A compilation of snippets

 First snippet:

Nakamura sensei said that there are three types of people that we will meet in our lifetime;
The one who stands before us, a reminder of who we want to be.
The one who stands beside us, a reminder of who we are.
The one who stands behind us, a reminder of who we were.
To me, Gabe was all three and in a way, he still was.
In short, as things were, I was so screwed.

Second snippet:

I played fast and loose with consciousness and in the short moments I’ve surfaced from the black peaceful place I was in, I saw Shay, sitting in a corner with his two blades in hand. Moonlight washed away all the color from his hair, his face, making him look like a creature made of marble and stone and other cold and heartless things.
His blue eyes were closed, his face slack and relaxed as if in sleep but it didn’t fool me. If anyone who was a threat came through that door, he wouldn’t bother with questions, he would just kill.
No remorse. No regret.
What does it say about me that I find that comforting?

Third snippet:

William was always quiet, always calm. In a way it’s what makes him so deadly, the way he calculate and weigh options logically and always with a cool head. He would’ve been the most dangerous of them all if not for his fierce dedication to Aspaya who treats him like a son. William, despite his black lustruos hair, his perfect chiseled looks, tended to pale into the background…and he preferred it that way.
He did everything he was ordered to do without fuss and did what needed to be done with even less fuss. It amused me,  how everybody would bicker and fight and duel and then have William loitering on the background doing…whatever. Picking flowers, throwing out trash. Sunning on the deck.
I found him very peaceful to be around. I considered the time where I cleaned, sharpened and oiled the numerous blades and swords and daggers with him a kind of therapy, even though we didn’t talk to each other.
Maybe it was because of that. I didn’t have to prove anything to him and he didn’t expect anything from me. He was just there, like a really comfortable lived in sofa.

 Copyright © 2013 by D.F. Jules

Snippet

Mikail smiled and leaned back, his body posture relaxed and comfortable. "You know what makes us Demon Touched so effective, Leah?"

I knew he didn't really want an answer so I kept my mouth shut. I know. Surprise!

"It's our ability to sniff out people's desires." His black eyes glinted in the warm light. "Humans are creatures of temptations so they are fairly easy to tempt. Everyone have something that they want and we have a natural ability to see it. And when we do, to use it."

He sipped on his cup of cocoa and sighed in pleasure. "He wants you. Very badly. His desire for you is overwhelming that I am amazed that he can think straight. Gabe--"

My fingers fumbled on my cup and it clattered on its saucer, I didn't look at him--at Gabe who stood behind Mikael's seat; silent and intractable. 

"Gabe sees that, knows that, so you have to excuse his dislike for the Angel prince." He smiled. "One thing about Demon Touched that you should know. We don't like to share."

I could feel the weight of Gabe's eyes on me. I kept my eyes on my cup. "Was that what happened with my mother? You didn't want to share her?"

The amusement on his face grew claws. "Yes."

Copyright © 2013 by D.F. Jules

A TOUCHED chapter mix-chapter 30Hungry Heart: Connect the Dots

The Spill Canvas-Connect the Dots

Don't you just love the feeling of my fingertips, circling your lips.

Don't you just love the desire taking hold of you, well, I can tell you do.

I know all your favorite spots, and tonight we will connect the dots.

scene:

I explored every dip and angle of his back, his skin was unbelievably hot, taut over layer of muscle and flesh and bone. My hand strayed to the spot on his left shoulder and traced the tattoo I knew was there with a fingertip.

The Script-I'm Yours

I may not have the softest touch

I may not say the words as such

I know I don't fit in that much

But I'm yours

scene:

“You want me.” His fingertips ran down the length of my arm, my skin erupting in goosebumps. “You need me.” The words were a statement but I detected a question in there somewhere and it was only then that

I understood his emphasis on the word ‘me’.

He wanted to know that I didn’t need him just because I needed a warm body, or the comfort of a friend, or because he was there or because he was familiar and safe. He needed to know that it was him that I wanted. 

Him that I needed.

It was small of me but I felt better at the hint of insecurity. I touched his face and stared straight into his eyes. “Yes.”

Sara Barreilles-Between the Lines

Cause I can't continue pretending to choose

These opposite sides on which we fall

scene:

I was aggrieved at the tug and war game between the different parts of myself and the unfair treatment I was giving Gabe. The smarter part of myself knew that getting involve with him would end in trouble and heartbreak on both our parts. The not-so-smart part of myself wanted to keep him for as long as I could and truthfully, the not-so-smart part is winning.

Andrew Belle-In My Veins

Oh you're in my veins and I cannot get you out

Oh you're all I taste at night inside of my mouth.

Oh you run away cause I am not what you found

Oh you're in my veins and I cannot get you out.

scene:

I bit my lip as our bodies locked together in newer and more intimate ways and decided to up the stakes and wrapped my legs around his waist. Our hearts knocked against each other through our chest as if saying hello.

I heard him sucked in a breath and his eyelashes fluttered close. I saw color darkened his cheekbones and a drop of sweat slid down his neck. I touched it, slid my fingers from his shoulder to his neck to catch it between my fingers.

Spitz-Je t'aime

Kimi ga iru no wa suteki na koto da

Yasashiku naru nanimokamo

Kimi ga iru no wa ikenai koto da

Nayamitsukareta kyou mo mata

(Translation)

Your being here is a wonderful thing.

Everything makes it sweeter.

Your being here will not do.

Today again I am tired from worrying.

scene:

Even before this whole emotional mess happened, he was mine as much as I was his, there was no denying that then and there was certainly no denying that now.

Taylor Swift-Sparks Fly (Covered by Julia Sheer & Taylor Ward)

My mind forgets to remind me you're a bad idea

You touch me once and it's really something,

You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be.

