sky once again. Warm sunrays flood the
house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up. Damn, head rush.
My brain seems to twist in my skull like a carousel. It’s
nauseating. Moaning, I rise from the floor and, with squinted eyes, feel my way to the bathroom using
the wall. Drinking some water from cupped hands helps a little. The
sick feeling disappears.
As I look up and glance at my reflection in
the mirror, I suck in a horrified breath. The stubble in my face
has grown over night, and not just a millimeter. What was only a
dark shadow on my cheeks last night is now a layer of half an inch
of fur on the lower third of my face. What the hell! My heart clips
like a racehorse.
I need to get rid of this beard and fast.
Angel can’t see me like that when we meet in the park later.
After cleaning my dagger which I used for
killing the pheasant last night, I shave. It’s a good thing the
slim blade is sharp enough to cut the beard, but it leaves my skin
red and burning. Cold water splashed on it eases the pain.
In the front garden of my new home is an
apple tree. I pluck a dainty red fruit on the way out and eat it
while I head down to the park. Time to meet Angel again.
Angelina
PAULINA LIFTS THE Polaroid camera my parents
gave me last month for my eighteenth birthday in front of her face
and pushes the release button. A black square picture comes out,
which I take and shake until the colors come to life on it. It’s me
who smiles from that photo—again. Seems like she found her favorite
object to shoot.
“ Why don’t
you take some picture s of the ducks in
the pond?” I suggest.
Squealing,
she runs off with Brittney Renae fast on her heels. I lean back on
the bench and reach for my book, but a shadow falling over my face
makes me look up instead of starting to
read. Against the blinding sun stands the silhouette of a young
man, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, head
tilted. “Hi,” he says.
“ Peter!” I’m
surprised about the joy I feel at seeing him again. Scooting to one
end of the bench, I invite him to sit down with me. “Where have you
been the past couple of weeks?”
He eyes me sideways as he lowers. “Couple of
weeks?”
“ Yeah. I was
afraid you’d changed your mind and didn’t move into the house after
all.” Why in the world did I just use the term I was afraid ? It’s not
like it would make any difference to me if he lived in our street
or not. Or so I’d want him to believe. He doesn’t need to know that
I actually went down to his house one afternoon last week and rang
the bell to see if he was home.
Placing one leg on the seating, I face
him—and gasp. Gosh, hopefully, he didn’t notice that. But what’s
with his face? He looks…older. Not much, but enough to notice a
change. Or is it maybe just because he shaved when last time he
sported an enticing dusting of stubble? Then again, shaving usually
makes men look younger. Peter on the contrary looks like mid twenty
all of a sudden.
My staring
obviously makes him uncomfortable. He runs a hand through his hair
and clears his throat. Ashamed, I quickly lower my gaze to the book
I’m clasping. “So um, where have you been?”
Peter takes a surprisingly long time to
answer. “Home. I was with friends. Sorry I missed you here last
time.”
“ Nah, it’s
okay.” I wave a dismissive hand. I had only been waiting for two
hours for him to show up, but I don’t say that out loud. It’s been
a long time since I felt attracted to any guy, but Peter captured
my interest from the first time we met. Even though he’s dressed
like a normal young man, he somehow seems not from this world
whenever I look into his sky blue eyes. And the way he often
studies me before he answers one of my questions makes him even
more mysterious. Let’s see if I can disclose some of his
secrets.
“Do you have a job in London?” He suddenly
seems too old to be a college student. “The house you moved in is
pretty big and
house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up. Damn, head rush.
My brain seems to twist in my skull like a carousel. It’s
nauseating. Moaning, I rise from the floor and, with squinted eyes, feel my way to the bathroom using
the wall. Drinking some water from cupped hands helps a little. The
sick feeling disappears.
As I look up and glance at my reflection in
the mirror, I suck in a horrified breath. The stubble in my face
has grown over night, and not just a millimeter. What was only a
dark shadow on my cheeks last night is now a layer of half an inch
of fur on the lower third of my face. What the hell! My heart clips
like a racehorse.
I need to get rid of this beard and fast.
Angel can’t see me like that when we meet in the park later.
After cleaning my dagger which I used for
killing the pheasant last night, I shave. It’s a good thing the
slim blade is sharp enough to cut the beard, but it leaves my skin
red and burning. Cold water splashed on it eases the pain.
In the front garden of my new home is an
apple tree. I pluck a dainty red fruit on the way out and eat it
while I head down to the park. Time to meet Angel again.
Angelina
PAULINA LIFTS THE Polaroid camera my parents
gave me last month for my eighteenth birthday in front of her face
and pushes the release button. A black square picture comes out,
which I take and shake until the colors come to life on it. It’s me
who smiles from that photo—again. Seems like she found her favorite
object to shoot.
“ Why don’t
you take some picture s of the ducks in
the pond?” I suggest.
Squealing,
she runs off with Brittney Renae fast on her heels. I lean back on
the bench and reach for my book, but a shadow falling over my face
makes me look up instead of starting to
read. Against the blinding sun stands the silhouette of a young
man, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, head
tilted. “Hi,” he says.
“ Peter!” I’m
surprised about the joy I feel at seeing him again. Scooting to one
end of the bench, I invite him to sit down with me. “Where have you
been the past couple of weeks?”
He eyes me sideways as he lowers. “Couple of
weeks?”
“ Yeah. I was
afraid you’d changed your mind and didn’t move into the house after
all.” Why in the world did I just use the term I was afraid ? It’s not
like it would make any difference to me if he lived in our street
or not. Or so I’d want him to believe. He doesn’t need to know that
I actually went down to his house one afternoon last week and rang
the bell to see if he was home.
Placing one leg on the seating, I face
him—and gasp. Gosh, hopefully, he didn’t notice that. But what’s
with his face? He looks…older. Not much, but enough to notice a
change. Or is it maybe just because he shaved when last time he
sported an enticing dusting of stubble? Then again, shaving usually
makes men look younger. Peter on the contrary looks like mid twenty
all of a sudden.
My staring
obviously makes him uncomfortable. He runs a hand through his hair
and clears his throat. Ashamed, I quickly lower my gaze to the book
I’m clasping. “So um, where have you been?”
Peter takes a surprisingly long time to
answer. “Home. I was with friends. Sorry I missed you here last
time.”
“ Nah, it’s
okay.” I wave a dismissive hand. I had only been waiting for two
hours for him to show up, but I don’t say that out loud. It’s been
a long time since I felt attracted to any guy, but Peter captured
my interest from the first time we met. Even though he’s dressed
like a normal young man, he somehow seems not from this world
whenever I look into his sky blue eyes. And the way he often
studies me before he answers one of my questions makes him even
more mysterious. Let’s see if I can disclose some of his
secrets.
“Do you have a job in London?” He suddenly
seems too old to be a college student. “The house you moved in is
pretty big and
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