Wings of Destiny: Chapter 1

Wings of Destiny
“Dreams of Yesterday”


Are angels naught but feathered wings, or do their deeds give them flight?

Chapter 1

         All was darkness, an inky black that was almost palpable. The only sense that was not deprived was sound, for the soft rustling of wings in flight could be heard. Suddenly, a kaleidoscope of sound, smell, colors and touch displaced the shadows. The moon gazed down upon a solitary figure, no emotion in her silver face, and bore silent witness to the flight of an angel. With each beat of feathered wings, the sleek form was carried higher, until it seemed possible for the angel to stretch out a hand and touch the very surface of the moon.
         Across a vast distance the angel flew, paying no heed to the scenery passing beneath. The lights of cities and towns came into view and faded behind. Forests, lakes and rivers were all given no notices, though the moon’s kiss caused them to gleam like liquid silver. It was the journey that mattered most to the angel. The beats of the creature’s own heart mixed with the roar of the wind coaxed it to continue its unhurried flight.

         Abruptly, Sirrea was snatched from the land of her dreams, remembering nothing but the flutter of feathered wings. Whether they were her own, or someone else’s, she could not say. Again, the disturbance that shattered her peace sounded, bringing her fully awake only to realize that it was day and her twin, Merciri, was calling her name. The light flipped on and she groaned, rolling over and pulling the pillow over her head.
         “Sirrea! Get up. You’re going to be late for your Lit. Class.”
         Sirrea growled and pulled the pillow away from her face, looking at Merciri over her shoulder as her eyes narrowed.
         “Get out, right now, Merciri!”
         Merciri simply shrugged and turned on her heel, returning to the bathroom and her primping. Sirrea flopped onto her back and stared dejectedly at the clock. Even if she took five minutes to get dressed, and five more to fix her hair and brush her teeth, she would still not have enough time to fall back asleep. With a sigh and annoyed growl, she threw off her quilt and rose from the bed, to march across the room and flip off the light. From there, she went into the closet and pulled on a pair of plain, dark jeans, along with a black sweater.
         In ten minutes, the twenty year old was out the door of the apartment she and her sister slip rent on, and running across the street to the college campus where she attended part time classes. Her white hair flew out behind her, teased mercilessly by the wind. Merciri shook her head as she watched her sister race across the unkempt grass. She could not understand just why such a smart woman was so careless. With a shrug of her delicate shoulders, Merciri strode down the block, on her way to work.
         The sound of students chatting as they traversed the campus was like the buzzing of a fly in Sirrea’s ears. She gave her head a small shake, one hand carelessly brushing the tendrils out of her face as she continued her run. The young woman entered a wide classroom, taking a desk near the front, if rather isolated from her peers. Compared to the outside of the campus, this room was eerily silent, none of the usual chatter present. A cluster of students settled halfway up the rows of desks, no more than fifteen or twenty in the group. The only other student present was Sirrea.
         With only enough time to rip a pen and paper from her bag, the anti-social female settled back in preparation for a long lecture as her professor entered the room. A stout man with a wheedling voice and sour disposition, Marcus Thibbons was by no means an approachable person. What convinced him to retain a position at a community college was a mystery that none had been able to solve. He had no patience for young adults and made no secret of it.
         Each step Thibbons took was greeted with a sharp snap, like a clap of thunder in the otherwise silent classroom. He surveyed his students, pushing the thick-rimmed spectacles that seem so precariously perched upon his face, further up the bridge of his nose. No greeting was issued from his lips and his demeanor dispelled any guise of formality. In fact, the only mornings his first words were not the opening statements of some mind numbing lecture, they were a diatribe of disgust at some unfortunate pupil, who was ‘undeserving of his boundless knowledge’. Either way, it was a near guarantee that a student would rush from his room, near tears, before the second half of the lecture.
         Sirrea watched these events unfold, three mornings a week, with a mixture of repulsion and amusement. She had little respect for most of her peers, and such behavior only supported her rather cynical view. Her respect of the teaching staff was also limited, but she was less open with her disdain, preferring not to lose the chance to gain what knowledge they had yet to offer.
         This particular morning, Thibbons spared his students the usual verbal thrashing, instead diving into the explanation and extrapolation of a particularly arcane and obscure European text. Automatically, Sirrea’s hand began its journey over the pages that would be later additions to the already large collection of notes from this course. The two hours passed slowly, with the meandering of an eternity. However, to the relief of the students, their professor finally dismissed them to, as he put it, ‘disseminate the culture with their disregard for anything that placed expectations upon them’.
         Sirrea left after most of her peers, carefully repacking her study materials and expelling a soft snort at Thibbons’ usual assessment of present day youth. She tread back to the apartment in no hurry, and settled at her desk for some much needed work on her most recent pieces of poetry. Merciri had not returned from the farce she referred to as a job, which gave Sirrea plenty of peace, in which she could think clearly. With a singled-mindedness that was admirable, the poet began a series of revision on several poems, crossing out entire stanzas, only to replace them with more cohesive thoughts. Little mistakes were easily amended, however, one piece in particular seemed to stir her ire, frustrating her beyond normal limitations. For several minutes, she simply stared at the sheets of paper, pen tapping against the wood, as her mind wound itself about the artful, verbal displays.
         Inspiration finally raised its head, causing Sirrea to hunch over the desk, pen scratching intently across the page. The notes she made were careful and precise, ideas swiftly filling the columns of the typed pages. From there, she began the process of putting idea into poetry, nearly rewriting the entire poem before a very slight smirk of satisfaction crossed her features. It was a short-lived victory, bleeding rapidly into revision of another poem. Sirrea continued in the manner for hours, losing complete track of time as the emotions that were so often absent in her every day life, or rather suppressed, fed the flames of her creativity.

