Raven spent the quiet afternoon in his apartment lunging on the couch trying not to over think like what he always did.

“It’s been five years he moved on”

    “ but I miss him” 

“You don’t know if he loves you still” Raven tried reasoning with himself

“Don’t do it it won’t help” he told himself as he opened pictures of him and Crow they looked so happy

The first picture was on their first date Raven wore heavy eye shadow Crow held him close in the picture. Raven inwardly cringed at the eyeshadow thank god he got out of that phase but each picture brought heart ache he relived each picture the memories played on of the good times lost.

“Maybe if I text him?”

“He probably moved on he’s out west”
Raven said again he got off the couch and padded to the kitchen bustling around but everywhere he looked the memories followed crow loved to cook and show Raven things

Raven opened the fridge his appetite fading He looked down and saw the grey baggy hoodie he wore it was crows his favorite band plastered on the front “citizen soldier”

Raven tried distracting himself by painting his brush gliding across the canvas the blues and purples blended together by the time he was done he blinked away the tears and put a tarp over the painting he did of him and crow

He scrolled through his phone looked at all the blocked numbers 106 messages from mother “3 from his little sister and non from his friends Though he willed against it he read through his conversations with crow the plans and dreams - now shattered the last message was from crow

  Jan  4th     2021.    11:35 pm

“Hey babe happy anniversary, Don’t stay up for me I’m not coming home- I think we should break up it’s not you it’s me. I was never really gay I was just doing it for the thrill keep the hoodie.”

Raven went into the bathroom and looked at his tear streaked face though he lived alone old habits died hard he hugged himself and cried his thoughts willing himself to be better yet comforting entertaining the thought of crow hugging him to feel those strong arms around him thinking of the good times that seem faded

Few weeks later

Raven went to the bar to treat himself for his birthday the booming music played loud as patrons danced and swayed to the music heavy alcohol filled the air Raven sat down in a booth ordered a well done steak and some wine he glanced at the happy couples and forced himself not to think about crow then out of a glimpse of his eye he saw crows talk frame across the room Ravens heart fluttered he wanted nothing more to embrace him and get out of this hellish nightmare but also wanted to lash out at him for breaking it off then almost as if a switch he forced himself to look away he started scratching his wrist the hoodie he wore felt suffocating.

Then he noticed crow had a boy with him he was beautiful. And it made ravens heart ache crow was good with lies but it hurt when he was the victim he finished his food then left but not before seeing them kiss his spirit shattered tears pricked his eyes he ran out to the cold parking lot the air hitting him like a bucket of ice water he got into his car and cried As he drove home their favorite song played Raven couldn’t hand the pain he missed his love but didn’t want his heart broke again “would things ever change?” He thought to himself but he knew one thing was certain he would never love someone that much again

INITIUM

Life—a concept many argue about. An idea, a reality that pushes our minds to the limits. So many things come from it; so many things are taken by it. Life is an unstoppable force that even the most powerful magicker in the world cannot stop or alter. Though many do try.

Life is something I hate, but love with the whole of my heart. Despised, but beloved. The startling difference between black and white. Love is that gray in Life. That perfected the balance of Life in its fullest.

Love.

It’s also the thing that ruined me.

CHAPTER I

“I feel as though we should do something about this problem, Mr. Greyhead.”

My mind is slightly muddled from my medicine I used earlier in the day, but somehow, with the meek strength that I possess, I answer my typist back. “And what exactly is the problem, Miss Bass?” I hear shuffling behind my closed office door, then it opens and Miss Bass pops her head in, glasses so similar to my own perched on the bridge of her ivory nose.

“The Archer file.” A file slides into the narrow space. ARCHER is on the front of it, bold and center, and I sigh.

“Isn’t that the one,” I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes, not at all startled at the white streaks that dash through my closed eyelids, “With that—that peculiar man who kept looking at Henry strangely?”

“The exact one, sir.”

“Can’t someone else do it?” I reach over to the right edge of my desk to grab my cup of coffee. I take a sip and snatch the corner of my most recent report to bring it closer to me. I still have many to complete; the Bureau has given me several documents to uncover, most likely to keep me busy and out of the field—I have two reasons why. My magickal stamina is probably reason number one. Too large, but too special to lose, especially after that incident from three years ago. And reason number two is that I didn’t want to be in the field either and agreed to document every folder they sent to me, no matter how stupid. “It isn’t even a murder case. Mr. Archer heard a noise in the night, that was probably just two young children doing the_ unthinkable_ and snogging beneath the moonlight, and called us because of his misinterpretation of the scene.”

