Chapter One
Present day…
“Blade…?”
Her eyes opened with a snap and a sharp inhale. “What…?” she whispered, blinking back the fog before her eyes, the one that was still trying to dissipate inside her head. Her gaze shifted to a woman only several inches shorter than herself. “What did you call me?” she asked next, swallowing a few times in some attempt to wet her parched throat.
“Uh… Morgan?” Eva replied as her thin black brows rose, making her cobalt blues seem much bigger than they were. She smirked after the beat of a moment, highlighting the snakebite piercings hooked around her lower lip. “What else would I call you?” She watched as Eva leaned forward and clasped her hands behind her back. The action caused her obsidian pigtailed hair, pulled up high and tight to either side of her skull, to shake at spiked points the likes of which defied all gravity. “That-girl-who-always-ignores-me? Kind of a mouthful, don’t ya think?”
Morgan rolled her eyes as she broke Eva’s gaze and set her paintbrush down in a cup of water, mentally shaking off the way her nerves felt frayed. She grabbed a rag from the small stand next to her easel and began to wipe away the bits of paint on her hands that were still wet enough to remove.
“Oh, this looks really good, M. I didn’t know you were doing a forest scene for your final project.”
Morgan followed Eva’s line of sight towards the painting she’d been working on. She wasn’t certain she would call it good just yet, but she was happy thus far with her own progress. “I still need to add more.”
“Really?” Eva frowned. “You gonna put people in it?”
“Don’t you have work to do?” she asked with a sigh, ignoring the question entirely.
“I always have work to do.”
It would be easy to be annoyed by her classmate. Eva was a proverbial bundle of energy, one who made friends as easily as one breathed air. She liked to party, to drink, and her favorite colors included anything that began with neon. In fact, most of the time Morgan wondered if she’d stolen her wardrobe from an 80s music video set.
The twenty-three year old college student didn’t hate her, but her idea of a good time had more to do with silence and quiet—usually a good book before bed. Eva’s presence was anything but, tiring Morgan within mere moments of speaking with her.
“Then please leave me to mine.” At this, Morgan moved to grab her paintbrush once more. She dabbed it on the rag to remove moisture and then dipped it into the black on the pallet. As she stepped towards the canvas Eva moved away.
“Believe it or not, I do have something to ask you.”
Morgan focused on creating the beginnings of the body of a black swan. “If this is about bothering me to go out Friday night with you and Diana—yet again—then the answer is still no.”
“Man, why do you have to be so damned prickly?” the other woman asked. Morgan could see that her hands had gone to her hips out of her peripheral vision.
“A better question would be, why do you keep asking me the same question every week when you know my answer will be no?”
“Because you’re lonely?”
Morgan blinked at that, stunned enough to stop working altogether. She’d been expecting something with far more snark or sarcasm. Isn’t that how they generally communicated?
Eva must have taken her silence as a cue to keep going. “Well you are, you know? I’ve been asking you to hang out for how long? Since last semester? The only time you didn’t turn me down was when I asked for help with the midterm project.”
Morgan met her gaze, still flummoxed. “I am not lonely,” she deadpanned.
Eva crossed her arms over her chest. “Name one person you’re friends with on campus that’s not me or Diana.”
Morgan frowned. She visibly paused. “Are you stalking me?”
“No! Don’t change the subject,” she ordered, huffing. “And don’t say we’re not friends because that only add points to my case.”
“I like my privacy,” Morgan argued, not feeling inclined to lie and make up names when there was no need to defend herself. Besides, there were other reasons, but Eva didn’t need to know what those were.
“Who doesn’t, M?”
“Eva…” she shifted her gaze upward and closed her eyes, silently asking the heavens for grace—or something.
“Do you hate me or something?”
“No.”
“Then come hang out. We can even go somewhere you wanna go—somewhere not loud and noisy if you want privacy.”
God, she looked pitiful, Morgan thought as she met her gaze—her pouting eyes and mouth. Like someone had broken her signed record by Pink Floyd. Morgan wasn’t certain she even liked the band, but the analogy suited.
Why did it bother Eva so much? No one else cared that Morgan kept to herself, that she went home to an empty apartment, or that she spent most mornings listening to the city come to life on her balcony while she enjoyed her breakfast. People didn’t care about things like that; they didn’t. Well, no one aside from her cousin. But he wasn’t in town just then, so his opinion amounted to squat.
Though, honestly, no one really interacted with her as much as Eva to point it out. Again, other than her cousin.
It was hard not to empathize with Eva; it was difficult, in general, for Morgan not to empathize with anyone. She could almost feel Eva’s disappointment, her honest desire to spend time with Morgan when most anyone else would have given up even being nice by now. Perhaps that was part of the reason why it bothered Eva. She was used to everyone responding favorably to her warm and open personality. Morgan just wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault.
Instead she forwent sighing and said, “I don’t like nightclubs, but…”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a place called Corner Pocket Pub I go to from time to time. On Friday nights they have pool and dart tournaments, but it’s a big enough that you can get a booth and have some coffee—a few beers—without being bothered.”
Her grin bloomed, but before she opened her mouth Morgan held up a hand.
“Invite Diana. That’s fine. But don’t show up with a crowd of strangers. Alright? I’ll text you the address.”
“Great. But I changed my number a few weeks ago when I got a new phone and kinda lost yours…”
Morgan’s brows rose and she considered not asking at all, knowing she might regret the answer, but…. “Do you normally change your number when you get a new phone?”
“God no,” Eva replied with a laugh and a wave of her hand. “There was this guy online I was talking to and I gave him my digits. But he got all creepy on me and wouldn’t stop calling. So yeah—had to change it. Getting a new phone was just a thing because I was way due for an upgrade.”
