Then, like an angel sent from above, Cleo happened.
And I have no idea what to do about it. About her.
Her lips are even softer than I imagined they’d be.
Her touch is softer, too.
When she tangled her hands into my hair and rode me into oblivion earlier, I lost my mind. True euphoria like I’d never known entered my system, and we were only dry humping for heaven’s sake.
When I leaned in to kiss her, I fully expected to be outrightly rejected. Pitiful, I know, but at the time, nothing mattered more than knowing what her lips tasted like. I never imagined she’d press her lips against mine like that.
The lines we drew prior to that moment couldn’t mean less to me now.
I need time to figure out my feelings. It’s interesting—before death, I loved solving problems. This passion proved especially helpful when working on cars. I worked on all sorts of vehicles—everything from carburetors to fuel-injected, including some hybrids thrown into the mix. Several buddies of mine would call me up when their cars broke down, and we’d fix them together. I kind of have a knack for figuring out those types of things. When life got too heavy, I’d work on my project car. It was a solid distraction.
My point is, I don’t usually have a hard time figuring people out, either, but this particular individual is something else. Hell, my old students would probably laugh their asses off at how many home runs this girl has scored on my watch. So, I can’t face her yet—I’ve got to get a grip on my emotions before I do something I regret. I’ll stay down here for a bit longer to get my shit together, then I’ll teleport back up there in a jiffy. They won’t even notice I’m gone. Last time I snuck down here, the Archangels didn’t seem to bat an eye. Cleo will be okay up there for the day or so I’m gone.
I set my mind on the only place I can think of where a person, especially an angel, could hide in plain sight without being noticed.
I’ve been down here for not even a full day, and although I’m convinced I haven’t even ventured through half of this enormous city quite yet, I can confidently say this is my favorite spot I’ve explored.
People all around me are walking their dogs. Some are doing their morning jogs, others are doing yoga. From where I’m sitting, I have a fantastic view of an ice-skating rink—only a couple of people are taking advantage of the ice at the moment, which isn’t surprising given how early it is in the day. Central Park is massive.
I’ll admit, I've exercised soulsight a handful of times while down here. It’s been a while since I exercised it—most of the angels up there have strong mental shields in place to keep others out. Cleo’s mind blocks are robust—the strongest I’ve ever encountered.
Last night, I visited an antique shop downtown just to make me feel something. The shop was swarming with people but lacked Aged Emporium’s charm. I grew fond of Jasper’s family business in the Cove. It’s hard to find something that compares. This shop wasn’t so bad, though. I think I’d like to revisit it, actually.
I stand from the bench and take a moment to appreciate the beams of sunlight shining down on me. Rare for New York City to see this much sunshine on a cold winter day like this. It’s like thesun is making a special guest appearance just for me. I’m here for it.
Walking toward 6th Avenue at a steady pace, I take in my surroundings, admiring the little shops, vendor stands, and aromas of the city. I haven’t visited New York in years, but I’ve always enjoyed the hustle and bustle here.
It’s funny, in Chrysocolla Cove, everyone walks slowly. In fact, it’s definitely frowned upon to speed walk there.
In New York City, walking slowly is downright a crime. Hell, I’m walking as fast as possible to keep up with the flood of people near me, and they can’t even see me.
I’m convinced that the ability to speed walk is a requirement for living in a massive city like this. I don’t mind the pacing one bit, though. The faster, the better.
Time goes by more slowly down here than above. I’d assume it’s been nearly a full day up there. Considering I’m hoping to return to the Middle Realm relatively soon, everything should be fine. Quite frankly, up until now, the Archangels have been relatively merciful in their disciplinary acts. My punishment, for instance, could’ve beenfarworse, based on what Cleo has shared with me. I’m sure she’s okay.
After taking a couple of turns, I halt in my tracks and gape at the pristine building in front of me. I purposely took this route so I could catch a glimpse of one of my favorite historical landmarks ever—a gorgeous cathedral in the heart of Manhattan. It’s not too crowded here yet. I walk inside, determining there’s no real rush to get back to that antique shop.
Frankly, I don’t think a person has to be religious or spiritual to admire the beauty held within a historical building like this. Built in the 1800s, it almost seems like the cathedral is frozen in time. Despite how much the city has developed since then, this chapelholds a timeless beauty that reminds me of some of the Middle Realm’s towers.
Beams of natural light pour in through the chapel’s stained-glass arched windows, casting a subtle glow over the massive space. I glance around the expansive room. Not a soul in sight.
I take a seat in one of the wooden pews and grab a hymn book to fidget with to keep my hands busy. It’s nice—even though I’m dead, I can still grab hold of objects casually. Come to think of it, most people automatically assume inanimate floating objects are the act of ghosts or malicious spirits. I wonder if they’d find comfort in knowing angels can do that, too. Or if they’d still be creeped out. Come to think of it, I’d probably still be pretty freaked out.
I feel like more of a ghost than an angel these days. My zest for living has decreased more and more since my guardianship ended.
I flip through the book’s brittle, yellow pages and faded text, taking note of how old the book is.
How old is Cleo? Is this book older or younger than her?
It's wild how this girl has captured my attention every moment since my guardianship ended, and I don’t even know her age.
Sighing, I lean back in the pew and set the book off to the side for a bit.
I’ve been thinking a lot over the past couple of days and haven’t been able to process my thoughts effectively. Iris used to say I was a ‘verbal processor,’ so maybe thinking in silence isn’t helping me the way it probably helps many people.
