The first time when I felt a pang of alien feelings, was shortly after I'd joined the coven, when Fiona was the desperate reigning Supreme, when Cordelia's hair was shorter.

Madison was zealous, full of determination to pull my leg from the very beginning. "A Stevie Nicks wannabe? As if you aren't gay enough already." Her words were as nasty as the cigarette smoke coming out of the same mouth. But I paid no attention; it wasn't just Fiona that Cordelia had warned me about.

After that, and even after that, her taunting never ceased. I gradually had gotten used to the question mark above my head every time she made mocking remarks, which were sexual most of the time.

Once the coven had seen the face of the new Supreme, much deserving peace came back. We had more opportunities to sit and watch TV and do things that regular people do. The girls started to talk about something other than Papa Legba or witch hunters.

It was only then that I finally realized the way Madison acted was how everyone acted.

Regardless of age, the girls talked about sex and romance like they were the most important elements of life. Like they were the crystal skull awaiting them at the end of their journeys. I pretended to understand at first, just so I could blend in. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never comprehend why it was such a big deal, why so many politicians ruined their careers because of it, why people were so enthusiastic to hear which celebrity cheated on which. To me, watching the wind twirl around a flower was more intriguing than that.

As time passed, I'd come to realize there was something fundamentally different about me. It was always me and the other. What they liked, I didn't care about. What I loved, they dismissed it with a casual shrug and a jeering smirk. The turmoil of bafflement had become my default around the girls, and I'd eventually given up trying to fit in.

It wasn't a lonely life though, just as my previous life in the swamp was. I had Cordelia, the one person I would go to hell for. It was easy, almost natural, for me to let my world revolve around her.

So when she wanted something more than a friendship, it broke my heart. She was the same as the rest of the coven. Oh, she was. It was darn difficult to admit to myself, that she could cause such an ache in my heart.

People would have told me I was too naïve, that I was being unreasonable. They had no idea about my pain, this feeling even I was blind to. They couldn't see, or even fathom, my world that crumbled down bit by bit, as if it was destined to become a ruin.

Have you ever pretended to like sex so your partner wouldn't think you don't like them? One of the posts asked. Every word of it stung, and burned my heart.

Yes. Yes, I have. Always. Since the beginning.

Every time she touched me, I was scared of her warm smile. Scared to death that I would screw up somehow and she'd leave me. The sparkles of longing were blades that cut through my skin. Don't freak out. Don't say a word. She loves you. I'd learned to tie myself down to the bed with the chain of words.

They say once you immerse yourself fully, the pleasure will consume you and those fears won't matter. Stop being so naïve and just snap out of it. That's how everyone else acted. But it never happened to me. It always made me hyper-aware of everything. Her naked skin, her hands, my own breathing, the coolness of the bedsheets, the one stain in the ceiling…everything.

They say the intimate act will bring two people closer to each other. This whole love thing is less meaningful without sharing the physical experience for some reasons. They smile with their droopy eyes and tell everyone that their relationship is finally in full blossom after their first sex. To them, to the world, physical intimacy was the sole way of proving love to someone else. I didn't understand them, because each kiss and touch made me feel her more distant. When she was on top of me naked, it wasn't the Cordelia I knew. She was someone else, a stranger that had known me for a long time.

I convinced myself every time that this –whatever this emotion was– was because of my lack of experience. I told myself that if I kept doing this, I'd like it. But I never felt the so-called lust that seemed to control Cordelia and leave her completely vulnerable. I'd always wondered how someone like Cordelia, someone with such high self-control, could easily give into it.

"Follow your instinct," Cordelia had said to me on the night of our first time. I remember feeling even more confused and frustrated. My instinct was telling me to back away, put on clothes, and cry. So, I shot in the dark, hoping some of the bullets would hit the target. But what would become of me, and Cordelia, if a bullet happened to hit something else that I so cherished?

I couldn't remember the fearless girl that used to live in me. What happened to her? She didn't care for people's understanding. She wasn't afraid of making mistakes, because at the end of the day, she had Stevie.