...

         “Hey, Anthony! What’s up, man?” Michael remarked, clapping his friend on the back.
         Anthony turned a slightly irritated blue-green gaze on the younger man, on brow arched. The fingers of one hand were clinched tightly around a letter and, judging by Anthony’s demeanor, it did not contain good news. Michael, however, seemed oblivious to his friend’s irritation.
         “Hello, Michael.”
         The shorter man settled onto the bench beside Anthony, black hued locks hanging about his face with their normally unkempt air. Keen emerald eyes seemed to see little beyond his own excitement, today. In a half-hearted attempt to restrain the tendrils, he ran a hand through them, the motion doing little more than causing his hair to stand up from his scalp as if he had been electrocuted, or trying to pull it out by the roots. The mischievous glint in his eyes only made the sight more comical, nearly drawing a smile from his comrade.
         Unusually enough, Anthony’s hair, a brown that gleamed gold in certain light, was tamed and pulled back, the captured waves flowing down to the middle of his back. The irritation, which had been nearly palpable before the appearance of Michael, eased from his posture and expression, if only slightly, and he rolled his eyes. When he spoke, his tone was mildly sarcastic.
         “Let me guess… You’re going to go see Merciri this weekend.”
         “Even better than that. She’s coming up here.”
         Michael paused briefly, the mischief in his eyes only growing more pronounced, before making what was supposed to seem like a casual inquiry.
         “Hey, I hear she has a twin. Maybe she can bring her along and set you up…”
         Oblivious to the glare his jest had earned him, Michael snickered at the thought of setting his best friend up with the sister of his girlfriend. Anthony’s reply, however, was the farthest thing from amused.
         “I don’t need some snobby, brainless woman taking up my time. Especially not if she lives six hours away,” Anthony grumbled.
         “Is that your professional opinion?” Michael inquired, snorting back his laughter. “Anyway, from what Merciri has said, her sister is some sort of writer… English Major or something like that. Real intellectual type. Locks herself up in her room and writes for hours. You might actually like her.”
         Anthony shrugged his shoulders, effectively stifling the conversation with his brooding silence. Michael, on the other hand, started plotting. It had been almost a year since the man next to him had even considered going on a date with anyone. Their senior year of high school passed uneventfully for Anthony, leaving him single when most of their group was paired up. He seemed, however, to have the hide of a bear, appearing unperturbed by the jests that were aimed in his direction. Likewise, concerning college, the now twenty-one year old bloomed seasons behind the same peers with whom he had shared so much in years past. Michael furrowed his brow, unusually serious as he considered the future of the younger man. Nearly finished with his own degree, it bothered him to see the closest thing he had to a brother waste his life waste his talent in the pursuit of a minimum wage job. Unobtrusively, the emerald gaze shifted to rest on Anthony.
         What happened to that culinary program? Six months… And not a word? That’s not likely. Maybe the right influence will finally get him to make a decision, or at least think about it. For god’s sake, he’s twenty-one and he doesn’t seem to give a damn about education. All he does is play those online games, and work the same crap job he’s had since he was in high school. I hope this Sirrea chick is as smart as Merciri says. Maybe then it’ll show Anthony what he’s missing out on.
         Michael was startled out of his thoughts by the ringing of his phone. It took a moment for him to react, and another to fish the cell phone out of his pocket. With a faint grin at the number, he snapped it open and pressed the plastic device against his ear. Again his gaze flicked to Anthony and the grin spread. It always amused Michael to watch Anthony’s reactions to the one sided conversations.
         “Hey, Ciri. What’s up with the plans for this weekend? Still driving down?”
         The tone of his voice was syrupy, for the benefit of the friend next to him, but beneath the farce was genuine affection for the woman with whom he was speaking. It hardly seemed possible that the two of them had met in college nearly two years ago. At the time, she was an entering freshman, and he was a junior with dreams of a Master’s in Business Finance. Now, that Master’s was a near guarantee, and what seemed just a crush had blossomed into a passionate relationship that spanned miles. Merciri had transferred colleges to live with her sister; however, this did not hamper the young couple’s plans for the future.
         “Yeah. I’ll be there after six. Should I pick anything up?”
         “Nah. We’ll get pizza or something, when you get here.”
         There was a brief pause, before Michael launched into the idea that had prickled in the back of his mind, when his girlfriend called.
         “Hey… I have an idea. Why not bring your sister along. After all, I haven’t met her, and Anthony might like to get to know her, if you know what I mean.”
         This statement was met with laughter by the woman on the line and, unseen by the two men on the bench, she tapped a finger against her cheek, considering the prospect of taking her sister along on what was supposed to be a romantic weekend with Michael. With a faint nod, her decision was made.
         “You mean set her up with him? Hmm…Y’know, it might do her some good to get away from work, and especially all of her writing. You know she got another poetry award last month? I swear, that’s all she cares about. Sure, I’ll see what I can do. Anyway, if I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late to work. See you tonight.”
         After issuing Merciri a fond farewell, Michael hung up the phone. His expression was smug as he turned to Anthony and clapped the male on the shoulder, before rising to his feet.
         “Prepare yourself, man. You’re in for the night of your life.”
         Anthony scowled darkly, lifting his gaze from the letter he was rereading. It appeared that he was searching for the proper degree of scorn with which to reply to his friend, and after a moment, replied.
         “What’s so special about her? After all, I’ve seen Merciri and, no offense man, she’s not my type…”
         Michael snorted and shook his head, eyes rolling at the density of Anthony’s response.
         “C’mon, Tony. It’s just a blind date. It can’t be that bad. What do you say?”
         It was Anthony’s turn to roll his eyes, before shrugging half-heartedly and exhaling a gruff snort.
         “Whatever. I can take anything she can dish out.”
         “With that attitude, you’ll never get married,” Michael quipped.
         “That’s the point,” was Anthony’s toneless reply.

