George
"So, you mean," Jared replies after reading all the information I gathered from Elis.
I wrote them in my journal because I'm afraid werewolves can hear us. The houses here are not too close but I just want to make sure no one will hear us.
"I have to tell Joaquin, or Fuego perhaps," he replies as he tears the paper from my journal. He tears them into tiny pieces.
"Just making sure no one knows," I reply.
"How did Clarkson know that you're here?" I ask in our normal whispering conversation.
"I don't know. Maybe I need to meow more," Jared says. "Maybe we have to be more careful of him." He stands up and fills the glass water from the sink.
"He seems to be..." he pauses and looks at me.
He is hiding something.
"...hiding something," he continues.
I furrow my eyebrows. "Quit reading my mind. Conserve your energy," I glare at him.
"I did not," he raises his eyebrows. He put the torn page of my journal in the glass of water.
"You just didâ" I pause realizing he is not lying.
"Maybe we have the same thoughts," he says.
"Clarkson figures out it's you," I mutter.
"Maybe he knows me better than you. I should ask him to be my girlfriend instead of you then," he says.
My mouth gapes.
"Is that an indirect proposal?" I furrow my eyebrows.
He chokes on his drink. His suppressed cough is so loud in the silence of the room. We remain silent for a while. Only the sound of my nails tracing the grains of wooden tables is heard.
Why am I not able to reply? I am attracted to him. I'm pretty sure I like him. For sure he can feel it. But I never know if he likes me back. The thought of him liking me, and getting attracted to me, made me happy. The sound of my heart is heard up my head. I know he can hear it if he tries listening.
"How's your class?" he asks.
"Fun," I reply without looking at him.
He clears his throat. "Can I borrow your phone?"
"Sure," I say and hand it to him. I walk from the dining table to the bed and sit beside him.
He dialed a number. After a few rings, someone answered his call.
"Hey, Fuego, This isâ"
"Fuck you, where have you been?" Fuego.
"Yeah. I miss you too, Buddy, "
"Where are you, Dmitri?"
"Werewolves," Jared shortly replies.
"How's everything there?" Fuego asks.
"Ehh... Not good," Jared replies and looks at me. "How's everything there?"
"They keep accusing Joaquin of being a traitor. They said he helped a witch, a high-ranking witch. I mean he could flirt with anyone, but having an alliance?"
"About that, it is true," he replies and touches his ear.
"No way..." Fuego replies.
I furrow my eyebrows when I can clearly hear their conversation even if it's not on speaker.
"Yes way. Now, can you do me a favor?"
"Hell, yeah. You told me never to do anything. I am itchy to make a move."
"There's an inside job going on," Jared says. "You have to help me with that inside job. I'll send you the information,"
"I knew something was off in this place. This place is fucked up since the day you became interested in that girlâ"
"Shhhh... This is her phone number," he warns." And she's a full-formed werewolf now, sitting beside me."
"Oh, I-I'm sorry," Fuego says. "What I mean isâ"
"No, no, you're only going to make this worse. I'll end this conversation."
"Bye," Fuego says before Jared ends the call.
"Sorry," he says and looks at me.
"It's fine," I say.
"You seem to enjoy your class tonight. How was it?" he asks.
"All of them are kids."
"Oh," he says. "That must be... noisy," he adds.
"It's actually," I pause to think. "Nice. I mean, yeah, it isn't peaceful. But..." I look at him. Immediately, I look away after seeing how focused he is while staring at me as he listens. "I lived alone. I never had a younger sibling. I never experience that."
"Me too. I don't have a sibling," he says. "But that's still noisy."
I watch him lie down on the bed. His feature gets sharper. His body hasn't recovered yet. He knows a lot about me now. He saw everything. Literally, everything. I close my eyes as I remember those days I casually walk into my room butt naked.
But what I am saying is I don't know much about him.
"Can you tell me things about you?" I ask.
He moves his arm that is covering his eyes.
"Hmm?" he frowns.
"Let's pretend we don't know each other," I say and move to face him.
"Okay," he says and smiles.
"So we're at the coffee shop," I say. "There's no available seat except the one in front of you."
I stand up.
"Excuse me," I ask and walk to him.
He sits up and acts like he is drinking a coffee.
"May I share the table with you?" I ask.
"I'm sorry but my friend, Fuego, is using that. He just went to the bathroom," he says and takes a sip of his fake coffee.
What?
My smile fades. I glares at him.
"Just kidding, I'm alone. You can sit there," he says and gestures his hand.
I sit down with a frown on my face.
"Are you an art student?" he asks.
My brows rise.
"Yes, I am. Uhm," I furrow my eyebrows. "How did you know?"
"You have paint," he says pointing his cheek, "Here."
"Jared!" I say through my gritted teeth, as we keep our voices low. I wipe my cheek mirroring him.
"Why did you wipe your cheeks?" Jared laughs as he points at me.
"I don't want to do this anymore," I say and stand up with my arms crossed on my chest.
"No, no, no," he says and grabs my waist to make me sit down.