She was gone.

I condemned myself for not wanting the same thing Cordelia did. It wasn't a matter of intentional choice; I couldn't get myself to want it, no matter how much I tried. Eventually, I'd become numb to the lump in my throat that threatened to block my airway. It was best for both of us, I'd decided.

These people's stories, they were about me. They were my story.

ooOooOoo

I lay on the bed, with my head rested on Cordelia's chest. With every intake of breath, with every heave of her chest, I too breathed in and out. Her hand restlessly caressed my back.

It had taken some convincing to have her lie with me. This was rather an intimate act, and she was afraid it'd make me uneasy. There were no solid boundaries set between us yet. What I didn't like, and what I was ok with.

It wasn't necessarily all physical touch that made me apprehensive, and gave me the feeling of my stomach being squeezed; what I disliked was the moments of carnal desire, the vortex of thirst raging in the brown eyes. I dreaded the moments of Cordelia's gentle hands hustling to rip off my clothes. I feared her soft lips bruising and marking my body, as if she owned me. In these moments, the angelic, innocent, selfless Cordelia turned into someone else who was only invested in fulfilling her desire.

As long as I knew things would stay non-sexual, then hugs and kisses weren't daunting.

"How'd ya know?" I whispered into the tranquil air of the room.

The sky had its serenity back after the storm, and the twilight made the white bedsheet beneath us shine. My fingers tenderly stroked the surface of the fabric. It was soft, but not as much as the one we were using before Cordelia's trip. I vaguely remembered the way the silky fabric had felt in my fists. I remembered grasping it so tight, with Cordelia plating kisses across my lower back.

"I didn't exactly know," she answered. "But I noticed that every time I ask if you want it, you say you want to make me happy. It was never about you. It was always about me, from the very beginning, and I…" A sigh slipped out of her lips. Her hand stopped caressing my body, but still remained there. "I knew the term 'asexuality' before. It's a huge group of girls we look after. Issues regarding sexuality were bound to happen. It just… never occurred to me that it might happen to us someday. But I suppose that was my fault. I shouldn't have assumed anything."

"It ain't your fault. Ya didn't know."

She bit her lip. "I just wish you would communicate with me more. I feel so selfish."

"I didn't wanna hurt you."

"Why did you think it'd hurt me?"

I lifted my body, careful not to push down on her. "Ya like having sex...don't ya?" My face flushed ever so slightly as I asked.

She looked into my eyes for a couple of seconds. "I do," she echoed. "Because it's with you. It wouldn't be the same with anyone else. Not that there's anyone. I love you and only you. And it's natural, for me anyway, to feel this way, that I want to have all of you."

"Why do ya think ya don't?"

Her answer was a smile, sympathetic and brokenhearted. Like she was giving up something. When she found out she couldn't get pregnant, when Fiona died in her arms, when something uncontrollable happened and left her with a broken heart, Cordelia would smile like that. As if she was convincing herself not to feel the pain.

It was the coping mechanism of her. Developed, evolved, remolded with each heartbreak, to build higher and sturdier walls between her and the world.

The thought of me included in that world was unbearable. I was supposed to be standing on the other side of the walls, with her, next to her.

I sat up before taking her hand. "Don't think ya don't have all o' me, because ya do." I said to her. "Ya have ma soul. Do ya believe in soulmates, Miss. Cordelia?" I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She seemed to be uncertain and remained quiet, though her brown eyes never left mine. "I do. I believe ev'ryone has a soulmate, who they 're destined to meet in their life. And ya are mine, Miss. Cordelia. Our souls are connected, always have been, ever since the beginnin' o' the universe. This feelin', it's more than I can put into words. I love ya, Miss. Cordelia. Ya are ma soulmate, ya are ma tribe, ya are ma home n' all other things that keep me here on this earth."

My voice, I didn't recognize it. How long had it been since the last time I heard my own crying voice? I used to cry a lot as a child, and even after I'd left my village. I was always crying, and I always fell silent. There is some kind of self-destructiveness to it, having to force yourself to speak when broken sobs are the only thing willing to come out of your throat.

