The Girl Named Mary

Chapter 1

Love. The mere mention of the word sent goosebumps go waddling along Mary's arms and nape, and a flash of irritating heat on her ears. She hated the word. No, hate is far gentler to describe what she felt about “love.” It was not just the word, mark you, but the whole concept of it. Love, for her, was nothing but an illusion to fool the soft and the naïve; and as illusions go, Mary believed that love is something far deadlier than mere smoke and mirrors.

If anyone asks Mary never admits that she had ever fallen prey to Love's enchantments. She gets annoyed whenever conversations went towards her lack of romantic interests.

“Ohho no, no, love has no place in my life. That's not for me. It's good for others, I am happy for them to have found love, but, it's just not for me.” So goes her quick reply when asked about her love life, usually by her well meaning aunts and uncles, and which was usually followed by a far quicker change of subject by her.

It may sound unkind to say, but it is a truth universally known, yet seldom said aloud, that people in general are weak when it comes to pretty faces and sweet voices. Especially when both comes in one package. And, most especially if the owner of the pretty face and the sweet voice is not boring as hell.

Sadly for Mary she had all three. She was uncommonly pretty, had a soft voice that made anyone who heard her think that there may be some truth to stories of angels and mermaids after all, and she was vivacious and outgoing as heaven would allow. All these combined made her irresistible to most folks that come her way; and, made her disdain for romance a tad difficult to have.

Men, and women, who even dared court her had their own hopes and hearts shattered to pieces. Mary would have none of it. Many a folk who approached poor Mary with the preternatural swagger of a conquering Don Juan, confidently thinking that they would be the one to thaw her icy heart, came out weathered and bitter; one less notch on their bed boards to boast about.

To be fair, Mary did not start out like this. Once, long ago, in her innocent youth, she did love and loved too deeply. It was a summer spent under the sunshine of bliss, when Cupid's bow twanged and his red-tipped arrow sang as it flew unto Mary's heart. But, alas …

“Marie! Come here, quick” came the shrill voice of her roommate somewhere downstairs, breaking Marie's concentration, stopping her fingers mid key as she was bent over her old clunky typewriter. A sigh escaped her lips, as her train of thought was already derailed. What could she want this time, Marie thought to herself, annoyed. She barely began her short story, and her editor wanted it come Monday; that's just a few days away. She was out of anything good to write about, it was almost Christmas, and the season usually comes with a hefty effect on her writing. There was just something about family and friends coming together and being happy that numbs her mind, making writing almost impossible. This time she decided to write something personal and wrap it up as fiction. She was sure it was a bad move, but she was already desperate.

“Wait a minute. I'm coming down Cleo,” Marie said while donning a serviceable sweater over her t-shirt and quickly going down the flight of stairs just outside her door.

“Hurry, I'm in the kitchen” said Cleo.

“What is it?” asked Marie as she stepped into the kitchen and gave Cleo, who was sitting at the other side of the kitchen counter, an aggravated look. She hates it when she gets disturbed in the middle of her writing. It may be due to her annoyance that she only noticed after a second or two that Cleo was not alone. Someone was sitting just opposite her dear friend: a man with very broad shoulders, his back towards Marie. “Oh,” she said weakly, almost sounding abashed. “We have a guest.” Darn it, ill kill her for this. “I'll just go back up and change.”

“No need for that, Marie. You'll always look beautiful no matter what you wear,” the visitor said. His voice was husky with a tantalizing hint of suave, and it was so achingly familiar. An odd sensation started to form in her stomach, a peculiar feeling, something she hadn't felt for a long while. Can it be? Shit! It cannot be! But, why? Shit!

“Jason?” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

The man stood up and turned to face her.

The first thing that registered on Marie's mind was his smile: that rakish smile, that adorably hot grin that sent her chest heaving and her head spinning. She remembered the first time she saw that smile, it was so long ago and yet still so fresh. She knew, way back then, that he had her heart when he first flashed her that smile. It bothered her to think that even after all this time and after all that happened she was still affected badly by it. But, as soon as this thought crossed her mind then it quickly disappeared as

Then came his eyes, those gorgeous dark brown pools of blissful nothingness that seemed to take-in her all in one hot gaze and ravish her with each flickering look. Those eyes that seemed to twinkle with barely hidden desires, of naughty thoughts, of secret trysts long passed but never forgotten, and a whispery promise of things to come.

Jason was never handsome, in the classical sense. His nose was slightly crooked, probably received from a fight or from several fights. He was a tough man. Not combative, mark you, but someone who does not back down from a fight. His hair always unkempt and ruffled, as though he just woke up after a long night in between the sheets. His skin was tanned and marred from too much time under the sun. His chin, not as chiseled as a classic sculpture would have, but agonizingly masculine, nonetheless; and with a constant stubble that was already halfway to becoming a beard. He was not a ravishing Adonis or a gallant Lancelot, but, despite all those imperfections they all add up into something that transcended mere prettiness. Jason might not be a beautiful masterpiece of manhood, but, damn, he was hot. He oozed with sex appeal; that animalistic, almost primal, scent that cannot be perceived by the senses but only felt by a throbbing heart, a jarring hum that begins from one and resonates with another.

“It is good to know that I am still remembered,” he said, still flashing that dangerous smile.

Marie felt her knees wobble a little and her hands slightly tremble. “What are you doing here?!”She was pleased that at least her voice did not gave way.

Jason's smile slightly wavered. “Don't I get a hi? Or, maybe, a half-hearted hello?”

Marie turned to Cleo, who was unabashedly eyeing Jason while sipping her coffee. “Why did you let him in?!” her voice rising to a narrow pitch.

“What?” Cleo almost chocked on her coffee. She never heard Marie raise her voice. Not to her. Not to anyone. She gave Marie a confused and partly apologetic look. “Why...? He said you were close friends.”

“The operative word is 'were', Cleo. Past tense. And why would you just let a relative stranger come in? For all you know, he's an ax wielding psychopath.”

“Don't be angry at Cleo,” interjected Jason. “I was the one who insisted. I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

“Happy?! Happy!? In what part of your damned mind would you think that I'd be happy to even see a glimpse of your hair!?” At this point Marie's voice was not only on full screech she was also breathing heavily and trembling all over.

Cleo quickly came to her side, holding her shoulders and gently easing her into a chair. “I think you'd better leave for now, Jason,” said Cleo. Marie was by now starting to look catatonic. The shock of seeing Jason again was just too much for her.