Miss Bass shrugs, not truly believing it but is agreeing for my sake. “Alright, I’ll take it to Percival in the afternoon.” She leans out of the door but pauses before closing it. “Mr. Greyhead.”

 I look up, my head heavy as my strength leaves once more. “Yes?”

“Are you…alright? I notice you seem more out of it these days.”

Those three words unlock something in me, and a feeling akin to regret washes over me. The worry, the care in them; the very things I’ve been trying to prevent from entering my life again. I deserve nothing of the sort—after what I did, a selfish man such as me deserves nothing but Death. That is why I have to stay distant, remote, for if those feelings enter my troubled heart once more, I fear that I will break down until I am nothing but a pile of pathetic ash.

So my body reacts involuntarily. Playing the game for so long makes one an expert in this field. I frown, eyes narrowing, body tensing with a tone that says back off. “That is none of your business, but if you so wish to know, I am doing quite fine. Good day, Miss Bass.”

I, really, am the exact opposite of fine. I’ve been being selfish and taking more pills than I should. But I don’t want to remember. I don’t.

Miss Bass feels the full extent of my displeasure, though it should have pleased me that she asked that question. So that is why? She only wanted to seem like a good guy—or, rather, a woman. She doesn’t care, why would she? I’m just another one of her employers who pays her paycheck. The look in her eyes and her feelings are all random guesses to me.

She gives me a curt smile, politeness masking that look in her eyes. The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence settles over me like a heavy weight. I force myself to focus on my reports again, the silence filling a hole within me that threatened to expand when Miss Bass expressed her concern.

“There have been no Vice attacks since late August, I wonder about that.” I sip on the rim of my mug, spitting the coffee back out when I find that it's cold. Human interactions have messed up my schedule, how awful. I put my mug back on my desk and grab the paper with both hands. I was never one to be interested in reading, let alone writing, and my past education was not one to be appraised for. If it wasn’t part of my job, I would have never even thought about the thing. Reading out loud, I’ve found, seems to help me hold the information inside of this brain of mine. I really don’t know how those readers do it.

“‘Every report so far seems to have been something mundane, such as: robberies, family disputes, and other things of the sort. Why they are calling us, we have no idea, but the Mundane Police Force has assured us that they will try to direct their people to come to them.’ I may have to correct some things, but it seems in check so far. Ugh. I think I may have overdosed on the pills a bit,” I mutter, the report slipping from my fingers. I lean back in my chair, eyes closing involuntarily. One nap. That’s all I need to reset. Just enough to escape, not too long to let the memories break the dam and come flooding in.

My mind shuts down and I retreat into the silence filled oblivion that feels like home.

It’s night when I finally leave. Miss Bass had left hours before me, as well as other coworkers in my office, so I didn’t have to waste any of my energy or time to talk or evade. The night air is cool, the wind low and carrying the light fog with it. The streetlamps illuminate the streets with a damp, orange glow. There aren’t many people out at the moment, and they all seem to keep to themselves. It’s nice; I have the attention that I deserve: none. Here, the Mundane know my name, but don’t care enough to memorize my face; to enact a conversation with me or try to get me on their good side.

Pleasant is what I use to describe this. That’s a rare word for me.

I feel a bit better now, more of my strength returning to me from under the haze of drugs. Tucking my chin into my coat, I hurry my steps as my body starts to feel the cold spikes of winter. When I get home, to my small, cramped and shared apartment, I will continue on my schedule, ignore my roommate Benjamin, who should be home by this time, take a quick dip in my tub, put on my nightgown, take my pill, and go to sleep.

These steps provide no room for error. They keep me safe and others safe from me.

“Rayburn! You're late, chap.” Benjamin is on the couch when I enter, a woman by his side half-clothed and flushed and looking angry that I had just interpreted them. “You had a rough day at the office?”

I brush by him and head straight to my room, catching the wide gaze from the woman. A Magickal one then, how annoying. It seems the “pleasantness” of the night has disappeared.  