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world but with you I know it's good

scene:

—the crackle pop of bonfire, the cold rush of water suffocating my senses, the stretch and pull of muscle, the whisper of wind in the leaves, the pebbling of my skin as I reached the surface, drew in air and saw Gabe gliding in the water beside me— 

—the rasp of a blanket around my chilled limbs, a cup of bitter chocolate, sweet potato pie, sparks dancing in the night air, low conversations about nothing, a single candle on a chocolate muffin, candlelight floating in Gabe’s eyes, “Happy birthday, Leah.”, and the calmness in the air before thunder broke through the sky— 

—a laugh, and then a smile; warm, callused fingers trailing down my skin until they touched the sword-like amulet at the end of my necklace. “You’re wearing it.”—

Snow Patrol-Make This Go On Forever

And I don't know where to look

My words just break and melt

Please just save me from this darkness

scene:

My fingers speared into his hair and I luxuriated in the soft, dense strands of his dark brown hair. I rubbed my mouth against his and took his breath within me. My world righted itself again, the colors once again rich and layered and the sounds of the night made sense again and I could feel every rasp and stroke of his body against me, the sensations vibrant and strong.

Adele-One and Only

I dare you to let me be your, your one and only

I promise I'm worthy to hold in your arms

So come on and give me the chance

scene:

"Leah--"

I jumped at his voice and my heart fluttered with trepidation when I saw his eyes opened; looking straight at me. "What?"

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?"

The question took me off guard. He'd never asked before. Most of the time, he merely took it for granted that I wanted him to stay. He’d seen how overwhelmed I was by the number of Touched who often stayed in Sanctuary. My control was still a bit shoddy and there's been times where I woke up because I couldn't breathe due to the Touched, or nightmares or stress or all three.

So, the times where I found him sleeping beside me had been a comfort. Those hours of peace had given me strength to face the day.

I've noticed that even other people had started expecting him to be in my room because he had stayed here so much. And with his status as my Sheath, none of them had even thought it odd.

I watched him watch me and I couldn't help wondering why he was suddenly seeking permission. I tried to figure out his logic but my head started to throb. So, I shrugged and deflect his question. "You're welcome to stay. You stay here most of the time anyway."

Something undefinable passed over his face and I knew I had said the wrong thing.

Stained-Everything Changes

Then we could stay here together

And we could conquer the world

If we could say that forever

It's more than just a word

scene:

Here was where he practiced his advice, he read my body like it was his favorite book; that one that you almost memorize but you read it over and over again because every word has meaning for you, and every time you do, you discover something new. He read me through every gasp, every fluttering sigh, every jump of heartbeat, every press of hands on skin.

Yoav & Emily Browning-Where is My Mind?

Where is my mind?

scene:

I cursed softly as I missed my rhythm and picked up my towel, rubbing sweat off my skin before starting again. I concentrated on the emptiness of the dojo, the silence and the dark of it and tried to emulate the shadows dancing on the walls.

Which is probably the only reason why I noticed him.

His stealth didn't betray him, he was as still and silent as ever. But my skin prickled with awareness. He was there somewhere and he was looking at me. Gabe was always looking at me.

I kept moving in slow, circular movements, keeping my rhythm as I tried to pinpoint his location.

There, I spotted a shadow that was much too dense, too solid. And as if he knew I had found him, he walked into the circle of silvery light that came down one of the windows.

His pale green  eyes was burning with something I was familiar with; excitement, the thrill of the hunt. There was a wide cut on his cheek, a red mark on his neck and his knuckles were bruised. His palms were bloody, and in several places his clothing was torn and his skin smeared with blood. He was even limping a little.

I stopped, faced him and waited for him to say something. Do something. He didn't. He merely stood there and stared at me. His eyes darkening as the silence stretched.

He was so still I was starting to think he was a figment of my imagination so when he finally did move, I twitched nervously. But he didn't approach me, he merely walked to the edge of the tatami mats and sat down. He settled into his seat as if he was expecting to be there for a long time, he put both elbows on his thighs and leaned forward, his eyes never moving from me.

I watched him watched me for a while. Then I pivoted away from him. Taking a deep breath, I began again.

With every movement, I could feel his watchful gaze; not judging, not evaluating. Just watching.

The only sound in the room was the brush of my feet against the tatami mats and our breathing; in and out. In and out. Steady and calm.

It took me a few minutes to realized that I was pacing my movements with the sound of his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

Meiko-Said and Done

You don't have to wait
For all this silly fate
For things you cannot make

Hey, what are you going to say?
What are you going to do?
When it's all said and done

scene:

A part of me knew that he was right but I also knew that he—someone who grew up knowing what he was, what he could do, someone who grew up among people as special and as unique as he had—didn’t understand. Didn’t understand growing up knowing that you are different, that you are alone, that you are helpless, that the enemy is not someone that you can fight, not someone that you can beat, and it’s not even someone that you can avoid. That it’s your own body that is against you.

That even though how hard you try, there is no true choice for you, there is no way for you to escape unless…

I’ve thought about it—thought a lot about it; when the world was too harsh, when the whispers too loud, when I was too sick to even lift my head.

But I had held on for my mom and when she was gone, I was so close, so close to ending it right there and then but Uncle Jim had came for me. So I had held on for Uncle Jim. But things were still hard, and my body kept betraying me. And I was so angry and so sad and I kept imagining the hows and the whys—

—and then Gabe had picked a fight. And had held me as I cried. And gave me peace. Gave me freedom. Gave me escape. Gave me protection.

Gave me unconditional love.

His was the only one I had never doubted. Had never questioned. He had never given me a reason to do so.

The day I found him was the day that I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could be forgiven for that single, harmless lie that turned out not so harmless. He was proof, proof that perhaps I would someday be forgiven. Because there was no way, that someone so good, so selfless, could enter my life as punishment.