...

         “No!”
         The word was nearly venomous with the vehemence of Sirrea’s tone. She and Merciri were standing in the living room of their two-bedroom apartment, the former of the two shaking her head angrily, with both hands perched on her hips. In the heat of her anger, she looked less like the pale ghost of her normal waking hours, and more like some vengeful goddess, ready to strike down anyone who posed opposition. Her eyes flashed, the dual hued orbs only enhanced by the unusual flare of emotion, while the set of her jaw gave her normally fragile face the appearance of an ice statue.
         “I will not go down there just to stroke the ego of some pitiful friend of your boyfriend’s. I have better things to do than waste my time on males.”
         Merciri’s brows arched and she snorted, the sound lacking any feminine grace, before her retort arched through the room, taking no time to consult her brain on the wisdom of such a statement.
         “That’s not what you thought a year ago.”
         Abruptly, Sirrea’s expression altered itself. With an ease that spoke of constant use, she wiped away all emotion, even as the color drained from her cheeks. Without another word to her sister, the writer turned and retreated into her bedroom, door slamming behind her. The only other sound was a soft click, obviously a lock being turned. With a frustrated sigh, Merciri dragged on hand through her hair and walked to the door. The hand that had briefly tugged on the strands of her hair, as white as her sisters, though more often found in ringlets instead of the graceful waves her sister preferred, knocked lightly on the door of her sister’s room.
         “Sirrea, be reasonable. After all, Anthony’s not so bad, and it wouldn’t hurt for you to socialize for a day or two. It’s not like polite conversation is going to kill you. Who knows? You might even enjoy yourself. It’s not a crime, y’know…”
         “What a way to convince me, Merciri. Insult me further. Nice job. With so convincing an argument, how can I do anything but go with you?” Sirrea returned, though her speech was as cold and empty as her face had been when she walked away from her sister. “How about this? You get the hell out of here and go do whatever it is you do with your boyfriend and leave me alone.”
         Merciri let out what sounded like a faint growl before glaring at the door.
         “How long do you think you can keep writing like that, Sirrea? How long will it take before you run out of ideas, or irritate yourself to the point of giving up? You burnt out last year, and if you don’t do something differently, you’ll do it again. Oh sure, you’re taking part-time classes now, but you barely take the time between those and your job at the newspaper to sleep or eat decently. All you care about is that stupid novel, or is it three now? And if it isn’t that book, it’s poetry. How many awards are going to make you happy, or bring Sawyer back?”
         Slowly, the door was unlocked and opened, a pair of intent eyes, more so than her twin, gazing piercingly at Merciri. A duffle bag was tossed out of the room, landing only a few inches away from where her sister stood. Reflexively, Merciri stepped back, heels pressing little furrows into the carpet.
         “Here are the rules.”
         Sirrea’s voice was like steel, her jaw clenched tightly enough that her speech was slightly muffled. At each word, she took a small step forward, and whether she realized it or not, the motion was threatening enough that her sister was reconsidering the wisdom of her suggestion, even as her sister agreed to go.
         “You don’t mention his name, or anything from a year ago, to me or anyone else. In fact, don’t speak to me, for any reason. I am going for the sole purpose of shutting you up. When we return, you will not say a word to me about ‘burning myself out’, or even discuss what I do and don’t do in my spare time. Got it?”
         Without waiting for a reply, Sirrea snatched up her bag, her other hand clutching a spiral of newspaper articles she had to edit and finish for next week’s edition of the local paper. Swiftly, she exited the apartment, slamming the door behind her and making her way to Merciri’s car. With a snort of disdain, she gingerly tossed the bag into the back seat and folded herself into the passenger’s seat up front. Even with her average height, the compact car made getting in and out more difficult than she cared for. Had it been less of a hassle, Sirrea would still have found something to grumble about. She had no use for driving, preferring to walk or jog to any destination she might need to visit, and her trips out of town were so rare that it made no sense to even possess a driver’s license.
         Several minutes later, Merciri joined her sister, and their trip began in silence. Sirrea was huddled on her side of the car, working on an article about the demolition of an apartment complex for the elderly, which had occurred two days prior, while Merciri stared fixedly at the road, afraid to open her mouth lest her sister lose her temper again. Eyes of a slightly paler blue than Sirrea’s, flicked towards the other female, an almost imperceptible furrow wrinkling her sister’s brow. It was rare for the writer to lose her temper. So rare that Merciri had forgotten the last time such an occurrence had come to pass. As disconcerting as the argument had been, the young woman wondered if that meant her sister’s pain over the events of last year was finally fading. Shrugging off her thoughts, Merciri flipped on the radio and settled in for a long drive.
         After an hour of watching scenery pass, if you could call the same worn out mountains she saw every day scenery, and working on the three articles she had compiled over the past week, Sirrea curled up and went to sleep. It was a deep and dreamless slumber, not even disturbed by her sister’s choice in music, something she normally would have complained about until the two came to a compromise. The absence of dreams did not last long, however, soon fading into another strange dream, which would be beyond her memory once she returned to the world of wakefulness. Neither the restless movement of her sister’s form, nor the soft, blue glow that encompassed it, caught Merciri’s attention. Her focus was solely devoted to the road, eagerness to reach Michael’s apartment showing in the strain about her painted lips.
         For both the sleeping female, and the driver of the green automobile, six hours passed in the blink of an eye. As the vehicle crept into the city limits, Merciri fished the phone out of her purse, pushing aside various assortments of make-up and a few sets of earrings, in order to call Michael. In hushed tones, she informed him that the two of them were nearly at the apartment. His reply was exuberant, letting her know that Anthony was already at his place, and they would be going out to the local hang out for dinner. With a grin, Merciri hung up and made her way around the winding streets of down town, occasionally glancing down at a set of instructions her sweetheart had provided.