“Good night, Benjamin.” I shut the door behind me, shrugging off my coat as I head to the washroom that connects to both our rooms.

“Oh, come on, Rayburn—I told you to call me Benji.” His muffled voice sighs. I don’t respond, instead I grab a rag from the top of my drawer, across the room from my small bed, and head to the washroom.

Several pumps of the parish pump, dips in the cold water, and harsh scrubs later, I emerge from the place shivering, wishing that I had bought a towel and remembering that Benjamin has one. I shake my head, twisting my flat yellowish curls that once glowed yellow in the sun and ring the water from them with my hands. “My god, what an awful thought. Asking that man, who can’t even hold himself from touching the nearest female specimen, for help. I must be going insane. Or maybe I am…where is my medicine?” I take my nightgown from my drawer and pull it over my head, walking to where my bed is positioned under my window. I have a studio—if you can call a small windowless room a studio—where I sketch sometimes. Today, I don’t feel like doing so, I don’t feel like doing anything. I just want to take a pill and hop into my bed, but—

“Where are they?” My head starts to spin as I kneel to search under my bed. “No, they couldn’t have just ran from my room, so where are they?” My hands start to shake as I look; my heart starts to race; there isn’t a part of my body that isn’t reacting to this. I need it.

Where. Is. It?

I check the drawers. No.

I check the washroom. No.

I check my bag. No.

Studio. No.

Kitchen. No.

Couch. No.

No. No. No. No.

I can’t breathe, my schedule is knocked all over the place. I can’t sleep without my medicine. I can’t do anything without my medicine. If I don’t have it, my mind will wander, and when it wanders, it goes to the past. In the past where I made mistakes. In the past where a bright boy waved to me and kept calling me the wrong name, loving the way I frowned at him. In the past where that same boy looked at me, heart broken and tears streaking his face as I left him in the rain.

“Rayburn? Are you alright.” A few steps toward me sound on the wooden floor. “Oh lord! Why are you just laying on the ground? Rayburn? Hey, Rayburn?”

“What’s wrong with him?” A female voice joins him, but I don’t care. It all turns to static as my eyes grow heavy.

“Leave me alone!” I shout at them, pushing them away as I scramble to my room. I close my door and tuck myself into a corner, shaking and shivering. “No, no,” I plead to myself to not sleep, stay awake, “I just have to find them…not yet…please don’t….”

This is an excerpt from one of my book ideas. I likely will not finish it, but I love this scene. Enjoy!

——

He chuckles, a low, genuine sound that starts from his belly. “Calm down, Apple Holler. You’re too smart for your own good. We’re at a party, and you’re still thinking about work.”

My cheeks flush. “Right. Sorry.” I don’t want to bother him about my conspiracies if he’s not interested.

He taps my arm. This is the first time he’s willingly touched me. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Alright, I’m gonna go get a soda. You want anything?”

I shake my head and he begins to walk away. I stand there for a moment, feet planted in the ground, groups of people talking around me but their voices are distant. My heartbeat doesn’t slow down. My chest feels light, like I’m about to fly away.

I know what this is.

As I stand here in my red dress under the lights, I have to remind myself that I am Holly. Strong-willed, hardworking Holly. The girl who convinced her mom to let her do karate at age seven. The girl who hasn’t given up on her dad. The girl who is the only proudly single one in her friend group. Landed a job after one interview. Independent.

And I, Holly, am falling in love.

But this is a job. He is my partner for this project, not my… whatever. I cannot let this compromise the integrity of my work. Marcus will have to wait.

She has to remember that Bell doesn’t know.

With Bell knowing a bit more of Wren’s life (but not all), it becomes harder to keep the secrets from her.

It’s all innocent enough. Bell came home from school and immediately began getting paper, markers, pictures, and glue. Señora Flores, Bell’s Spanish teacher, gave her class a family tree assignment. Then you label who each person is to you in Spanish, hence the Spanish class homework.

“Mom? What was Dad’s Mom’s maiden name?”

Wren peers over Bell’s shoulder and sees the cut out photos glued on a sheet of paper with brown marker lines connecting them. Just seeing Hai and herself tied to one another by a mark makes the guilt in her stomach grow three sizes bigger, especially with the related lines downwards with Bell and Greta pictures underneath.

