(A/N): This chapter was exponentially difficult to write. I hope you enjoy it. Please review if you can!
. . .
. . .
There were four scarlet Heartlines on Jeffrey's arm.
The first appeared when he was fifteen and met a girl named Julia at his school in Boston. Julia was a year ahead of Jeffrey and he had been greatly impressed by her large talent and equally large heart. They were together for two blissful months, and then Julia admitted to Jeffrey that she wasn't over a previous boyfriend. She apologized with genuine sorrow and left him standing alone in the rain, and that was the end of his first official relationship. The second and third Heartlines had blazed their way onto his forearm when he was seventeen. He fell in love first with Kate, and later Laura, both of whom were stubborn intellectual types with strong opinions. Unfortunately for Jeffrey, Kate never returned his feelings and, after a six month relationship with the aggressively red-haired Laura, she broke up with him because his easy going nature bored her.
Thus, Jeffrey put all thoughts of love out of his mind for a good few years. He studied hard, got accepted into Juilliard, made new friends, and left more than a few Heartlines on the wrists of others. He was so profoundly focused on his goals that it was a wonder he even had time to acquire his fourth and final Heartline. And when he did he felt odd inside, for this girl reminded him so sharply of someone else he knew that it was almost frightening. Their relationship was brief and baffling, and seemed destined to fail from the very start. It gave Jeffrey slippery sensation in his gut; he feared that he had not fallen for Ava, but for the person she so strongly reminded him of. In the end, he terminated the relationship quickly and apologetically and without looking back.
And that was that. Curtains closed. La fin.
As someone watching from the sidelines during these roller-coaster romances, Skye had been very stern with herself and done everything in her power to avoid dwelling on the fact that Jeffrey's love life did not involve her. She convinced herself that it was just as well-any relationship between them that extended beyond the platonic would likely be horribly awkward and end in catastrophe. And much as she adored Jeffrey, it was their fierce and phenomenal friendship that mattered most. If Skye grew into old age with Jeffrey as nothing more than a dear friend, her life would still have been good one. But this didn't always soothe the sour ache of watching him with someone else. The hurricane of tangled feelings still brewed within her, ferocious and tender as the day she collided with that green eyed boy under a hedge.
Skye was sitting on the sofa, reading The Mechanics of the Doorknob, when Jane glided into the room wearing a lavender highwaisted skirt and silk sleeveless blouse.
"Vintage," she sighed, rotating on the spot so that Skye couldn't possibly miss an inch of her attire.
"Mm," said Skye, turning page seventy-seven.
"Are you even paying attention?"
"I don't think so," Skye murmured, highlighting a particularly interesting sentence. "Now you know how it feels to try to talk to someone who's always got their face jammed in a book."
Jane's retaliation was interrupted as Rosalind and Batty appeared in the doorway. "My arms feel like bricks," said Rosalind, gesturing to Batty's french braid. "You're getting too tall for this," she laughed, smoothing her younger sister's navy eyelet dress.
"Never," said Batty. "I'll just have to start sitting down."
Skye and Jane laughed, and Skye marked the page in her book with one of Jeffrey's sheets of piano music. She hoped he wouldn't murder her for misplacing it.
"What do you and Jeffery have planned for tonight?" asked Rosalind, leaning gently against the door frame.
She looked very pretty, thought Skye. "I have no idea whatsoever."
"Well, I hope you have a good time."
"Thank you," said Skye, feeling oddly prim.
"And Skye-a word of advice: use your head. I know you're an adult and I know you're intelligent, but there have been situations in the past and I really don't want to come home tonight and discover that you've gone to jail or blown something up, or anything. Alright?"
Skye rolled her eyes. "Yes, because we all know how much I enjoy explosions and jail cuisine."
Jeffrey strode in on the tail end of Skye's remark and winked at her. "Her rebellious nature is impossible to suppress," he said to Rosalind. "The best we can do is stand by with a first aid kit and make sure the local fire department is on speed dial."
Skye flashed a rather alarming hand gesture in Jeffrey's direction.
"Er, we should probably we going," said Rosalind, giving Skye a threatening I-am-Rosalind-Penderwick-and-you-will-NOT-do that-sort-of-thing-as-long-as-you-are-my-younger-s ister glare.
It was effective.
"Right," said Jeffrey. "You have the directions to the theater?"
"Yes, right here," said Jane, waving a sheet of college-ruled notebook paper. Jeffrey's handwriting was a pleasant jumble of loops and swooping lines.
"Fantastic. Have a wonderful time and remember that if you hang around long enough after the show, you can get the cast member's autographs."
Everyone looked at Jane.
"It's an extremely rare opportunity!" she protested.
"We'll see," said Rosalind.
Jane heaved a long suffering sigh and snatched up her purse. "My whole life has led me to this moment," she exclaimed. "Let it be wondrous and let it be great."
Skye groaned and smacked her forehead with The Mechanics of the Doorknob, while Rosalind pulled Jane out the door, rolling her eyes at Jeffrey. "Sorry," she mouthed and Batty giggled.