St Lola in the Fields-Don't Say

Don't fight, don't fight, don't fight, don't do it again

Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream don't want to hear it again

Don't say, don't say, don't say, don't say you're leaving this time

scene:

The edge in his voice grew to talons and I debated whether to ask what was wrong or to leave him alone. Gabe’s anger process was different than mine. While I handle my anger by either storming off or hitting something, Gabe would stew and let it fester. Then he’d withdraw into himself, crawl into some dark corner in his mind and seethe by his lonesome. His type of anger was dangerous especially since he wasn’t the one to forgive and forget.

David Cook-Always Be My Baby

You'll always be a part of me

I'm a part of you indefinitely

scene:

The little smile on his face turned solemn and his eyes turned dark. He had an almost supernatural radar when it came to my moods. He knew I was exhausted, mentally and physically but he didn’t want to fuss because I didn’t want him to. He stared at what I could only imagine was a stubborn look on my face and sighed. He rubbed his cheek against my temple—and he called me a cat—before leaning back and meeting my eyes. “You with me?”

2Hell, Thy Name is Highschool

On the first day of high school three years ago, I joined the Chess Club. 

Now, now, before all of you groan and commit me to the crazy and loser box, you should know that at Trinity High, the Chess Club was actually quite respectable, as was shown by the prime spot reserved for us in the school quad. 

Even now, right under the shade of the old, gigantic tree that has been there since forever, my club-mates were working out their cognitive abilities and exercising their mental muscle. 

The teachers thought that the reason the chess players were left alone was because the Chess Club had won several chess tournaments, proving that we were in fact a group to contend with. The main reason why we did not suffer cruel acts of punishment and humiliation was because of the underground poker game we held each year. 

For the past three years, the undisputed champion of said poker game was, surprisingly, our very own chairman, who used his winnings to procure lovely collector’s item chess sets of both Alice in Wonderland and The Lord of the Rings. 

Even I had to admit, the money was well spent. 

After nodding at some familiar faces, I hunkered down my spot under our club's usual tree and lied on my back, watching the way sunlight danced through the thick green leaves. Usually, I preferred to be in some dark corner of the school where there wouldn’t be too many people wandering around, intruding on my time and personal space, but that was nothing that stylish shades and a well-chosen playlist couldn’t help. 

If only this method worked against them. 

But no, they were too bright, too loud, too involved to be ignored, muffled or avoided. 

That was one of the first things I had learned. There was no avoiding them. Wherever there were people, there they were, watching, observing, listening…influencing. 

And considering the fact that Trinity High was teeming with teenagers, susceptible and impulsive, they swarmed the place. I couldn’t turn my head without seeing one or two, or in some special cases, three, hovering around someone or another. 

I tried shutting my eyes, closing my ears, and numbing my senses, but nothing worked. I just had to work around it like my mother and my Uncle had told me to, and pretend that I couldn’t see them, that I didn’t know about them. 

I wondered how long I could keep this up before I joined the padded-cells brigade. 

I ran my tongue over my teeth and swallowed when I tasted…sunlight; bright, golden, and hot, and knew that one was close. That was the trouble, my talent didn’t just stop at seeing or hearing like my mom’s, I could literally taste their presence, sense them in the air. Even now I felt heat creeping up my arm as if I was standing in the sun instead of lying in the shade and I felt the urge to open my eyes and see—the way a character in a horror movie would feel when there was someone or something breathing down their neck; and instead of running they turned, only to find an axe murderer or some kind of evil beastie. 

I felt my heart pump faster and I could feel sweat gathering at my temples, despite the shade. I tried to steady my breathing—it wouldn’t do to attract attention, and they would hear and notice my elevated heart rate and my clear distress—but the more I pulled breath into my lungs, the more I could smell them, the more I tasted them, and that jacked up my heartbeat even more. 

I pressed my lips together to stop myself from mumbling incoherently, and my thoughts shifted to the Triplets. They could calm me down, they could take my mind off my panic, but I knew the Triplets would be holding court by now and would be too busy to take care of me. The Triplets were popular, they were the very symbol of the High Court of Trinity High (triplets, Trinity, big laughs all around). They were what other people thought would never have existed. They were popular and they were nice. 

So, being nice and being related to me, they would of course stop whatever they were doing to baby their weird, crazy cousin; but today that didn’t cut it for me, and because of that I didn’t stand up and run to the Triplets. Instead, I kept quiet and did mental visualizations. 

“Ah, sleeping beauty.” 

I almost cried in relief at the low, familiar voice, and did in fact feel my eyes sting when the voice affected me the way it always did. The raspy, almost touchable tones changed vowels and consonants into a web, a filter, a cocoon that blanketed my senses. 

“Are you really sleeping?” 

I concentrated on the cadences of that sweet, sweet voice, and almost melted to the ground beneath my back. I saw the brightness pulled back from my eyelids, tasted nothing on my tongue but the banana pancakes I had eaten for breakfast and felt the heat smothered by the moist coolness of the early morning rain. 

I rolled my eyes behind closed lids when I felt a finger poke my shoulder. “Hey, are even you alive?” 

I opened my eyes to meet pale green eyes framed by sooty lashes, those mischievous eyes in sharp relief on the strong, tanned face. 

“Gabe.” I kept my supine position on the grass but crossed my legs at the ankles and added a smirk for good measure. My nod was polite enough, but the body language was insolent and challenging. 

His smile grew an inch wider. 

“I thought you weren’t going to come home for two more weeks.” 

