Am I dreaming?

Jace and I are in the bathroom, the perfect infirmary after what happened. He, with a damp cloth, dabs the area just below the eye, the only part of the face that seems to have reported visible damage. Every time he touches me, however, I am forced to hold back the whines, even if the droplets of fresh water try to distract me from the continuous throbbing of the skin that is touched. I could try to lie anyway, but it wouldn't do any good: Seth's punch wanted to hurt, he had been charged to hit and make a mark - and he did, but on the wrong body.

What ensues, therefore, is the bewildering certainty that he seriously wanted to hurt my brother, punish him for something that, in his opinion, had to be right and that he, certainly, would have considered wrong.

I look at Jace's face with the corner of the eye. Is expression is so cruel that it is clear that he is reproaching himself for what happened. I almost think I can read his thoughts.

He will be endlessly repeating that he were an idiot, that he could no longer call himself an older brother worthy of the name - but he is, I was the one who was stupid enough to put herself in the middle of something that didn't concern or compete with her.

So, as I stare at his face, I remember that in a little over an hour he will have to go down the stairs of the second floor, grab the suitcases he has at the entrance and go away, with a heavy heart and guilt to burden his spirit.

My brother is not the type to take things lightly, he will not forgive himself for what has happened so easily, indeed, I fear he will never really be able to do it, even if he should. The mistake was not his, not even Seth's. The mistake was mine, which I wanted to interpose between them to prevent the catastrophe from taking place, for their friendship to end with a broken nose and both of them at the hospital; because they certainly wouldn't stop at the first punch.

«Okay JJ, that's enough ...» with the arm I pushed his hand away from my face, trying to pull him away from me. I struggle to stand the way he has of looking at the bruise, just as I can no longer bear to stand here and breathe his feelings of guilt.

I jump off the marble top of the sink, trying to wipe the dampness from my cheeks with the fingers: «you have to call the taxi and make a final check of the lugg-» he interrupts me abruptly, in a tone of voice that shake my guts . He still yelling, without understanding that there is no reason, that we are less than two feet apart and that my hearing works very well: «Do you really thing a care something about the flight? Jay, did you see how your face is tanned?»

Yes, unfortunately I did.

Jace shakes his head, grabs me by the shoulders and tries not to let me go: «I'm not leaving. After what happened you don't stay here alone!» His concern has the same intensity as the hands with which he holds me, almost hurting.

Do you really believe that Seth can come back and want to hit me again? Do you really think that he did it voluntarily, or that he is such a despicable person that he wants to avenge himself on me because of them?

We are not in a film that talks about mafia or rival gangs, Morgenstern would never raise a finger on me and I'm sure of that, regardless of the purple spot that adorns my cheekbone.

If I'm not afraid, the one that has become the victim of their squabble, he certainly shouldn't have to. How can he doubt the moral integrity of what has been his best friend for the last thirteen years? If he could, I'm sure, Seth would kneel at the door of the house to apologize - or at least that's what would happen in my brightest dreams. Anyway, I know he would be forgiven at any cost: he loves me, and I have no doubt about that.

With one hand I grab my brother's wrist, staring into his eyes. I have to convince him that everything is fine, that I can handle this situation myself. He has other things to think about, the winter session is approaching and behind it his degree - he can't fuck up everything for me, even if the idea is flattering.

«It's okay» I whisper, countering his screams of rage with the greatest amount of calm I can muster: «Jace, I don't need your protection now. It was an accident, we both know it, even if you don't want to admit it».

He presses me, he doesn't want to hear reasons: «He hit you, Jane. It's not something I can ignore!» In his eyes there is the clear spark of decision. He doesn't want to give up, but he must. This issue is not so important as to ruin his future and, then, at my age, it is right that I'd learn to manage problems yourself.

«He only struck me because I was in the middle! If I had not been there his fist would never have come to me» I continue, undeterred. If he is not willing to give up, neither am I; it is a competition for those who surrender first.

Jace bites his lip. For the first time he does not know what to answer and it is therefore the right moment to move forward, to break down all the latest defenses he has: «It is not your fault, shove it well in your head, nor of Seth. But I would like to know why I took a punch in the face». My brother snorts, rolls his eyes and looks for a way to avoid answering, but he doesn't escape me.

«JJ, don't make me ask again for your comprehension. Anyhow, what's going on?»

«It's none of your business, you get it?» And in return, I point to the face. Really? Because this thing seems to say the opposite.

Again the boy in front of me shakes his head: «For once, Jane, will you listen to me? I am your elder brother and if I say it is none of your business, you must not hold back» and so the "older kid" card is played, a pity that it never had any result, like when Catherine blows her parental authority.

«I want to know» I say.

«You must not meddle» he replies, without even the slightest hesitation.

We look at each other more and more intensely, trying to persuade each other, but in the end, the one whom gives up is him.

«Do you want me to leave you here alone? Okay, but what happened between me and Seth is just our business. There are rules to be respected and respect to be brought towards those we call brothers, Jay, and he did not» he finally blurts out, resuming his lip before leaving the bathroom with a firm step.