It was only Cordelia whom I desperately wanted to speak to even so.

"So, please," I choked out as her face blurred in my vision. "Don't ever think ya don't have all o' me."

I couldn't see her reaction, hidden behind the tears.

ooOooOoo

When I woke up the next morning, Cordelia was already out of the bed. Her pajamas were neatly folded in the laundry box, along with the ones I had tossed mornings prior. I raised my hands to massage my temples, to relieve the dull pain in my head.

Running lukewarm water, I washed the solidified tears off my face. It was the physical remnant from last night. The reminder of Cordelia's dejected smile. I rubbed the salt off, to the point the skin around my eyes reddened quite noticeably.

The academy lacked its perkiness, the dining room without hungry teenagers, the TV uncharacteristically unoccupied. Then it came to my mind that Queenie was taking the girls to downtown, so they could be familiarized with voodoo as well. To know your own history, you must know the history of your enemies, as they say.

It was a bizarre feeling, to be left alone in this empty building, with the white walls threatening to absorb your whole being. It reminded me of the first time I set foot in this place. I remember feeling a bit scared of the lifeless, spotless walls, and the eyes of the past Supremes' pricking every inch of my skin.

Perhaps scared wasn't the exact word, but I certainly felt like a wild monkey trapped in a queen's castle. As luxurious as it is, the castle doesn't have trees to climb, or the sky to look up to. Although I no longer had the constant feeling, occasions like this made me realize I was the nature's child to the core.

The old grandfather clock tolled in the hallway.

I mindlessly stared at the bottom of my mug in the kitchen, my mind still partially clouded. My head reeled from the dream I had woken up from. A nightmare, except it didn't have monsters…or maybe it did and I was the monster. Cordelia was crying, for whatever the reason, hiding her face behind her hands, refusing to say a word. Her shoulders trembled, and when I tried to reach her, it only made the crying worse. My own groans had woken me up from the hell.

Shortly after her mother had died, Cordelia told me about the story of her childhood. A memory that she hadn't recalled for a very long time.

She wasn't a failure like Fiona wanted to believe. Her life was full of potential when she was little, when her mother was still oblivious to her mortality. Her Sight was just as powerful as when it was regained after about thirty years. One day, she had a vision, of her uncle trapping a girl –not much older than Cordelia herself– inside his closet. Dark, smelly, humid, and vile. In a fraction of the horrifying scene, the little Cordelia witnessed the sheer horror and despair in the girl's dark brown eyes.

Not knowing what to do, Cordelia did the only thing she could think of; going to her mother for help. Fiona merely snickered at the unwarranted imagination, despite her daughter's protest and plea. But a week after that, the police arrested the uncle for kidnapping and rape, as well as other minor crimes. Fiona's attitude toward her daughter had changed since then, drastically so. The innocent Cordelia couldn't tell why. Fiona never told her why. "You are a pathetic failure. You're worthless." It became a usual scene in the Goode household.

The incident left Cordelia with a deep scar in her heart. Every time Fiona yelled, the face of the frightened girl came back behind her eyelids. She loathed her Sight, the root of all misery in her life, and wished it away. By the time she was fourteen, she had learned to put a lid on her potential abilities, only to be left with the never-ending, abusive words from Fiona.

Her waking nightmare continued even then. The face in the vision had lost its features, and started to have Fiona's. She feared the dark, because it often triggered the trauma.

It wasn't the dark itself, though. People aren't really afraid of the dark, but what they think it might have within it. Their imagination tries to see what their eyes cannot see, and their minds create the worst case scenario. Cordelia's fear was because of its strong association with her mother. Fiona was the monster in her closet. Fiona, the woman who was afraid of and running away from her own shadow.

I wondered if I would be the monster in her closet someday. I wondered –I knew it was useless– if someday the face in her vision would have blue eyes like mine.

