The Scar.

Sounds very Harry Potter-ish, don't it? This thing has been sitting on my computer for CENTURIES. Gawd. I thought that I'd better finish it and be rid of it. Gah.

Post-Reunion.

Suze is acting like a complete school-girl with a crush. It's so ditzy. Aww, hugs for Suze and her slight case of pathetic-ness.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

I looked up from my World Civ. homework furtively, and snuck my eyes over to where Jesse de Silva was sitting on my window seat, reading a really, really thick Latin book. Something like "Atrox Adfectus" or something which I totally didn't understand. My seemingly innocent gaze soon turned into one of fully-fledged lust.

My vision devoured the way his hair gently curled behind his ears, a little over his forehead, and into the crook of his neck. How his broad shoulders stretched out in unaware dominance. How his height seemed so intimidating and yet so alluring. How his very physique proclaimed a confident, muscular glory.

I blinked lazily as my eyes flickered down to his shirt . . . I got a thrill whenever he leaned forward just that little bit, evanescently displaying the celestial realms of his abdominal muscles, oh be still my heart. His shirt seemed to be stained with fine dust, that had clung on even through death – no, murder. I drank in his tight pants, and lowered my scrutiny to his swashbuckling black boots, complete with those totally cute – and kind of corny – spurs.

Then, like a magnet, my gaze was pulled back to his gorgeous face. His dark complexion glowed with a gentle spectral light that only seemed to enhance his almost unreal perfection.

But most lethal of all were his eyes.

Even when he wasn't looking at me, they locked me in an entrapping gaze that I couldn't ever hope to look away from. I could feel my skin tingle and my heart race and my breath quicken and my face heat up and he would still be oblivious to the effect that his eyes had on me. His irises seemed to be composed of molten chocolate, with a sweet danger. They restricted secrets from me that I longed to know. The enchanting mystery that was hidden from me only made me more desperate to know it . . .

In other words, yeah. I liked the guy. Happy?

Jesse is like, you know, the forbidden fruit thingie? Where you like, want it but you always know deep in yourself that you can't ever have it. It was a cruel temptation that plagued me everyday, like flies plague those smelly people back in New York who tried to grab your bag away from you.

It totally sucked.

But you know what they say? That we will always want the unattainable?

Yeah, that's what Jesse is to me.

Jesse's my apple that I just can't eat.

Um . . . not that I'm a, er, cannibal.

Ew. Hell no, you silly fool.

Of course, I always wonder whether Jesse can hear my thoughts. Because it was right then when he looked up, and directly into my eyes – and my soul. I must have looked like a dear in headlights or something, because I knew that my eyes were wide as anything. And yeah, I couldn't tear away from his chocolate gaze.

'Querida . . . ' he breathed in a soft, reverberating tone, lilted with Spanish splendour. That deep, sexy voice ravaged my nervous system, causing thousands of exhilarating chills to shower my skin.

I blinked at him. 'Er . . . yeah?'

Oh, wow Suze. Brilliant start to a conversation.

And slowly, an amused smile conquered his lips, spreading over his face with satisfaction and laughter, and trickling into his eyes. I could feel myself melting. And it was all I could do to stop the drool.

'Um . . . ' I said again, opening my mouth to say more, but my voice just wouldn't work, Oh my GOD. This was beyond the territory of embarrassment. Whoa, this was sad.

Jesse's laughing gaze seemed to immobilize me, mesmerize me, and electrify me. All I wanted at that very moment was to be kissing him. I swear to God, I just wanted to walk over there, knock that damn book of his lap, straddle his knees, cup his face, and press my lips against his in an attempt to demonstrate my passionate love for him. Or . . . love? I dunno if that was what it was. But it made me feel so weird, in a totally good way.

I kind of hoped it was love, but at the same time, well . . . I didn't. Because I knew that Jesse was a ghost.

'Querida,' he repeated, his large hand sliding over the page of his book, 'Was there something that you wanted?'

OF COURSE THERE IS SOMETHING THAT I WANT. YOU! YOOOOU, YOU BLIND FREAKOZOID.

I kind of squeaked.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I stared at his face for a little, but then looked away.

One question danced in my mind, though.

That sexy little scar on his eyebrow…how did he get it?

I bet it was amidst some life-threatening drunken bar fight. Bandits from out of town came into some in, demanding liquor. Jesse, defender of the weak, stood up, saying that it was BYO or something, and he got a BOTTLE shoved in his face. There was a scuffle. He, of course, won easily, because he's just so hot, and everyone cheered for him.

OR.

MAYBE, he was trying to stop some Black Beauty of a runaway horse from . .. um, running away. He rode nobly by the wild stallion, and then LEAPT onto it from his mare, grabbing the saddle, but falling, and getting kicked in the face with one of the hooves. However, since my Jesse is so sexy and adept, he climbed back on the feral horse in blazing determination so typical of guys as hot as him, and stopped it before it . . . um, ran of a cliff or something.

I sighed, just thinking about it . . .

OR.

Maybe his town was being raided, pillaged and plundered by evil cowboys, or something, who were totally after sex – like all the bad guys – and one was accosting some poor innocent young woman in an inn room, and Jesse jumped in, saying, "BACK, FIEND!" because he's protector of the innocent, and then they too fought, and my darling Hector got punched in the EYEBROW, but he ignored the blood, and he went on beating the nasty poop out of that evil guy – much like he did with Paul Slater.

Bad guys always get smooshed by the good guys.

OR.

Maybe some guy owed some gangster guy money, and due to a terrible case of mistaken identity, they kidnapped Jesse, and shoved him in a room, tied him to a chair, and held a knife to his face, and they were all, "Pay up, or we'll make you look like the Mona Lisa . . . " (who has no eyebrows) but just as they cut a little bit of Jesse's sexilicious little eyebrow, he heroically spat out his gag, and then, with kung fu – I mean . . . skilful fighting techniques that hot guys genetically pick up, he kicked and punched and bit and won, and then tied them all to a back of a horse by their feet, and rode to the police station to turn them all in, and he was the celebrated hero of the town.

And he got complimentary spurs.

With a dreamy smile, I lay back on my bed, visualizing these cavalier, rumbustious, daring adventures in my mind, my face glowing. I breathed happily, closing my eyes.

My Jesse got his scar by doing something dangerous and epic and romantic, I just know it.

'Jesse, how did you get your scar?' I breathed, my eyes enchanted, as I looked at him with vivid intent.

He blinked boredly.

'Dog bite,' he said.

. . . Oh.

My face fell.

No bandits . . . gangsters . . . wild horses . . . bar fights . . . complimentary spurs???

WELL THAT JUST SUCKED, DIDN'T IT?