Wishes and Kisses || COMPLETE

Chapter 4: The Switch

That afternoon, Jean and I went back to my place. She studied in my room listening to music while I watched Gloriana Florea on tv again. I tried to distract myself away from Jason's words with the show, but damn, he really got to me.

She can't say no. How true was that? I decided to find out.

I got up and closed the door. I didn't want my dad to come in at a time like this. I walked over to Jean and took out one of her earphones. She turned and looked up at me, studying me studying her.

"Come here", I said, walking over to the carpet and sitting down on it.

She followed me with a slow caution. She plopped down next to me, keeping a comfortable level of distance.

"W-- what is it, Nick?"

"Kiss me," I said. I felt my face becoming hot, but I continued my intent gaze on her, not looking away as badly as I wanted to.

She gasped, and turned away. She was quiet. "Okay," she eventually meeked. She closed her eyes with such tightness, and held my face, inching hers over to mine, slowly, slowly, slowly. It was as if she was stalling her death. When her lips were just about to touch mine, I stopped it and pulled away.

"That's enough of that," I said.

This time she stared at me for moments at a time, and I stared back.

"Be honest Jean. Did you even want to kiss me?"

"I . . . I didn't."

I buried my face into the carpet and groaned.

"Are you upset because I didn't want to kiss you?"

"No! I'm upset because you didn't want to kiss me but you were going to anyway."

"Well what did you want me to do?"

"I don't know. Stand up to me? Tell me no? Say 'not in a million years'? Leave? Anything but what just happened. Because if you were going to kiss me even though you didn't want to then that means--"

"--that I had to kiss Jason when I didn't want to."

I got up and jerked my lamp through my window. "I can't FUCKING believe that!"

I stood there looking out into the street at my broken lamp. I inhaled, then exhaled repeatedly. Finally, I composed myself well enough to have a calm and collected conversation.

"Jean."

She was still sitting there on the floor, wide-eyed. "Y- yes?"

"Why don't you ever fight back?"

"I physically can't disrespect a master, or go against what they say."
"Fighting back doesn't have to be a sign of disrespect. Just now when I told you to kiss me, even if you physically had to do it, couldn't you have told me beforehand 'only because I have to'? Couldn't you have made it clear where you stood? Why do you think you have to shut up and take it?"

Jean let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry, Nick."

"Stop apologizing to me. Every now and then I see you get frustrated by the things I have to say, but you keep it in. Let's get past the point of politeness, shall we? Politeness is for strangers. Be raw with me. Be real."

"I . . . can't."
"Let me be perfectly clear. Tell me what you really think, right now. And don't hold back. That's an order."

"GOD, NICK!" Jean stood up, pounding her fist on the cushy bed. "I am so very very fucking sorry that I can't be as brave and confrontational as you but you don't understand. You will NEVER understand what the FUCK I HAVE BEEN THROUGH! You want me to fight back? Huh? You know what crush's someone's spirit? Being a fucking slave. Being forced to grant wishes to ungrateful fucking humans for thousands of years, many of them beating me, cursing at me, harassing me, and so much more. So fucking excuse me if I have lost the will to fight. Excuse me if I'm afraid to speak my mind, when everyone has always made me feel like I don't matter."