Bell cranes her head with an eyebrow raised, expecting an answer.

“It’s Sun,” she answers quickly.

With the name, Bell scribbles down ‘Sun’ after ‘Lindsay’. Under the full designation is the title ‘abuela’.

“What? Did I get something wrong?” The question startles her so much she almost takes a step back. Wren didn’t notice Bell watching her. Her daughter must have seen her intently looking at her project.

“No, no. I was just admiring your Spanish.”

Bell’s eyebrows raise, clearly not believing her. Wren would scold herself if she could. It wasn’t a very good excuse. “Umm…ok. Don’t be too impressed. Jeremiah helped me a lot with the words.”

“I’m home!” A voice bellows out, thankfully interrupting them.

Well not so thankfully since it’s Hai.

“Dad! Come look at my family tree,” Bell beckons him over, a big smile on her face. It so cruelly juxtaposes how she was just a moment ago with Wren. Wren does her best to memorize this image of her daughter. Eyes bright and happy. Towards Hai.

This is why she hasn’t tell her the whole truth.

“It looks beautiful. It’s perfecto,” Hai compliments, leaning down to kiss Bell on the head, ruffling her hair as he leaves to change into home clothes.

Bell looks towards Wren. Even without reading her mind, she has a pretty good guess on what’s churning in her daughter’s head. She knows how Hai isn’t aware of her soulmate being someone else. But she also can see the gears moving. Bell is smart. She knows that Wren is still withholding information.

It kills Wren to hide this.

“Mom. What is going on?” When Wren is about to object, Bell holds up her hand to stop her.

There’s something else. What isn’t she telling me?

Wren visibly flinches when she realizes that she just read Bell’s thoughts without meaning to. Her telepathic powers had always come so naturally to her. Maybe too naturally.

Thinking back on many instances in her life, has she been unconsciously reading people’s minds, not intentionally doing so?

In the first time that Wren can remember, her gift that has gotten her out of many hairy situations might be a curse. She violated her daughter’s privacy and trust. She manipulated Hai and Greta and so many others.

If it’s hurting her to keep this from her family and it’s hurting her family to keep this from them, then why is she keeping it from them?

She is getting tired. So tired.

But this would blow up her whole family as she knows it.

This decision has big stakes. She’s been mulling over it since Bell found out Wren manipulated her to forgetting her soulmate. And seeing her daughter’s broken expression now and her unconscious use of her powers, she knows what has to be done.

She checks her phone and sees Greta texted that she’d be home soon. Good.

“I think it’s time for a family meeting.”

It’s time for her to lay all her cards on the table.

Face up.

———

This was originally going to be written in Bell’s perspective, but then I realized with what I wanted to convey, I needed to write it in Wren’s pov.

I’ve been told a lot of things in my life. And I’ve always honored what my family taught me. I listened, I tried, I didn’t give up.

It sounds stupid honestly. What boy my age ever listens to his parents? I’m supposed to sneak out my window to meet a girl I don’t even like. I’m supposed to yell at my parents, tell them I don’t love them, I don’t need them. I’m supposed to slam my bedroom door and feel that little tinlging urge to grab a bag, throw clothes into it and run.

But here I am. Sitting at the kitchen table, with a few photos spread out in front of me. Memories of my family. The one that always seems to grab my attention is the one I’ve been starring at for hours.

My father took it on our camping trip. I was so young I don’t even remember most of it. Yet, I remember this. I can hear our laughter echoing through that dark night.

Our smiles are so bright they seem to glow brighter than the orange flames dancing before our eyes. Mom is holding me on her lap, her brown eyes smiling down at me like I’m something that is about to disappear.

My older brother Tommy, who was two at the time, is up front with Dad, who’s holding the camera out a sliver of his arm is visable in the corner of the photo.

Mom and I are kind of like the background of the family. Always more quiet, more reserved, at least that’s what Mom used to tell me. Before she and Dad climbed into our old silver car and were killed.

Tears gather in my eyes as I slide the photo off the table, holding the white edge in my fingers.

One years ago, one years ago today. November 18. My vision blurs, making the photo fade.

I hold back my cries, my chest suddenly throbbing with that dull, aching pain. How have I lived a year without my mom and dad?

