Chapter Two 
October 30th, 1920

"You know we have to do it."

"God, of course we have to do it, but it doesn't mean I want to," Margaret pleaded, her clammy hands in fists against her red, woolen, floor-length coat. "I can't have my entire life end so . . . suddenly."

He bit his lip, both hands frantically grabbing at his hair, eyes closed, deep breath. "Fine. Fine. Do you want to know what we're going to do?"

She sniffled. "What?"

"Just one day. One day, together, you and me. Then we'll do it. Alright?" he murmured, his slender fingers tugging at hers, squeezing her fingertips. She squeezed back.

Margaret looked up at him with wide eyes, a silent trail of tears rolling down her cheek. "Do you promise you're going to find me? That we're going to be okay when everything is over?"

His eyes were glossed over. It was like he was staring right through her.

"Jones?" she whispered.

His face was hollow and his voice sounded empty. "I promise."

🍁🍁🍁 

October 30th, 2016

"So, Margaret Levartemit," Jones speculated. "How would you like to go back to my place, and we can talk more about our . . . situation."

Margaret felt her eyes widen, her lips fall apart. "What?"

"Not to do anything else, y'know, just talking," he confirmed. "I promise."

"Fine," Margaret agreed, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "But just talking."

🍁🍁🍁

A hot cocoa sat in front of her, as well as Jones.

Her coat was folded on the chair next to her, and Neal Jones was tapping his forefingers on the wooden table. The same rhythm. One, two and three, four. One, two and three, four. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Silence. Slurp. One, two and three, four.

"Why was I crying?" she whispered. "Why were we together? And why was I kissing you? In the past ninety years, I haven't touched your lips with my lips once."

"I know, I know, I don't remember kissing you either. Well, up until a few hours, that is. I don't know, maybe it's a past life. Maybe it's a dream. I just . . ." he groaned. "Shit, I don't know. I don't know. Ninety years. That isn't normal."

She scoffed. "You're telling me."

A classic teal stereo nearly blended into the chipping wallpaper. The pattern was a floral collage of daisies and roses, climbing up the wall. Slowly peeling.

"Like the décor?" he questioned.

"It's cozy," she hummed. "Do you move around often?"

"About every few years," he responded. "It's difficult to explain to the people around me that I don't age. Better to just leave."

Margaret gulped, a shrew smile adorning her face. "It always is."

"Yet we always find each other. Every October thirtieth."

"It's nearly the thirty-first, though. We only ever see each other on the thirtieth. Will we see each other tomorrow? Or the next day? Or the day after that?"

He took a sip from his mug. "It's the thirtieth in another two hours; I say we wait it out and see what happens if we see each other on a day other than the thirtieth."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting you stay over for at least a few more hours. Just so we can end this ninety-year streak, see if we can get past just one day."

Margaret sighed deeply, her eyes almost rolling to the back of her head. "What would we be doing in that time?"

"I've got a few movies laying around. A deck of cards. A few board games. Popcorn. Whatever suits your fancy."

"I happen to like all three," she stated, her cheeks feeling flushed. "I guess if we break some sort of curse that's been hanging over our heads for ninety or so years, let's go for it."

🍁🍁🍁 

October 30th, 1920

The sky was a faded blue color, clouds resting on top of the square, burgundy-colored, brick buildings. There were massive street lamps looming over them and people bustling down the street. Women in oversized, colorful hats, some with small daisies attached to the side and men with baggy shirts, tight black pants, and suits. A street vendor with a loose white shirt and a pair of jeans was selling small children some ice cream out of a cart with big wooden wheels attached.

The trees were full of life, pink buds sprouting out of the branches, some of the flowers falling from the tree and drifting to the grassy path of land between the busy streets. As the couple headed closer to the center of the town, they saw a woman smoking, her back against the cold brick wall of a place that looked crowded with people, her short, black hair, dangling beads, overdone eyebrows, and bright lipstick set off a light bulb immediately.

"She's a flapper girl, isn't she?" Margaret whispered, astonished. "I never thought . . ."

"Let's go in," said Neal. "It'll be fun."

