10

~Ali~

Eight days...

That is my first, sweat-soaking thought as Jaz's wake-up alarm shocks me out of sleep, the obtrusive wailing like needles through the grey morning. Rain streaks silvery lines diagonally across the foggy window pane, a small puddle of rainwater gathering on the sill where the window has been kept ajar through the night. Despite the cold, desolate morning venting through the crack in the window I push my duvet away, hot and bothered under the downy blanket.

After all the events of yesterday - the journey we began to embark on and the discoveries we intend to make - the prospect of something as normal as a Monday morning 9 am lecture has me grimacing into my chest - a waste of time when your life is on the balance.

Reaching over the side of the bed, I grope blindly for my phone. Feeling the cool glass slide under my fingers, I fish it upwards by the charging cable and light the screen. 8:30 am. I sigh and drop the phone beside me.

Looking out at the dark swirling skies and wishing one last time that I could just stay under the covers all day, tucked away in my protective duvet-burrito and forget about the world, I climb down the ladder on stiff legs. Jaz flips over in bed, the bedspread twisting with her body as she silences the alarm on her phone. I murmur a good morning and she turns her head away from me, grunting back - to be honest, one of the most friendly morning responses I have received yet.

I side-step the sofa, not surprised to see Jack sprawled out fast asleep, head buried in a pillow, his breaths muffled in the fine woollen fabric. Ethan lies curled in foetal position on the rug using one of the thin couch cushions as a lousy head-rest. I frown at the strange angle of his neck and his gently down-turned features in sleep. As if sensing the chill of the rain droning outside, he coils his body tighter, lips pursing slightly as the covers lie tangled around his hips. Torn between pulling myself together for the public eye or wiggling my way in between his arms for the rest of the morning (honestly I'm not sure where that thought came from) I compromise with myself and drag the blanket back over his goosebump-ridden body. I sigh, as if I were the one content and wrapped in a blanket now, content to see his is frown ease under the new warmth.

I slip into the adjoining bathroom, pulling the door closed quietly behind me and wince when I catch the side of my reflection in the mirror. I turn face on to the reflective glass, pulling down the sides of my lightly greasy face, hoping that the harsh LED lights are making it look worse than it is. Pale mauve pillows of sunken colour ring my eyes, the berry hues a stark contrast to my porcelain skin. Without even having to touch my hair, I can see how knotted the strands are as they fly out in unruly, tangled angles. A faint crease is imprinted across my cheekbone from where the pillow case pressed hard against my tired head. The overall effect is very unappealing and a reminder of my fragile mortality; the weakness that is my body, an insecurity that has began developing since our new company.

Desperate to resurrect some life into my face, I spray a handful of icy tap water over my freckled skin and dab it dry with a hand towel. I jostle around my make up bag, searching desperately for my touche éclat and smear two thick lines of the concealing makeup under my eyes and inner eyelids, dabbing it into my skin until it becomes invisible. Unable to find my own hairbrush, I use Jaz's sitting by the sink and work tirelessly through the most severe tangles. Looking mildly better - and I use the term 'mildly' loosely - I shuffle over to Jaz and gently shake her into a functioning state.

"Come on Jaz, we are going to be late," I plead and shove her shoulder again. "I know you're awake, idiot." She protests like a petulant toddler and flails her body under the covers. After a few dramatic seconds she stops thrashing and the duvet expels a breath of air from its feather-stuffed body as she relaxes.

"Fine, fine! I'm coming. Gosh, you don't have to be so violent," Jaz mumbles as she falls out of bed, the side of her sleep shirt bunched up her side as she practically crawls to the bathroom.

"Less of the theatrics would be just fine!" I quip as she shuts the door on me. At my remark she pulls the door open a fraction, glaring at me through the thin slither of wood.

"Just making sure everyone knows how much I absolutely do not want to be doing this right now!" She barks and slams the door closed. The sudden shrill of her voice and the thump of the closed door bring Jack and Ethan rushing out of sleep, waking with a panicked start.