Why did they have to go? Why did he have to take them? We were a perfect family, we didn’t fight, I never wanted to leave. So why? Why did he pick to ruin us?

The sound of the front door shutting brings me back to reality. I look over my shoulder, dropping the photo on the table.

Tommy drags his feet across the hardwood floors, his blonde hair falling near the sides of his eyes.

He throws the car keys onto the counter, the jingle as they meet the cold granite.

“Hey,” I mumble as Tommy stumbles over to me. I can see the purple lines under his pale brown eyes. He must have been out all night.

“Hey,” Tommy sighs, falling into the chair next to me. “Sorry I’m late.”

Late? He must really be tired if he thinks he told me when he’d be home. It’s not really our style, not since Mom and Dad left.

“You’re fine,” I reassure him. “Don’t worry about me.”

Tommy lets out a tired laugh. “I always worry about you. You’re my little brother.” Tommy’s half closed eyes meet mine. “That gives me the right to worry.”

I nod slowly, looking down at my hands that are resting on the cold table. “I’m sixteen.” I tell him. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

Right after the words leave my mouth I know I’ve said the wrong thing. Tommy is just being a good, kind brother. And what did I just say? That I don’t need him, that he should stop caring about me.

Tommy stands up letting out a long sigh. “Yeah I guess you are, aren’t you.” He laughs, the sound echos through the empty halls. “But I’m the adult.”

I push back my chair and stand up. I have no idea why this is getting to me. I could care less about me being the little one to Tommy. And yet a fire is burning in my throat.

“Why are you always worrying about me?” I yell, my voice scaring Tommy as much as it scares me. “Worry about your self for once.”

Tommy scoffs throwing his hands up in the air. “Oh, I’m sorry . . . I’m just trying to be what I’m suppoed to be. You’re guardian.”

The fire burns as it crawls through my body. “No! You’re trying to be someone you’ll never be.”

Tommy’s eyes glare down at me. His galze ice cold. “It’s not my fault.” He mutters.

Now it all makes sense. Why the fire burning in my chest is so strong. Tommy is acting like someone I used to know, like Dad.

And he’s right it’s not his fault. “I’m going out.” I say, turning for the keys that are sitting in the middle of the counter.

Tommy follows behind. “Davian!” He calls. “We’re talking.”

I turn to face him, tears streaming down my cheeks. “No,” I mumble. “We’re fighting.”

Without another word I exist the house, running for the car as I wipe my tears away.

I climb into the passanger seat, starting the engine before I shut the door.

I back out of the drive way, one hand gripping the leather wheel and the other one washing away my tears.

It’s dark outside I can barely make out anything in front of me.

Until I see a bright yellow light, and hear the warning sound of horn blarring right in front of me.

It reeked of powder and perfume. The lights kept flickering as if they would break any moment. The walls were grimy, and nextway a few vanities were situated. The dressing room was desolate for all but two. A woman with a mature face and blonde hair sat across from a young redhead that was brushing her hair. They sat on a vanity facing each other. All that could be heard was their voices, and the sound of distant footsteps drawing closer to the door. “April,” the redhead began, “I don’ know how much longer I can do this.” She looked soberly at the ground. “I just— I just— I don’t want to let him down. He’s done so much for me—he really has—but I don’t like this. I-“ April brought her hand to embrace the redhead’s shoulder. The redhead looked up from the ground and into the eyes of her elder— her mentor— the only person she could trust, with all her wisdom and experience. “Eliza,” quoth April, who warmly met Eliza’s eyes with her own, “If I were you, I’d—“ The door swung open. There stood a tall gaunt man with a dignified stance. April and Eliza jumped out of their seats, and stood with wide eyes staring at the man. April felt the need to cry, but restrained herself from fear of ruining her maquillage. She put it on not fifteen minutes ago when she had been safe inside her dressing room and not in the prescence of her employer. She always felt the inclination to cry when he was there; most days were awful, but they became unbearable at the sight of him. Something would drop in her stomach and her lungs were chained so that even breathing seemed impossible, in his presence. “Eliza Cummington,” the man said in a thunderous voice, “come here.” He walked over to the girls and grabbed Eliza by her hair. She became limp as a ragdoll and the man dragged her out of the room. She started crying and mumbling “please,” over and over again. April followed them into the next room, a large kitchen-like area that was located down the hall next to the dressing rooms. There was a table located in the corner, where four girls were sitting and eating. April couldn’t help but notice a metallic smell that was likely coming from the pans. In seconds the man had thrown Eliza on the floor and was beating her. He shouted every obscenity at her. She cried and pleaded for mercy, but none was given; it was understood that the moment you became a prostitute you sold more than your sexuality, you sold your autonomy, your life, your very soul was no longer your own. What Eliza had done wrong no one could remember, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was disobedient and that her pimp could, and would, discipline her; and that he would do the same to everyone else. The four women watched with terror the fate that had befallen Eliza. April stood in the doorway and watched. She was frozen and would not move. All that could be heard were the grunts and pleas and sobs of Eliza— Eliza— poor Eliza. For a moment April and the Eliza locked eyes. They had a way of understanding each other that surpassed language. When the redhead looked at April with teary, wanting eyes April understood everything. They were saying: “help me— don’t let him do this to me— stop this.” And when April looked at Eliza wirh a deadened glance, Eliza understood, too. She could almost hear April saying it; she was saying: “there’s nothing I can do for you.” And in her heart April believed that.