He shrugged broad shoulders. Even in the morning before class, his white uniform shirt was already wrinkled, his striped blue-yellow tie stuffed into his pocket, and his sleeves pushed to the elbows. The build under the shirt was slender but hard muscled, the type that you didn’t get by working religiously at a gym but by sheer, laborious, field work. Same goes for the tan and the gold highlights on his raggedly cut brown hair, which was now pulled into a half ponytail. No sitting in the salon for Gabe; he got it the old fashioned way, spending lots of hours beneath the glaring heat of the sun. 

He sat down beside me, blocking the school building and everything inside it from my sight. “Cut due to some problems.” 

I perked up at the mention of ‘problems.’ I knew when it came to my best friend in the whole wide world that these so-called problems would range from (accidentally) setting something on fire to fooling around with a reverend’s daughter. Two things that Gabriel Shannah had been known to do, without a qualm and without remorse. “What kind of problems?” I asked archly, and received a slow wink in return. 

“The kind that you don’t talk about if you don’t want trouble.” 

“You always want trouble.” I considered pouting, but since it didn’t come naturally to me I decided not to bother. I was too psyched about his presence to complain. “How was Borneo anyway?” 

Gabriel brushed away strands of hair from his face and squinted green eyes across the quad, exchanging nods and waves with friends and acquaintances. In spite of him being the chairmen of the Chess Club, or maybe because of that, Gabe was considered one of the cool kids. 

“Hot. Humid. Green.” 

“Traveled much?” 

“Went to Indonesia.” He grinned. “Saw orang utans.” 

A gasp of envy escaped my lips; seeing orang utans was on my lists of 100 Things to Do Before I Die. “You did not.” 

The cocky, smug grin on Gabe’s face made me wanted to pound him. “Yes, I did. Do you know that ‘orang utan’ actually means, literally, ‘people of the forest’?” 

“Actually, I do.” Now I did feel a sulk coming, but curiosity won, like always. “What were they like?” 

“They’re very sweet and gentle.” Gabe’s usually bright green eyes dulled. “It’s hard to believe that humans could hurt such an animal.” 

“We hurt each other all the time when we actually have the option to talk to each other.” I sat up but paused when I saw him watching me with an indescribable look on his face. “What?” 

His long, lean fingers played with the grass by his feet. I started to get nervous as I noted several changes which had taken place in Gabe over the months in which we hadn’t seen each other. He finally took his eyes off of my face and stood up. “Nothing. It’s just that other people would have put that sentence in a different way. They would say, ‘people hurt each other all the time.’” He brushed a hand over the seat of his pants. “They would set themselves apart, rather than use the word ‘we’ like you did.” 

I frowned in thought, even as I automatically put a hand in his. I patted my own butt and kept frowning as I slid my hands over my knee-high uniform socks. “Well, I poke at you and the Triplets all the time just for the hell of it, not only when I'm angry at you. So, I’m hardly exempt from the general rule.” 

Gabriel lifted a hand to my waist-length hair and shook blades of grass off of it. “That’s true, it’s just that some people won’t admit it.” 

“Well, I’m not some people.” Never were there truer words spoken. 

Gabriel merely snorted and lifted both his arms over his head, slowly stretching like a big cat after a nap in the sun. I noticed something and caught his arm. “Wait.” 

He turned halfway and lifted an eyebrow, and like every other time he’d done that I felt the sudden urge to poke his eye out. 

I circled him slowly before finally stopping right in front of him. “You’re taller than me.” 

Gabriel blinked and a smile crept onto his face before he threw his head back and laughed. “You’ve always bitched about being taller than everybody else, but now that you‘re not, you’re mad?” 

It was true, all my life I had been the skinny, gawky, tall kid. As soon as I noticed that at five nine I’d topped most of the girls and boys in my school, I realized that I should learn to either get comfortable with my height or end up as the Hunchback of Trinity High. 

No-brainer. 

“What are you? Seven feet tall?” I asked, disgusted. 

“Six two actually.” Gabriel preened before my scowling face. 

“Freak.” 

“Mutant.” 

We started walking again, and I realized that he was stealing looks at me. 

“You’re growing out your hair again?” 

I clutched at my hair. It was real black, the kind of black that had blue highlights in the sun. It was straight as rain, cut with multiple lengths, and ran down almost to my waist. It was the one thing I was really vain about. “Well, I figured you’d grown out of the hair-pulling phase of your life, so it’s now safe for me to have long hair again.” 

Gabriel snickered and pulled at a chunk of my hair. “Don’t be so sure. I might have a few relapses now and again.” 

“Well, then I’ll just punch you and hope you’ll recover.” 

“Thanks so much.” 

“What are friends for?” 

We approached the school doors and immediately, after flicking feigned disinterested looks at each other, we broke into a fast walk. He reached the doors seconds before me, and with a satisfied look on his face opened the door with a flourish and a courtly bow. 

It was one of our things. Gabriel loved to be old fashioned; he liked opening doors, standing up when a woman left the table, he wouldn’t even curse in front of me or the Triplets. Honestly, I didn’t really care about all that—I just liked to needle him. So I speared him with a dirty look before flouncing in through the door. “Sexist pig.” 

“Just because you can pound grown men into the practice mat doesn’t mean you don’t get to be treated like a lady.” 

I rolled my eyes at his usual reply, but my lips curved into a smile. We’d been friends for eight years, ever since I moved in with my uncle. Gabriel was literally the boy next door. We hadn’t started out as friends, though. The minute we first caught sight of each other over the fence that parted his parents’ and my uncle’s houses, there had been instant friction. Gabriel was the leader of the neighborhood boys, while I was the strange and mysterious new kid on the block. I was a loner and I hardly ever talked. Gabriel was determined to break me as he had broken all the other kids in our neighborhood, but although I was quiet, I wasn’t the type to lie down and die. 

Thinking back, it was a good thing, actually. At the time I was angry, lonely and sad. I had just lost my mother and had to move away from everything familiar into a place completely new and, what was worse, I didn’t get to know anything. No one would even answer my questions. 