"Nice work, Jaz. You woke the angels up with your screeching!" I huff, exaggerating exasperation.

Her sigh is muffled behind the closed door followed by a distant, "Pfft. If I can't sleep, no one can sleep!" Jack catches my attention and offers a shrug indicating this is a common occurrence in the morning routine of Jaz's life. Following phase two of Jaz's awakening custom, Jack obediently fills the kettle and sets it bubbling.

And looking around I suddenly find everything so strangely humorous; Jack, a Guardian angel watching something mundane as a kettle boil as he rifles around the box of tea bags for his morning-loathing human; and Ethan, the Prince-of-the-Heavens-turned-Guardian-angel slumped across the floor, hair slanted across his forehead, the long, fine tips touching the end of his nose. And here I am, surrounded by two angels and another gifted girl who can see said angels on a drizzly Monday morning on the hunt for information on classified mythical creatures that may or may not be extinct, while still upholding appearances of normality by attending our university schedules as religiously as possible. But as it turns out, no being in this room actually knows the definition of normal, something I am beginning to learn for myself. I suppose I outgrew 'normal' the moment I stepped onto Barmouth grounds. Or maybe I never had normal and I fooled myself into thinking that I did - I was fated to have the Gift since birth after all.

Jaz shuffles from the bathroom and shoves me into gear. Right, clothes. I need clothes. I step over Ethan, who has his eyes closed again, arm draped over his face to block out the light, and dig around the cupboard for my khaki coloured skinny jeans, a plain tee and denim jacket; an outfit for a wet but not necessarily cold morning. I hook two fingers through my converse and run away with the pile back into the bathroom to change.

I shimmy into the jeans, cinching the plaited belt around my waist and leave the soft blue denim of my jacket open over my v-neck t-shirt. I roll on a layer of deodorant under my top, scrub a toothbrush over my teeth with the last squeeze of the toothpaste in the tube and almost as an after thought I spritz a cloud of my best perfume above my head, walking back and forth through the thin vapour until it dissipates.

I leave my night clothes there in a pile on the floor and whizz over to my desk, stacking my laptop and black folder into my bag. Jack shoves a glass of juice into my hand and I gulp it greedily, readjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder. The orange juice and toothpaste makes for a repulsive, sour taste and I finish the glass with a sneer, not enough time to wash the acidic taste down with tap water.

"Jaz?" I call out, slamming the sticky glass down on my desk.

"Ready!" She appears beside me clothed, groomed and looking much more prepared than I do. Not fair. "Let's go."

The umbrella slides open and the wide, black canopy pops open over our heads as we hurry out into the morning. Rain beats down on the umbrella's taught lining like fingers thrumming over the tight skin of a drum. The water falls in sheets off the umbrella as we cut across the empty campus, dedicated to avoiding the growing puddles gathering on the side of the path.

Jaz takes us off to the left, leaving me under the covered entrance of the History block as she continues down the path towards English for her lecture. My rubber soles squelch nauseously on the green linoleum floor as I ascend the stairs two at a time that carry me into the back of the lecture hall. The wooden door swings open silently on its hinges, the lecturer at the front taking no notice of my tardy arrival as I position myself in one of the back pews, trying to ignore the sticky feeling of wet denim tacking to my legs. I drop my bag to the floor, pushing around the small pool of water gathering around my shoes, letting my thoughts gather like rain clouds in my head. I can see the professor's mouth moving but no words register in my mind. I am lost in a fog of university assignments, Elders and Ethan (well, mostly Ethan, but nobody needs to know that).

The hour drags by, the red second hand ticking away so slowly I have to make sure the clock mounted on the wall isn't broken. But the class does finish, my books still unopened, the pen capped, as everyone gathers their things, a clatter of pages and metal ring binders as they file past me and out of the back door. Jaz is waiting for me outside, umbrella closed and poking out of the top of her bag as she leans against the brick wall, watching the distance. I bump my shoulder with hers, eliciting a gasp of surprise as I knock her into a walk, heading back to the dorm.