"I'll stop," he says, still with his playful smile across his lips.
"What year are you in?" he asks and crosses his arms on my chest.
"First year," I reply. "How bout you? What are you doing in your life?"
"Guess," he says and lifts his face.
"Uhm," I think of what to say.
"A fashion designer," I say.
"For poodles," I finish.
"Oh," he nods, "So this is how we do it, huh?"
"No, no, no, continue," I reply hold his wrist.
"Well, I used to be one," he says.
"A fashion designer?" I ask.
"No, A poodle," he says in a sarcastic tone.
I roll my eyes.
"A fashion designer huh," I say and nod. "What happened?"
"Well, that was around 30s. Or 40s?" he furrows his eyebrows and rubs his nape.
"Hm? What?" I say and raise my eyebrows. "40s what? As in 1940s? How old are you?"
"Turning nineteen," he replies.
"Nineteen what? Thousand?" I furrow my eyebrows.
"Nineteen decades old," he replies.
My mouth gape.
"Decades-old?" I gasp.
I ran out of words. The sound of crickets becomes audible. I do a quick math before I speak.
"190 years?" I whisper in disbelief.
"Okay, okay. Let me be clear. I'm turning nineteenâ" he clarifies.
"But you're still old," I say through gritted teeth and scrunch my nose. "Even if you're just 18 decades old."
"Hey," he glares and purses his lips.
"I don't look that old," he adds. "It's like how a cat is fully grown at the age of 12-16 months but in humans that's just a toddler that can barely speak."
"We just have different timelines," he adds when I don't reply.
Him being so immersed in talking about things looks so attractive to me. He rarely talks a lot. When he does, it's always an interesting topic.
"So, what did you do during your eighteen decades plus existence?" I ask.
"Hah, a lot. I work a lot that now I'm tired. Too much, that I'm only wondering how will my life end," he says and lays down the bed. He stares. "When will this end? Why do I have to live this long if I cannot get what I truly want?"
"What is it that you want?" I ask and look at him.
He looks at me and stares at me for a while. He scans every part of my face. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for his response. His lips move, probably trying to form a sentence. But he decides to look away and clear his throat instead.
He sighs.
I lie down beside him and stare at the ceiling. My neck rests on his left arm.
"I can't also get what I want," I say. "I may not live that long like yours. But I can say there are so many things that happened in 18 years," I say.
"Compared to the other eighteen years old... humans," I say and sigh. "There is so much that happened in my life."
"And you're still fighting for this life," he says and rubs my shoulder.
"I have to," I say and rest my right leg on his knee. "I have to," I repeat.
He slightly moves away from me and brushes my fringe with his fingers.
"Who did this?" he asks and plays with the strands of my hair.
"I cut this," I say and pat my fringe.
"It's cute," he says. "Looks good on you."
I move and face him. My back rests on the wall. "Thanks," I say and smile.
"Your real form looks..." I wet my lips and bite my tongue to stop myself from saying hot. "cool," I continue.
"As it should be. I wouldn't like it if I hear that you find my Jared disguise more attractive," he says. He brushes my hair with his fingers.
"Because that's Stacey's father you're having a crush on," he says and pinches my cheeks.
I laugh.
I planted a quick kiss on his lips.
The two of us are both shocked. He blinks. I swallow and bite my lower lip. Slowly, I move my face away.
"I see. You'll suddenly kiss a stranger at a cafe, hm?" He raises his brows.
"No, I didn't mean toâ" he pushes my back. Our lips crash. He wraps his other arm around my waist and pulls me towards him. I give in to the kiss as I close my eyes.
I open my eyes when his lips leave mine.
I squint when the light passing through a window shines. I am leaning on the wall of a different room. His kisses continue down my jaw. He wears completely different clothes. His stubble tickles my neck. He looks at me. He has completely different hair and clothes.
My hands pull him by his collar. Even though I didn't want to move. It's as if I'm in someone else's body.
I close my eyes again. His kisses continue. I open my eyes. This time I see myself sitting on a table with sketchbooks and pencils. I look around and see a few mannequins in the poorly lit room. My hands rested on the table but I felt a sharp pain in my palm.
"Aw!" I yell. Not me in particular. The body I am in.
He stops kissing my neck and chuckles.
"Careful," he whispers in my neck. He holds my hands. His other hand rests on my thigh.
He stops kissing me and fixes his glasses. There's a measuring tape dangling on his neck. My hands pull the tape measure around his neck.
I open my eyes again and see myself in my house. In Werewolf Village. He rests his head on my shoulders while I'm sitting on his lap.
"What just happened?" I ask, catching my breath. "I saw you... But you are different. There are two of you. What is happening?"
"It's my memory," he replies and sighs.
"Who... were you kissing?" I ask and rest my forehead on his broad shoulders. "Who are they?"
"You," he replies.
"No. The other two ladiesâ"
"Yes," he cuts my words. "They're you."
"We met multiple times," he adds.
* * *
I see. They'll suddenly make out with a stranger they just met at a cafe...
:>