Lovely Lunacy

Chapter eighteen

It was a sunny day, something Vigil hadn't seen in a long time. When they reached the docks, Vigil wanted to go straight to the boat, but James led them to the boardwalk.

A long row of shops stood there, most closed. They stopped at a small store, and James kept her outside.

"What do you want?" He asked, leaning against the door.

"What?"

"What do you want for your birthday?" James repeated.

Vigil shrugged. "A cigarette holder. A long one."

He stared at her. "You smoke?"

"No," She murmured. "But they're so glamorous."

James chuckled, then opened the door. "You wait here. I'll have your gift in a minute."

He closed the door behind him, leaving Vigil outside. She stared at the chipped white wood, then spun around to face the sea.

I won't stop until you give up. The voice bellowed inside her brain. I won't stop until you jump.

Vigil almost cried with frustration. Just as she started to have a life, just when she would begin to forget, her mind would again return to haunt her.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" Vigil whispered, a sob building in her throat. "Why can't I be happy for once?"

I won't stop until you give up. The voice replied. Jump.

"Please just allow me one ounce of joy," She moaned. "Is that too much to ask?"

Give up. Jump, then I'll stop. It shouted.

The door again creaked open and James came out, beaming with excitement. He held a box wrapped in brown paper. A golden ribbon was tied around it.

"Happy birthday, curly." He sang, planting into her dark locks.

Vigil managed a smile, the voices almost inaudible now. "Thank you, mister gardener."

~~~~~

"Open it," James ordered, placing the box into Vigil's lap.

They were sitting in the unnamed ship, the cabin windows wide open. He had whipped up a mug of hot chocolate for her, and cleaned up the cabin to perfection.

Vigil dug her fingernails into the crisp paper, tearing it off. The brown fell to the floor, and she grinned.

A tiny white music box sat in her lap, painted with marigolds. The trim was golden, gleaming off the sun rays. She lifted the lid, where a tiny dancer posed. She wound it up and let go. A familiar tune filled her ears.

"It's 'Let Me Call You Sweetheart'," James explained, watching her face.

"I noticed," She stood up and, taking the box with her, she strolled out of the cabin. The air was slightly chilly now, but she leaned down on the railing. "What was that book next to your bed?"

"This?" He held up a small leather book, worn on the edges.

Vigil nodded and hoisted herself up on the railing. "Read it to me."

So he read it to her, perching atop the railing with her, his deep voice mixing with the waves and the seagulls. It was poetry—shakespeare perhaps?

Vigil glanced at him, then gingerly rested her head into his shoulder, cringing in wait for something awkward. But nothing happened, James seemed to relax even more so. He merely laid his head over hers, soft and sandy hair mixing with her glossy curls. Vigil wound up her golden music box, listening to the sweet tinkling of her favorite tune.

It was perhaps the best birthday of her short and miserable life.