Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ December St. ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

 

“It's been a long, cold winter,” he sang to himself.

 

“What was that?” She asked.

 

“Oh…nothing.”

 

They stood in shadow. It was sunny. It didn't seem right that it was sunny; because it was never sunny this early in January, nor did it seem right that there was shade on that particular stretch of sidewalk, for there weren't any trees for a block in either direction, or even that it was already so late in the day; but nothing seemed quite right in the city. This past week, it seemed every headline announced a new disappearance, and they were both sick of waiting on the latest report of bizarre weather patterns. The city that used to be so small and provincial had grown. Not in size. The buildings in the city were the same ornate structures that had been built in the late 18th century, but it seemed it was choked with people now. It had grown dark, and this winter seemed colder than the ones before.

 

“Would you care for coffee?” he asked her, wrapping his wool coat around himself self-consciously. She was tall, and her dark hair fell over her shoulders in curls. She had almond-shaped eyes and a straight nose. She gave him a weak smile.

 

“Let's go to the place on Elm. I love their espresso.”

 

They walked to the little café on Elm and almost winced at the tinkling bell that sounded as he held the door open for her. It was a quite, secluded little spot, but the warm conversation inside sounded like a cacophony compared to the blank silence outside.

 

They slid off their coats and sat. They were an inconceivable pair. She was dark and subdued, and she had a smoky brilliance about her that made people uncomfortable. He was too thin for such a tall frame, and he had an awkward, apologetic way about him. He'd given up his puppyish affection for her long ago, and presently, he looked ready to bolt out the door.

 

Money was tight since Christmastime, and he ordered a small black coffee. She licked her lips when her grande espresso came around. They sat in silence for a long time.

 

“Mina?” he said quietly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“What do you think is going to happen?”

 

“About what, Jordan?” She sounded so weary. He ignored it.

 

“About everything!” he cried suddenly, dangerously close to spilling his coffee. Heads turned. “Don't you worry? About the baby, about the city, about the country?”

 

She gave him a look that clearly communicated how badly she wanted him to shut his mouth. A less well-trained man would have whimpered. He was all in now. Tumbling, tumbling dice…

 

“Do you know what will happen after the President is dead? Everything is going to be in utter chaos, and raising a child throughout it all?” he continued in earnest.

 

“It's not like I haven't thought about it! I'm not an ignoramus! It's my baby, Jordan, you think I'm not worried about what he's going to grow up in?” Mina hissed.

 

“She.” He corrected emotionlessly. His mouth opened to say more, but she cut him off.

 

“We've been over this. It's not important.” She said bitterly, a protective hand on her belly.

 

“But it might. You don't know what's going to happen, we could be captured any week now! Who knows what sick regime we'll be in ten years from now!”

 

“Look. We are not having this conversation here.” Spat Mina, leading her companion's gaze to the affronted customers around them. The waitress was wringing her hands in exasperation, trying to decide whether or not to interrupt them as her manager peered at her from behind the counter.

 

She was saved from further deliberation when they both stood in perfect unison and quickly buttoned their coats. Mina gave the terrified waitress a syrupy smile, Jordan slammed a bill down on the table and they were gone. The bell tinkled merrily as the heavy door smashed shut.

 

“We could have been reported, Jordan!” Mina roared as soon as they were outside. The sidewalks were empty.

 

“Oh, who gives a shit anymore, Mina? We're all afraid of the same damn things!”

 

“Are they bellowing about it in public?” She feigned a mocking look around. “I don't see any other lunatics hollering their problems to the skies, do you?” She stopped suddenly and closed her glassy eyes. “Look, let's just go home. I'm sick of this.”

 

They both stood, eyes downcast.

 

“I'm sorry.” He said. She called it her baby. Only hers?

 

“I think we all are.”

 

They walked around the corner and disappeared into the shadows.

 

 

Her surroundings came into steady focus as her eyelids fluttered open. She stretched with a soft growl and immediately her hands flew to the rounded slope of her belly, which she stroked with contentment.

 

“Jordan?” she murmured.

 

Silence. “Jordan?” She roused herself with worry. “Jordan?” He wasn't in the room. Idiot. Of course he wasn't in the room, he hadn't slept with her in months, but why wasn't he answering? He could hear her from the living room!

 

She cried hoarsely, practically gagging on the powerful fear that had slithered into her chest. What if…!

 

“Jordan!”

 

“What?” came a muffled reply. She sank back with relief, heart pounding, and listened as he shuffled into her bedroom.

 

“What's wrong?” He rubbed his eyes, nearly clawing one out as he was yanked down onto her bed with surprising force. She stared at him with eyes like copper coins, her thin, calloused fingers digging into his shoulders.

 

“God, don't do that. Please, don't ever do that again. I thought you were gone. God, I thought you were gone, Jordan!” she whispered with mounting hysteria.

 

“Hey, I'm sorry.” He massaged her shoulder awkwardly, desperate to sooth her. “I was sleeping on the couch, you know, because…because…never mind. I'm sorry. I really am.” He supplied, terrified. She was right there, so close. They had been so careful about their distance over the past two months. To his surprise, her breathing steadied, and the room dulled to an almost comfortable silence.

 

“Remember how I made you ride the ferris wheel at the fair in Marlborough with me all those times?” she whispered suddenly.

 

“You love that ferris wheel.”

 

“I love the sky.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“What?” she jerked around to face him. Her forehead was creased with a frown.

 

“I didn't mean it that way. I just mean…why are you with me? Why are you with a dead-end family, in a dead-end city? You could be flying.”

 

“I couldn't be a pilot. I'm colourblind, Jordan. You know that.” She said tiredly, ignoring the subtext. Does he want me to leave?

 

“I know that. But that's not it.”

 

She frowned and rolled back over. Another conversation was tabled. He dressed for work, cooked himself an egg, and returned to her room with a glass. The gray, morning light shot through the cheap blinds in pale beams, and he watched it illuminate her messy curls. They shone like brass. He kissed her head, left her a glass of orange juice on the bedside table, and drifted out of the apartment like a phantom.

 

“It's a girl. She's beautiful.” Said the nurse. A warm, moist bundle was placed in her arms, and her flowing hair stuck to her neck with sweat. She automatically cooed the thing, rocking it gently, and hummed a song she couldn't name. He was there. Tall and thin, his tired, gray face near hers. He sent tentative fingers towards the bundle, testing the waters, and drawing back again with anxious wonderment. The doors burst open. It wasn't the nurse.

 

Her eyes flickered open and she took in the next few seconds in black and white. She was in bed; a glass of orange juice awaited her on the nightstand. She drank the whole thing in one tip of her head. It was lukewarm. She was alone.