31 | White Chocolate

It hadn't been over that day.

Jackson had had other plans after we lounged in his bedroom from morning to the afternoon. In the eighteen years of my life I'd never thought I'd experience the traditional thing in dates where the boy surprises the girl with a secret destination. I'd be happy if it wasn't something corny – an exorcism site with a pentagram should be nice.

Anyway, I had been thinking about that day a lot lately. His words would replay in my head over and over. They were nothing meaningful. But they seemed to have a huge effect on me.

So it went like this:

"Jackson, I thought you're taking me home," in the car, I looked at Jackson, who was focused on the road stretching in front of us. The view was deserted, so I was getting ideas about it.

"You'll see. We'll take a stop before you go home." He didn't spare me a glance. Both hands clenched over the steering wheel, he had this look of determination across his face.

I knew exactly what this would end up in.

Murder.

How fun.

"I suggest you wear gloves while you're at it, and keep stray hairs away from the crime scene," I rattled on idiotically, "If you have a different perfume around here, you wear it. And try not to get too much blood spilt – it gets too messy and God knows how you men have no idea cleaning up that much blood – "

"Wait, what?" I felt the car slow down the bit. "Sweets, what are you saying? You think I'm going to kill you?"

"Aren't you?" I shrugged, "It's a place without people. No witnesses . . . perfect place for a crime scene. But in my opinion, there are other smarter techniques on getting rid of girlfriends. Clever ones get to commit a murder in a crowded place and pass it off as suicide."

Jackson still wasn't looking at me. But his eyebrows rose and I didn't know if he was amazed or appalled by it. "I don't know which is scarier," he shook his head, "You knowing a lot about murder or you not caring if I kill you."

"Jackson, I was already killed a long time ago. Outside pain doesn't compare to inside pain. The fandoms . . . oh, they took it all."

"Don't creep me out, sweets."

I watched out at the stretching land to our side. This was away from the urban scenery, somewhere more remote but not really in the middle of nowhere. The sun was sinking and it was painting the sky with rosy colors. It reminded me of blood.

"But really. Where are we going?" I tentatively put my hand over his. He squeezed it once and let go.

Okay, jackass, it doesn't mean I'm sort of a sociopath that I'm completely blocking out all emotions. That hurt.

I was nervous that if I tried to kiss him, he'd lean back.

So I opted to just lean my head against the window. Jackson was going faster, and I was still clueless about our destination. It should be worthwhile, or I swear I was going to leave him there and walk all the way to the shop.

Jackson didn't need to put much effort into it, with me as his girlfriend. All I asked was his body heat, his hoodies, food and a fellow fan and that was it. No need for picnic dates (bugs from hell) or romantic cruises (hello, Titanic). But this one was ticking me off, bothering me.

"It'll be good for you," he assured. I remained wordless, staring off at the unfamiliar surroundings.

It didn't take long for us to reach our stop. And when we did, I stared at it with a blank expression, waiting for some kind of additional surprise to pop out. But when Jackson helped me out of the car and guided me towards it, I realized that this was it and nothing else.

I didn't know what I was expecting.

He literally took me to a gas station.

"Do you like it?" Jackson's breath tickled my ear as he hugged me from the side. No kidding. It was a gas station, with a fully functioning convenience store. Though there weren't much people except for us and the workers.

So what was I supposed to say? That this was the most romantic thing anyone's ever done to me?

We walked closer to the area and I gave my reply, "I probably won't like it when you have that knife against my throat."

I looked at him. Face unreadable. He leaned in to kiss me, but I pushed his face away. "Sweets, I'm not here to murder you," he murmured, my palm covering his face.

"That's what a murderer would say," I frowned.

"Okay, okay, fine so you need an explanation." He took both my hands and led to the edge of the place, where there was a railing overlooking to nothing but trees, trees and trees. No breathtaking view in sight.

I tore my eyes away from the endless green and looked at Jackson. He pressed both palms on each of my cheeks and moved my head side to side. "You know how my parents had their 69th date in a portable po – "

"Yes, I know, but that doesn't mean I want to do the same – "

He shushed me, smiling. Who did he think he was? Smartass. "No, it's not that. You know what happened after that date? Dad was trying to drive Mom away that way – he was getting too attached. But Mom didn't hold back. After that horrible date, she liked him even more – loved him even more."

