Jezebel (6 page)

When they’d finished eating, Gabriel laid back on the grass, staring at the bright sky above. She followed suit. He pulled Celeste into the crook of his arm. Their sides touched from shoulder to ankle. After a moment, she relaxed into him. He rolled slightly toward her and cupped her jaw.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” The pad of his thumb grazed her cheek. “Inside and out.”

He kissed her then. His lips warm on hers. Her hand spread across his cheek. She wanted to freeze the moment in time—the feeling of him pressed against her. The scent of him. He made her weak in the knees, he made it hard to breathe, and he made her heart strike at a furious rate.

His large hand cupped her jaw softly. The blue sky was clear and bright. His tongue, delectable like a mouthwatering piece of chocolate, claimed her mouth and neck. The late spring breeze and the scent of the flowers washed over them. Caught up in her overloaded senses the thought that there was never a moment more perfect than this one flitted through her mind.

Chapter 5

Annabelle

“My pride, my light, my energy. My sight to see my way.”

~ L’ame Immortelle—Betrayal

Annabelle watched Jezebel closely in silence. She’d stopped speaking moments ago but was lost in her mind somewhere. She coughed to get her attention.

“Oh!” Jezebel squeaked placing a hand over her heart.

“Hi.” Annabelle laughed.

Jezebel cleared her throat. “Where was I?”

“Their fourth kiss. You know, Celeste is a little slutty. Four kisses in like two days with an almost stranger?” she jabbed playfully.

Jezebel laughed hard at her remark. “Maybe you’re right sport, or maybe she was just a love-struck fool. Love at first sight and all.”

Annabelle huffed. “I don’t believe in that.”

“Well tell me then, what drew you to your boyfriend?” Her question startled her. She’d never really given much thought to why she and Damon were together.

She shrugged. “He was there. Available and nice to me.”

“That my dear is the saddest answer I’ve ever heard.
EVER.
” Jezebel stated emphatically.

Annabelle twisted in her chair.
Who cared? They weren’t getting married.
“We aren’t serious really. I mean, I like him and all but I’m eighteen, we’re not going to get married.”

“How do you know?” Jezebel pressed, wide-eyed.

“Because . . .”

“Because,” Jezebel cut in, “you wouldn’t say yes if he asked. And why wouldn’t you? Because you don’t love him.”

“No.” she stated firmly. “I do love him. He’s a good guy.”

Jezebel looked skeptical, searching Annabelle’s eyes, her expression, for anything she could grab onto. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why are you picking a fight with me? I was just starting to like you,” Annabelle huffed.

Jezebel raised her eyebrows and waited. It made Annabelle anxious, the way this woman seemed to pull information from her. Impatience flickered on her face.

“I don’t know okay! I don’t know if I love him. I don’t know what love is.” she blurted sounding more hysterical than she intended. Jezebel’s face twitched and Annabelle sensed the woman found her temper amusing.

But Jezebel frowned at her. “Love is easy. You will know it when you have it.”

“Why do people say that? It’s a lame excuse for: no one’s really sure what love is supposed to be or feel like.” Annabelle looked away and wrinkled her nose. Love was an elusive bastard. If family love couldn’t sustain over time how were two strangers supposed to?

“I didn’t realize you needed someone to spell it out for you. Let me.” Jezebel let her head sag against the back of the chair for a moment deep in thought. Annabelle watched and waited. She started humming a cheery tune; she was interested in what Jezebel would say but she didn’t want a boilerplate definition of love.

