each other I don't think I want to know.

"As I said," Paul grumbled reluctantly. "It was his fault."


"That stupid Spanish …" his insult trailed off, his fists clenching as he thought back to the sight of his best friend crying, mascara clumped and black smudges beneath her eyes. Crying over him.

It didn't take Paul long to find him. He hadn't travelled much further away from the diner.

"You!" He shouted. "What the hell did you do to Suze? She's at home, crying, barely able to string together a coherent sentence."

Jesse's eyes fell shut with a groan. Díos. He'd made her cry.

"I'm talking to you, De Silva!" Paul's anger was fast overtaking all rational thought.

"It's none of your business what I said to her, Slater." Jesse glared at him. "It's between me and her."

"Suze is my best friend." Paul seethed. "You mess with her, you have me to deal with."

Jesse's eyes narrowed, his scar shining prominently in the streetlight. "Or are you just jealous that I'm the one she's been dating?"

He didn't know where that came from – Jesse was the kind of person who never provoked fights. He was the peacekeeper. But with Paul Slater screaming at him with the current knowledge that he'd made Susannah cry. He'd hurt his querida when he had sworn that he never would …

Paul's reply was simple enough, really. He had clenched his fist, cocked it back and hit Jesse's nose with enough force to draw blood in all of three seconds.

Wasting no time, Jesse countered with his own hit, a fist to the stomach, which had Paul, doubled over, breathless.

"I love her, Paul," Jesse tried to reason. "I never meant to hurt her."

"Yeah, well," Paul panted, trying to regain his breath. "You did."

Stemming the flow of blood from his noise with one hand, the other went to help Paul up. Fighting was not in his nature.

Paul accepted the gesture, ready with another hit for when he was steady, only Jesse was faster and quickly sidestepped, leaving the wall as a target.

The curse that followed was loud enough to be heard by practically everybody in the surrounding neighbourhood.

"Fuck," Paul cursed again, his limp hand curled protectively against his body. "You're going to pay for that."

He advanced on the other man, ready to fight.

Which, of course, was when the flashes of red and blue washed over the both of them, and a policewoman interrupted them, slapping handcuffs around Jesse's wrist as her partner came to tend to Paul.

Less than an hour later, Paul's hand had been bandaged up; Jesse's nose had been checked over; a phone call had been made; and the two sat solemnly side by side in a cold, metal cell.


Looking, now, I winced at the sight of blood – dried a copper brown – that stained Jesse's light shirt, and the thick plaster that surrounded Paul's wrist.

"Idiots," I repeated out loud, shaking my head. "Both of you. Fighting over me? God, if you're going to fight about anything, choose something more important, would you? Like, I don't know, who can down a beer the fastest?"

"Querida, no." Jesse stood up, rushing to the bars that separated them. The bruising around his nose glowed a grotesque purple. "You are important. I admit it was stupid of us to fight. But there is nothing more important to me than you."

"I love her, Paul."

"I understand that you most probably hate me, right now. And I don't blame you." He continued, his brown eyes wide and imploring with nothing but sincerity shining in them. "I'd hate me too. But I promise you, querida, I may have come here because of Father Dominic and your mother, but I stayed here for you. Because I lo-"

For the second time, he was cut off in his revelation to me. I didn't need to hear the words. They were true; any idiot could see that.

I mean, sure, it's fast. Two dates anyone? But hey, when you know, you know, right?

So, this time, it wasn't Paul that cut him off. But me.

Because, and I will so regret this later, I ran head first to the bars that separated us and pressed my lips to Jesse's. Admittedly, it was uncomfortable – very, very much so – but this kiss even beat our goodbye kiss all of a few hours ago.

There was just something about this Jesse guy that meant I couldn't keep my hands off him.

But I sure as hell wasn't complaining.