Who was my father? 

Where is my mother? 

What happened to her? 

Did she leave me? 

And what were these weird things I keep seeing, hearing, tasting, and feeling? 

Is that what took my mother? 

And why does everybody keep looking at me funny? 

And even worse, people pitied me because they thought my mother had left me. 

I helped around the house, listened to my uncle, did my chores, ate, slept, played with my cousins, but I didn’t cry, I didn’t talk and I showed no interest in doing anything, not even continuing my karate lessons that I used to love so much. 

Then Gabriel came and poked and poked and poked and poked… 

One day, I just exploded. Red hazed my eyes as I cocked back an arm and punched Gabriel. Being a nine year old boy and a midget with something to prove he punched back, both of us did our best to rip each other’s head off. 

But as I hit and clawed and kicked something happened inside me, something stretched and stretched and stretched and finally snapped. 

Embarrassingly, I burst into tears, and the tears—not to mention the snot—kept on coming, even when I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into his arm… 

…and he let me. It took a moment for me to notice that Gabriel wasn’t hitting me back. I let go of his arm and blinked at him. 

His face was a study of misery as he looked back at me. 

Then he did something totally unexpected. He lifted the arm that had my teeth marks on it and patted my head, slowly, gently. Again and again he patted the top of my head, and as our eyes met I realized that I had found myself a best friend. 

Over the years I became sure that Uncle Jim would have preferred if I had found a good, dutiful female best friend instead since Gabriel was a bit of a trouble maker, and he had a knack for persuading me to be one as well. 

Not that he had to try very hard. 

It also didn’t take long for me to realize that my friendship with Gabriel brought on a perk other than his ultra-cool tree house, one I could hardly believe. Whenever I touched him, whenever Gabriel spoke, it was like I entered into an isolation chamber where my senses dulled and turned…ordinary. 

I couldn’t sense them anymore, or hear them or taste them or feel them. Gabriel was like my ultimate shield and I couldn’t help but feel that we were fated to meet. Gabriel Shannah, my own little miracle. 

I elbowed my little miracle in the ribs, hard enough to make him wince. “So, Gabe, scored with any Borneo babes?” 

He gave me a look that was part amusement and part scowl. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.” 

“I’m not asking you to kiss me, I’m just asking you to tell.” 

“Oh, please, the second I pucker my lips, you’ll be all over me.” 

I scoffed at him, despite feeling a slight…um, discomfort at where the conversation was headed. “Come on, you told me about Tina Sheffield.” 

He arched a brow and sniffed as though offended. “I was eleven and didn’t know any better.” 

“Bet you don’t know any better now.” 

The insult to his manly prowess was too much for him to ignore. “How much?” 

“Why, Gabriel Shannah, are you trying to bet on a lady’s virtue?” 

Gabriel almost looked embarrassed. “You’re a bad influence on me.” 

“Uncle Jim said that you’re a bad influence on me.” 

“Still mad about that motorcycle thing, huh?” 

“You’re still banned from our household,” I retorted with mock seriousness. 

Gabe rolled his eyes. “This from a guy who let all of us play with knives when we were ten.” He put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a lopsided grin that could melt any woman’s heart at fifty paces. “Then we’ll just have to meet in secret in our tree house.” 

I fluttered my eyelashes. “A tryst, how romantic.” 

He chuckled before detangling his arm from me and turning left. “See you at lunch.” 

Now that he wasn’t looking, I felt it safe to look at him with an affectionate smile, even when our parting made my senses return back to what was normal for me. I popped my iPod ear buds back into place and walked with my eyes on my toes so as not to see anything, taking comfort in knowing that I would meet Gabriel again at lunch. 

Surely I could tough it out until then, right? 

Copyright © 2012 by D.F. Jules

1Once Upon A Time

The dream was like a scene from a bad horror movie, complete with the sound of ragged breaths, the low bass of heartbeats, and the creak of doors. There was even a storm outside, with lightning streaking across the night sky. 

How cliché. 

Unfortunately, I knew it wasn’t a dream, a nightmare, or a scene from a bad horror movie. 

It was a scene from my past. 

In it I could see the balloons stuck on the ceiling and the tables that were smeared with cake icing. Dirty dishes were stacked high in the sink along with dirty cups. The floor was riddled with torn ribbons and colorful paper, casualties of the birthday party I had that afternoon. 

I felt my heart tear as it had many times before when I saw my mother, an older version of myself with her black eyes, black straight hair, and slightly tanned skin, standing in the kitchen, her toes bare with nails painted a pale pink. 

Well, my mother said as she grinned at me, we’ve survived another year. Happy birthday, my darling girl. 

I saw myself grin back at her, happy and content and tired from my ninth birthday party. My first ever with friends; it was even held in our very own house. It was the longest time we had ever stayed in one place. 

Our neighbors knew us, my mom had a steady job, and I was in school with other kids. Other normal kids. My mom had finally trusted my judgment and my control over my ‘special’ talent. 

She shouldn’t have. 

I saw my mom frown; I could have repeated what she would say word for word, and I did. My lips formed the question as she asked my nine year old self, “Are you sure you haven’t seen or sensed any of them, sweetie?” 

I’ve dreamt of this particular memory a thousand times before, and each time I have, I’ve tried to answer with the truth in a sorry attempt to rid myself of the guilt, to change what had happened. 

Yes. Yes, I did. One of my teachers is one of them. She smelt of sunrise and flowers. 

I saw them here, just outside. Two of them just this afternoon, they were looking at our house! Mama, we have to go. We have to leave. Right now. 

But of course, no matter how hard I screamed, she couldn’t hear me. Instead, she smiled at my nine year old self—the little liar—who said, “No, mama. We’re good. Nothing here. Maybe they’re bored with us.” 

