Darlene

HIS HAND HELD THE BOOK'S spine. Fingers splayed out against the hardback. His veins were pronounced, his olive tone showcased nicely against the dark brown cover with golden ivy vine spirals decorating the edges. Deep indentations were carved into the back of Malachi's hand. Scar tissue that hardened on top of the others from repeated injuries. The scars were fairer and in straight lines. During social gatherings like dances and afternoon picnics on the estate, his black leather gloves coated the truth. He left his prized gloves on his dresser. His knuckles grazed the gilded pages in preparation to turn.

He was reading in his bedchamber. It was unusual. I've never witnessed this calm domestic scene before. I frowned.

What was this about?

I was laying on my belly on the living room's carpet.

Today's work was overloaded on my shoulders. Too many co-workers needed help with their individual projects. Too many cutting close deadlines that were pressed on me. My heart said, "Those are not my deadlines," but my mind said, "As a team, it is also my deadline." Throughout the day, I tried to take a bite of my ham sandwich, but my teeth didn't get to sink down into the goodness without someone's hand slipping on my office's wall. "Darlene, could you look over my email when you get a second?" Questions followed up with additional inquiries. I scheduled my projects ahead, staying right on target. I needed to complete my steps, but instead my mouth said, "Yes, I will help," before my heart told me, "No."

I dropped my purse on the couch when I arrived home. That wasn't the only thing I dropped. That was how I got on the floor.

My jacket's sleeve rolled back down on my forearm. There was a cream thread that tapered off at the end every time I twisted the thread and cut off.

Warmth wrapped around my belly, arms, and legs. I breathed in and out. My breath hit the carpet and ricocheted on my cheeks. My nose was warm. My heartbeat sounded louder with my body weighed down. My notebook was open with the pages standing up in a fan-like position. My pencil stayed in my hand. Turning my head, I glanced down at my right hand. There were no scars on my knuckles. The blue veins under my light beige complexion. Short and jagged nails screamed what was happening in my heart. Thick wrist that held pressure, knuckles cracked and swollen from being overused and needed lotion. Then again, I was the monster who followed the story behind Malachi's hands.

I puffed another harsh exhale.

Why am I comparing my hand to his?

This was the first time describing his hand features. The thoughts poured into my mind. I couldn't look away. How odd. This was what came from the narrative.

Darlene.

Malachi seemed to straighten up from his sitting position. Where he was reading was not in his bed, but was instead a chair. The chair didn't belong in his bedchamber. The chair's arms and legs were carved into a cloud, reaching out and yet like an ocean wave, curled into intricate lines. The frame itself was sturdy but it was hidden underneath the Creation. The cherry wood gave the dark feature like a thunderstorm about to pour and unleash lightning.

I observed too much of the regal throne room chair to take notice of his attire.

How do you fair?

Odd.

I ignored his question. For what would the writer say? He could not hear me.

Pushing aside my overgrown bangs, I rubbed my eyelids. The pressure behind my skull thumped louder than my heart beat. The pencil lay in between my thumb and index finger.

"You do not look well," Malachi commented. His baritone voice was heavier than before.

This was beyond what I'd ever dreamed of. It must be the headache.

The chair got pushed back on the marble floor. The sheer quickness made me jump. Pulling myself from my lying down position, I moved to sit. The harsh noise screeched and made my ears ring.

Malachi looked up at me.

His dark eyes that matched his navy raven hair stared into mine. Within his irises, I saw constellations. If one looked long enough, the galaxies danced within his eyes as if he had swallowed the whole universe in one moment. All the starlight glittered silently and unaware unless one knew where to look. Oh, wow. How could I not see his beauty before? The navy swirls within his irises with those flakes. No one human in the real world could have eyes like those. It was a fantasy. It was unthinkable, and yet I knew humans could see similar characteristics even in our own world.

His hair seemed lighter in the comparison of the galaxies in his eyes.

"This is unacceptable, who has neglected you?" he declared.

Me, myself, and I.

"I'm fine," I spoke out loud. Good thing Lucy wasn't home. She had a late Yoga class after work. Wait, why did I answer him? Perhaps, I need to arrange another session with my therapist.

I crawled over to the notebook. Between my shoulders, the aching increased.