Molly’s laughter filled the room and Caleb couldn’t help but smile. He grinned as he locked eyes with Molly. Her blue eyes sparkled when she laughed, like the surface of a calm lake at sunset.

“There is no way you actually tried that,” Molly replied with a giggle as she brushed her curly brown hair behind her ear.

“Trust me, he has done worse,” Carly sighed as she shook her head.

“Carly’s right,” Caleb agreed with his best friend. “She wasn’t any better though—we were pretty crazy kids.”

“Hey, I was just going along with your ideas!”

“Well, I wish I knew you guys back then!” Molly chimed in. “My childhood had more piano lessons than adventures…”

“That’s why you are so much more talented than we are,” Caleb pointed out. “I’m surprised you even want to talk to losers like us.”

“I guess the practice paid off, but I wouldn’t say you guys are losers! My life would be so boring without you two. I’m so glad that Carly and I took that philosophy class together in college.”

“I’m glad you understood what they were talking about in that class,” Carly admitted. “Otherwise, I might still be trying to graduate…”

“That’s not true, you would have done just fine,” Molly insisted.

“She would have found some one else to cheat off of,” Caleb joked. Carly glared at him and he laughed.

Molly stood up and grinned. “Well, I have a surprise!” she announced, whirling around from the small wooden table the trio was sitting at. “I brought dessert!”

“Molly, you didn’t have to do that!” Carly complained. “The whole point of me having you over is that you didn’t have to cook us dinner, again”

“Oh, I had some time and I wanted to, don’t worry about it.” Molly brought a pie tin to the table with a home made cherry pie inside. The crust was decorated with candied cherries. “Tada! I made Caleb’s favorite!”

“This looks amazing!” Caleb said as his eyes doubled in size.

“It looks too perfect to cut,” Carly added.

“Thanks!” Molly laughed. “I figured we could watch a movie or something and have dessert.”

“That sounds like a great idea, but I have to run some errands…” Carly sighed. “You two should hangout though. Caleb lives right down the street, although it may be a dump over there.”

“Hey, my place is never that messy,” Caleb complained.

“Okay, yeah, that would be great!” Molly interjected. “I mean—if you don’t mind…”

“Uhh, well… I don’t, but I have to be up for work early tomorrow,” Caleb mumbled. “Maybe we can have a piece of pie now and save the rest for a movie night soon?”

“Oh…” Molly deflated and twirled a lock of curly brown hair around her finger. “Yeah… we can do that.” She stood up, and scurried into the kitchen. “I’ll cut everyone a piece!”

“Caleb,” Carly growled under her breath. “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” Caleb agreed quickly, standing up to follow as Carly stormed out of the room and into her musty unfinished basement.

“What the hell are you doing?” Carly snapped the moment Molly was out of earshot.

“Nothing…” Caleb grumbled, flinching as Carly glared at him as if her eyes could kill him. “I have to be at work at 7 A.M.”

“You never sleep anyway. Also, it’s 7:15 right now.”

