New York: Allie's War, Early Years

Jaden raised his head.

"What's wrong?" he said, frowning.

"Nothing." I looked up, caressing his face. "I'm probably just hung over."

But I was frowning too, feeling that presence skirt the edges of my awareness. I couldn't wrap my mind around it; it hovered like the faint trace of a scent, like having a name or a flavour at the tip of my tongue. I tried to understand, to pull it closer, but I couldn't.

Jaden kissed me again.

After a pause, I let the other thing go and fell into the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck. Jaden's hands slid under the t-shirt of his I was wearing, pushing it gently up my body. His kisses deepened as he did it, growing more sensual as he tugged at my underwear.

Briefly, the pain I felt worsened. The presence behind it strengthened, too.

That time, I tried to ignore it.

Jaden sat up long enough to pull his shirt over his head. As he helped me to do the same, the pain slowly began to dwindle, fading further into the background. By the time he started kissing me again, I questioned if it had been there at all.

The tug of presence lingered, but only a little longer. A near-melancholy reached me in that silence; it reminded me again of floating in that golden ocean, that feeling of peace.

Before I could find a name for that, either, the memory slid out of my grasp.

Then the presence was gone, too.