by Azzurra Nox
“Don’t tell me that you love Sydney.”
“She gets me.”
“And I don’t?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Jon, I’d do anything for you.”
“Then do me a favor, and stop bugging me,” he threw the thongs down and heard his footsteps advance towards the revolving door exit of the darkroom. She stopped him in his tracks, pressing her lips against his. Her heart beat fast from the contact, reminding her of when they had been together, of all their intimate moments. These thoughts kept her awake at night, making her unable to find peace or come to terms with the breakup. The flat of his palms pushed against her shoulders, not hard, but firm enough to indicate that he wanted her to stop. She did. Tears fell down in succession. He couldn’t see her in the dark and she was grateful for it. Humiliation stung like piercing daggers or the way an open wound drenched in rubbing alcohol would burn. When he left, she grabbed the photos of Sydney that were developing in the trays with the fluid and started to tear them up. The remnants fell on the floor in strips of black and white. They resembled the broken pieces of her heart. She fell on her knees sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaking her cheeks. “Freak,” she murmured angrily, eyes cast down on Sydney’s torn features. “Freak. How could he like a freak?!”
It didn’t even bother Amelia that Jon loved Lena because they weren’t together. But she couldn’t stand seeing Jon with Sydney. Lunchtime was pure torture when she looked across the room and would see the two of them together looking jovial. The way he made her happy was visible through Sydney’s beaming smile and laughter. Slowly, with each passing day she began to feel a resentment take hold of her heart and manipulate her brain. She started to think about how she was going to make her pay for taking Jon away from her. If she hadn’t gotten in the middle of them, he would’ve gone back to her, she was certain of it. After all, when Lena got together with Michael she could’ve been there for him. Instead, Sydney weaseled her way between them, severing their bond and sealing her relationship with him.
Anger was distorting her thoughts, allowing vindictive plans to nestle and multiply. She could only think about revenge. A part of her wished she could banish these thoughts away, because it wasn’t in her nature to wish ill upon anyone, but the pain she felt for the loss of Jon was too real to ignore or move on from.
Her fingers wrapped around a curious pendant she had around her neck. It was a one inch mirror that had been skillfully sanded down on the edges to resemble an oval shape. Intricate spiderwebs in silver adorned the piece of glass. After Photography class that day, she was too gutted to do much else. She found herself wandering the parking lot alone. Too frazzled to notice a slight bump in the road, she tripped over it, scrapping her knee from where her knee-high socks pushed down upon impact. Her limbs didn’t want to cooperate with her, wishing to remain immobile, not caring if she was sprawled on the asphalt. Connor Reynolds was skipping school, smoking on the hood of his hearse whilst rock music blared from his earphones when he noticed her. He helped her up, propped her up against his car. Unlocked the doors so that she could sit inside, and rummaging through the many things he kept in the glove compartment, he managed to find a band-aid and washed her cut with water prior. She was astonished by his kindness, especially since she had always felt intimidated by his presence. His eyes were tinted in black kohl, his nails varnished with black lacquer. Sometimes she wondered how he got away with bending the rules as he did. But he was so terribly passionate and adamant on expressing himself that he always battled in having the students rebel on blindly obeying what was strictly mentioned in the student handbook and on testing the words that were written.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “Rough day?”
“You can’t even imagine.”
“What’s got you down?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” his headphones were around his neck as music continued to blare in an ungodly volume.
“Thanks…for everything.”
“De nada.”
Then for some reason she told him. She didn’t tell him that she was jealous of Sydney, because she wasn’t that distraught to not recall that he and Sydney were best friends. But she did tell him about the pain of losing someone you loved. The way she felt handicapped by this. It was like losing a limb she had told him. At nights she could still feel Jon near, like when amputees are convinced they still have their phantom limbs. How could she forget when she could feel his presence everywhere? He was inside of her, she had explained, and nothing could ever pull him out. Connor had listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding in agreement. By the end of her lengthy confession that resembled more of a word vomit, he had slipped a necklace off of him, presenting the odd pendant to her.
“What is this?”
“It’s something I had made. Someone gave me the mirror telling me that it had the ability to protect me and to keep it on me at all times. I had it spruced up by a jeweler.”
“And?”
“And I want you to have it. Maybe it’ll help protect you from the ghost that’s haunting you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It looks like you keep sleeping with a ghost. You need to move on. You’re pretty, you’re likeable. Just stop obsessing over him. He’s just some guy who broke up with you. I know it sucks. But life goes on.”
His words were blunt without a single sugar coating wrapped around any of them. They seared her, plummeting to her core and yet she wasn’t angry. He was right. She knew he was. Maybe that’s why she had taken the pendant from him. Perhaps a slight portion of her wished to forget, ached to move on. If only it weren’t so difficult. If only her thoughts wouldn’t always return to Jon. Her love. Just thinking about that pinched her heart in a way that it pained her to breathe.
“Milly, could you go buy me some milk?” her mother’s voice yelled up the stairs, echoing down the hall.
She hated this. Hated how her mother was always knocked up and incapable of doing much else around the house but order her around.
“In a second!”
“You need to go now before it gets too late. I don’t like you driving alone at night.”
“Then why don’t you go?” she shouted out the bedroom door not wanting to go downstairs into the living room.
