Crow?

(Norman)

"<i>Ha…</i>" I sighed out loud to the open walls of the roof top when I thought I heard it echo. I looked around, in either spaces and found Gillian sitting on the floor, behind the left side of the wall.

"What are you doing here?"

He almost jumped in his seat and exhaled sharply. I sit next to him, leaving an invisible space of personal boundary between us. I don't know about most guy best friends but Gillian and I rarely open deep, personal things to each other. The reasons are probably about my not being able to understand his conditions (in our early days) or my inability to share in exchange.

"I don't know what to think, 'man. Romance manhwa and aenis are fun and easy until you actually deal with 3D women."

"And who might this be?"

He just shook his head and sighed again, his shoulders falling as he breathed out. "I don't know anymore. What about you? Why're you here?"

"Just need a breather."

"I can tell. You look like you need to get one of imo's oxygen since Monday." He shrugged and glanced at my side. "Did something happen last Saturday?"

<i>Did she perhaps tell him?</i>

"What do you mean? What about Saturday?"

He gave me a devious grin and shook his head. "Did you forget that you're an open book to me, Song? You can spill it all now, I won't laugh at you."

"Spill what?" I grabbed my water bottle and chugged, avoiding Gillian's anticipating gaze.

"Did you finally get laid?"

And I choked, water going through my nasal and burning my throat.

I coughed for my life while the asshole laughed his life off. "Fuck you." I croaked in between my struggle, the pain piercing like toothpicks in between the walls of my nose and mouth.

He wiped his eyes off from tears. "Wow, my boy is finally deflowere—-"

I smacked his arm with my bottle before he could continue. "<i>Nothing</i> happened."

"Okay," he raised both his hands up in defeat. "Look, I'm not judging you, but you either look like you're eager to do it or you're eager to do it again. You can't convince me otherwise."

I sniffed and cleared my throat, the pain still stuck that the water left.

"Hey, you don't have to tell me anything. No details, no clues, no whatsoever. I don't wanna know. Just be careful, and use protection."

"Don't have to worry about that, nothing did, and will, happen."

"Whatever you say." He grinned and reached out for my bottle, but I already stood up and walked away, my bottle in my hand and a finger to him.

As much as he was annoying, that short distraction averted my memory from before I got here. From when I left the library, not before my sensitive nose threw my hopes, of recovering, to ruin.

Gillian was right; I have turned into a highschool teenager. Hormonal and hungry teenager. And while it's embarrassing to think of myself as one, considering that I'm one step away from being called a teen, I can't deny the fact that missing my teenage sensibility has led its way, <i>later</i>, to me.

Ever since <i>that</i> night, everyday had been a torture. And it wasn't just torture; I felt ashamed for having such thoughts linger my mind. There was no helping it, no relieving it. I actually skipped that part of my life in actual high school that now I had to suppress, with all my might, the lust and hunger that circulated under me for days and nights since then. It worsened on the two consecutive days that I sat in the same room with the trigger: <i>Rorim</i>. The muse of my torment. It was easy to avoid physical contact with her. But her eyes? It was a wave of rapids crashing on a beaver dam, to which languidly led me to pitfall. The longer I fought the urge and desires, the stronger they haunt me every day. It was a battle, a tug of war of reality where I desired her but I had no right, no strength to cross that line. I can barely control myself, close to utter insanity. Too frustrated, too preoccupied that even imo was concerned about my behavior. I had begun to feel conscious about what I look like from other people, especially to her. But of course she's unaffected at all, she was drunk, asleep and maybe even incognizant from everything that happened, everything I did. To my expected disappointment, she barely showed any hint of recognition the next day, nor did she acknowledge my presence at all. That was the worst part. How awfully painful it is to be the only one who remembers.

It was only today, the only day, I didn't have to start my day seeing her. I finally had the moment to breathe, to relax that I considered to do my requirements, all the school work I missed for being too distracted with my silent, rabid thoughts. I just have to avoid seeing her then. Until I've calmed down, with my hope, the soonest.

I finished my first task when I decided to take a break. Without thought, my feet led me to the library to take a nap, just for a while. Because apart from my struggle to fight my dreams away, I haven't had a well-rested sleep. Who in their lust-driven minds could?

But just when I thought I could have my moment of peace, I get a whiff of the sweet shea butter and woody vanilla in the air. In between the shelf of books and the scent of paper, she was there. Her aroma. I left, the second that I could, away from the poison I would undoubtedly suck my lungs into. I went back to our club room when I remembered the notebook. Among the many things and habits I've neglected to do, I also haven't caught up with the next entries. I was too afraid that the next pages would stimulate the worst of my dreams that I've been having. Still, I was in dire need of another distraction today and I might as well overcome that fear with another train of thought. If the next pages will be too much for me than I have now, I could always read the other parts and match their points later. My curiosity then led me to the last entry, wondering if this queer character would achieve a happy ending.