         After fifteen minutes, most of which was spent driving around in circles, the twins made it to Michael’s apartment. Sirrea did not stir, nor make any sound as her sister climbed out of the car and ran to the hallway where her boyfriend stood waiting. With a whooping laugh, Michael scooped the slender female up in his arms and swung her around, though he was only three inches taller than her five feet and six inches. Anthony stood a foot or so away, watching the two with little interest. His gaze shifted to the car, one brow arching at the curled female in the front seat. By her appearance, or what of it he could see, she seemed more reserved in her dress than Merciri. For a moment, he was almost interested in learning more about her, before his indignation at being dragged into a blind date squelched the impulse.
         “Merciri, you remember Anthony.”
         Michael’s voice drew the taller man from his isolation, the dark, aquatic gaze snapping to the other female’s face. With a polite smile and nod to each other, Anthony and Merciri exchanged greetings. A moment later, the male gestured towards Sirrea, still asleep in the car.
         “Should I wake her?”
         The question was as gruff as his appearance, jean clad with a leather jacket pulled on over the rock t-shirt clinging to his torso. With his broad shoulders, and frame reminiscent of a body builder, Anthony seemed to tower over the other two, though it was the perpetual scowl that seemed to wrinkle his brow that led many to be intimidated by the young man.
         “I wouldn’t suggest it. She’s ferocious enough today.”
         Merciri forced a soft laugh, and Michael slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her towards the warmth of his apartment. With a dumbfounded glance at the couple that was abandoning him, Anthony grumbled beneath his breath and took a few steps toward the car.
         “So what am I supposed to do? Carry her in?”
         He rolled his eyes and shrugged, before gripping the handle and easing the passenger door open. Carefully, as if he was attempting to avoid contact with the young woman, he unfastened her seat belt, and slid his arms around her waist and under her knees. Sirrea was almost weightless in his embrace, the blue light of earlier having faded as she stirred faintly. Hastily, Anthony took the female into the apartment and deposited her on the couch in the living room, rushing out again, on impulse, to grab the women’s baggage. The soft laughter and muffled conversation floating from the kitchen was lost to him as he remained on the porch, rubbing his palms against the material of his jeans as if he could forget the way it had felt to hold her by that motion alone.
         A third voice joined the conversation in the kitchen, a soft contralto, though it lacked any of the warmth that was usually present in so timbered a voice. Curiosity encouraged Anthony to move towards the door, just as Sirrea approached from the other direction. An odd reticence, clearly sleep induced, led her to halt mid stride as she faced all of Anthony’s six feet and five inches. Slowly, her chin lifted, and piercing midnight eyes met those of blue-green. It was the woman who spoke first, the reticence gradually replaced with formality uncommon to someone her age.
         “I apologize for the inconvenience of carrying me inside. Regardless, thank you.”
         With a brief shrug, Anthony gruffly replied, “Sure. No problem. I’m Anthony, by the way.”
         In an attempt at politeness, he held out his hand to the young woman, taking hers in a gentle grip. Small as her hand was, the grip of her fingers was firm and unyielding, and Anthony was tempted to put a little more pressure on it, to see if she would pull away. He refrained from such behavior and retrieved his hand a soon as possible.
         “It’s nice to meet you, Anthony. I’m Sirrea.”
         After a moment’s pause, the young man cleared his throat and gestured towards the door Sirrea was still standing in front of.
         “Care to go inside? It’s a bit cold out here for chit chat.”
         Without another word, Sirrea turned around and reentered the apartment, slipping off to one side to let Anthony pass. Still groggy, she settled on a chair, and little more than a minute later, the time it took for Anthony to enter the kitchen and grab a couple of sodas, she was once again deep in her slumber. Soda in hand, Anthony returned to the living room, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of her sleeping face. The cans thudded loudly against the coffee table, and he rushed out of the apartment with no more than a hasty ‘goodbye’ aimed at Merciri and Michael. At his abrupt behavior, Merciri glanced at Michael and arched one brow, before checking up on her sister. With an exasperated sigh she perched her hands on her hips.
         “No wonder he left in such a rush. She’s asleep again.”
         As he replied, Michael shook his head.
         “It’s not that. He likes her.”
         Merciri was taken aback, turning a slightly wide gaze upon her boyfriend. In disbelief, she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped the toe of one shoe against the wooden floor.
         “Care to explain that, then?” she inquired with a gesture towards the door.
         Michael laughed and answered, “What about it? Anthony hates admitting when he’s wrong. I bet he’s back before the night’s over.”
         The couple returned to their quiet conversation, paying no heed to the sleeping Sirrea. Anthony, on the other hand, could not erase the image of her sleeping face from his mind. She had looked so much like an angel while asleep in the car. He had even thought he saw a bluish glow about her, adding to the female’s already ethereal beauty.
         Fool, he chastised, giving his head a vigorous shake. She is just a woman. You know nothing about her… Except that she is beautiful, polite and incredibly sexy. The rest of him chimed in then, turning what was a simple thought into the beginning of an internal debate. Shut up already! You’re starting to sound like a love struck yuppie. I refuse to let myself be taken in by a pretty face.
         His mental argument continued for the length of time it took to walk around the complex and find himself back at Michael’s door. Anthony let himself in silently and stood near the overstuffed chair where Sirrea was still curled, missing the glance Michael gave Merciri. As the young man continued to stare at the sleeping figure, he found himself drawn to the aura of peace that surrounded her and cursed himself for such a weak minded notion.
         Merciri watched Anthony, eyes sparkling with unvoiced laughter, before leaning close to Michael and making a whispered suggestion. Like thieves in the night, the two hastily scrawled out a note and stole from the apartment, the click of the door’s latch not even enough to stir Anthony from his musings. Her laughter bubbling to the surface, Merciri climbed into Michael’s truck and tucked her skirt beneath her thighs, painted nails grazing the pale skin.
         “I can’t wait for her to wake up. They’ll either hit it off immediately, or annoy the hell out of each other. Either way, this weekend is going to be amusing,” she exuberantly stated.
         “Yeah, well, we’d better enjoy our night,” Michael replied. “When Anthony gets a hold of me, he might not leave anything behind.”
         Their laughter filled the truck as Michael pulled out of the parking lot and onto ‘Main Street’, before taking two left turns that deposited him on the highway.