"I'm bringing you here to show you how important you are," he told me, "That it doesn't matter where we are, how things are. Because you're here with me. You can make anything special. If I were alone here, it might be the worst experience ever, but if you're here, I won't mind at all."

I arched an eyebrow, "That's it?"

He blinked, as if hit out of a daze, "What – what . . . yes, that's it! We can do anything here – talk, sit, kiss, mess around in the store, mock the cars passing by. Anything."

I pursed my lips, unimpressed. I just needed to go home. I left my phone in the car and Mom might slap Jackson for taking me here.

I put one hand on the railing. Goodbye, world. It's either I get killed or I kill him first.

Jackson was beginning to freak out. He threaded his hands through his hair, "Crap, shoot, I didn't mean – I'm sorry, Ollie. I thought maybe we could have a moment here. Shoot – I knew I should've taken you to McDonald's instead."

He grunted, "I messed up."

I stepped forward and stopped him, grabbing his torso and pulling him close to me. Ah, body warmth. Slowly, I pushed his head closer to mine . . .

"Ollie, I'm hungry. Where's my food?" Brennan said suddenly from the kitchen counter. How long had he been in there?

I snapped out of my reverie – the memory of the date – and shot Brennan a death look. He had a plate in front of him, waiting for the burgers he requested from me. He looked back at me innocently and I just realized the patties were nearing burnt level and the buns were ready.

And I was holding a strainer; I didn't know why.

"Does Jackson get date ideas from you?" I wondered aloud, scooping up the food and placing them together neatly as a burger.

Squeeze ketchup. Squeeze mustard. Squeeze some more.

"No, why? Where did he take you?" Brennan asked as I delivered the food to him. He took a long whiff and dug in hungrily.

"Here and there," I answered vaguely, "What about you? Where would you take your dream girl?"

"You know, the usual – date on a boat, theater shows, the beach. I actually got this list in my head. Want me to give my brother pointers?" Brennan tapped at his head.

"Oh, no thanks." At least Brennan knew to use his money.

"Wait," I stood up straighter, "Where's Jackson anyway? Still in school? I haven't seen him all afternoon"

"Study room. He has this project to work on, looks like. He put a 'do not disturb' sign on his door," Brennan pondered, "Or maybe he's jacking off."

He suddenly laughed, "Jackson! Jack off, oh God. Get it? Get it?"

I ignored that pun, "What project is he working on? Did he say?"

"It's for school, obviously," Brennan munched on his burger, "Why don't you go find out?"

"But the sign says do not disturb!" I hissed.

"Whether he's studying or shooting a load, he'll still want you there," said Brennan, "Now, go on. Scurry off." He took his plate and glass with him and retreated to the living room, where he'd be watching TV.

Sighing, I took Jackson's snack and hiked upstairs. He mentioned the study room once before – when his bedroom refused to be comfortable while working on anything, he went to the study room, a place more suitable. I relied on my best memory about the location of the door.

Sure enough, there was a huge sign on the door, mainly designed to keep Brennan out. I merely stood in front of the door, debating whether to enter or not.

Our 'date' back at the gas station? Memorable.

We didn't leave right away. Despite my vacant expressions, we stayed and talked and became ourselves. So it continued on like this:

"I told you it's in the essence. It's abstract, sweets, you just have to see how beautiful this is in the inside," Jackson held my hand lightly. We sat with our backs against the railing, leaning to each other.

"I think I'll have a hard time imagining that when this station smells like piss," I said, "And spilt drinks."

"Damn it, will you focus on us for one second?" his lips grazed my cheek.

"Okay . . ." I prolonged the syllable, "So when's the part you're going to murder me?"

"I'm not going to!" he exclaimed exasperatedly. I chuckled inwardly.

"But you know," I fiddled with my fingers. Dirt caked the tip of my nails. "There's another possible scenario in this type of place other than murder. Something better or worse, depends on you."

"What?"

I straightforwardly blurted out, "Sex."

"Wh – what?"

"See this. Isn't it better to do the thing in an empty place instead of the fitting rooms in the mall? I mean, look at this place. Spots for humping, no one will judge you, and afterwards you can both enjoy a nice slush," I explained.