I leafed to the last page and found a different handwriting instead. And as I was reading through each word, it occured to me that this writer was a different one.

<i>To the soul that deserved more than to be an island, </i>

<i>

If you ever come to read this, I can only imagine how mad you will ever be. Either an earful worth of stomping to my room and shouting profanities of the world to me, or a stabbing silent treatment from you for who knows how long for reading a secret that meant more than my own. But whichever response I'll get, I want to let you know that if you do both or either, I'll take this secret to my grave. Maybe even from you, if you happen to remember you had this and try to find it from me. </i>

<i>

Somehow it made sense. Why you act and sound so mature, so grown, as if you're older than any of us. Why you look at the world with great loathing, and then longing, and how you are still awake 'til the next day or be the last to sleep between all of us. Why you wince at your apparent reflection and how you don't smile for the photos. Why you knew more, literally more, than mom and dad when it comes to future happenstance, may it be business, economics or health matters, as if you've predicted exactly everything. Why you look as if absorbing each human soul when you look at them, taking in every detail of being with great deal, great memory. Why you particularly love birds, especially Ravens. Why you cared less about yourself and more about everyone else that matter to you. Why you love keeping random things with you and giving them out after fixing them or cleaning them, and how each object oddly matches the receiver. Why you love to eat noodles and pastas the most. Why your caution and observation never failed to stay sharply on point, may it be towards danger or suspicious moments. And why you own an oddly large yet invisible birthmark on your neck. Everything explains you.</i>

<i>

No matter how much I know now, it doesn't change the way I see you. Wishing that I should have known all this earlier might be late, so I wish for something else instead. I wish that you achieve a fulfilling life that you wish, that you deserve, and that I could help to give that to you, however I can, even if it means doing it on my next life. And if you happen to show a different face in the next life, I wish that fate leads us to each other, or atleast me to you, so that I could fulfill my wish, even in the dark. </i>

<i>

I think you became my twin for a reason. I believe that our souls were brought to meet, to live from the same womb so that you won't ever be alone again. I like to believe that our fates are intertwined, from the day we were born and forward. You're my precious younger sister. Ten minutes was enough to determine that I'll protect and treasure you for the rest of my life. My lives. </i>

<i>

Maybe I'll reveal this to you one day, if you ever forget this existed. If not, I hope you trust and depend on me a bit more. I got your back, since day one, and I always will.</i>

<i>

Your firm flock,</i>

<i>Robin</i>

Wait..

<i>Robin</i>.

Wasn't that the name Rorim mentioned that night? Her twin. But he's dead. So.. has this been Rorim's the whole time? That guy who I bumped into stole it and left it in the bag? But why? What for? And why do the contents feel so real? So true? And why did the letter insinuate it that way? Is it just me?

"Hyde."

I turned around to Neil´s voice and watched his finger pointing to the door. As if my curiosity and wonder summoned the person in question, there, by the door, she stood. With her hand, she motioned me to come to her. I threw the notebook in my bag, making sure to hide it before her eyes catch it, and went to her.

"You called."

She scrunched her nose and walked ahead. "Follow me."

And I did, following behind her as I asked questions in my head. Did you get home safe? Did you remember everything from that night? Anything? Did you know that I was the one with you? That I carried you to your hotel and your room? Did the staff tell you that I was there? Did you remember that I was there? Did you atleast remember what we did? I almost forgot that I had been conscious of her until I realized it. No triggers, no heat, no desire and no whatsoever. Anymore.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom first?"

I blinked. "What?" We stopped by the outdoor cafeteria. I gulped down the expanding worry in my throat as I sat across her. What are we doing here?

"You look like you're constipated. I can wait for you here." She set her bag on the table and opened it, pulling out her laptop.

"No, I'm—" I shook my head, internally rebooting my brain. "What are we doing exactly?"

"Ms. Lee's activity? Don't worry I won't take too much of your time. I just need to get your opinion on some ideas, since we need to share the same brain cell next Monday."

"Right." I shifted and stood up, moving my seat next to her.

"What are you doing?" she stared at me, dubious as I settled down.

I looked at her then to the screen. "Paying attention."

"You could've just stayed there. Did you need to move here to 'pay attention'?"

<i>Would you rather I stare at you?</i>

"What?"

"<i>What?</i>" Did I speak that out loud?