“Maybe I want to go to bed early.”

“Come on, you have never gone to bed early in your life. Don’t lie to me.”

“Fine, I think it’s a bad idea.”

“What, eating cherry pie?”

“You know what I mean…”

Carly sighed, “Actually, I don’t. Molly and you would be perfect together, but it’s like you avoid her.”

“I don’t avoid her!” Caleb cleared his throat and added, “You don’t have any errands, why are you avoiding movie night?”

“Molly wants to hangout with you alone, so I found something else to do. Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just that Molly is the prettiest and nicest person ever…”

“Exactly! She is perfect for you!”

“Yeah, but she is also your best friend-“

“Best friend besides you,” Carly interrupted. “You are also attractive, smart, and-“

“And in debt because of my… situation,” Caleb cut in. “Someone like Molly deserves better.”

“Caleb, you made one mistake…”

“One mistake that is so bad I’ve only told you and my mom what happened. A beautiful, nice person like Molly can find someone without so much… baggage,” Caleb sighed. “She will probably come down to help if we stay any longer.”

“Wait,” Carly cried as Caleb turned towards the stairs. “How long are you going to let this one mistake keep you from being happy? Can’t you just give it a chance?”

“Not with Molly…”

“Why not?”

“Because if things go wrong I wouldn’t just be hurting Molly. Think about it, what would you do if Molly and I broke up and hated each other?”

“Neither of you are that kind of person.”

“Carly, you are my best friend. For awhile, I thought you would be my only friend. Molly is awesome, but I can’t risk losing both of my friends.

“Shut up, you’re doing the movie night, Carly snapped. “You are going to stop assuming the worst!”

“But, I just think Molly would be happier with someone without so many problems.”

“Stop thinking, your bad at it,” Carly sighed as she headed up the stairs. “And just so you know, you two aren’t so different: she is up there thinking that her problems are too big for you to like her as well.”

“What problems?” Caleb wondered out loud.

“If only you had time alone with her to ask questions like that…” Carly rolled her eyes and went upstairs.

Following slowly, Caleb sighed and scratched his head. Shaking his head at the top, he steeled himself and entered the living room determined to take a chance for the first time in years.

Blood seeps down the girl’s face, one hand clutches her bulging stomach, sharp pains vibrate through her spine and to the baby within her womb. Her eyes roll as someone reaches in, grabbing her beneath the armpits.

That’s when the small car explodes in a mess of heated metal and busted glass after a small spark hit the exposed gasoline.

They fall backwards under the blast, the girl groans, reaching for her baby. Someone dials 911. And fast as the girl’s blood paints the pavement.

“What’s your name?” She hears someone say. Their voice rings in and out, she tries to blink away the hurt.

“Jasmine,” she tries to say to the truck driver. “My name is Jasmine.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•

She wakes to the unfamiliar “beep, beep, beep” of a heart monitoring machine. Jasmine’s sister gasps when her eyes open. She’s confused, everything hurts.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” her sister comforts while tears pool into her eyes. “I promise it’s all okay.”

Jasmine jerks. “Where’s the— where’s my baby?”

“You were in a crash,” her sister says slowly. “You were hurt bad. No one thought you would make it… then they realized you had a baby and—“

“Where’s my—“ Jasmine begins to ask again, cutting her sister off, when a nurse in scrubs walks in with a pink blanketed baby.

“I believe this beauty belongs to you,” the nurse says, handing the child over gently. “She’s a healthy girl, completely well.”

Jasmine begins to cry, smiling at her baby, wrapped cozily in her shaking arms. Scratches and bruises are scattered over Jasmine’s flesh. She winces and the nurse takes the newborn away.

Once they’re gone and Jasmine is done crying happy tears, she asks her sister what happened again. Her sister explains and Jasmine cries. This time it’s sad tears that spill.

“Four kids and one adult,” her sister murmurs. “They passed. The truck driver pulled you out and away. Your phone too. Just in time.” Her sister pulls Jasmine’s phone out of her purse and lays it on the bedside table. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. What happened? Why did you…” she trails.

“I didn’t mean to… I was just so...” “It’s all going to be okay, promise,” her sister wraps her in a warm hug, breathing in her earthy scent.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

She wakes to ringing. Unsure if it’s her ears or an alarm she’s set for work, she sit up. Pain shoots up her spine and limbs, and she remembers where she is.