"H – how," he stammered "H – how can y – you say that with a . . . with a straight face?"

"I read smut with a straight face. Get over it."

"B – but – "

I faced him, staring at him pointedly. I flicked away the pebble I was playing with and gripped his hand. "Let me get this straight. I'm the virgin around here, and you're the one with experience. How come you get ashamed whenever I bring up something dirty?"

He grumbled under his breath and covered his eyes with his palm. "You're so open about it, but I don't think about it that way. Sex is a beautiful thing, and insanely pleasurable once you're with the right person. I talk about it and react towards it correctly at right time and the right place."

"Right time, right place," I mocked, "Anytime can be sexy time."

"Sweets . . ."

"Okay fine," I graced his lips with one quick kiss, "You know what I really think about the deed? It makes me nervous. I mean, it's a big step in your life and your v-card isn't something to take back. So yeah . . ."

"Do you think of giving it up to me?" he said it lowly.

I replied softly, "I don't know. I'm not sure. What size are you again?"

He nudged me back, "Ollie!"

I shook myself back to reality. We had talked freely to sundown, until it went dark. Then, we hit the road and grabbed dinner from the nearest Taco Bell. He took me home and used his inevitable charms to assure Mom that I hadn't done anything stupid and we were safe.

I couldn't help but mentally admit that he had been right that day. The place didn't matter; as long as we were with each other. But really, if I were alone at that gas station, I would've found a way to entertain myself.

I knocked once, twice, thrice, on the door. But I didn't wait for his permission to enter. I twisted the knob, surprised that it wasn't locked. I opened it to see that the room was dark and Jackson was sitting by the table at the side of the place.

He was working on a diorama, it looked like, but I didn't know what of. Acewell projects were crazy, but I knew most of the students would wing it. Jackson meanwhile, looked like in deep concentration.

I gasped audibly. Chocolate cakes, vanilla butter, he was wearing glasses!

He glanced my way before returning to his work by the lamplight. "Hey," he said. I noticed the stress lines on his face; his hands were slightly shaky. How long has he been working on this.

"Um," I contemplated on turning on the light. Then, I closed the door behind me and walked up to the table, putting down the plate. "I brought this for you in case you're hungry."

No response. After kissing the side of his head for encouragement, I went to the tiny but comfy bed in the room and sat down.

"So how long until you finish?" I tried to ask nonchalantly. There was this thing about him that I couldn't place. He wasn't particularly angry at me, but I could tell he didn't want me here.

Still no response.

I blew out a breath and tried again, "I'm going to borrow your laptop later and hack your Tumblr. You want to join me? When will you finish?"

"Maybe later . . . or tomorrow," he mumbled distractedly.

"Jackson you know you can talk to me, right? Just tell me what I can do to help," I carefully chose my words.

"What about leave?" he snapped.

"Talk to me properly, young man."

Stress and worry was bubbling off him and he looked just about as messed up as school can get him to be.

"Can't. I already did that three days ago. I took you on a date, remember?" He stopped and swiveled his chair to face me.

Yes, you took me to a gas station, I wanted to retort.

"You know you can do that another time," I told him.

"No, I really can't," Jackson rubbed his face. I felt like the air was choking me. "I really can't because you've had me for the week and I've been lagging out on this project and all the other homework I haven't done because of you. At least you can stop being annoying and leave me alone for a while."

I frowned, "Fine, you have to do schoolwork, that's fine with me. But at least tell me properly that you need space, not burst out like that. I'm not a child – I understand and I just want to help right now."

I put my hands gently at either side of his face. But he held them down and averted his gaze.

He twisted again, turning his back on me and getting back to his tedious task, "No, you are like a child. And you can't help on this one. Unlike you, I actually care about graduating and I thought that maybe you can respect that –"

"I do care about school and graduating!" I defended, "No one's begging you to be perfect, jackass, so don't stress yourself out too much. You're pushing too hard; why don't you relax from time to time?"