...

         Sirrea’s body jerked in the chair, causing Anthony to jump back and hurriedly escape into the kitchen. With an annoyed growl, the female fished her currently vibrating phone from the depths of her pocket, before staring at the number on the screen in confusion. She shrugged and pressed the talk button, before nestling the device against her ear.
         “Hello?” she managed, her voice slightly rough from sleep.
         “Sirrea? Hey, it’s Andrea,” the voice said softly. “Did I wake you?”
         “Don’t worry about it,” Sirrea replied, stifling a yawn. “Is everything okay?”
         “Not really. I just broke up with Chris.”
         Andrea sounded near tears as she spoke and, though Sirrea could not see it, she clutched a tissue in one hand as if holding to a life raft. At the obvious dismay, Sirrea adopted a demeanor of friendly concern, though the emotion did not reach her eyes. There was no concern in her expression, only irritation. One of the things she despised most about others was being dragged into the problems they could not handle on their own. In her mind, it made it worse that Andrea was a friend of her sister’s, and yet thought it prudent to seek advice from someone she did not know well, in order to ‘keep from interrupting Merciri’s weekend’.
         This is all about sex? How pathetic. If she wanted to break up with the loser, why is she making such a fuss about it? Evidently, he deserved it, Sirrea thought cynically.
         For several minutes, the young woman offered Andrea comfort and compassion, along with friendly advice, proving yet again that she was an accomplished actress. As the conversation continued, Andrea found herself more and more surprised. She had never been close to Sirrea, in fact, she was not sure the other woman had close friends of any kind. It was, however, difficult to feel sorry for the steely young woman. Her demeanor, most of the time, was standoffish and rather cold, making it almost unpleasant to spend any time with her. Andrea was quite shocked, therefore, to be on the receiving end of such humanity from the typically antisocial Sirrea.
         “Well,” Sirrea murmured, “It sounds like you made the best decision for your own well being. Do not let him tell you differently or push you back into a relationship that does not meet your needs.”
         Andrea nodded her head, though the other woman could not see it and twirled a few strands of blond hair into little ringlets, proving the rather fidgety quality of her nature. Her thoughts were a bit jumbled, the confusion of her own behavior pushing her into a mindset she was unused to. It was not often that the young woman was broody, by any means. The cheerful personality, with which she was always possessed, was almost annoying in its inscrutability, but today, an uncharacteristic frown made an appearance in her expression.
         Nearly fifteen minutes after Andrea’s tentative call, Sirrea was able to close her phone, the sharp ‘snap’ resounding through the small living room. Her eyes flashed darkly, pale fingers swiftly brushing tendrils of hair away from her cheek, only to unconsciously tuck them behind her ear. She rose, grimacing as her knee popped, and made her way to the kitchen. Immediately, she halted as she caught sight of Anthony’s form, folded into one of the dining room chairs, and narrowed her eyes. The man opposite her did not seem to notice the nearly hostile reaction, or chose to make no comment. Sirrea’s mouth opened and then closed, no words coming to mind as she gazed about the room. Anthony spoke up then, seeming to sense her unasked question.
         “They went out for pizza. Evidently, they thought we’d get to know each other better if they weren’t around.”
         He managed to keep a great deal of the animosity out of his voice, though Sirrea still seemed to bristle under his gaze. She settled on the chair across from him and drew her legs beneath her, a blank expression flickered across her features. There were several minutes of uncomfortable silence, in which the two adults studied one another. The silence stretched on, neither wishing to draw themselves away from their own thoughts. It was Sirrea who broke through the barriers they had both put up, voice a thought that had been plaguing her for the minutes they had sat unspeaking.
         “I suppose my sister is taking her duties as matchmaker seriously,” she mused, her lips twitching in a slightly sarcastic smile and her eyes narrowing once again.
         “I doubt she is alone in that,” Anthony replied, reluctant to start a conversation.
         He found himself watching Sirrea, noting the way she brushed the snowy strands of her hair away from her cheeks and tucked them behind one ear, typically the left. To his eyes, she appeared delicate but beautiful. This particular thought caught him off guard and he looked away hastily, though not before Sirrea noticed his gaze. This caused her to tense, ever on the defense, but she refrained from commentary.
         “Well, we could sit here and alternately stare at each other all evening, or make the best of this and try to enjoy ourselves. Which will it be?” she quipped.
