Bittersweet Moments

31 | White Chocolate

31 | White Chocolate

It hadn't been over that day.

Jackson had had other plans after we lounged in his bedroom from morning to the afternoon. In the eighteen years of my life I'd never thought I'd experience the traditional thing in dates where the boy surprises the girl with a secret destination. I'd be happy if it wasn't something corny – an exorcism site with a pentagram should be nice.

Anyway, I had been thinking about that day a lot lately. His words would replay in my head over and over. They were nothing meaningful. But they seemed to have a huge effect on me.

So it went like this:

"Jackson, I thought you're taking me home," in the car, I looked at Jackson, who was focused on the road stretching in front of us. The view was deserted, so I was getting ideas about it.

"You'll see. We'll take a stop before you go home." He didn't spare me a glance. Both hands clenched over the steering wheel, he had this look of determination across his face.

I knew exactly what this would end up in.

Murder.

How fun.

"I suggest you wear gloves while you're at it, and keep stray hairs away from the crime scene," I rattled on idiotically, "If you have a different perfume around here, you wear it. And try not to get too much blood spilt – it gets too messy and God knows how you men have no idea cleaning up that much blood – "

"Wait, what?" I felt the car slow down the bit. "Sweets, what are you saying? You think I'm going to kill you?"

"Aren't you?" I shrugged, "It's a place without people. No witnesses . . . perfect place for a crime scene. But in my opinion, there are other smarter techniques on getting rid of girlfriends. Clever ones get to commit a murder in a crowded place and pass it off as suicide."

Jackson still wasn't looking at me. But his eyebrows rose and I didn't know if he was amazed or appalled by it. "I don't know which is scarier," he shook his head, "You knowing a lot about murder or you not caring if I kill you."

"Jackson, I was already killed a long time ago. Outside pain doesn't compare to inside pain. The fandoms . . . oh, they took it all."

"Don't creep me out, sweets."

I watched out at the stretching land to our side. This was away from the urban scenery, somewhere more remote but not really in the middle of nowhere. The sun was sinking and it was painting the sky with rosy colors. It reminded me of blood.

"But really. Where are we going?" I tentatively put my hand over his. He squeezed it once and let go.

Okay, jackass, it doesn't mean I'm sort of a sociopath that I'm completely blocking out all emotions. That hurt.

I was nervous that if I tried to kiss him, he'd lean back.

So I opted to just lean my head against the window. Jackson was going faster, and I was still clueless about our destination. It should be worthwhile, or I swear I was going to leave him there and walk all the way to the shop.

Jackson didn't need to put much effort into it, with me as his girlfriend. All I asked was his body heat, his hoodies, food and a fellow fan and that was it. No need for picnic dates (bugs from hell) or romantic cruises (hello, Titanic). But this one was ticking me off, bothering me.

"It'll be good for you," he assured. I remained wordless, staring off at the unfamiliar surroundings.

It didn't take long for us to reach our stop. And when we did, I stared at it with a blank expression, waiting for some kind of additional surprise to pop out. But when Jackson helped me out of the car and guided me towards it, I realized that this was it and nothing else.