“I see…” She did regret it, if only slightly. “You should probably get back to work,” Morgan hinted, wanting to get back to her own. “I’ll get your new number after class. And give you mine again.”
“Awesome! Did you want to grab a bit with me before you head home or to your next class? Do you have another class today?”
Morgan closed her eyes rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I—.”
“Do you need help, Ms. Rembrandt?” their professor called from across the room, saving Morgan from another debate.
“No, thank you, Mr. Quinn,” Eva called back and then frowned at being found out. “I hate how he’s all about not talking…” she muttered in a whisper while she glared in his direction.
“Eva…” Morgan drawled in warning, giving her a glance with narrowed eyes. “Go.”
“Fine!” she hissed, “I’m going. See you after, Miss I-like-to-be-alone.” As she turned on her heel and walked away—bracelets clicking against her wrists—Morgan couldn’t help but smile a little.
She wondered, briefly, if she’d have been better off rebuffing her as usual. No… it was probably fine. If she really only did bring Diana Morgan had nothing to worry about. Eva’s blond friend was the calm to the punk princess’ storm.
Briefly wondering how much longer she had until she could go home, Morgan looked at the clock. Wait… ten minutes? That… that didn’t seem right. Before Eva had bothered her class had only barely begun. Damn… It was Thursday. She wouldn’t have class again until next week on Tuesday and she did not want to stay to work on her painting late today or during next weeks’ Tuesday class. She’d have to take it home if she had any hope of completing it before the gallery showing next week, the final week of classes before summer.
But how had she lost almost an hour? Surely her discussion with Eva hadn’t sucked up forty-five minutes… No… she knew. Morgan sighed; she shut her eyes and leaned one hand into the table that held her supplies, ignoring the cold feel of wet paint under her palm.
Daydreaming again.
…It was always surreal; the names, fuzzy faces, and locations that had all become a semi-regular occurrence that she’d grown accustomed to. Most often they came about during the day while she was home by herself. This was the first time it had happened on campus. Occasionally they were regular dreams and not something that sucked an hour or two from her day, coming once or twice a month; they had for years. But recently… as much as two to three times a week. This one had been the second in less than three days. Did it mean she was finally losing her mind? Would she just fall into a waking coma one day and never come back to reality?
When the Mr. Quinn finally told them they could leave Morgan shook herself out of the lethargy and went about cleaning up and gathered her things. She stored her painting in her case, sliding it carefully because she’d chosen to use oils and really didn’t have a desire to smear anything between school and home.
All the while her mind relived her reprieve from class. This time, like the many times before since she’d been six years old, she’d sunk into a world that did not exist—that by all accounts only should exist in fantasy novels. It was a beautiful and dangerous and didn’t make any sense. But it was crippling; oh so crippling when she was lost in it at the most inopportune times like today.
Ridiculous, really—frustrating and uncontrollable.
Some part of her wanted it to all stop; to stop so she could quit feeling like she was crazy and having hallucinations in the middle of the day. Because, truly, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just at night while she slept. At night she didn’t have to worry about someone shaking her to get her attention like her parents once did; she didn’t have to worry about someone ripping her out of someone else’s life that her mind manifested; nor did she have to worry about them trying to take her to doctors whose only solution was to give her medication that didn’t work.
And yet… another part feared missing out on these secret people whose lives she got a glimpse of—of a battle worn woman who looked so much like the reflection in her mirror… of a woman who couldn’t really cry or feel for fear of losing control of herself—to what end, she wasn’t certain.
The last psychiatrist she’d seen when she’d been twelve, the final one before she gave up on any of it working and had told her guardian—Marie—no more, had suggested she take up art or writing. She’d told Morgan it might help to have an outlet; maybe then she’d stop seeing them. Or maybe it would give her answers. It hadn’t, but now she had a hobby that allowed her dreams life outside of her mind. She wasn’t sure if that was for the better or worse.
Another sigh as she hung up the apron she’d used on a hook along the wall before picking up her stuff and moving to leave. It didn’t surprise her that she was the last one to go; it was easier to work when she wasn’t fighting fifteen or so people to use the sink.
“Hey, Morgan—M.” Eva’s bright eyes and wide grin met her in the hall. She had her hands hooked through her backpack straps as she bounced on the front balls of her feet. Morgan hadn’t noticed it before, but the bright blue shirt she wore had—of all things—Pink Floyd plastered across the front.
If I find out she has a signed record I’m buying a lottery ticket, Morgan thought as she reached up and pushed chin-length black bangs aside. “Got your phone?” Before she finished the sentence her classmate had it snatched out of her pocket and in her hands.
Morgan rattled off her number, watching as Eva punched it in. “Send me a text and I’ll edit your contact info.”
“You got it.”
“Just make sure it’s only you and Diana.”
Eva frowned—pouted, actually. “I will. What do you take me for?”
Morgan’s brows rose as she dug one hand into a jean pocket, in the process pulling up on the hem of the white t-shirt and black moto jacket; the latter was unzipped. “A little over the top and easily excited?” she asked matter-of-factly as she adjusted both bags hanging from her right shoulder—one for backpack and another attached to the wooden case for her painting.
Eva rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out after class—.”
“No.” And then she turned—finally—and made her way down the hall. Feeling guilty enough to let the free-spirit of a girl rope her into a Friday night on the town was enough. Two in one day tested the limits of her patience.
“You’re like an old man!” Eva shouted at her. In response, she held up a hand and waved before turning the corner.
At least old men get peace and quiet.
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome - by Blade - 09-09-2015, 07:18 PM
Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome - by Blade - 09-09-2015, 07:18 PM
RE: Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome - by Blade - 04-01-2016, 10:06 PM