"Finished early, didn't want to head back to the room too fast," she says by way of explanation for waiting. Outside the clouds have thinned and dried, fracturing across the sky to reveal the white-blue sky behind the greyness. As we exit the building, my shoes slap against the wet pathway, gritty and sodden.

"What are you thinking about?" Jaz side-glances at me curiously.

"Oh, nothing," I reply distractedly, then remember that if I am going to lie, I must do it with some conviction. The inattentive smile tacked across my face is the solution to my lack of certitude.

"Oh come on, you can tell me! I know it isn't 'nothing'," she persists.

"Well, I was just thinking about, er, napping! I'm really tired," I undoubtedly lie again and laugh internally at my pathetic excuse. Lying has never been my forte, in case you can't tell.

"Just hesitating a guess here, but that far-off doe-eyed look has nothing to do with Ethan, does it?" She trails off knowingly and the blood sloshes around my veins nervously, icy and congealed at her accuracy. She mistakes my alarmed expression for revolt because she rushes to correct herself. "Or of course another suitor you may have found in your lectures? I mean it could be anything really." She laughs nervously, embarrassed at having suggested such an outlandish thought.

Guilty at making Jaz feel so uncomfortable when I should be the bumbling idiot put on the spot for my traitorous, stray thoughts for Ethan, I confess. If I can't speak to Jaz about this, then I am destined to be alone in this life.

"No, I'm sorry, you're right. I didn't want to admit it but I was thinking about Ethan and I know I shouldn't have been - not in the way that I was, anyway." I sidestep a muddy puddle of rainwater and keep my eyes cast to the floor, humiliated at the exposure of my inner sanctum of thoughts.

"Oh phew! I was about to feel so stupid for even implying that you were thinking about Ethan in that way if you weren't." My cheeks burn hotly in the damp air, dread sinking in my stomach over thoughts and emotions that I can not control. "But you were thinking about him like that... You know what, it is totally okay to just be attracted to him, I probably should have mentioned that earlier. They are angels for crying out loud, it is almost impossible not to appreciate their looks!" She assures, smiling playfully. "They are freaking hot!"

"But that's the thing!" I groan and flail my arms around the air to show my frustration, biting back the rest of my remark. Instead I put my hands over my face, shaking my head. "This is so embarrassing," I grumble into my fingers then letting my arms sag defeated by my side, the conversation turning suddenly serious at my lack of humour.

Jaz senses the detriment in my voice and her smile slowly slips. Her fingers touch my elbow lightly and she steers us to a sodden bench. "Whatever it is - attraction or curiosity or more - you can tell me." Her voice is tender and kind in such a way that makes me want to unload my jumbled and unlawful thoughts.

I sigh, dropping roughly onto the bench. Distantly I register the damp chill seeping into the backs of my thighs where the rainwater is pressed into my jeans. "It's not that I'm attracted to Ethan - well, no. Of course I am attracted to him! But it's the fact that I am attracted to him more than I think I should be. And it's not just that," I say, blinking back the sensation of tears. "It's something more, something... deeper than a simple attraction," I reluctantly reveal, turning to the side so she can't see my scarlet face. I inhale a shuddering breath, feeling completely bared. A pause inflates between us as my words hang stagnantly in the air, choking me where I sit. I have the urge to tug at the neckline of my top, everything suddenly too tight around me, the air pressing heavily on my lungs.

"I have suspected to some degree but I didn't think you were so serious about the matter," she admits lightly, leaning back against the wooden slats of the bench.

