The 12th Kiss

❁mountains

❁Mountains

            When John stood in front of the sturdy, burgundy door, his blood pressure soared, as though he had been approached by a drunk bull. John was about to knock on the door. It was six in the evening. He had to get home to Metilda.

            But he retracted his hand a second later, his knuckles had barely touched the door. As he waited for Jannet to open the door, the moment she confessed her feelings for him flashed in-front of his eyes.

            "I've been getting all these signs that you might like me." Jannet whispered bleary-eyed. She was drunk, not enough to lose control. She walked on her own and knew well enough what she was saying.

 It was another party gone wrong. She was a broken hearted woman who always wore a strong face. He was a tired man who had nowhere to go.

John didn't say anything. He honestly didn't know what to say.  They walked along the cold sidewalk for few minutes.

 Jannet stopped walking.

John turned around.

Blue eyes blinking with tears took him in. John stiffly held out his blazer. "Are you cold?"

            "A coat won't help with that." She sniffed.

It was strange for him to see her like that, to see the woman who barked orders at juniors, who didn't flinch once before pulling out her gun, who stood still in the face of danger, to see her crying. It was really strange.

             "What's wrong?"

"I can't explain it."

            She wore a gold sequined dress. Jannet was a stunning woman but John never really found any woman beautiful after Metilda. Not because Metilda was the most beautiful women alive but rather because she was so close to his soul. She was part of him, a part no human could ever replace.

            He stared at her. The city lights blinked. Cars flew by. Wind rustled in between the empty spaces.

            "Do you?" She whispered. Tears frozen on cheeks. Ice blue eyes held his captive.

            "Do I what?"  John stood still, a coward who refused to head to the warning sirens.

The city was alive yet dead. There were lights but there were no humans. Just two lost soul wandering on a rusted path. Yet the city pulsed, in the sound of tires hitting the gravel, in the distant sound of drunk teenagers muttering profanities. It was throbbing. Houston was watching. It was watching them make mistakes.