Jezebel set her mouth in a grim line at her humming. She speared Annabelle with a murderous look. “When it’s right, you will be able to talk about the tough stuff, easy stuff and everything else easily. You won’t be able to get enough of each other. You’ll
have
to spend all your time together doing absolutely nothing important.” As she spoke her eyes danced with delight. “When you touch, your skin will ignite. It will feel like static electricity. His kisses will make you lightheaded. In his eyes you won’t have flaws. You
will
sweet beet, but he will love you for them. He will listen to you, treat you with respect and trust.” The softness and fondness of Jezebel’s voice proved that she was indeed speaking from the heart. From experience. “He will support you emphatically in whatever you choose to pursue. You will
want
to please him. You will do things you normally detest doing simply because it makes him smile and
you
love seeing his smile.” She drew in a breath and continued on. “When you’re running late for work, you’ll find your coffee mug full and your car running with the heat on already. It will feel like a worn-in cashmere blanket has wrapped your heart up. It will feel like you’ve won the lottery, and really- you will have. Love is powerful. It can heal, it can lift—it can also drag you down into the depths of hell and burn you until you’re no longer recognizable—so you must be careful with your heart,” she concluded.

Annabelle sat slack-jawed at Jezebel’s rant. It was romantic. It was honest. It was . . . she didn’t have the right words to sum up what she felt but she knew that the woman sitting across from her was one in a million. She was the kind of mother she wanted, full of solid advice and honest truths. She read into Annabelle’s brief words and dug deep forming a bridge between a bad teenage attitude and an actual conversation. The woman was like a magician. Maybe it was simply because she
wasn’t
Annabelle’s parent or any relative or maybe Jezebel was really just that good. Either way, Annabelle felt a brief moment of luck for sharing any kind of moment with her.

“I . . . No, Damon and I don’t have that. It’s more of a waste-our-time-together kind of relationship. You know, better than being alone. We have fun. God, this isn’t coming out right at all.” Annabelle twisted in her seat, trying to appear comfortable and perfectly at ease. She wasn’t.

“I understand. It’s easy.
Comfortable.
I’m sure he’s nice enough and you are too. You’re biding your time.” She nodded at Jezebel, confirming what she’d said. That
was
it. “Yes.”

“But, why? Why waste your time?” she pressed. “You could be missing out on meeting the one who
isn’t
a waste of your time.”

Annabelle hadn’t thought of her time in that way before. Her choices were instant usually. She just felt something then did it. Planning ahead seemed like something for after college. She shrugged, unable to think of a valid answer.

“You shouldn’t be scared to dream a little bigger, tiger. There’s a great big world waiting for you to actually join it.”

~
***
~

Annabelle schlepped her way home. She hated the bus. Today though, the ride went quickly, Jezebel’s words heavy in her mind. She’d avoided emotions, choices that required emotions, for so long now that each time Jezebel spoke, the words assaulted her. She
felt
them all. It was a strange sensation for her. Feeling was something that didn’t exist in her home. For eight years her family survived by
not
feeling.

Dinner was on the table waiting by the time she walked through the door. The bus had been late. She dropped her purse in the entryway and toed off her sneakers before padding into the dining room.

“You’re late,” her mother scolded as Annabelle sat in her chair.

“I’m sorry. The bus was behind.”

“Do you have homework?” her father questioned.

“Yes. Not a lot though.”

He grunted a response and the room was enveloped in the sound of utensils clanking against plates and food being consumed. Why did they have nothing to talk about? When had they really stopped trying? Annabelle thought hard but couldn’t come up with a timeline. It was as if each passing year as a family they interacted less and less. She felt the sting of absence.

“Hey Mom,” she blurted, “how was your day? What’d you do?”

Her mother’s eyes cut to hers in shock. Her fork, midway to her mouth, was set down to her plate. Her lips pressed tightly together, giving her that pinched look that Annabelle hated. Maybe this was a mistake. Being a functional family was too much work.

“My day?” her mother asked quietly. She stared at her plate as if it held a secret answer.

“Yeah,” Annabelle confirmed and held her gaze.

“It was . . . long. Today was long,” her mother answered. Annabelle noticed her mother’s eyes were on her father now. He stared at his plate, not noticing his wife’s sad stare. “Thank you for asking Belle,” she said politely.

“Dad?” Annabelle said. “How was your day?”

His brows knit together at her question. “It was busy. Made a few new sales. John was happy with that.”

“That’s great news,” her mother offered, suddenly perking up.

