Page 58 of The Quiet
He’d surprised her so much with that entrance that she’d nearly toppled a stack of books, and had later urged herself out to walk, realizing what a dangerous move that could have been. Paris said Lambspeak’s existence was imminent, but Jackson seemed reluctant to even discuss the Strike. Despite that, the more restless she became, and the more scattered her mind, the more settled Jackson seemed.
He went into town on his own now, sometimes gone for long periods of time. He even changed clothes at last, granted his choices left him in all black much of the time, which Ella couldn’t tell was a dramatic reflection of his mood or simply what Paris had given him. In many ways, he began to feel like her shadow, connected to her but in a comfortable, natural way.
Between studying and research, she found great relief in hearing him talk, seeing her own experiences in his. They’d go on walks in the town and as he spoke about his team she heard deeper themes regarding his beliefs about people. He cited people’s fear, their hate and their capacity to succumb to the Strike’s influence, but not in a judgmental way. Ella appreciated ameaningful simplicity in Jackson because he saw so much of the world as a natural eb and flow. At the heart of him, despite how he voiced his cynicism, he’d developed a deep and almost innocent love of human beings.
He became safe to her, and she was grateful, because she did begin to remember in pieces. She received flashes of places or people. She now recognized the Bleeding Grin and knew certain faces and names, but still lacked a cohesive narrative. All of it still blended together like a soup that her mind was reluctant to stir.
After days of fruitless research, Ella found herself staring wide-eyed at a map of The Quiet, and lately she didn’t even know why. She resisted the urge to release another audible groan, having just realized she’d been daydreaming of diving into The Ocean again. Jackson constantly warned her about letting her mind drift, but it felt impossible to resist lately. It didn’t help that the consequences he’d warned about hadn’t shown themselves in the slightest way.
She’d just bathed to refresh herself, leaving wet droplets down the front of a soft button-down she often liked to sleep in. Lately even a bath didn’t seem like it could help much when it had once felt like a luxury. Ella’s fist pressed up against her face as she looked longingly out at town colored in sunset. She’d been out several times today, but that hadn’t placated her. The feeling that had caused her to jump into the pool to Tunedyl and chase Crow into The Quiet was back again. That demanding, intolerant restless drive which was sure to ask her to do something irrational soon. Maybe that was the answer?
Ella startled when she heard something shift in the room, whipping her head to the right to see Jackson sleeping on thecouch, splayed out with his arms thrown behind his head. A full cup of tea sat on his stomach, tilted just enough by his recent stirring to drop onto the plate and dribble down the side of the couch.
She hadn’t even heard him come in, much less settle down on the couch. He seemed peaceful despite the positioning of his body, one foot lifted up over the armrest of the couch, while the other was extended with a heel to the ground.
Their roles were switched, Ella plagued by restlessness and Jackson in complete calm. She wished she could touch him and transfer her own anxieties back over, as if she’d taken them from him in the first place.
Had he walked in, seen her staring vacantly at the map, and thought her engrossed in her studies?
She felt the slightest bit guilty, wondering what he would have done if he’d known her mind was a thousand miles away from the present.
Lambspeak, or any other Strike for that matter, hadn’t used the opportunity to communicate with her. Maybe Jackson’s fear about her mind drifting was an extension of the tension he felt just having come straight from his curse.
Paris had said adjusting to this new life would be difficult for him, and he had been somewhat paranoid about it all.
Ella exhaled slowly, brushing off her guilt and reassuring herself that everything would be fine. It was easy to create monsters when there weren’t any worth fighting. She needed to relax.
She stared at him now, wondering what it would mean for her to relax. Her mind had made its own ludicrous suggestions involving Jackson over the past few days. Ella crossed her arms, her stare morphing into a speculative glare as she watched the man who had changed the nature of her thoughts with such ease.
There was no danger, no stark, looming threat, and she’d laughed so much lately that she didn’t recognize herself any longer. Maybe that was really why letting the mind drift was so dangerous? Though she was sure that wasn’t the danger Jackson had referenced, it felt dangerous to her. She was imagining a life of subdued bliss, and quite frankly, felt delusional.
As if Jackson could sense the direction of her thoughts, one eye opened and he turned his head only slightly to look at her. His coal black hair was in disarray, black shirt stretched across his chest from turning on the couch. He wore black socks and gloves too, as if he were accustomed to it like some kind of uniform.
“Hmm?” The sound hummed from his chest as he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Nothing,” Ella replied with resolute vigor. He kept watching her for a moment and as if noticing that her brooding discontent had reached some kind of peak. He peeled off the couch and walked over, leaning over the desk.
He reached over her, peeling back her papers, examining her notes, his head hovering over her shoulder as they looked at them together. He acted as if she’d invited him gladly into her space, and lately such interactions had felt less strange and more comforting. He always seemed to like being close, only for the sheer enjoyment of proximity itself.
It had started as a joke, but he was very much like a dog.
The thought made her smile.
“Any progress?” he said, Ella examining his expression as she tucked hers away. His eyes flickered down to hers, curiously catching the end of the smile.
There was a deliberate pause, as if he were waiting for it again, or at least some explanation.
She didn’t offer any, but didn’t want to look away. She asked herself the question she’d tried to avoid asking the past several days.
Why hadn’t he kissed her again? She was tempted to ask him now.
Maybe for a ROSE, a kiss, even a kiss like his, was something else to be shared. Maybe it was just a comforting gesture. She wondered why she didn’t just ask him. She was a grown woman.
Maybe she really had become delusional. These weren’t feelings she was used to and perhaps they really had run off with her mind.
Why haven’t you kissed me again?She practiced in her mind, hoping that when she said it aloud, she’d sound more curious and less disappointed.
Before she could think to open her mouth, there was a subtle flicker in his eyes, changing the very nature of their gaze.