I almost flinched when he raised his voice up a volume, "Since I started dating you, I've been relaxing and lazing around with you and the laptop. Now, give me a chance to actually do something productive – "

I cut him off, "You don't have to be such an ass about it – "

"Of course I have to say something now to get you off my back – "

" – if you didn't want me as your 'experimental' girlfriend, then why did you ask me in the first place – "

" – Because I wanted to but you have to watch the balance of the relationship – "

" – I know, but it isn't like that!" I crossed my arms, "It doesn't mean it's one part mushy and lovey dovey and one part 'productive' and serious! It's not an on and off switch, because we can act like a real couple while doing our responsibilities!"

"Leave!" he yelled, and I had to hold my breath. "Just leave! Now's not the time."

"You don't get it, do you?" I refused to waste my voice on an argument. So softly, I said, "Part of me being with you means I help you get through your stressful nights. I ease the pressure of what school is demanding you to be. Please let me help."

"And you don't get it," he told me, "I care about you and all, but you'll mess this up. Let me finish this because tomorrow is the deadline."

I slouched on my seat. That was nerve-racking. I was afraid that if I'd press on, he'd physically push me out of the door, demanding for a breakup. My chest contracted at the shouts ringing in my mind. I always steered clear of verbal fights because it all took me back to one memory: my parents' divorce.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I decided it was better to hold back than to continue this. I stood up and headed up to the door. But twisting the knob, I saw that it was locked.

What the hell? Locked from the outside? How was that possible?

So I was locked inside and I just had a fight with Jackson.

Awkward.

When I decided looking through the miniscule gap was pointless, I tried to pull and push at it. How could a door be locked from the outside? A suspect popped into my mind. There was only one person who did this.

"This is a therapy box for you both," Brennan sang from the other side. I resisted the urge to kick the door. "No one's getting out until you both make up and make out. Windows are grilled and screened, this door is locked and the walls are cement."

"Why?" I whispered, hoping Jackson wasn't hearing anything.

"Why?" Brennan laughed, "Because you just had your couple fight and you need to fix things. That's why. It saves you the trouble, you see. When you get down and dirty in there, no one's going to enter and cockblock."

"Brennan. What did you do with the door?" I hissed.

"I don't know." I imagined him shrugging. "I did it accidentally a few times to my bedroom and no one can open it from the inside and outside. I thought maybe I can do it again on here."

You are so dead.

"So what are you going to do?" he teased, "I'm all the way here and you're there, so no problem. No if you'll excuse me, I'll be ordering pizza downstairs –"

"Maira and I are going to kill you, you understand? Hope you're not allergic to nuts because I'm going to kick yours all the way up your throat. You hear me? You're a dead man, Brennan Dale, so dead that Dean Winchester will be laughing at your ass because you can't reincarnate from the dead! You – "

I stopped in my words when I heard footsteps and laughter going fainter and fainter. That bastard!

So I was here, trapped with moody Jackson and there was the potential situation that Brennan will wreck the house, all left alone. Maira and Walter were away, and I had no idea when they'll be coming back.

I sank down with my back against the door. Then, I raised my eyes up to Jackson, who made no hint that he knew what was going on. I wondered what he was thinking. But I bit my tongue to keep myself from talking – it would only make things worse.

And my phone! Cakes, my phone. All left in my bag downstairs in the kitchen.

It was not my fault my pants today had microscopic pockets.

Maybe Jackson had his phone with him. But my rage for Brennan didn't overpower my anxiousness towards Jackson. I was scared to ask him for it so I just sat there, legs spread out in front of me.

I didn't know how long I was aggressively napping. But when I woke up, Jackson was still sucked into his world of dioramas and Maira's voice was on the other side of the door.

"Ollie? Oliver are you there?" her panicked tone sent me pressing my ear against the door.

"Yeah, yeah. Still alive, here."

"Thank God," she sighed out in relief, "Look, we can't open the door and Brennan can't fix this, but Walter's getting some tools, okay? You'll be out in no time – Brennan used to do this all the time."

"But Mom, you can't let them out!" I heard Brennan whine.

The sound of smacking. Ha, good for him. "You stay put – you've already done enough," Maira scolded, "What's taking Walter so long anyway?"

"Don't worry, take your time," I said reluctantly. No, don't take your time. I didn't want to be stuck here. Not with Jackson.

"Are you alright? Is Jackson there with you?"