My mom chuckled, and the sound of it made me want to cry, “I don’t think so, baby. I know you like it here but stay sharp, okay?” 

My nine year old self looked into my mom’s eyes and lied with a straight face. “Yes, mama.” 

Then the scene changed into an endless hallway drenched in different shades of light and shadow, an endless maze, riddled with doors that seemed to go on forever, in which I ran and ran and called out, but I couldn’t find her. Every time I opened a door, it kept showing the same empty room. 

My mother’s empty room. 

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed outside her window. 

I woke up with a scream trembling at the top of my lungs, but I was ready for it. I had eight years to exercise control, after all. I swallowed the scream and blinked in the darkness. I watched shadow and light chase each other away in a fluid dance. It reminded me of my dream and my stomach clenched. 

I wiped sweat off my forehead, and sighed in disgust at my apparent weakness. It’s been eight years since that night, since my one lie destroyed everything that my mom had worked so hard for: our survival. 

And I blew it all for a stupid birthday party with stupid friends who haven’t even bothered to stay in touch. 

Idiot. 

I wrenched the covers away and pushed myself off the bed. A look out the window showed that the sun was rising; there would be no hope in returning to sleep now. Not that I even wanted to. Maybe some warm milk and Oreos would lift my mood. 

I got out of my room and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. I had a nasty flashback of the dream and my heartbeat quickened, but I took long breaths and shook it off. 

I was awake, I was aware, and I was no longer that nine year old girl who was weak and easily tempted. Other than double-stuff Oreos and cookie dough ice cream, I, Leah Curran, had no weaknesses. 

“Leah?” a low baritone called out from a room that I just walked past. Well, I amended, double stuff Oreos, cookie dough ice cream, and all that’s left of my family members. My family relations have a strange knack for disappearing. My mom was only one of many. They went missing in bathrooms with no windows and someone waiting outside the door, in their offices during meetings, in buses between stops, in a crowd of people surrounded by their loved ones...heck, even in cells. They went missing when they were doing laundry, cooking dinner, paying bills, watching TV, posting the mail. Never was there a sign of a fight. Never were they found again. 

Oh, they also have a nasty habit of going crazy, as in padded-room-straightjacket-speaking-in-tongues-on-suicide-watch type of crazy. 

Some said it was bad genes. 

Some said it was mental illness. 

Some said it was a curse. 

My opinion? 

It was a bit of all three. 

Since the door was slightly open I pushed it further to see the cramped room that was my uncle’s office, as well as a manga lover’s/artist’s/graphic designer’s wet dream. One wall was scattered with drawings, paintings, prints, and sketches. Black and white done in pencil and charcoal, in ink and even in soy sauce, bold colors done in acrylic, in oils, in water colors, with markers. Some were even done in make-up, which had earned him the wrath of his wife Maggie and their daughters, the Triplets; Juliet, Ophelia and Titania (don’t ask) whose make-up he ‘borrowed’. He didn’t bother with mine because, much to my aunt’s and The Triplet’s dismay, I don’t own any. Part of my devious plan to stay invisible. 

Another wall was covered by a mural of dragons, both European and Asian, with a backdrop of a raging sea, while another was decorated with shiny, pointy objects. Swords and knives of all kinds: a katana along with its wakizashi and three tanto, a broadsword, a claymore, two khukri, a sabre, a scimitar, a jian, a rapier with an elaborate hilt, and a keris. On a place of honor right in the middle of the array of deadly weapons were three sai, the triple-pronged sword, a birthday gift from his daughters. 

Other fathers received neckties. Uncle Jim received swords. 

I wouldn’t even start on his stash of secret weapons: kunai, shuriken, acupuncture needles, stiletto knives, blow darts…it was better not to think about it. The swords were cool though, especially the katana. Once in a while, he even got it out and trained with it. 

Other men might be gun buffs, but Uncle Jim? He was more of a traditional man. When we’re naughty he makes us clean and oil all of the swords and knives…and there were a lot of them. 

But, I digress. 

Looking at the contents of the room, there were books stacked all over the place, almost as high as my waist. Autobiographies, books on world history, mythology, and religion, even self-help books and fiction of every type. There were even bodice-rippers, for God’s sake. Nobody could ever accuse my uncle of having a one-track mind. 

I stepped inside and resigned myself to the chance of having bruised toes. When I stepped on something squishy, I bravely ignored it. 

Uncle Jim was bent over his drawing table, with paper and markers of different colors spread at his elbows. On the other desk, shoved to the far corner of the room, one of his Macs pounded out Nine Inch Nails’ Meet Your Master, while the bigger and more complicated Mac was sporting a half-finished schematic of some kind of ship. Uncle Jim was a stout man in his late forties who could still pass for thirty due to his insistence on healthy living. He doesn’t smoke, hardly ever drink, jogs five miles a day, and does Tai Chi, Yoga, and several martial arts in his spare time. He meditates in the morning and whenever he has something in his mind, he does Kyudo or archery. 

I figured there had to be something to healthy living, because every Sunday—which he dubbed family time—the Triplets, Aunt Maggie, and I—spent the miles glaring daggers at Uncle Jim’s back while we struggled to keep up with him. My uncle’s motto, “A family who exercises together, stays together,” had quickly changed to “A family who suffers together, stays together” due to my cousins’ groans, moans, and agonized screams as we stretched, shuffled, and sparred. 

I didn’t mind so much, due to the fact that I had already taken multiple styles of karate lessons ever since I’d been able to walk. Ophelia also shared her father’s obsession with martial arts, but the other two girls and their mother bitched a storm whenever they got their asses kicked. 

