Deathless

Chapter 49: Jackson

There is a strange sort of calm that settles over us as we leave the cemetery. There's a finality to what's going to happen. It's wicked and cruel and brutal, but I know Millie has accepted it. And as long as I don't dig too deeply into that part of my soul I feel blacken every second it gets closer—so have I.

I hold her hand, and we walk slow. Her eyes dart about the wintery streets we pass. The season has stripped the trees of life, leaving darkened branches bare like claws stretching towards the moody sky. The bitter wind is scooping up blackened leaves, churning them around. Children with rosy-cheeked faces run past us with woollen hats pulled low over chilly ears.

We don't speak much. That will come.

When we reach my flat, I linger in the doorway. She breezes past me, slipping off her coat and peering out the windows to the world below. She turns to gaze at me, her full lips parting into a soft smile, her cheeks flushed from the cold and I just watch her. I never want to stop watching her.

"I waited forever for you," I whisper, and her face softens in the most beautiful way.

"You getting cheesy on me, Mort?" I laugh deeply, my head going back.

"Only for you, only ever for you." She stalks forward, slowly making her way back to me, her lips still curled into that slight smile. It's seductive as hell and she knows it.

"I'd like to say I was waiting for you... but I wasn't. I was focused on Mum for so long, I never really thought about making space in my life for anyone else. Meeting you made me realise there were things I wanted for myself, and I was willing to fight for those things. I'm grateful for that." She falls silent, and for the first time today, I see the anguish in her eyes. It's a jagged pain that makes her hand fly to her chest, which turns her eyes wet. "I wish we had more time," she whispers finally.

My chest heaves, and I fight every feeling in my body that tells me to look away from her, to hide the hurt I know is written across my face. But she needs me today, and I have a lonely eternity to weep for my loss. This day, the day of her birth, the day of her death, is about her.

"Me too."

We just stare at each other, the space between us dense and heavy, full of the things we want but can't have, the things we need from this day but are terrified we won't get.

"Now... what are you going to cook for me?" The sudden shift and the grin on her face have me chuckling. She steps closer, her arms encircling my waist, fingers tugging on the back of my coat. She leans upwards, her face close to mine, still glowing from the cold. "If I'm not wrong. I believe you owe me another birthday cake."

***

I enjoy cooking. The smells and sounds of a kitchen always reminded me of my mother. Of my childhood. But I hardly ever bake, and it shows. Millie just sits on the stool, elbows on the counter, her eyes following me around the kitchen, watching and teasing as I struggle. Her music, a playlist of slow and soulful songs, plays. She sings along and I don't focus on the baking. I just watch her, we watch each other. Mixing ingredients and chopping fruit keeps my hands busy, keeping the dry lump in my throat and the pain behind my eyes from growing to unbearable levels.

The sun is setting by the time I pull the piping hot cake from the oven. As each second passes, each moment draws us closer. I think our sadness, our resigned fate, keeps us hazy and I'm grateful for it.

The flat smells sweet, the air laced with vanilla and chocolate. She eats the cake warm, with her fingers. She's lying in my arms on the settee, the small plate balancing on her stomach. We talk. She asks me questions—about my life, about the war, about Scythe. She tells me about her dreams, about the things she wanted to do, about the things she did in her brief life.

As we talk, the sky outside turns navy, the first diamond stars peeking through the last silver clouds of the day. The songs on her playlist shift again and again into the next until her favourite song, one I've heard her sing along to a thousand times, fills the silence of the apartment. With our bodies still entangled, she goes to stand, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She pulls me up and into her arms, and we sway together in the shadows. We dance and kiss and laugh. It's easy when it should be hard. Sweet when it should be bitter.

We dance and hold each other like that for a long time. Any remaining light fades as our bodies move together. When she speaks, she whispers a question I was afraid but desperate to ask.

"I want... before I go, I want to be with you." I lean down, grazing my lips across hers, holding back a tidal wave of feelings and needs. I tuck a loose curl behind her ear.

"I want that too," I say simply, knowing I don't need words right now, that soon I can show her in a different way. She smiles, lifting herself to press her lips against mine. I don't hold back, I can't anymore. Her lips part, welcoming my kiss, and every kiss that comes after melting into the next. My hands touch her face, sweep through her hair, her waist and her hips. I pour my feelings, everything I have ever wanted to say to her, into each touch. She pulls away laughing and breathless, lips bee-stung and hair wild.

It's Millie who takes my hand, leading me slowly towards my bedroom. She keeps turning back to look at me, her wide eyes never leaving mine. We reach my room. The faint light from outside slices through the blinds, hitting her face in fragments of white. When she lets go of my hand and backs away towards the bed, I see she's breathing hard, her shoulder tense.

"I thought knowing I was to going to die would take away all my fears... but I'm nervous."

"We don't have to..." She laughs and shakes her head.

"It's normal, isn't it, to be nervous? To feel nervous and excited and scared. That's how it should be. That's how I want to feel. I don't want my death to take away everything."

She unbuttons her top, and I let her, watching the shadows move across her soft skin as the shirt slips from her body and onto the floor, revealing the black lace of her bra. Finally, I move towards her, pulling my shirt over my head as I do. I see her lips part, her eyes hungry. I take her hand and put it on my chest, over my heart, wanting her to feel how it races for her. Beats, only for her.

"I love you, Millie." Then I pull her into my arms.