Wicked Love | √

Five

P R E S T O N
seven years ago

THE night is warmer than usual. It had been a humid fall this year, but as the month of October comes to a close it has become increasingly colder.

But not tonight.

The air is heavy and sticky and almost too warm for comfort being the time of year it is.

It should stick out to me. It should catch my attention. I'm usually very attuned to every little detail around me. I'm quieter than my friends, but it's because I watch, and I absorb, and I assess and learn.

I was taught by my father to not be the loudest in the room, but the smartest.

But the object of my current fascination is standing a few yards from me drawing my attention. Distracting me as she tends to do when she's around me. She's sitting on her driveway a ways down from the hill her mansion sits upon. She's reading a book that looks as thick as a dictionary and probably just as boring as the sun settles and the moon continues to rise. The sky above us is becoming increasingly darker as the minutes pass, but she continues to soak up each second of light left as she reads away.

She's obsessed with reading, and studying, and learning as much as she can jam into her tiny head. She's tall for her age, but she's still so small. So awkward and gangly and every bit a teenager and still the most beautiful girl I've ever laid my eyes on.

Jameson Davenport has always stood out to me like a single glowing star in an otherwise starless night. From a young age I could see the strength that filled her bones and the spark of defiance that flared when she was told she couldn't accomplish something her brother did. I could see she's going to become someone special, even if her asshole father couldn't see it.

Her dark chocolate hair that's shiny and perfect and looks so soft it constantly begs me to reach out and touch it. But I never do. Her vibrant green eyes that shine with the need to live the life she wants, and not the one her father wants. Sometimes I push her buttons just to see that spark because I love to play with her fire.

She refuses to stay in the box her parents want her to grow in. The box they want her to stay small in. She bangs against the walls until they crumble around her because she will always be more than what they can see. She will always want more than they want for her.

Her smile is larger than life and her passion and stubbornness are the flickering flames that have always drawn me near. I've always loved the heat. The inferno. The wild raging fire that can take down the world in seconds.

I walk over from my house across the street almost as if I'm being drawn to her like a moth to it's favorite flame. The light continues to be pulled from the sky as it darkens with every step I take towards her. Her gate is open as I easily stride over and continue to watch her. The warm wind sends a breeze flying over her and flutters the pages of her book like fall leaves on the ground. I love that even at the tender age of fourteen she has such an old soul. She rarely even posts to her Instagram like the other girls in her class, and only has a Twitter account to follow her favorite professors and lecturers.

She's always had my attention, but as we get older I appreciate her differences more and more. I love that she goes against the grain and pushes the boundaries of what everyone around her believes she can do. She's not only trying to prove herself, but also simply better herself. She doesn't believe in limitations, and it's something I'm secretly envious of.

"What are you reading now James?" I ask with a tilt of my head as my hands stuff into the front pockets of my dark jeans.

Her head snaps up and she jumps slightly as if she was so lost in her own little world she didn't even notice me approaching her.