Uncle Jim always excused his interest in martial arts and weapons as inspiration for his job. As an artist and writer for Fantasy Inc., the leader of today’s fantasy themed graphic novels/fiction novels, he really did get to use his vast knowledge of traditional weapons. Millions of people followed his graphic novels religiously. Several of his works had even been made into games and novels which explained why he could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to do it. We said it was because he had an unquenchable blood lust and was born in the wrong century. 

Uncle Jim finished inking a line of hair before he finally lifted his eyes to smile at me. “Can’t sleep?” 

“Dream.” I didn’t bother to explain; he knew what my dreams were about. “You?” 

He pushed his glasses up on his nose with ink stained fingers. “Deadline. Remind me to beat the snot out of Jack the next time I see him.” 

I smirked. Jack was his friend and agent who never failed to nag my uncle about his work. 

“School’s starting today.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You all right with that?” 

“Can’t hide forever.” 

At that, Uncle Jim smiled. “It’s not in your nature to hide.” 

My stomach plummeted as my dream came back to me in high definition. “It’d be better if it was.” 

Again, I didn’t have to explain; he already knew what I was referring to. “Maia’s disappearance was not your fault.” 

I speared him with a sharp look at the mention of my mother’s name. “You know better than that. If I hadn’t been so selfish, and told her about—“ 

“You were nine. You wanted a home, you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday on the road, or move from one place to another like you had so many times before, and you wanted friends.” He shrugged, “You just wanted what every normal nine year old—“ 

“But I’m not, am I? I’m not normal. I’m a freak, and freaks should watch out if they don’t want to be dragged into the streets, tied to a stake, and burnt.” 

“There will be no tying or burning in this house.” He started inking a new page. “Unless I say so.” 

“Unc—“ 

He sighed, long and hard, as if he’d heard this a hundred times before and was tired of it. “Leah, your mother was the family that I wished desperately for when I was stuck in an orphanage. I would die for her as I would die for you, but that doesn’t mean that I should be blind to her faults.” He put down his pen and lifted his blue, blue eyes. His blond Aryan looks must have stuck out like a sore thumb in my mother’s side of the family who all had dark hair, dark eyes, and dark complexions. “The truth was, when you showed signs that you had inherited the family trait, she panicked, so she took whatever she could and took you on the road so you’d be safe. I understood that, even when I didn’t agree with the choices she made, but she made the mistake of depending on you too much. Instead of using and honing her own talent, she counted on yours. She let her own ability wither when she should’ve used it to protect you.” He lifted a hand when I opened my mouth to protest. “You shouldn’t have lied, yes, but she shouldn’t have grown complacent.” 

“I miss her.” My voice broke at the end and he patted my hand. 

“I miss her too, sweetheart.” We both looked at the framed picture that hung on the wall in front of his drawing table. My mom’s hand-drawn face smiled back at us. It was a cover from Uncle Jim’s first graphic novel that had broken national. Demon Marked was a story about a mother who had to leave her daughter for her own safety, and so hit the road, battling mythological creatures and monsters in order to find a way to kill the demon which she had accidentally sold her soul to when she was seven. 

If only it was that simple. 

But there were no monsters in my story, and I knew that my mother didn’t leave of her own choice. If she really, really had to, I knew that my mother would only have left me if she was sure I would be taken care of. I also knew that if she was alive, she would’ve found a way to come back to me. 

“How about school? Is it safe for you?” 

“It’s a school; you know how they are about schools. It’s like Wal-Mart for them. Everything you need in one stop.” 

He snickered. 

“It’s not funny.” I glowered at him, but it didn’t have any heat behind it. 

“Any of them notice you?” 

“No.” I try to keep my tone light. “I’m pretty much invisible at school.” 

A small smile played on my uncle’s lips, as if he knew how much my invisibility grated on my nerves. 

He was right, hiding wasn’t in my nature. I was more of an offense rather than a defense kind of person but acting out on it had cost me my mother. Uncle Jim and his family had taken me in and there was no way that I would endanger them, or the life that I had now. So I’d stay invisible. I’d tuck my head down and ignore the limitations that drove me insane. 

“Seen them pop up anywhere new?” Uncle Jim got the town map out from one of his secret compartments (when the Triplets and I were twelve, we tried to find out just how many secret compartments existed in the house. We stopped when we reached eighty-nine). He shook the map loose and spread it on the computer table. The map was filled with dots of two different colors, and they only increased in number each and every time the map was pulled out. I knew he was starting to worry. 

Since the night my mom disappeared, I had gotten the normal life I wanted. I had my own room and my own stuff, and I didn’t have to wake up at midnight and sleep for the remainder of the night in a moving car. I had people that I had actually grown up with, and things that I had been forced to throw out because I had possessed them for too long.I never had to move again. 

But I would’ve traded it all if only my mom would come back. 

It was ironic really—every time my mom had seen one of them, it had always been time to run. Uncle Jim, however, didn’t believe in running. He believed in gathering information and making your stand. Besides, he once told me, they probably have better things to do than chasing after you. 

That’s what he said, but every time I dazed out or was acting strangely, he always ushered us out of whatever place we were in. Every time we went somewhere, he always asked me whether I could see them before going in. 

Apparently, making a stand doesn’t mean that you jump recklessly into action either. 

“I saw one at Gerard’s,” I told him. 

“The ice cream place?” 

I nodded, and he put a blue dot on Gerard’s. 

“There are two more at the fire station.” 

He snorted and added two more green dots at the fire station. “Figures. Anywhere else?” 

“No. That’s about it.” I eyed the map and felt my innards twist. “There’s so many of them now.” 

“It’s a big town.” He folded the map, pushed a decorative knob on his desk, and a drawer popped open beside his waist. “But if push comes to shove, we’ll move.” 

I shuffled my black cat slipper-encased feet and blurted out, “My eighteenth birthday is coming up, Uncle Jim. I could—” 

“Don’t even think about it.” He lifted up a pen and started to ink another page. “If you even try to run away, I’ll unleash the Triplets on you.” 

