The Clairvoyant

Four | 83 days, 18th hour

My eyes fumble around the countless of shirts in front of me, and automatically, I reach out for one of them and pick it out.

The shirt is what other girls would call a “boyfriend's polo”, and its colored with a fine shade of pink, and the embroidery on the pocket with gray.

As I reach out to touch the white rose buttons, someone taps me on the shoulder, surprising me. I turn around and spot Cain looking at me, his hazel eyes glued to the polo I'm holding, his hands shuffled inside his brown pants pocket.

We don't say anything at the moment, even our minds are quiet. We just stare at one another and I'm only realizing what Cain's wearing at the moment: he's wearing a white polo, the top button undone, and over it, he's wearing a black striped coat which he doesn't bother closing.

I look at his face, his eyes keen on staying with mine, his black hair a bit disheveled the way a boy would when they wake up.

And for the first time, I notice that he's missing something: his glasses. The specs. The ones he wore the whole week during school.

“You're not wearing glasses today?” I ask him as I place the shirt back into the rack. Before I would have been too shy to walk beside him, but now we're walking together, side by side, in a pace that perfectly fits the other.

He gives me a nod but then takes something out of his pocket. “They're not real glasses anyways. I only wear them to 'seem' smart.” He informs me, handing the dork glasses to me. I put them on just in time for me to check it out on a mirror.

“You should wear one,” He says just over my shoulder. It looks cute.

“Thank you,” I reply with a grin, not taking it off as Cain's cheeks grow a shade of red.

He turns around in place, ignoring me. “Whatever, you should just buy your own glasses.”

“It's not like I need them,” I puff out a cloud of cold air. “And it's not like you need them too.”

“It's for my image.”

“And you care about your image,” I repeat as I roll my eyes. “Yada, yada, yada. I know.”

“Sometimes I'm wondering if you're even a delinquent.”

“I am one, but it doesn't mean I can't be like this too,” I point out my clothes. He's looking at them. And yes, I'm not wearing clothes a gangster or even a delinquent would usually wear: black thick tights, white boots reaching below my knee, then a tee top and a coat.

And that doesn't even include Cain's fake glasses.

“I'm cute,” I grin.

“You're arrogant,” He deadpans. But maybe cute too.

I give out a giggle before he can take it back. “See?”

“You're looking into my mind without permission.”

“I don't need one,” I laugh at him and we stop our walk abruptly. “it's wide open for me to hear.”

“Just as yours is!”

The people around us look at us, their eyes turning into those weird gazes.

I give out a laugh and shake my head, finding it particularly funny that Cain actually lost himself in a crowd.

Cain clears his throat before we continue walking in the mall, his hands are still in the pocket, and by the way his eyes are straight forward, staring at nothing at all, I can tell he's having a hard time not thinking of anything since I can still hear him one way or another.

“So what are we gonna do today?” Cain inquires, his nose slightly red from the cold.

I stop at another store, and its filled with different clothes again. I gesture for him to follow, and he does, and as I walk in the clerks greet me a 'good evening'. “I'm just gonna buy something, since you know, it was my birthday this Monday.” I tell him, picking up another blouse from some random shelf.

“I never imagined you to be the type who loved clothes,” Cain says and I turn around and realize that he was thinking about it all along. Without his lips moving, he says, “I mean, you're the delinquent at school. No one would really expect you to love such cute things.”

“You think this top is cute?” I blurt out, surprising the people around me since Cain hadn't really said anything to me. Well, not through his voice anyways. “I think the off shoulder ones are cuter, what do you think?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I think off shoulder ones are a bit too exposed for a weather like this. Its below thirty out there.” His chin jerks just outside the window where the sun's out cold and the moon's high up in the sky. “Well, its your choice.”

Looking at it, I sigh and place it back on the rack. I follow Cain outside the store where its cold once more.

“You shouldn't have worn so little,” Cain sighs, shaking his head and unravelling his maroon scarf. “Here, put this on.”

“I'm fine,”

“I insist.”

“Cain-”

“Stella.”

We're staring at each other's eye again, but he quickly looks away. I frown immediately, thinking there must be something wrong with me since he won't even look at me, until he says, “It's not your face. It's not even about you, Stella.”

“You read my mind again,” I deadpan.

“It's not like I can't,” Cain tells me, his hands now going inside his pockets again.

We're walking in the mall, looking through countless of random stores, going in and coming out with nothing. Finally after what seems like forever, Cain sighs tiredly but for some reason I can't seem to read his mind at the moment.

