Sarah Jane Smith, a 26 year old young woman that has a background in zoology and science was born and bred in rural England. She could be best described as reserved, shy, and economical. She knows her place and she lives by a set of rules, never breaking any of them.
She has never even had a drop of alcohol. She has never tried anything stronger than a cigarette. She has never had sex. She has never been in love. She just doesn't know what to do with herself.
Sarah Jane Smith used to be perfectly content living in a world where she knew exactly where she came from and where she would be going when it's all over. But things change. Circumstances change. People change.
Steve Stevenson, a 23 year old professional surfer and outdoorsman, lives his life one day at a time. He doesn't have a place to call home, he doesn't have a desk job so he sleeps when he gets tired. He likes to do things that excites him so he has been jumping from one adventure to another. He is a thrill seeker who loves to live life on the edge.I didn't really sleep that night, just stared into the darkness, replaying the words over and over again in my head, wondering if I'd really heard what I think I heard. Wondering if she could see me, really see me. I wondered if she would go through with it, tell her parents, ask questions.
I didn't want to know.
When it was getting light outside I crept downstairs and had a look in the lounge, but the photo was still there, lying facedown on the coffee table. I picked it up and held it in my hands and smiled. It felt warm to me, alive and comforting.
I'd never given the photo a second glance before this, just thrown it into a drawer with all the other things I'd accumulated, the things I'd dug out of other people when their parents had thrown them out, or I'd found somewhere else, when they'd forgotten they owned them.
I hadn't given it another thought because it wasn't me.
It didn't fit.
How could I feel a pendant that didn't belong to me? How could I feel what I knew to be another person's thoughts?
I reasoned that I could feel her thoughts because I had touched it. I'd held it in my hands, and the flesh on my hands were in contact with my skin, which was exactly where Tia was, on her skin. My hands, my skin, her face, I was feeling it the same way, just on different sides of the boundary between us.
It was then that I noticed how different her face looked. Her eyes were closed in the photo, but they were shut, not sunken in the way they were now, and her lips, they felt... smaller. Hollow.