Gratitude warred with worry as I picked at a hang nail. “It’s just that—” 

“No.” 

“But, uncle—” 

“I’m ignoring you. Go away.” 

“But—” 

“Leah, I’m working. If I don’t finish this in time, we won’t get food on our table.” 

I rolled my eyes and gave up on the running-away scheme. It was impractical, and I really, really didn’t want the Triplets on my ass. “Uncle Jim?” 

“Hm?” 

“Didn’t we make you promise that you would never use our faces again in your work?” 

“…yeah. So?” 

“That face you’re inking looks very much like one of the Triplets.” 

He didn’t even blink. “You’re hallucinating due to sleep deprivation. Go back to sleep.” 

“It’s six.” 

“Then make some coffee; you know how your aunt is without her coffee.” 

“It’s wrong you know. Using their faces without their consent is like copyright infringement.” 

“I’m their dad. That makes the only copyright I’m infringing my own. Go make coffee.” 

I chuckled at his answer and went to make coffee. 

Copyright © 2012 by D.F. Jules

Publishing and Dreamcast

Since Touched is currently in publishing process, I thought, I'll gather up some data for marketing purposes. And this blog is looking pretty empty.

I thought, I'll work on the Dreamcast first and let's start with the Unholy Three

(Dean Geyer as Gabriel Shannah)

Gabriel or Gabe is the bad boy with a  heart of gold. As Leah likes to point out, he picks up strays like other people pick up STDs. He's a pretty nice guy...until you cross him, and then be careful because nobody does payback like Gabe. People are attracted to him, the way people are compelled to play with fire, there's an intensity to him, a kind of YOLO quality to how he lives his life that makes people gravitate to him.

As pointed out by the Triplets, everybody's Gabe and Leah's Gabe are two very different people. With everybody else, he's more calculated, less generous, and less laid-back than when he's with Leah. For Leah, Gabe is a safe haven, not just because he is able to negate her overwhelming powers, but because in essence he personalizes safety to her, just because of how he is when he's around her and that feeling, that peace is everything to Leah.

Gabe doesn't hesitate very often, he's the kind of guy who always gets what he wants when he wants it, but when he comes across something that he knows is valuable, he is willing to take his time. He knows the value of patience. 

(Max Iron as Justin Real)

Justin is an enigma, you are never quite sure what he is thinking. But you do know that he is always thinking, that he always has something up his sleeve. Being who he is, being what he is, he is use to people falling in line with his opinions, following his orders without question and simply obeying him. 

He is a conscientious leader, but that doesn't mean that he hesitates about moving his soldiers about in the way he sees fit. He is used in manipulating people to do what he wants them to do, to ordering rather than asking which is why he clashes so much with Leah who rebels every time she has just cause. 

(Missy Peregrym as Leah Curran)

Leah tries very hard not to let her powers control her life to no avail, after having to accept that in the harshest way possible, she decides the only way to live with it is to minimize all uses of her powers which means isolating herself from the world. Leah keeps her head down through the years with only Gabe and her family for company. She doesn't make friends, she doesn't go out, and when your body is your worst enemy, you have to find a way to control it. 

She trains her senses and her body under the tutelage of Nakamura-sensei who runs her--and Gabe and Ophelia--ragged in his dojo. Nakamura-sensei's brand of exercise is not for the faint-hearted. 

Aside from that, Leah can find peace in the presence of her best friend, Gabe, having him around tamps down her sensitive senses and lets her experience the quiet that so many people take for granted. Leah blessed the day she met him when they were nine years old and hated each other's guts.

Leah doubts herself, her body, the world, but one thing she never doubts is Gabe. 

0

A fist smashed through the window and wrapped itself around my wrist.

The touch made my skin ripple over flesh and bone as if trying to escape it. My stomach roiled at the stench that emanated from him—the smell of a rotting soul. And the things I could see in his eyes made my eyes burn.

—the lights dimmed, time stretched— 

The urge to scream was overwhelming but training made me grab for the nearest weapon. The arrow point sunk through skin, muscle and meat, glancing at bone. I twisted it in before pulling it out, only to stab him again. My family was screaming, Uncle Jim’s hands were around me but my feet slipped on the floor. He pushed his feet on the windowsill, keeping me anchored.

Blood drenched our skin; its copper stench filled my nostrils, stuck to my tongue and seeped through my skin but I kept on stabbing. He made a pained sound but he kept pulling and from the look on his face, he would pull me through the window—through brick and stone and glass—if he had to. Just when I thought he was going to succeed, something sharp and blindingly white pierced his throat.

His hand slid away from mine and both Uncle Jim and I dropped to the floor; Aunt Maggie and the Triplets surrounded us.

A quick twist—cutting the spinal cord—and the body twitched for a few seconds and just hung there, the only thing holding it up was the sword in his throat. Then the sword was pulled back, leaving a hole in my attacker’s neck, blood gushing out of the wound and hitting his side of the window. A few drops slipped through the window cracks and hit my skin; the liquid heat of it forced a shudder up my spine. I felt stained.

My attacker’s body flopped to the ground like a puppet cut of its strings, his blood draining quickly into the grass-covered earth. 

My savior loomed over my attacker’s still body, unmoving but for a quick snap of his wrists, a reflexive gesture to flick blood off his swords. The gesture was subtle, confident and telling; he’d done this before.

My eyes met his and we stared at each other as the sound of rending flesh, broken bones and clashing swords thundered around us. Fierce and wild, those eyes looked out from a blood-splattered face that was both familiar and strange to me.

I thought I knew what fear was. I thought I could control it, use it.

I was wrong. 

Copyright © 2012 by D.F. Jules