Then door swung shut behind them and they were gone.
Skye looked at Jeffrey and he smiled. "Get your jacket," he said. "I have an idea."
. . .
. . .
The thread of globular lights spanning the Brooklyn Bridge from end to end had a luminescent effect on every object, plant and person nearby. Cars raced quietly along its length, glistening with the artificial starlight, and the faces looking out seemed lit from within. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Skye had seen in a long while and she rarely noticed nor cared about such things.
"It's something, isn't it?" Jeffrey turned around for a moment to pay their taxi fare, and Skye nodded vigorously.
"It's the greatest something of all the somethings I've seen."
"Indeed." Jeffrey straightened, slipped a few dollars change back into his pocket, and gestured toward the yawning entrance of the bridge. "Shall we?"
"If you stop talking like a character from one of Jane's Downton Abbey fanfictions." Skye gave Jeffrey a light push and he waggled his brows at her.
"My sincerest apologies."
"You can't control yourself, can you?"
"Maybe not." He closed his hand around Skye's wrist and tugged her forward. "I've always wanted to do this. Not alone, though," he reflected. "Because there isn't much point in doing something enormous and eventful if no one else is with you to remember it."
"It's a fair point," said Skye. "Kind of like the whole, 'if a tree falls in the woods' sort of thing. If no one else can verify that your memory is of a real experience, it all seems strange. Like it didn't happen. It's a lonely thought."
"It is," said Jeffrey. "That's why we're going to walk this bridge together."
They approached the nearest end of the bridge-it was their beginning-and Skye set foot on the narrow walkway to the right of the zooming vehicles. It was fantastic; the golden haze of a night-sky above the city that never slept, the black water below, the skyscrapers that clustered at the horizon, the rough and raw city noise of honking cars and voices from the people in boats beneath them.
Skye turned to Jeffrey to commend him on his idea, but her words died in her mouth. He was staring over the river with something like clarity and sadness, as if he were gazing far into the future and grasping how infinitesimal their place in it was.
And then she felt it, a sharp searing tingle in her left arm that throbbed with the pumping of her heart. Oh, god. Skye jolted forward and clenched the iron railing. Her body suddenly wanted to expel the contents of her stomach and for a few tense moments she actually thought she would projectile vomit over the rail. It was a terrifying experience and she desperately wanted it to end, not because of the physical discomfort per se, but because of the outcome. Everyone knew what these symptoms meant, Skye too, and she wasn't ready for a Heartline. The thought of displaying her truth to Jeffrey was unbearable.
"Are you alright?" Jeffrey was scrutinizing her with a critical eye.
Skye looked away, feeling horribly transparent. "Yes. Fine. Good."
"You looked like you were about to pass out."
Jeffrey's voice was warm with worry and Skye hated it, hated that it drew her in like a moth to flame. It made things phenomenally difficult. "I'm fine," she repeated.
She relaxed her grip on the railing and flexed her fingers, feeling hot blood return to them.
"I shouldn't have dragged you out here after you've had such a long day."
"Nonsense, I-" Skye's arm throbbed again and she gritted her teeth. I am in control. "I can handle an evening walk. I'm not a fainting flower."
Jeffrey kindly didn't mention Rainbow. "I believe you," he said. "But if you feel ill at any point just tell-"
"I know," said Skye. "And I will."
Jeffrey curtailed his concerns with a nod and they began walking again, shoulder to shoulder. "I like this," he said after a few beats of silence.
"What?"
"Being between two places. It's as though we're in a third dimension."
Skye laughed. "Have you been stealing my astronomy volumes?"
"Seriously," said Jeffrey, spoiling the effect altogether by slipping into a smile. "What would you call this? Nomansland? Limbo?"
"A state of uncertainty," said Skye. "But that sounds sort of...ominous."
"You're right, though. Life's the same way. No one can turn back. No one can predict the future. We're stuck right where we are, in the here and now, and despite everything we really have no idea what the next day will bring. Minute, even."
Jeffrey looked sideways at Skye and frowned. "If that makes sense."
"It does."
"I'm glad."
They looked up as a decrepit pick-up truck lumbered toward them, windows rolled all the way down. Its passengers had stuck their arms out the windows so they could tickle the night air, and they were laughing and singing along with some jangly tune from the radio.
Radio.
Skye remembered her promise and strained to hear the song. It was a lovely song, really, and made her feel rather at peace with the world. The pick-up truck rolled past them, and a pair of laughing teenaged girls peered out from the backseat.
They waved; Skye and Jeffrey raised their hands in reply. It was an acknowledging wave and a celebratory one, a friendly gesture between fellow bridge-goers that were going, going somewhere, going anywhere. Just going.
And then she had it.
"I Will Wait," said Skye, without missing a bit. "Mumford and Sons. 2012," she wagered, not exactly certain about the last part.
Jeffrey whistled. "Impressive."