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, proceeding to her laptop. Honestly, I forgot all about the activity until now and I had to act like I didn't. Trying to focus on the lecture while being overly conscious, and cautious, of having her next to me was quite an exhausting juggle, all by myself, in my head. This was the only time that my mind has calmed down and silenced, considering that I'm the one initiating to go near her first just now. Is it safe to say that I've been cured?

"Okay, aside from myths and folktales, what else are you interested or knowledgeable about?"

"Flowers."

"Okay."

"Past lives."

I watched her reaction in the corner of my eye but she looked just the same."What else?"

"Fixing things."

"That would be enough."

"Speaking of fixing things, do you think that Tinker Bell fell in love with Peter Pan by coincidence?"

It took a while before she answered my query, for the lack of construing context. "I don't think things happen by coincidence at all."

I see… "Do you know why she fell in love then?"

"No. Do I get something from knowing that?" she leaned forward, still not looking at me.

"No." I smirked, staring at the birthmark on her neck. "Tinker Bell likes to collect lost things, Peter Pan is the first lost boy. Peter believed in faeries and treated Tink normally. Tink existed because Peter believed, as childish and as immature as he is."

"Quite codependent then." She commented, finally turning to me. "Should we go with fixing things? I also have a knack for those."

I pursed my lips. "What else do you have in mind?"

Tilting her head, she picked on her finger. "Lost stuff, Birds, Death."

Birds and death, huh. "Not a fan of past lives?"

"I don't like dwelling in the past."

"How do you learn then?"

She bit her nail and spewed something out, on the space next to her. "I move forward."

I nodded, on her reply, to myself. No longer a past lives believer, <i>noted</i>. Maybe everything written there was just a made-up story. Fiction. There's no way she's actually traveled through different lives in different bodies, even when I believe in reincarnation. Robin's note must've been just a polite note for precautionary measures and to avoid ardent aftermaths. In retrospect, he seemed like a doting, devoted brother to her. What loss must he be to her…

Still, looking at her like this made me want to think deeper. I look to the sky as if expecting a sign from above to show itself to me. Minutes must've passed, no sign on sight. Just birds.

<i>Birds… </i>

With the strong beating of my heart, I focused my hearing on something else. The sound of the keys. The short chirps from the trees behind us. The soft murmurs from the rooms in each floor of the buildings. I held my breath like a silent prayer and opened my lips, eyes focused the fingers that pressed on the keyboard, the stiff sharp shoulders, and the eyes that glued to the screen.

"Raven."

Frozen, I didn't know what reaction to expect from her. But my eyes didn't leave her. And maybe if I wasn't paying enough attention, I would have missed and mistaken the palpable pause in her typing or the blink and blank stare or the twitch of the muscle from her back or the silent hitch on her breath as anything normal.

"What?"

"Raven." I pointed to the sky, slightly looking up while keeping my sight on her. "Or is it not?"

She glanced at me for a second then followed my finger. "That's a crow."

"What's the difference?" It may be an honest question, but I was more interested in her response. If she replied with her usual snarky, sarcasm of explaining how they differ, I would immediately brush my suspicions off. No more questions asked. So I waited.

But she said nothing. Two blinks from her and she continued on with typing. Ignored.

I looked at the crow again instead, and then the sky. And as I watched the clouds be swept by the wind in the sky, it became clear to me. I stood and stumbled, the truth shining before my eyes. My head wobbled, all the memories of my dreams coming back to me.

The girl who wished me happy birthday.

The woman under the blanket, driven on the stretcher to the ambulance.

The stranger who lied on the bed next to me.

She was all of them. They had been all her. Each entry I read about her life, I dreamed of her. As if I was there. How do I feel now? I feel astounded. And then sympathetic. But most of all, I feel horrible.

"Rorim."

"Hmm?"

"If you were to go somewhere right now, where would it be?"

Without ignoring her keyboard, she tilted her head. "Why?"

"Where?" <i>Please don't ignore me.</i>

I thought for a while that she'd keep ignoring me and do her thing. Until she gave a reply, "The beach?"

I stretched, warming up and collecting the courage to say the next words for fear of the aftermath. "Let's go there right now."

¨Right now?"

"Yeah." I counted the seconds with my fingers under my knuckle as I waited for her response.

"Okay." She finally spoke, closing her laptop and sliding them in her bag. I watched her walk ahead first before I followed and ran to her side.

I know, right at this moment that I can never get the answers to the long list of questions straight from her lips. I'll have to resort to other means instead. Even if it meant going through lengths I never reached, and places I never stepped into again, I will. <i>Like this.</i>