He goes away with tense nerves and blood boiling in his veins, making me win this little battle, but without explaining the reason for the war.

*********

Finally alone.

The silence of the house suddenly seems to be comforting. There are no shouts to break the lazy tranquility of the beginning of January, just as there are no more protests from Jace or the cries of Liz.

He got into the taxi just an hour ago, heading for the airport. In his eyes it was still visible the bitterness of leaving me here after what I had to suffer because of him, but I tried to wear the best smile I could show off, convincing him to get on the dark sedan. My sister, after several attempts by both of the major Raven sons, went out with her school friends - or rather, her best friends, the ones who should have arrived at Seth's place. It took a while, but in the end she wore shoes and a jacket and slipped away with them; who knows what twisted and controversial stories will come out of their mouths, after they saw me in the Fight Club version.

So here I am, now busy staring at the door I have in front of me and listening to nothing. I have neither the strength to get up from the step on which I am sitting, nor the desire to rack myself up with some uncomfortable thought. But inside me there is a small storm that, if I listen, I would find out making more noise than the white noise that surrounds me.

The reason for its presence is obvious: the terror that something has been irretrievably broken between Jace, Seth and Charlie.

What would I do, if my only anchors of salvation, let me drown in the sea that is London for a teenager at the mercy of ignorance? I have no idea, let alone have it.

I puff, aware that sooner or later I'll have to deal with this situation. I will not be able to pretend indifference, nor will I be able to give up everything without giving any explanation or suffering.

The weight on the chest is greater, but before the tears can really take shape and come out of the eyes, a distant sound attracts my attention.

It's something familiar, coming from far away, over my shoulder.

Maybe it's the phone I left in the room.

I concentrate, trying to identify the origin of the vibration well and then, convincing myself that there is no object in the house that can make such a noise, especially of dubious utility and innocence, I leap to my feet and climb to my room.

I see the display light up in jerks, highlighting an image that, at this exact moment, makes my stomach tighten to the point of nausea, yet I don't stop, I reach out and answer right time to avoid having the secretariat inserted.

And as soon as the line opens, I lose lucidity. There is no longer a single word capable of leaving my lips - perhaps because what I am doing is wrong, or because I am not so ready to face reality.

«Jay...» the voice on the other side of the receiver is tense, worried, even trembling, yet it calls me like an invocation - there is hope, in its tone, the prayer that it is really me to answer.

But I don't know what to say, I'm lost.

I could still hang up, pretend nothing happened and see what happens tomorrow after a good night's sleep, but all I can do is wait.

«Speak to me» seems to plead.

It is the first time I have heard him speak this way, that his usual security falters in the face of something that, like me, does not know how to deal with.

«What should I say?» I ask, feeling the tightening of my stomach become more insistent. Little would be enough to make me vomit, especially because the tension I thought to have vanished, in reality it went to hide between the gastric juices and the remains of breakfast.

Seth breathes a sigh of relief, as if my voice is enough to cheer him up.

«Are you alone?» He asks softly, in a whisper. And I don't know what to answer. I do not know if it is right, towards Jace, to meet Morgenstern at any time of this day.

I should tell him no, postpone our meeting and the possible excuses that await us, but inside me, the girl in love with him dreams of a happy ending: a hug in which he tells me that it was an accident, a kiss on the forehead for forgiveness.

Having these thoughts, however, is not in itself a sort of mutiny towards my brother?

Before I can understand what is right to do, his voice returns to fill my ear, tickling the eardrum: «Can we... talk? Will you open me?» He asks again, perhaps imagining for himself that such a silent house cannot contain so many people and, since we were all aware of which flight Jace would have take, besides me there could only be Elizabeth; but she is not a danger, we both know it.

So, without really being conscious of my actions, letting myself be carried away by the current of events, I interrupt the call, retracing the road made a few minutes ago.

The heart beats in my chest like a jackhammer, I feel it banging against the rib cage in a sort of endless loop and all I can think of is that, again, I'm demonstrating the inability to deal with certain situations. I know what would be right to do, yet I get closer and closer to the jaws of a beast that I won't be able to manage in the future - because I challenge the fact that my brother will forgive me a reconciliation with the enemy, before he has declared the end of this war.

I look up from my toes and, behind the frosted glass of the front door, I see the dark shadow of the boy who showed up here a few hours ago. What will he have done for all this time? Will he have gone to drown the sorrow in some can of cheap beer? Would he have smoked all the cigarettes his pockets could hold? And is it therefore wise, for my part, to extend the hand now, turn the knob and open the door wide to allow him to see the disaster he has done?

Maybe not, but I do it anyway.

When his green eyes meet my face, it is impossible not to notice the gloomy light that fills his gaze.

I could even say to see bitterness in the mottling of his irises, or what should be guilt, displeasure.