He tilted head with his blank expression. His right hand placed the book down, closing the pages to its proper placement, on the cedar chest. His mother's chest that held his most treasured possession, although he'd never admit it to anyone. With his same hand, he ran his fingers through his hair. The soft strands landed back down on his scalp. His nostrils flared. His chest took a deep breath.

The snowflake particles floated in his vicinity. I observed how he barely opened his mouth to taste the magic. His irises captured plum and rose-gold flakes within his indigo galaxies. As quickly as the colors altered within his eyes, he spoke, "Heal."

The aching dissipated for a moment. I blinked. No, it was my imagination. It had to be. I shook my head. He couldn't use his Gift on me. He took and never gave someone a relief. It was his brother who healed, not Malachi.

Why did he try to heal me?

Fascinating.

That one word made me swallow.

He met my gaze. His silence overwhelmed me. Moving his hands behind his back, he stood looking up at me. Why was he looking up? The fact he was even meeting my eyes. This was -

"It seems you're feeling better." A tiny smile threatened to appear on his lips.

The pressure behind my eyes was gone. The top of my head seemed to relax from the straining. But that made no sense. It had to be all in my mind, after all, he was nothing but a character.

"I was fine before," I replied, pushing off the fact I was in pain.

Malachi laughed. He kept his hands behind his back, making his shoulders straight and his back in an upright position.

This was the first time I noticed his attire. He had abandoned his normal sleep outfit. Instead he wore his military uniform. The fabric was dyed maroon from the insects living in the eastern regions of Thrive. In the middle, there was additional clothing to protect his heart; indigo dye depicted galaxies from the shellfish living in the rivers along his collarbone, torso, and thighs. On the right, a rectangular spot was open for medals and achievements, which I knew he would soon possess. Silver matted would usually cover his arms, but those were for battle.

The details were prominent. I needed to write this down. Scooting closer to my notebook, I held onto the pencil and wrote what I observed.

"What are you writing?" Malachi got closer to me. How could he be closer? He was in my mind. Somehow I saw him gazing up at me.

"Observations." It was better to keep my replies short. I was talking to myself. It wasn't like he was here with me.

My hand pressed harder on the pages. Wrist rubbed on the edges, trying to hold down the right page with my forearm. The smell of the pencil's lead helped me to stay in the zone.

"What do you see?"

His whisper moved my hair near my right ear. Shivers etched on my neck.

You.

What was happening? My heartbeat increased as I ignored the physical evidence of my body. But even things of the mind could cause a physical response. Yeah. That had to be it. The reason why goosebumps rose up on my skin. Malachi couldn't breathe on me. He had no breath.

I looked at him, turning from the words I wrote. He stood in front of me. He was no longer down below. The galaxy's irises were an artist's canvas. There was no boundary. No sharp edges to know where the galaxy ended. I lived within those starlights. All the constellations swirled in themselves.

"Starlight," I answered him.

He met my gaze with his. The plum and rose-gold flakes heightened, changing the empty space between the stars.

"What did you say?" He had a stoic face.

You heard what I said.

I didn't want to repeat, but his stare held a plea.

"Starlight," I echoed.

His elbow reached over into my space. Those hands traced my forearm but never touched. The hands I had been staring at for too long. The scars were illuminated in the moonlight.

Just once . . . all I need to do is touch her sleeve. No. Touch her shirt's string.

Those thoughts were powerful. Those thoughts were not my thoughts. I took a deep breath in.

Her string. That's all. Then I'll know if she is real.

Real? I was real.

An invisible tung weighed on my jacket's string. It reminded me of the ocean's waves but being underneath the water, the pull and push momentum touched but not direct contact. His pinkie wrapped around the cream thread. His finger was longer than the string. His warmth emanated; his warmth reached my hand.

"Soft," he mumbled as if to himself.

I lost my breath.

Leaning forward, I blinked at him. How could you touching -

Then I imagined being by his side. Stepping into his bedchamber, walking the corridors of his castle, eating the lushious crispy crystal apples, my fingers lightly feathered on his cheekbones -

The tug pulled me down. Down, down, down. The gate had been lifted and allowed me in. In where?

I crashed onto the floor. Hard and smooth. Heat covered my whole face and yet the floor was ice cold. "What the-" I screamed. My voice was muffled from the surface.

"Darlene."

No. This couldn't be happening.

There Malachi crouched down to look at me. He was here. I was here.

"How?" I questioned myself.

I could only imagine.