"Are you crazy?" Margaret hissed. "I don't think I can fit in with those girls."

"Wait here," he instructed, and ran out ahead of her. A few minutes later, and he comes back with a floppy, red hat. "Matches your coat."

She blushed. "Thank you."

He grinned at her and placed his hand on her back, guiding her inside of the building.

Once they were in, it was an entirely different atmosphere. Music so loud she couldn't hear her own thoughts, the buzz of different conversations becoming one sound, piano keys being bangs and trumpets blaring.

"Now for this next song, you may have heard of it," a soft, drawling voice murmured into the silver microphone. Margaret turned to face the voice, although many just continued chatting. A woman stood on a platform, her long, flowing, pink dress nearly hitting the ground, but not quite. A yellow, feathered scarf draped around her neck, her eyebrows drawn in. Her lips were small and thick, almost pursed-looking. She was elegant and glitzy, cream-colored gloves pulled up to her elbows, a feather in her short, curly hair. "Next up is Crazy Blues."

There were a few whoops, and she got right into it. Trumpet players surrounded her, and a pianist was clunking away at the keys. The sound was gritty and resonant, and people were dancing, swinging each other around, laughing, swaying.

Men were resting their elbows on the small, round tables, getting in close to talk to their girl. Some couples were daintily drinking sips from rounded glasses.

"Care for a dance?" Jones asked, holding out his hand for her to grab.

"I'd love one," Margaret responded, unbuttoning her red coat and resting it on a chair next to them. She had on a short, silver dress, the red hat still sideways on her head. The lights looked hazy. The song soon ended and was replaced by another. Her feet were sore.

Margaret found her head rested on Neal's chest, trotting back and forth, her black heels clicking with each step. Her right hand in his, her left on his waist, and they waltzed around the table with smiles on their faces.

"I don't want this to end, Jones," she uttered, biting her lip to stop it from quivering.

"I don't want it to end either, but you know what has to be done, Margaret," he professed, dipping her. "We have less than two hours to do it, okay? Let's not think about that. Let's just make the most of that time for now."

🍁🍁🍁

October 30th, 2016

"Don't mess up, don't mess up, don't mess up, don't mess up," Jones chanted as she slid the purple block out from the rectangular stack. "Damnit."

"That's not going to work on me, Jones," Margaret laughed, placing the block with the rest of them. He began to pull one out and the whole pile collapsed. "Jenga!

"Man, I suck at this game," he observed. "That's like the fourth time I've lost."

"I can agree with you on that," she taunted.

Jones glanced at the time. "There's less than two hours left in this day," he notified.

Margaret began to build the pile again. "What do you think is going to happen when we see each other on a day other than the thirtieth?"

He shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea."

"What movies do you have? We can watch one to kill some more time."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "I've got a whole stack of them in that corner. I've become a bit of a hoarder in the past few years."

"Oh, you have Star Wars? I remember seeing that in theaters," she said in awe, grabbing the disc and quickly pushing it into the slot. "C'mon."

She scooted over on his plush, brown couch and patted the cushion next to her. He gave her a small smile and sat down.

"Two hours to go."

🍁🍁🍁

October 30th, 1920

He was carrying her heels in his right hand and held her hand with his left. She was trudging barefoot down the sidewalk, knowing every step closer meant a step closer to the end. She was bundled in her red coat, a chilly breeze whipping around her bare neck and her puffy cheeks.

The built up tears in her eyes had started to overflow, and they dripped onto her coat collar. She was holding onto his hand a little too tight, but she assumed he didn't mind, given their circumstances.

They found their way back to the little nook in the forest, the stars above twinkling brighter than she'd ever seen.

Jones rummaged through the tent and pulled out the two small bottles, handing one to her. "Ten minutes left."

"I know we have to do this, but can we please wait a little longer? One week. Or even just a few days? Please, Neal, please. We don't have to go through with this now."

"Margaret," he mumbled, holding onto her shoulders with his broad hands. "Look at me."

Her eyes were glistening and her jaw was quaking. "I can't."

"Margaret, please," he insisted, dropping the heels and holding her cold, wet cheek in his hand. He gave her a grim smile. "It's going to be alright."