         The sardonic tone that accompanied this bold statement drew a burst of laughter from Anthony’s lips. He turned his gaze back to Sirrea, drawn to the sapphire hue of her eyes. The silence between them stretched again as they settled back into their own thoughts. Finally, Anthony spoke.
         We might as well enjoy ourselves,” he told Sirrea. “We have the apartment to ourselves, a good entertainment and stereo system at our disposal and I know of a Chinese restaurant nearby that delivers, if you’re interested.”
         This brought a grim smile to Sirrea’s lips, along with a small nod. Anthony reached for the phone after handing her a menu that Michael kept taped to the refrigerator. As often as the two males had Chinese together, Anthony had his own order memorized, and it did not take long for the young woman to make her choice. He phoned in the requested dishes and waved off Sirrea’s inquiry about her half of the bill.
         “I’ll take care of it,” Anthony told her, as he hung up the phone. “It’ll be twenty minutes, by the way, so we might as well get to know each other.”
         This did not please the young woman. Small talk was not one of her strong suits, however, she said nothing, instead folding her hands on her lap and idly tapping one foot on the linoleum. Anthony seemed unaffected by her stony silence, settled into a laid back pace of nonchalant questioning.
         “Michael said something about you being a writer?”
         Sirrea’s eyes widened, disbelief momentarily written across her features. The male across from her smirked slightly at the reaction to this inquiry, while waiting patiently for an answer. When it came, it was brief.
         “A writer? That’s one way of putting it.”
         His smirk spread as he asked, “Any good?”
         This nearly had the female storming from the room. Was she any good? What an insult, to both her work and her ego. Before replying, Sirrea took a deep breath, pausing only to glower at the irritating creature sitting across from her.
         “If the awards that I have received for the past ten years are any indication, then yes. However, I would not want you to take my word for it. After all, you do not know me from Eve.”
         Anthony further irritated the defensive author by leaning his head back and laughing for a moment. One hand rose from the table, palm facing the young woman as if apologetically, though his expression was the farthest thing from apology.
         “No offense intended. I was just curious,” he assured her.
         “Well, what about you? Since you seem so curious about my ambitions, do you have any?” Sirrea inquired waspishly.
         With a snort, Anthony’s grin faded, to be replaced by a glare.
         “Of course I have ambition. I’ll be getting into a Culinary Arts program and maybe preparing to open my own restaurant.”
         Sirrea flashed him a sarcastic, taunting smile and leaned back in her chair. One hand spread against the table, palm down, giving her the leverage she needed to push to her feet, the wooden chair scraping loudly against the linoleum. Her torso remained poised over the table for a moment, the taunt in her voice as obvious as the smile.
         “Getting into a culinary program? Well, if it’s taken you this long I wish you luck. It seems that you need it.”
         She moved away from the table without pausing to gauge his reaction. In fact, Sirrea appeared oblivious to the furious sound Anthony made, and the way he threw money onto the table for the meal, before stomping out of the apartment. After the door slammed behind him, she lowered her head and exhaled a faint sigh. The barbs were necessary, to keep anyone from getting too close. That was a mistake she would not be repeating any time soon, if she could help it. With another faint sigh, and an almost apologetic gesture towards the door, the young woman retrieved her spiral and flopped onto the overstuffed chair, curling around it to resume work on the demolition article. With Art, the paper’s editor, breathing down her neck to get the ‘nitty gritty’ about that particular story, she was devoting more time than necessary to its completion. Her tiff with Anthony was forgotten in the midst of her work, and the only thing that roused her was a knock on the door, announcing the arrival of her dinner.
         Anthony, on the other hand, continued storming about the grounds for a full fifteen minutes, replaying the entirety of their conversation in his mind. Both hands rested at his sides, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. People unobtrusively moved out of his path at the first sight of his brooding expression and flashing eyes.
         “Just as I thought,” he muttered. “Nothing but a pretty face and a bad temper. Well, forget her. I don’t need this crap.”
         The burly male prowled to his motorcycle and threw one leg over it, rapidly revving up the engine. It puttered faintly, a reminder of necessary maintenance, before the usual purr rumbled through man and machine. A few people sighed with relief when he finally left the parking lot, having allowed themselves to be intimidated by his appearance alone, not to mention the irritation that had etched itself into his features.