I let out a loud sigh, which hit the surface of the tea and created fragile ripples. With my mind racing, the presence of another person went unnoticed.

"You are loud today. It's rare." Nan placed herself in the chair next to me, while I jumped at the abrupt appearance.

"Shit, you scared me."

With no interest in my disheveled state, she only responded with a hum. "Last night was intense."

It took me by a bit of surprise at first, leaving me confused as to what she was referring to. And then it hit me.

With an exasperated eye roll, I breathed out through my nose. "If you could help it..."

"I can't."

"Right..."

"Do you really think Miss. Cordelia is ok with it?" Nan carried on, shrugging detachedly when our eyes met. "You know exactly what I mean."

"She said she was fine. I don't have any reason to doubt her words."

"But you know tolerance and acceptance aren't the same thing."

I couldn't help but bare my teeth at her suggestion, although getting pissed at her for her forthrightness was such a barren thing to do. Despite the powerful ability, Nan seemed incapable of paying her mind to people's emotions. Living in the coven almost equaled to having to tolerate her intrusiveness.

Yet, Nan wasn't just speaking her mind, but she was speaking my mind, too. I gritted my teeth. It was true that there was a little piece of doubt stuck in my heart. It was like there were two versions of me; one part wanting to believe Cordelia with blind faith, and the other begging my eyes to see the reality. The reality where I couldn't give Cordelia what she desired. Even when I had gone to her office earlier, there were moments of her apologetic smiles.

I knew, somewhere deep down, that it was up to her to solve this. I wished things were different, but this was who I was and I couldn't change that. What she needed was not my guilt, but more time. To believe just because you open up to someone, the person immediately accepts it is naiveté. You have to give them some time to adjust and come to term with it. And if acceptance isn't the decision they made, it's not your problem but theirs. I knew it, but the irrational, emotional part of my brain still refused to weave myself out of the guilt.

Zoe walked in, her eyes roving.

Why does this girl always look like on the verge of a mental breakdown? I mused as she greeted us with an almost-soundless hi.

"Kyle is waiting for you in the closet," Nan told her without much enthusiasm. Zoe creased her forehead in puzzlement, which caused Nan to roll her eyes. "It's not a metaphor. He's literally in your closet, waiting for you, in his vampire costume."

I couldn't help but narrow my eyes at this, while Zoe's face turned scarlet in a flash.

"Oh, ah- ok. Thanks..."

I watched her back as she trotted out of the room at the speed of light. Turning around, I found Nan taking a weeny bite out of a cookie, just as though nothing noteworthy had happened.

"Doesn't it just weird you out, knowing what other people's sex lives are like?" I asked her.

"I've gotten used to it," Nan replied. Her attention was still largely on the cookie in her hands. "It didn't start this morning or anything. It doesn't mean I'm comfortable with it though." She glanced at me briefly. "It's easy being around you. Your mind doesn't scream anything to me. Now, I can control my clairvoyance most of the time. I don't have to wear headphones all the time anymore. But strong thoughts still sneak through. Strong thoughts like sexual desire. I can't keep them out yet, and you know how crowded this place is. Sometimes it's like I'm attending an orgy."

The last word made me grimace slightly. It was an unfamiliar word, though I could guess it was a non-innocent one.

"Do you know how many times a day people think about sex on average? There's statistics of that."

"No…I didn't even know about the statistics." I played with the rim of my mug as I answered. "Why would they need to know that anyway?"

"It's for science." The corners of her eyes winkled as she responded in thrill. "They say it's 10 times for women. The number is higher for men, but I know neither of them is correct. It's more than that. Way, way more than that. Maybe because there are only young hormonal girls in the coven."

I couldn't come up with any reply to that, though it reminded me of one thing. The time when Cordelia and I were starting our sexual relationship. She would want to touch me and be touched by me at every opportunity she could find. It'd baffled me. It'd intrigued me. And then it'd all become bothersome. Though it was never verbalized, I thought she had a high sex drive. The joke was on me; she was 'normal', and I wasn't.