"I gave you my word."
He shook his head, smiling, and stopped to look out at the river from the middle of the bridge. His eyes were impossibly green. "You amazing me," he remarked. He laughed. "And frighten me, too."
Skye rested her forearms on the railing and looked down at the water, pulse accelerating. "It's a gift."
A soft breeze off the river ruffled their hair, and Jeffrey leaned into it with his eyes closed. He looked so young. God.
He opened his eyes. "It's beautiful," he murmured. "All of it."
"I know," said Skye. "Positively radiant. Now let's finish what we started."
. . .
. . .
They arrived back at Jeffrey's apartment an hour later only to find it utterly deserted.
"It seems Jane has convinced Rosalind and Batty to hang around for the signings," Skye observed, squirming out of her jacket and tossing it on an armchair.
"I admire her determination," said Jeffrey, depositing his keys on the side table. He flicked the light switch on in the hall and for the brief moment he stood in the doorway, he looked like a young man turned angelic herald.
Skye turned away, cursing her sudden outburst of sentimentality.
Jeffrey stepped into the living room and rested against the wall. "That was amazing."
"It was," agreed Skye. "Thank you."
Jeffrey glanced toward the kitchen. "Would you like anything? I've become a voracious caffeine addict," he added ruefully. "I try to limit myself to four cups of coffee a day."
"Well, that's much better than Jane's thirteen."
They laughed and Jeffrey beckoned her down the hall. It ended in a small, moderately tidy kitchen with mint green wallpaper and a framed photograph of Hound on the wall.
"What?" he asked, looking between Skye and the photograph.
"It wasn't here the last time."
"Something was missing," he said, a bit defensively.
"Hound would be honored." Skye grinned and slipped into one of the chairs around Jeffrey's tiny kitchen table.
Jeffrey busied himself with the task of making coffee and did not speak for several minutes. He poured two mugs and offered her cream and sugar-she declined-and at last he joined her at the table, sliding a mug of steaming coffee in her direction.
"Sometimes I'm afraid," he said after a stretch of silence.
"What of?"
"Of not being able to sustain a living doing what I love. It's so difficult for musicians. They're entire livelihood is based on public opinion. If people like them, anything's possible. If they don't, it's hell. I hate it."
"You're aggressively good at what you do," Skye said seriously. "If the public doesn't recognize that, they're idiots. But may I remind you-you did get accepted at one of the premiere music schools in the world, and you're doing incredibly well there. Why wouldn't it be the same after you graduate?"
Jeffrey averted his eyes, ears reddening. "That's not really-"
"Stop being so modest! A little self promotion would be good for you, Jeffrey, especially when you've got the talent of fifty musicians and a lot of other things besides."
Skye concluded her mini speech with a resolute nod and reached down for her cup of coffee. She was expecting Jeffrey to protest, or begin poking a bit of fun at her genuine sincerity. Thus, she was quite stunned when he rose out of his seat, leaned across the scrubbed wooden table and kissed her.
The first touch was a shot in the stillness, startling them both. Jeffrey tried to pull away, but Skye took a firm hold of his shirt and drew him closer.
And then they were kissing, hot and open-mouthed, and Skye had never been so afraid in her life. Doubt, bewilderment, and awe skittered around her brain like birds in a cage, and it was wonderful and terrible and baffling. She heard a rough scraping sound and realized that Jeffrey had shoved their coffee mugs aside; one of them clattered to the floor.
Stop! A voice in her head commanded. God, yes, hummed a second. I am in control, always in control...and then-to hell with control, I want to be happy, I want to do this a thousand times; I want to surrender and careen into the unknown.
Jeffrey groaned softly and framed Skye's face with hands that were meltingly hot. It was unraveling her, dissolving her logic, and still she returned the kiss, heart pounding wildly. Long seconds ticked past, then her brain finally took hostage of her heart and she retreated, only stopping when her back hit hard plaster.
She and Jeffrey stared at each other from opposite ends of the kitchen, breathing heavy as though they'd just run a mile. His lips were kiss-bruised to a darker color and he looked very strange, almost afraid of her.
"I can't," said Skye, breaking the thick silence. "I can't." She resisted adding 'you know that,' but even so, she still felt greatly betrayed. Jeffrey had known, had to have, when they were on the bridge. He had four Heartlines of his own: he knew the signs. He had to know that Skye had been engaged in a battle with her own treacherous heart, and that every second they spent together was a great danger to her. He must know.
In a blur, she snatched the fallen mug from the linoleum, dropped it hastily in the sink, and swept out of the room with a backwards glance.
Skye retreated to the spare bedroom. As soon as she slammed the door, she fell back against it. A sob escaped unbidden and she quickly stamped it down. Jeffrey had four marks on his arm. Not five. No new one had appeared since his last girlfriend. He didn't love her, but he had kissed her and Skye had kissed him back.
She had relinquished control.
And it was that, in the end, that would be her downfall.
It seemed she wasn't being paranoid after all.