“Yeah,” he answered and resumed staring at his plate as he forked bites into his mouth. Annabelle wanted to scream at him. She wanted to fill the room with noise. She wanted him to look at her, at her mother, his wife. To see the wounded expression her mother wore at his neglect. Annabelle didn’t though. She simply sat and stewed quietly.

As she ate the last bite on her plate she looked up to her mom. When was the last time she’d seen her mom smile, laugh or relax?

“May I be excused?” she asked.

“Yes.” Her mother answered.

Annabelle collected her plate and utensils and stood. The chair made a scraping sound on the hardwood floor. It echoed. “When was the last time we were happy?” she asked the quiet room. It was rhetorical. She didn’t expect her parents to give her an answer.

Her father’s gaze snapped to hers, a warning look. It was better than no look, but maybe that was just her grasping at straws for attention. She flashed an angelic smile at him. Her mother covered her mouth with her hand to quiet her gasp. Annabelle shook her head frustrated at her parents. This house sucked the soul out of everyone who stayed in it. She stomped to the kitchen to rid herself of her dirty dishes. Dishes. Dirty. She felt dirty. Diseased. Disease clung to this family. Living in this house ensured a miserable existence. She couldn’t exactly pass judgment. The reality was that there was no one to fault for any of it. All the hurt, all the hostility, all the misery; it was just there. They were all just victims of life’s cruel game.

Once in her room, behind its closed door, she felt her breath seize up in her chest and the weight of panic bearing down on her. It squeezed her until she thought she might crack like an old fragile tea cup. Annabelle set her laptop on her bed and booted it up. She needed a distraction. She opened Facebook and saw she had a message waiting. She half-smiled when she saw Damon’s name. At least maybe he could distract her for a bit.

Damon:
Sneak out tonight. I need to see you.

Annabelle:
I can’t.

Damon:
Come on gorgeous. We can’t do anything fun at school.

Annabelle:
Sorry.

Damon:
Sorry? Belle, come on. If you won’t sneak out I’ll sneak in.

Annabelle:
Damon- DO NOT. If I get caught I’m screwed. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Damon:
Yeah, maybe. Whatever. Bye.

Annabelle:
Don’t be like that.

Damon:
Belle, this sucks. Six months is a long time.

Annabelle sighed. Six months
was
a long time. A lifetime. She closed his chat message and opened Madison’s.

Annabelle:
Damon’s a punk.

Madison:
What’s new?

Annabelle:
Nothing. Just bored I guess. Parents are being . . .

Madison:
normal? Ha. How was your crazy old lady today?

Annabelle:
She’s not old. She was entertaining.

Madison:
Awesome. Gotta run. Mr. Clark killed us with homework tonight.

Annabelle:
See you tomorrow.

Madison:
Later lovah.

She closed the laptop lid and stared at the picture on her nightstand. Four happy faces stared back at her. She was the mistake, she knew that. Brant was the golden child. Coveted by her parents. Her father’s
son.
His pride and joy. Daughters apparently didn’t count for much. She flipped the photo face down. It hurt to look at it. It hurt to think about it. She missed his smile. His laugh. His noogies. She missed damn near everything about him. She didn’t know how to say goodbye, none of them did it seemed. She missed the way he glued their family together. She missed
him.

~
***
~

Annabelle tucked a strand of chocolate colored hair behind her ear as she walked down the corridor to suite 208. Over the week she’d found herself looking forward to today. She wasn’t sure if it was the story or Jezebel herself but she knew that her lips tipped up into a smile just thinking about her visit.

“Jez? You in here?” she called as she walked through the threshold.

“A moment, dear!” Jezebel answered from the bathroom door.

Annabelle sat in her usual spot and crossed her legs at the knee. Fiddling with her sweater sleeves she waited for Jezebel to join her.

“Ciao!” Jezebel chirped.

“Hi,” she answered, jaw tight, posture rigid.

“Why so glum?” Jezebel asked, creases forming on her forehead as she looked over her.

“Does it show?” Her shoulders slumped and she heaved a hopeless sigh.