Page 30 of Reckless

I’m flummoxed for a moment. Not because I have anything to be ashamed of. It would be weird, him reading my work.

“Ignore me, that was rude. I should know, writing is personal. At least until it’s at a point where you want to share it.”

“It’s not that. It’s… heavy subject matter.”

“Oh,” he tilts his head back, so he is looking at the stars again. “And you think it might bother me?”

“I can’t presume to know how you feel, Jude.”

“But you’ve had more insight than most. I’ll do the sensible thing and focus on the good stuff. Not that your writing isn’t good stuff,” he adds with a laugh.

“I knew what you meant,” I grin back at him.

I lay back on the blanket. We should have brought two. The roof isn’t clean. I usually bring a chair when I come on the roof. Our elbows touch before I settle down. We lie side by side staring at the stars.

The sound of male voices breaks the silence, but we stay still. It sounds like they’re drunk, laughing and joking with one another. They’re not being quiet, which is terrible etiquette, but they’re not being rowdy or fighting. After a moment, the sounds disappear with the click of a door.

“Hey, look,” Jude grabs my hand. He props up and points to the sky.

I tilt my head and catch the tail end of it.

“Was that a shooting star?”

“I think so.”

“You say it like you’re not impressed,” he rolls to his side, propped up on his elbow.

“I’ve seen a lot of them. I’ve even seen meteor showers. They’re not as rare as people like to think, so long as you have a dark sky, uninterrupted by artificial light.”

“Don’t ruin it,” he shakes his head with a laugh. “I’m going to choose to believe that appeared just for us,” he settles back down on the blanket. “Make a wish, Krista. And anything your heart desires will come to you.”

I swallow and look away from him, back at the sky. My heart shouldn’t be pounding thinking of him knowing the song, ‘When You Wish Upon A Star’. It doesn’t mean he is a Disney fan, that is a very famous song.

While my sister was into the more romantic Disney movies, like Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, Pinocchio is a movie I watched a lot when I was younger. It scared the piss out of my sister. She hated donkeys for a long time after watching it. I always loved the idea of Pinocchio wanting to be a real boy, wanting to have a family of his own. In a way, Jude is like that. Only it’s not a family he wants.

As an adult, it’s clear some of the recurring themes from the movie were honesty, dreams and imagination, self-discovery and understanding your own identity.

I doubt Jude would want to hear me comparing him to a wooden puppet, but in my head, it’s more metaphorical. He might not understand my reasoning and, to be honest, it’s more likely he is just happy he’s witnessed a shooting star. That in itself is pure enough. I’m glad he got to experience it.

Part of me wants to offer more. To help him find himself, to understand what he’s looking for. To comfort him.

Damn. Stop it.

I keep my eyes on the sky, even though I can feel the warmth of his body beside me, hear him breathing, and smell the scent of his cologne.

We’re quiet again after that and eventually cloud cover moves in and it’s harder to see the stars. It’s also getting colder. By mutual decision, we get up and head back down.

Jude grabs his guitar, and we go inside. He watches me as I lock up and put away the blankets.

“Everything okay?” he asks, setting his guitar back in the case.

“Tired,” I say, stifling a yawn.

Truth is, I don’t like the feelings the moment on the roof has evoked. Jude didn’t do anything, or even say anything, to stir things up, but I need to get away from him.

Because he could.

It’s been about nine months since I last had a relationship, even that was short-lived. He was a nice guy, but we weren’t compatible, something that became obvious the first time we had sex. I gave it a little longer, not wanting to make a snap decision, but we didn’t have that spark. The sex was okay, but it wasn’t amazing.

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