He looks up, eyes arched, and as if he's trying to tell me something, nothing comes to me.

What? I ask him inside my mind. We're practically a*****e away from each other; Cain sitting down on one of those cold benches and me looking at another store: Victoria's secret. You have something to say? You're mind's blank at the moment.

Is it? He asks me.

Now it isn't. You were totally blank for a second there.

He lets out a small breath, and now looks at the ground. Are you almost done?

I turn back to look at the cute pajamas they have in Victoria's. Not yet, I send to him, knowing full well only Cain would be able to hear my thoughts. If you're tired, we could just go home for now. It's not like I really wanted to buy something.

Then why'd we come here in the first place?

I just wanted to go out.

You wanted to go out on a date with me? His voice, if that's what you call the sound you'd hear in your head, rises at the end of his question. And just like that, I turn away from him and try to distance myself so he wouldn't be able to hear my thoughts.

Stella!

Over the past few days, I've realized just how far our minds can connect to one another. If we're practically fifteen feet away from each other, Cain wouldn't be able to hear my thoughts. It was like some kind of strange clairvoyant signal.

You move away from the center point, it's weak.

You're close to it, it's strong.

Stella!

I hear Cain's thoughts though it's a bit fuzzy – if that's even possible, again. I pick up my pace quicker just to escape. I don't know why I'm running away from Cain, but I just feel like its the right thing. Like, for once I feel like having my mind to myself.

Not that it wasn’t if we're out of school.

Cain can always just send me a message, asking me where I am, and then we'd find each other again. Now I stop my running, breathless – I don't know when I even started running. And like I expected, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

“Salue?” Hello?

“I never studied Latin,” Cain says, obviously out of breath. “Where are you?”

I give out a smile, my cheeks rising at his voice. I'm just smiling. Just smiling. “In the mall.”

“Obviously,” He mutters, and I can hear people rustling in the background.

“Why don't we play a little hide and seek?” I giggle, my feet moving on their own and making me enter a boutique store. “I'm looking at some food right now, but in another five minutes I'm planning on exiting and moving to another one.”

“You want me to chase after you?” He asks, his voice incredulous. For a second I can hear his background turning quieter by the second until I realize he's entered some random store. A laughter escapes my lips and people begin staring at me.

“I'm not there,” I chuckle, walking out of the boutique.

“I can tell,” He replies moments later.

His background is noisy once more and I'm standing there in the cold, looking out for him. I grip the scarf around my neck, and for once it feels warm. A smile escapes my lips and when I spot a free bench not far away from me, I sit down on it.

“Please give me a clue.”

“I see a flower pot on my side,” I lie since the flower pot is practically across the hexagon area to where I am. “And then I see the car park on the right,” I should say left but this is still a given clue.

“You're at the Plaza?” He asks me, and i click my tongue.

Of course Cain would know. He lives in Eau Claire just like me after all. “Maybe, maybe not. I don't know. Where are you though?” I get up from my seat but then hear his surroundings turn into a soft hush. He must have entered a*****e.

“Somewhere,” He chuckles. “I see you, Stella.”

I look around, think out loud random things, but Cain isn't answering. Either he's playing a trick on me, or he isn't really close to me. Or he's just out of the Zone (I know, it's a stupid name to call our “Signal Zone” but what other name could I have given it?)

My eyes look at my surroundings: the adults around me, the little kids playing around everywhere, and the benches now occupied by the elder. Its noisy and I notice for the first time. It's difficult to hear Cain's thoughts in this clamor.

And for a second, I shut my eyes closed, my hands gripping together against my palm.

I don't know why, but I feel like panicking at the moment. My mind's hearing all sorts of noise from all the voices around me. My head's dizzy – maybe its because lately I've gotten used to only hearing Cain's voice inside?

But whatever it is, it's gotten me weary.

My feet stammer backward and any moment now I know I'll fall down.

But I don't, and instead I feel a firm grip on my shoulder.

Cain, I think, my voice in my head sounding relief.

But when I turn around, it isn't Cain at all.

He has striking red hair, pointy at the top with obvious gel on, well, everywhere. His beady green eyes are like a cat's, slanted upward, and they're looking into mine. His lips, they're formed into a small 'o' as if surprised.

“Stella?” The guy asks me, his voice deep. He's towering over me, his right hand still on my shoulder, the other on my arm. He's holding me in place, tightly there as if afraid I'd fall down again – I mean, almost fall down, again.

A gasp. A choke. I catch my breath for a second.

I know this guy.