...

         It was a fifteen-minute drive to his house, but Andrea dragged it out. Twenty minutes after the first phone call, she parked in the empty driveway, leaving plenty of room for one of his parents to pull in beside her, should the study session last longer than intended. Three days ago, the two students had a fight that lasted well into the next day.
         “How many times do I have to tell you no, Chris? There are more important things than sex.”
         Her indignation was greeted with sarcasm, her concerns turned away with disdain. Christopher was two years her junior. When they first met, she felt refreshed by his ‘innocence’ and the ease with which he handled the hardships of college. Her peers were preparing for the last year of university, grouped according to their degrees, and buried so deeply in studies or nervous breakdowns that the ever-bubbly female felt as if she were suffocating. After seven months with her boyfriend, she began to realize that what had seemed so naive and refreshing about him was no more than immaturity, a rare insight from the stereotypical blonde.
         Now, their relationship had become a trap, conversations dwindling down to nothing more than sexual propositions from the young man who had once claimed to love her, and rebuffs that were growing more impatient by the day. Andrea had even considered breaking up with Chris, though she held back. In her clique, having a boyfriend was requirement, whether he was worth the effort or not. To be single was equated with the Bubonic Plague, and no matter how well off, intelligent or beautiful, though not necessarily all three, a young woman might be, she was blackballed.
         With the intention of giving Chris another chance, Andrea climbed out of the jeep, book bag in hand. Less than five minutes later, whatever olive branch she had been willing to offer was a dream of the past, her patience exhausted beyond the point of caring about her status with the other females on campus. The students’ voices were loud as the two of them traversed the lawn. Andrea stomping towards her car, blond curls bouncing around her chin and neck as she moved, with Christopher on her heels. Just as she was about to reach her jeep, he snatched her by the elbow and with ease whirled her around to face him. The young woman pushed him away and flung the door of the jeep open, carelessly tossing her back inside it as she climbed into the driver’s seat. With a final glare in his direction, she turned the key in the ignition.
         “We’re through, Chris. I’m not going to play whore to a child who couldn’t find his dick with a microscope.”

          Hours had passed since the breakup, and her conversation with Sirrea, but Andrea still had doubts about what she had done. Slowly, the female rose from the bed, tearing her gaze away from the fountain that was outside, only a few feet away from her window. The apartment she lived in was small, with barely enough room for all of the things she brought with her from home and, as she made her way to the kitchen, she reconsidered moving back home after graduation. That would mean living with her brother again, which, in itself, was not so bad, but he tended to harp on her and worry about her health constantly.
         Andrea laughed softly as she opened the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of water. The sound was quickly replaced by a choked cry of pain and her body crumpled around itself, taking her to the floor. Hazel eyes closed tightly, tears leaking from their corners, and her reed thin form rocked back and forth as the knowing pain in her stomach continued. Blindly, she reached onto the counter for the package of crackers, somehow managing to snatch three. Taking tiny bites, barely bird sized, she devoured the crackers in an effort to quell the pain of malnourishment. Veterinary Science, and the degree she would soon gain after four years of study, could not save the young woman from her own low self-esteem, or the anorexia that had plagued her since high school.
         Once the pain had eased enough that Andrea could rise from the floor, she ran for the bedroom and changed as quickly as she could into the jogging outfit she used for outdoor exercise. Without a backwards glance, she exited the apartment and made her way to the bike rack, easily unlocking the chain that secured her six-speed to the metal bars. One leg was carefully thrown over the seat and she sought her balance, before pedaling off. It would be over half an hour when she returned, sweating and wheezing from the exertion of the bike ride. Several times, Andrea had been questioned about her obsessive exercise regimen and the inability to eat in front of others. No one knew, however, how much danger the young woman was in, or how far the disease had progressed.

...