And the heart now slows down, to twist on itself. I feel bad about the idea that he is looking at the signs of his anger on me, that he is realizing that he has worn the costume of the monster that I am sure he's not. Yet I can't stop him. By now we are face to face and what has happened can no longer be canceled - or at least not for the next few days.

Seth's hand rests gently on my face, walking along the irregular edges of the dark patch. He studies it in every nuance, he takes the measurements to the sound of blinking. The fingers caress the skin lightly, perhaps fearing that I might be hurt again. He stands in silence as makes this gesture, as sacred as it is sacrilegious. Yes, because such sweetness does not seem to belong to a devil like him, who until recently struggled in the hallway devoured by an anger he could not control. Despite this, he tries not to hurt me any more, even though it had never been in his plans.

I wish I could make a joke, one of those bad ones that always come out at the worst moments, but unfortunately I can't think of anything. Not a syllable with which to start, nor an anecdote to hold onto to defuse.

As I have said too many times before, I cannot handle most of the situations in which I get involved.

But he takes care of breaking the moment, taking this huge weight off of my chest. Without giving me time to understand, Seth pulls me to him, squeezing me with so much force as to take my breath away. He pushes me a few steps towards the inside of the house, so as to be able to close the door behind him and, as soon as we hear the lock click, we lean on it to find support.

His breath touches the tip of my ear as his arms wrap around me like the hottest blanket I can find in all of London. He squeezes and keeps silent, making me understand how guilty he feels about what happened.

And how I would rejoice, if this embrace had happened in another context. How thrilled I would feel at the idea that he, the boy who tormented my fantasies day and night, from the most romantic to the most sinful ones, is holding me to him as if his last wish was to lose me.

Too bad that a nagging little voice does nothing but remind me of the punch, bruise and Jace's threat.

Seth presses me against his body, so much that I can feel his chest rise and fall for breath.

«Please...» he whispers, as his voice just trembles: «Don't disappear for this, don't hate me, Jay. I-I beg you...» and I would like to deny myself that I don't feel like dying. How did I become the bad guy in the situation? How is it possible that, by acting for good, I have generated so much pain?

Although I am aware of not being able to jump back in time and prevent myself from ending up in the middle of their fight, for a moment I wish I could do it, so as to spare him all this suffering.

It is not good for anyone, neither for him, nor for my brother, and even less for me.

I try to wriggle out of his grip, feeling the tears unravel the knot in my throat and try to go back up to my eyes, but the more I try, the less I get. I don't want him to see me cry, it would just be another reason to make him feel guilty - and he doesn't deserve it.

I push against his torso again and, finally, he loosens his grip, without actually letting me go. I look him straight in the eye, those two emeralds for which I went crazy the first time I saw him and, trying in every way to make a convincing smile, I try to persuade him to leave, so that he should not look too much at the hematoma: «It's okay, Seth. I know you didn't want to hit me. Now go home though. Take a shower, put on some relaxing songs and convince yourself that I'm not blaming you for anything. It was an accident».

We're close, too maybe. I do not remember ever having observed him from this perspective at a time of such intimacy - or with the awareness of having the hormones totally in raptures. So, moved by the idea that in such a circumstance nothing can be reproached to a victim, putting me on tiptoe, I allow myself the luxury of kissing him.

No, not a kiss like the ones I've always dreamed of, or that in movies still manage to make me blush, but something undefined, halfway between the cheek and the lips.

It could almost make he think that the measurements have been taken badly, that the balance on the points has betrayed me, but there is nothing casual in this gesture - it cannot be decreed as a declaration, nor can otherwise.

The contact is short, even if in my head it seems to last endless minutes and, before giving the last push to free me definitively from his arms - which in reality I would like never to be detached - I whisper: «I'll write you tomorrow, okay?»

I push with my back, feeling his grasp become increasingly bland and, when I finally convince myself that I have clarified the situation, something in the plans changes.

I don't have time to carry out the sequence of actions, which I find overwhelmed by the most satisfying feeling I can ever remember having tried.

Seth Morgenstern's lips open on mine, his eyelids fall and suddenly I find myself kissing the person I least expected would want to do such a thing with me. The disbelief, however, soon passes into the background, even if before I can make it more passionate, he interrupts the contact, pushing me away from his mouth.

I rest suspended in a bubble of confusion and partial disappointment, while he caresses the bruise one last time. He does it with the same guilty and worried look and this does not bode well.

«Okay» he hisses, letting go and slipping away from me and over the door, leaving his own ghost in the place.

I blinked several times, trying to figure out if what just happened is real or not and then, regaining a minimum of lucidity, I wonder: Okay? Only this has to say? Should he not justify his momentum in any way?

No, because what happened is certainly not something that I can forget or ignore so easily!

Besides... why did he do it?

Why did he decide to kiss me? Does he feltbpity for me? Was it his way of apologizing to little Jay, the one who got injured?

I bite my lips, feeling less and less sure. Seth's taste remains there, but it has nothing to do with the tobacco and mint mix that these strange online authors invent; it's more like Lucky Strike red and bitterness, repentance - but his, or mine?