Her eyes were searching his face, from his rough whiskers traveling along his jawline and above his lip to his crinkling, soft green eyes. His thick eyebrows were knotted together, looking both concerned and solemn, somehow. His lips were quivering, as well. Jones had a few hidden wrinkles on his forehead underneath where a few strands of his hair like silk rested.

"I don't want to lose you," Margaret stammered, her whole body shaking. "I can't lose you."

It was like a chain reaction; once her tears began streaming out of the corner of her eyes like a leaky pipe, Neal's eyes began to do the same. The tears would travel down the bridge of his nose and the side of his cheek and disappear.

His arms snaked below her armpits and he grabbed her like he'd never let go. She almost laughed at the reality of that. Almost.

"Four — four minutes," she choked out. He just held on tighter, his hand moving from her hair, the back of her head, her cheek, the small of her back, like he was trying to memorize her shape, her body.

"I love you," he gasped, resting his wrinkled forehead on hers.

"I love you too, Jones," she sobbed, her lips connecting with his. It tasted like salt and desperation.

"Two minutes," he mumbled, his lips still attached to hers.

Margaret sucked in a deep breath, her lips no longer on his. "If — if we're going to do this, we have to do it now."

He nodded, tears still dripping from the tip of his nose. "One minute."

Margaret placed the bottle to her lips and closed her eyes, blinking away the tears. "Find me. After all of this, alright? Somehow, someway, I know we'll be together again."

"I will," he responded in a shaky voice.

"Jones, please," she pleaded, her eyes opened once more, staring directly into his. "I need you to promise. I know nothing is certain, I know you can't control it, I just . . . I need this. Jones, please."

"I promise," he assured her, tears streaming across his lips pulled tight into a fake smile.

Margaret tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and felt the cold liquid flow down her throat.

🍁🍁🍁

October 30th, 2016

"One minute," Jones stated, his eyes glued to the clock hanging crooked on the wall.

"Thirty seconds," Margaret whispered, subconsciously grabbing hold of his hand. She had no idea what was going to happen. Probably nothing, but this was the first time she'd see him on a day other than October thirtieth. It was going to be something new. Something different.

"Ten," he murmured, squeezing her hand a little.

"Nine," she said, glancing at him. His green eyes were widened, his jaw slightly ajar as he concentrated on the clock.

"Eight," he countered.

"Seven." They went back and forth. Back and forth.

"Six." Tapping. Fingers on the plush cushion.

"Five." One, two and three, four. One, two and three, four. Tapping. Tapping.

"Four." She was nervous. No longer excited.

"Three." They had been kissing in his memory, dream, whatever it was he saw that from.

"Two." Over ninety years of being together briefly for just one day. They were breaking the streak. The curse. Whatever had been going on for the past few decades. One, two and three, four.

"One."

a/n

SO HOW WAS THAT. i feel much better with this chapter than i did the last.  i'm so excited, what did you think of this chapter?  what are your predictions, how do you like jones and margaret, what about their past????? AHHHH

this was just over two thousand words and i feel so accomplished.  i entered this in nanowrimo and wattpad's #justwriteit, but idk if i'm gonna accomplish any of that.  once can hope.

i started a writing club at my school and i'm so nervous for it, i hope the turnout is good.  wish me luck.

how about the election tuesday? [ k i l l m y s e l f ]

so i ordered a copy of A Note A Day, my other book, on this self publishing website just for my own personal use to help me with editing.  i'm nervous to see how it looks.  i'll keep you posted.  i have to cut it down to 40k words. ready to kms.  also, did not win a wattys.  i am kinda upset, but i was kinda expecting it 

anyways, comment and vote if you liked it, share with your friends, and send me your favorite quote in this chapter through twitter! i'll rt all of them, my username is sophieclaflin :-)

dedication goes to NegativeWriter26 who's always been so supportive and she left a great comment on the last chapter! thanks friend! 

dedication the next chapter goes to the best prediction i hear . . . lets see if anyone has any idea of what's going on ;-)

GOALS:

500 reads in total
30 votes
53 comments