"Yeah, uh – he's uh," I swallowed, "He's working on a school project. Haven't said anything in a while."

"Just hold on there. I'm going to look for Walter. What's taking him so long?" And then like that, Maira was out.

I banged my head lightly on the door. I thought about our little row. This happened normally, didn't it? Fights? To keep the relationship healthy? The overwhelming silence and deathly tension was all part of it.

And it will pass . . . sometime. And it would return back to normal. It's supposed to be a cycle like that. But I felt stabbing on me, putting my mind into it. I was arguing with him and although I see that he was at fault, I was still hiding things from him. Things I couldn't bring myself to say because it would hurt him.

Hypocrite, Ollie. That's what you are. A hypocrite.

I'd been so enraged when I was lied to by Mitch yet here I was, letting Jackson living a false dream. And when he'd get slapped by the truth, it'd hurt him the most.

"Ollie," Brennan's voice chimed in suddenly. "Oh, Ollie."

"What?" I grumbled.

"I have food here. White chocolate. It's so good, I tell you. It's so white you can almost taste the freedom and Starbucks in it. It's good!"

My stomach barked at the treat. I was hungry, and Brennan wasn't making it any better. "You want me to push a piece through the door?" he offered playfully.

"No, thank you."

Footsteps. Maira was back. And it was getting darker in here – I haven't summoned the guts to turn on the lights.

"I thought you were getting a screwdriver!" Maira said, to Walter probably. "And what is that in your hand? Would you like to tell me?"

"A hammer," I heard Walter say.

"No, on your other hand."

"A shovel!" Walter said, "But I can't find any screwdrivers. They went missing!"

"Oh, and what are you going to do with that shovel? Dig them out of there? How helpful – wait . . ." Maira trailed off. Like she realized something.

Then she screeched, "Brennan Brutus! Where are the screwdrivers!"

"I told you, you shouldn't meddle with this. They're in their therapy box and they need to make up first," explained Brennan.

"But who's going to cook dinner?" Walter complained.

"Brennan!" Maira yelled, "You get the screwdrivers right now! Or else you're grounded, and you don't get to eat dessert for a month. I'm not playing around! Where are the screwdrivers?"

"Screw you!"

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Brennan squeaked, "Okay! Okay! Mom, please. I'll get them."

I didn't hear anything through the door anymore after that. So guessed they were in their way to get the tool to get us out of here. But Jackson didn't seem to care that we were trapped in here.

I pressed myself more into the door.

Then, they started getting us out. Maira warned me to stay away from the door for a while so I did. I lied on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. I didn't know what they were doing to the door, but it was causing quite a racket.

As if my feet were possessed, they carried me to Jackson's desk. Not a glance at me. That was okay. Kind of.

"Look, I don't want to fight anymore, and I'll gladly leave you when that door opens." It was difficult to let those words out.

He seemed to be listening because his hands went slower. But he still wasn't looking at me. "I just want to say that even though Brennan's therapy box plan backfired, I still want to apologize. I haven't really cared about school that much, because that isn't the norm at Clevemore."

"That fight didn't last for hours, but the silence after that did – to me, at least. I don't know what it's doing to me, but it doesn't feel good. Just thought you want to know. Also, those things you said have more impact on me than you think."

I put a hand on his shoulder, and when I opened my mouth I found that I had no more to say. Instead, I kissed his head, hoping that could tell him everything.

I backed away a few steps. And that was when he spoke.

"You're not taking this seriously. But you don't seem to care, so by all means, go on and run off with your boyfriends – fictional or celebrity," he muttered.

Before I could say anything, the door opened wide. Maira took both Walter and Brennan by their arms and told me to follow as soon as possible. Glimpsing at Jackson, I walked slowly to the battered doorway.

But before I could completely walk away from the room, I held a hand against the doorframe and looked back at him. No staring back at me, just all eyes for his project.

"Jackson," I said. To my mild shock, he looked at my general direction. Finally. I continued, "I don't have boyfriends."

I held my breath. One. Two. Three.

"I only have one."

And when I left, there were no footsteps that were chasing, no follow-up remark, no anything. I knew he wasn't following anytime soon.

Cakes, I was going to miss his lips for a while.

♫ ♫ ♫