"It's not normal, is it?" I frown. "To feel so instantly connected with someone like they are as much a part of you as your very cells are. I don't know, Jaz, it's going to sound insane, but I feel like I know Ethan. Really know him in a whole different way. Something happens to me inside when he is near and I get these, like, physical reactions to when he touches me - not even in a sexual way, but just this tug and fizzle like I might just explode if he comes any closer or walks away too far." My words are a confused rush of drivel as the memories of our light touches and long looks flash through my mind. "Wow," I sigh, looking around the grounds nervously. "That was a whole thirty seconds of intense psycho babble!" I try to laugh away the situation hoping that Jaz will join in with me, tell me how stupid I am being so we can continue on with the day without this added complication. But none of this happens and Jaz stares at me blankly, processing, much more contemplative than I was hoping for her to be. My forced laugh dies in the space between us.

"I bet you are wondering if this is normal?" Jaz repeats, turning my words over in her head, mulling over my expressions that accompanied my small monologue. "Yes and no." She concludes and something loosens in my chest at her controlled reaction. "Everyone feels an element of connection to their guardian, whether they're aware of it or not. But with you two..." she trails off, an expression on her face that I cannot decipher whether it is something akin to inquisitiveness or criticism. "There is something different alright."

"I just see you and Jack, so comfortable and platonic, and it just seems to make how I feel about Ethan look so unnatural; a huge grey smudge on a canvas of colour."

"I will admit that Jack and I have a happy, clear-cut relationship. But it wasn't always so black and white, as you were putting it. Things used to be very different." Something in the way she says this, hushed and nervous, as if it is a confession of a long hidden secret, gives me the prickling sensation that this is the first time she has disclosed this information with someone. She shifts awkwardly in place and selfishly I am pleased to have the attention redirected away from me.

"You see, I got my Sight on my thirteenth birthday. When I saw Jack for the first time I was instantly smitten, as you can imagine a girl may be at thirteen. But I was so young, so naive when I grew into my Gift and I thought that if I was just a little bit older, I might just have a shot at getting Jack to notice me in that way. So I waited - bided my time. But the older I got, the more desperate I became for him to see me the way I saw him. I became reckless and put myself in dangerous situations I never should have been in, all to get his attention." Oh, poor Jaz... "Well I couldn't hold it back any longer. When I was sixteen the truth came out about my feelings in a massive jumble of desperation and tears. He was patient and understanding as he listened, then sat me down and explained as gently has he could that human-angel relationships are not permitted. I got the whole speech about forbidden mortal-angelic interactions that day and I genuinely thought I could hear my heart shatter with each word." Her eyes close breifly, eyelashes brushing the tips of her cheeks as she relives the memory. When her eyes open again, there is a happy understanding in them. "Then he finished by telling me about his mate back in The Kingdom waiting for him - the love of his eternal life. Hearing about her really made reality crash because I knew that no matter what I did, I would never be her - his most perfect match."

Something about the word 'mate' resurfaces a fraction of conversation Jaz mentioned, but the words are blurred and echoey in my head when I try to remember them. Realising Jaz's lips are moving but my ears are unhearing, I shackle up the memory and file it away for later, turning my attention back to Jaz.

"...that's when it hit home for me - Jack would never be mine and I would never be his in that way, no matter how broken my heart felt. I knew it was right though. I'm at peace now and I've never been happier than I am with my friend, Jack. He's the brother I never had and I wouldn't have it any other way. There is no another way."

"What do I do?" I grumble letting my head drop back into my hands, disheartened. "My brain knows he could never acquire feelings for me beyond a brotherly affection or a deep protective instinct. But my heart..." My throat doesn't seem to be able to put into words what my heart so profoundly desires.

Dejected, I think of the thousands of angel beauties residing in The Kingdom that would jump at an opportunity to be entwined with their svelte Prince. All so much daintier, exquisite and more ravishing than I could ever be. That is if his mate isn't already there, waiting patiently for his arrival so she can smother him in the love I imagined could be mine to provide. So with all that waiting back at home for him, how could I possibly even humour the thought that Ethan Hamon would chance a second glance at the human girl? He wouldn't, and there lies my heartache.