         Dust plumed in a glittering arc, causing the young man to cough as if his lungs were coated by the thick substance. Sunlight streamed into the one-roomed attic, turning Sawyers normally sable colored hair into a mass of gold and red. His head lifted and one hand idly tossed the wavy strands over his shoulder, to hang near the middle of his back. With a disgruntled sigh, he considered tying back the annoying mass, but the intensity with which he was performing his current task encouraged him to put it off for a while longer.
         “Sawyer,” called a soft voice, like an echo out of his past. “I love you. We’ll be together always, won’t we?”
         He started as if he had been struck and shook his head to clear it, before returning his attention to the task at hand. Two boxes were settled in front of him, torn flaps and worn edges betraying their age and disuse. The rats had been attempting to make a feast of the cardboard. One hand held a photo album, which the young man hesitated to open. On the front page was a place for his Ph.D. A history major, he had desired to teach college level students, but it had been a year since he gained the flimsy piece of paper that spoke of nine years of college and still he was working on the low end of the corporate ladder, instead of following his dream.
         Sawyer’s lips twisted in a grimace of disgust. Twenty-seven and he felt as if he were stuck in a dead end, trapped with no way out. How ironic it was that his strength of will seemed so useless, when only last year he had felt like he owned the world. What a crock it was. Dreams were nothing more than a waste of time, for those who could not cope with the demands and hardships of every day in the real world, or so he claimed.
         “Yes, darling. We will be together always.”
         Again, Sawyer reacted to the voices of his past with a violent shudder, tossing away the photo album, before he had a chance to go any further into the memories stored there. After the decision was made and his hand flew back into the box, he found himself regretting it as slender fingers clasped about a picture frame that he did not have to see to recognize. Cautiously, the young man drew it from the confines of dust and debris, only to stare emptily at the smiling face behind the glass.
         Her hair fell in a cascade of gleaming silver, framing a delicate face that appeared to have been crafted from porcelain and hand painted by a master craftsman. The eyes that gazed back at him with love so deep it was nearly palpable were the blue of a storm on the horizon encircled by midnight. Once upon a time, the young man could lose himself in those eyes. Once upon a time, they looked at him with untainted trust, with hope and honesty. Once upon a time, the heart that was so visible in those eyes was unbroken.
         Sawyer did not notice the pain at first. All he could hear was the shattering of glass as his hand pummeled into it, destroying the barrier between himself and the picture in one motion. Gingerly, he lifted the flimsy page from the shards, ignoring the blood that pooled in the indentions caused by the glass that had embedded itself into his hand. As he continued to stare fixedly at the face of his ex fiancé, crimson rivulets worked their way down his fingers, dripping quietly to the floor.
         Her face was impassive, the porcelain hue more like ice at this moment. Sawyer had always loved the emotion that was so clearly etched into her features. Now, however, she seemed empty, as if she truly was the glass doll to which he had often teasingly compared her.
         “You evidently wanted to be free of me,” she said quietly, no inflection in the normally warm contralto. “So, be free. I will not keep you here.”
         Her right hand lifted, snatching the engagement ring from her left hand, and casually tossed it to the floor at his feet, before the female turned, hair fanning out behind her.
         It was funny how well he remembered the way her hair moved in that moment. Even after everything he had done, still Sawyer wished to reach out and run his fingers through the tresses that were so similar to silk in their texture. He had the wisdom, however, to do nothing more than crouch down to pick up the ring.
         “Please, Sirrea,” he murmured, gazing at her unyielding back, before heaving a soft sigh of defeat.
         She did not speak, did not turn, nor did she even seem to react to the plea in his voice. Never before had she been so cold, to him or anyone else. Mentally, he cursed himself for a fool, taking even the time to laugh disdainfully at his own predicament.
         Of course she’s never been cold before, he mentally quipped. It isn’t everyday your fiancé cheats on you with the best friend of your sister… And whether she knows that now or finds out later, what right do I have to question the frigid demeanor?
         Still, he stood there watching her, waiting to see if she would turn once more, would give him another chance. Ironic that he would have cheated on her to prevent her from wanting him back, yet still wish to pull her into his arms and beg for forgiveness that would never be given him. Unseen from where Sawyer stood, tears ran down Sirrea’s face, the only she would cry in more than a year. Finally, and for the last time, she spoke.
         “Did you make love to her?” she queried, having already suspected the answer would be yes, and knowing that, were it so, her heart would be shattered irreparably.
         With a soft sigh, he replied, “No. I won’t lie. I intended to, but I couldn’t do it.”
         Nothing more was said, and after a moment, Sawyer turned to leave. Before the door closed behind him, he set the ring that she had bought for him, after receiving her engagement ring, on the table. After he left, though he would never know it, Sirrea crossed the room and picked up the token of her affection for the male she had once thought would be her husband.
         His hand unconsciously moved to the chain around his neck, where the sapphire and diamond ring resided. That is when he noticed the blood, smoke hued eyes widening as an explosive string of curses escaped his lips. Sawyer set aside the picture and began to dig the shards out of his skin, before wrapping his hand with a handkerchief. One last look was tossed in the direction of the photo, but he did not retrieve it again. Instead, he turned and left the attic, hoping that the resurfacing memories would be left behind as well.