Where To?

Chapter 10

There's an unspoken agreement between Clair and I about hand-holding now. I haven't said anything about it, neither has she. And yet, even in a chilly night out in her balcony, my hands still clam up under hers. Clair came knocking on my door; her packing wasn't going as well as she wanted it to be.

"I don't want to go home yet, Jillian."

"You need that head start in studying, Clair. You have to."

"You know what I mean, dummie. I like it here so much."

"Okay then, what does Slovenia have that Britain doesn't that you can't leave yet?"

"The majestic River Ljubljanica, this pretty castle view –"

"Uh huh?"

"The wine ... Damn, what was it called again? Rolibo? Riblui?"

"Rebula, Clair. Geez, don't disrespect it like that." I chuckled and shook my head.

"Rebula wine. I'll have to have a session with Cohen and the others with a few bottles of that." 

"With me, certainly." I cocked my head to the side and held a hand to my chest. They can't possibly leave me out of a get-together. How dare they?

She talked about how all of us get drunk. Especially when we were in Paris. It was something we haven't gotten the chance to talk about. Or maybe, we just kept shoving it at the back of our minds. Until now. Her thumb gradually slowed itself against the back of my hand. I squeezed her slim fingers, urging her on.

"Do you remember that night?" Clair asked in an almost whisper. Almost as if she was asking herself. "That night we, all crashed on the floor after a long night out?"

I kept my eyes on her and nodded.

"I remember, Clair."

She looked at me. She looked at me like she was unsure if she should continue. Her lips parted open only to clasp themselves back together several times. She blinked at me. I blinked back. I felt my eyes droop, my gaze shifting from her to our hands. She looked at our hands too, slowly settling her thumb atop my hand. It felt like those old movies with subtitles depicting what the characters were doing. Only this time, the subtitle would be 'silence.'

I disrupted the air between us and spoke only when she's looked away.

"I wasn't that drunk that night, I remember when I said that."

"I remember, Clair."

Clair blinked, and then nodded.

"I also remember you almost released a mouthful of barf on my face seconds later."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry." She chuckled, a palm smack on her forehead.

She was a light crimson all over her cheeks, stealing such girly looks from below her eyelashes. She looked less messy tonight than that night in Paris. And I would only dare do it again in my head, but having an arm around her now as laughter settles into warmth and confession turns into conversation was somewhat better than reenacting a cheesy peck in Paris. No, here in Ljubljana, we frame those moments and put them up walls. We'll reminisce, but, we're ultimately just passing by the past.

She talked about the lot of alcohol bottles we've poured onto countless shot glasses, and how Vern had a masculine laugh when she drinks whiskey. She went and talked about how she and Jaxson had almost-feelings for each other, and I felt a tinge of jealousy because Jaxson was Jaxson and I was Jillian. The Honey Ochre Evening Society made her feel in control at one point, but she said she had an inexplainable fear of peaking through it. I told her I would've availed a service just for the experience, but I was too embarrassed to say I wanted a girlfriend at the end of it. We talked about relationships, whether you get the itch after two or three years, and how Liv was being both human and petty for taking River back.

I kissed her forehead at one point, she rolled her eyes at me and I shrugged. I was fixing her hair, and I just leaned in.

"You're so cheesy."

"You're the cheesy one for holding onto a drunken peck for three years."

"Pshh."

Clair didn't hold my hand all night. Technically, at least. I held hers, even as she made her way to her room. She did hold me hostage all night, though. Not that I wanted to leave, but it got a little late, I'll admit. I guess I'll also admit that she didn't hold me hostage; she finally decided to pack seriously and tried to shoo me away, but failed after I shot her the I paid for this room card. I was half-asleep on a love seat while Clair tried to pack as quietly as she could. I could hear her cabinet doors swinging open and closing, her bags zipping, in a patient slumber. I waited for her to finish, so I can drift asleep already.

She woke me up a little before three in the morning asking me if I really wasn't going to sleep in my own room. I swept a hand down my face, and I saw she was tucked in, wearing a puffy yellow hoodie, looking tousled.

"Have you been awake this whole time?"

"I am tired. I just can't sleep knowing you're over there sleeping on a love seat."

"Is that an invitation to sleep on your bed?"

"Jesus, no, Jill."

"I'm kidding, blondie." I chuckled quietly. "No Jill and chill?"

"Oh, God. Get out, Jillian." She had a pout on, her face wrinkled in disgust.

She looked cute tucked in like that, only because she's quiet and isn't bitching as much as she does when the sun's up. I shook my head vigorously to waken my senses, and sprang up. Clair turned to the door as I walked out. She muttered a goodnight and I gave her a nod that resembled a head bang.