This Love | ✓

Part 32

Jason stared at the ceiling with half-closed eyes, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my lower back. My skin buzzed with electricity as recent memories replayed themselves in my head.

Falling back on the bed, Jason's arms wrapped around me.

Our breaths -- erratic and raspy -- warm against each other's rain-soaked skin.

My hands pressed against his bare chest, his pounding heartbeat resonating down my spine.

The sound of rainfall, muted and distant, washing away all my doubts and anxiety.

The cool sheets beneath my body, a shocking contrast to the warmth of Jason's skin.

My blood turning to honey in my veins, slow, warm, and wickedly intoxicating.

Jason's fingers slowed on my skin, making my eyelids heavier. With my face nestled against his neck, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

I woke to find the bedroom shrouded in darkness. My eyes darted to a sleeping Jason beside me, his peaceful face scarcely visible. I grimaced when my stomach rumbled with hunger, the sudden noise piercing the silence. Thankfully, Jason continued to sleep, unperturbed.

Slowly and carefully, I disentangled my body from his before climbing out of bed. My feet landed on Jason's t-shirt lying on the floor, still damp from the rain. Tiptoeing into the walk-in closet, I fetched my bathrobe and wrapped it around my body.

A few minutes later, I was sitting on the cool marble countertop, nursing a bowl of ice-cream in my hands. I watched the tranquil night through the kitchen window, enjoying the cookies-and-cream flavour with a reminiscent smile.

I jumped when Jason appeared by my side. In an involuntary action, my eyes trailed to his boxers, fitted perfectly to his waist.

"Hey," he smiled, running a hand through his light brown hair which was sticking out in messy tufts.

"Hi," I said, offering my bowl of ice cream to him.

"Cookies and cream," he winked appreciatively, propping himself up on the counter.

I smiled and glanced towards the window again, noticing that the rain had stopped. I thought back to how the light drizzle had briefly reminded me of home.

Jason appeared to have read my mind when he asked, "It rains a lot in London, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, a lot more than this," I smiled again. "Sometimes, it rains even during the summer."

"Wow," he said, passing the ice cream back to me. "I've never been. What's it like?"

Warm sentiment tugged at my stomach as I began to describe the colourful umbrellas, the traffic, the unbelievable crowds, and the ceaseless activity of the city. Jason listening closely, his eyes wide with fascination.

"You don't have a British accent like David," he spoke up when I ran out of things to say, his tone rising towards the end to make his observation sound like a question.

It was an innocent remark, but I felt my throat closing up with discomfort as I replied, "My parents were from Texas. They moved to the UK before I was born. I learned how to speak English from them. That's why I don't have a British accent."

I clenched my fists in wait, dreading the questions that Jason could ask.

Why did your parents move to the UK?

Where is your mother now?

Much to my relief, Jason asked a question about Claire instead. "Where is Claire from?"

"She's from LA," I breathed, relieved by the change of subject. "She moved to London to do her masters at uni. She stayed because she landed a good job after graduation. She met my dad through work. They dated for a long time before getting married two years ago."

"Why did they separate?" Jason asked, his features cast in a soft, silvery glow by the moonlight that filtered into the kitchen.

"I don't know," I shook my head. "Claire absolutely refuses to talk about it. My dad's too busy to talk about it."

Jason's furrowed eyebrows silently requested an explanation.

The bowl of ice cream was left long forgotten as I told Jason whatever little I knew about the divorce, starting from my father's increasingly hectic work schedule to the night that Rita had brought the pricey classics as an apology on Dad's behalf.

"Claire gave them away to Athena's Used Books," I finished. "Zach showed me the register with her name on it. We even found them while we were rearranging the aisles."

After four beats of silence, Jason said, "It must be so frustrating, not knowing why."

"Exactly," I whispered, stretching my tired arms.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Jason asked questions about my friends back home.

I can't tell him that I was bullied and friendless.

What would he think of me if he knew?

The uneasiness in my throat returned with a vengeance when I forced myself to make up stories about friends I never had. I mentioned Chris as though he were a loose acquaintance that I occasionally kept in touch with. All the while, insults swirled around inside my head, my schoolmates' voices growing louder and louder.

But the loudest voice inside my head was my own as I silently called myself a liar.

I just can't have Jason think that I was a stupid bitch, a lonely loser.

I can't. I can't.

So, I fabricated stories about field trips, pizza parties, silly pranks, everything that I wished I could have done with a gang of friends. My heart nearly crumbled to pieces at the way Jason drank in my lies with open, oblivious delight.

Finally, a yawn escaped my lips, stopping me mid-sentence. Exhaustion seemed to have caught up with me, my eyelids drooping and my movements suddenly turning sluggish.

Did all that lying make you tired, Leena? I asked myself bitterly.

With a smile, Jason jumped off the counter to rinse the bowl of ice cream at the sink. He returned to my side, snaking an arm around my waist and lifting me off the countertop.

"Come on," he whispered. "Let's go back to bed."

I yawned again before murmuring, "Thanks for bowling the wash."

"You're welcome," Jason chuckled softly, his cool breath ruffling my hair.

Too tired to question his laughter, I let him half-carry, half-lead me upstairs. The teasing voice inside my head overpowered my exhaustion as it sneered:

Liar, liar, Leena is a liar.