The hospital.

She gasps, reaching for the phone her sister left. It’s lit up and vibrating, she squints. Shaking, she looks at the caller ID.

567-408-7420, United Kingdom CALLING •••

 ( Answer )                 ( Decline ) 

Her heart goes crazy.

“Hey!! How’s it going, Kyle?!” Said his friend walking torwards him.

“Good! You?” Said Kyle. He organized his locker in the way that he liked. He wore a black unzipped hoody as well as black jogging pants. His brown hair was put down in front of his face, over his forehead. His dark brown eyes glimmered in the uneven light of the school hallways.

“I’m great!” Said Timothy, giving him a big smile.

“How so?”

“Well, first of all because your here, and second of all because I have a pizza for lunch!”

“Cool! Wouldn’t be so sure about the first one but I have a sandwich for lunch.” Said Kyle standing in front of his locker.

“Of course my first reason to be happy is that you’re here. You think of me as your friend, when no one else does!” Said Timothy shoving his back pack in his locker without organizing his school supplies.

“Great! Yeah, I do. What do you think of me?” Asked Kyle curious.

“I think you are the best caring person ever, you are also my best friend.”

“Wow, thanks. Well, I’m gonna to go to class, you coming?”

“Yeah, just a second.” Timothy picked a few books from his locker and followed Kyle to class.

She breathes out slowly, staring at the location on her phone. Two years ago she met him online. Two years ago.

567-408-7420, United Kingdom CALLING •••

 ( Answer )                 ( Decline ) 

She blinks rapidly as tears puddle. She slides her hands down the chilled steering wheel and stares out of the windshield, shivers run through her ridged body. She reaches over, blinking once before tapping the green answer button. She mutes her side and listens briefly.

Nothing.

She catches a glance of the phone just as the line disconnects. The girl in the driver’s seat closes her eyes and exhales, raising her head in relief. She’s eighteen now and he promised he’d call when she was of age. They agreed that if they were ever separated, we would call. So she gave him her number.

The phone rings again and she jumps in her seat, hitting her shoulder on the door. She yanks the phone from the passenger seat and answers it, her blue eyes wide.

“Excuse me, prissy-pot, I called like five minutes ago and your stupid phone rang and rang. You’re suppose to be at the mall… Where even are you? Tell me you’re bailing on this one and we have like… a serious problem.” The girl’s sister rambles through the phone as the girl gazes from the windshield a little more.

She’s still in her car, at home. Her hair and makeup are barely done. What she managed to brush on is now streaked with salty tears.

“I’m on my way. I got hung up on something, and it took longer than I expected,” tears pool. She doesn’t know why. “I’ll be there in a minute. I promise.”

She disconnects the line and slowly backs out of her short drive, trying not to hyperventilate while she rocks back and forth, running every red light purposely. She hits the highway, merging too quick and going faster than the speed limit.

A siren’s song of horns blow out behind her, road-rage gets worse as they swerve to avoid collision. Her eyes are wide, tears blocking her vision as an eighteen-wheeler full of leaded gasoline leans on his horn, pulling in front of her. She slams on breaks just as he does, sending her skidding across the wet road.

Tires screech behind her as someone rams into her small car, sending her sliding under the truck, his wheels come to a stop as he tangles with a small mini-van in front of him. The sound of metal on metal is deafening as it all slams to a sudden stop.

Quickly, the truck driver’s door pops open, children began to wail around him. Sirens start up somewhere in the distance as smoke lifts into the air. The driver bends, looking at the girl beneath his wheels just as the smell of gas wafts into the air. He calls out, saliva flying from his mouth as he reaches for help.

Blood seeps down the girl’s face, one hand clutching her bulging stomach, sharp pains vibrate through her spine and to the baby within her womb. Her eyes roll as someone reaches in, grabbing her beneath the armpits.

That’s when the small car explodes in a mess of heated metal and busted glass after a small spark hit the exposed gasoline.

( TO BE CONTINUED! )

I wanted to give the community a small series to stay on my page, unlike the other. 20 likes and I’ll make the next, I promise!! (I bumped it up to 20 because recently I’ve been getting 10 likes normally, sorry!)