“You know it’s dangerous for the baby if I’m driving!”
“Oh brother,” she murmured to herself, slapping the novel Cut Here shut, as she got up from her bed and slipped into a pair of flip flops before running down the stairs. If she was going to go out, she might as well do it now and get it over with.
Her mother was eight months pregnant. It was a matter of weeks before she’d deliver. Not that it would matter since she wouldn’t even be seeing the baby. She was a surrogate mother for a couple who couldn’t have children but had enough money to splurge it on her medical bills and womb usage. Amelia just wished she’d stop. That she could finally get a normal job. One that didn’t consist of her making a living out of being knocked up for months on end. Or be a moody miser who was consistently tired and unable to do any chores. She stopped to grab the keys on the counter when her mother stopped her in her tracks.
“Have you been crying?”
“No, what makes you think that?” her hand automatically going to her face for signs of tears or melted makeup.
“You look so sad.”
“I’m just tired.”
“You okay to drive?”
“Sure, I’m okay.”
“All right,” she walked up to her and gave her a hug, but it wasn’t even a full embrace because her belly got in the way and Amelia pulled away the second it came in contact with her.
“Gotta jet, see you later.”
The evening was beautiful as the sun set down along the hills. A patchwork of pinks and violets lit up the sky like an artist swiping brush strokes across a canvas. Scents of ora
nge blossoms and jasmines filled the air and Amelia felt momentarily sad that all this beauty couldn’t make her happy. How could her heart feel so dark when there was so much for her to marvel at? When she got into her mother’s Ford Fiesta she noticed her reflection in the rear view mirror and knew why her mother had asked her if she had been crying. Her eyes were dark and puffy underneath and resembled a well-fed crack addict having an uncontrollable craving. She thought about how beautiful Sydney looked in the photographs that Jon had taken. No wonder he liked her, even a freak like her was beautiful these days, unlike her. Amelia’s red locks were unkempt, like that of a wild Medusa. Trying to will her thoughts away, she turned the key in the ignition and swerved the volume button to max, music blasting at high decibels.
She turned the car into reverse, backing out of the driveway, and then shifted it into drive, and soon forgot her initial destination as the need to escape tugged at her psyche commanding her movements. Amelia drove for a long time, enough for a whole rock album to be done and she had to pop another CD in the player. Santa Monica’s pier was coming into view. How she longed for Jon’s lips, as thoughts of when they were on the Ferris Wheel together came to her in an avalanche of emotions. Sobs escaped her lips, with tears soon to follow.
How could he do this to her? She knew that he was infamous for moving through women fast, but she thought he had changed. Or rather, that he had felt something for her. Affection, perhaps, she wasn’t delusional enough to expect love. Although a miniscule part of her had hoped that with time he could begin to feel even that. She knew she wasn’t a Dior Fontaine, nor was she particularly talented like Lena. Amelia was fully aware that she was disgustingly ordinary, and yet she thought that maybe this was enough because she had placed her heart on a platter and served it to him. The tears began to blur her vision and she signaled to park. There was no way she could drive in these conditions. She stumbled out of the car in a sobbing haze wondering why anything she did for him had meant so little.
Her feet conducted her towards the beach. The sand felt heavy like attempting to walk through cement. Maybe it was only her impression, or maybe it was because she continually found herself stopping to dislodge her flip flops from the sand, until she got too annoyed that she pulled them off her feet and continued to walk barefoot. The sound of the waves became more audible. She had no precise destination. She only wanted to walk all night. Forget about everything. But how could she? Her knees buckled and she fell on the sand in a disastrous mess of heartbreaking sobs. Fingers clawed at the sand in vain. There was nothing to grip, nothing that could feel tangible, unbreakable, immutable.
Wet sand from her tears stuck to her cheeks like glue. She thought about the time she finally gave in to Jon. That fateful afternoon when she abandoned herself to love where he told her not to be afraid, and to trust him. In his bedroom she became a woman, and nothing would ever be the same afterward. Nothing.
A faint flutter of wings could be heard overhead, but she was too intent on her own despair to notice. It wasn’t until she heard a voice stumble into her thoughts that she looked up from her spot. Her eyes gazed over the beautiful, yet terrifying creature standing in front of her. Something inside her was telling her to be afraid, and yet the only thing she could think about was that she had seen her share of freaks at night hanging out on the beaches. She was probably just another night club junkie.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“What do you know? Go away.”
It was dark, and the boardwalk was too far away for the lights to hit the girl. She was wrapped in black. The only thing that glowed was her intensely white skin.
“Heartbreak is the worst knife.”
“What? How do you know?”
The girl’s black wings came into view. Amelia wondered how she managed to find a pair of novelty wings in that size and that looked so real.
“Everything could be easier if you’d give in.”
“Give in to what?” she looked at her almost mesmerized. The girl’s black eyes seemed to penetrate deep into her core.
“I saw you that night at the Ferris Wheel, but you couldn’t see me then. You were too happy.”
“What?”
“I was there to take him. Your boyfriend. But his will is too strong. But you, you are perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” she rubbed her eyes not understanding what the girl was trying to tell her. Not comprehending what she meant about having seen her on the Ferris Wheel. Then her eyes cast down on the glossy black feathers. They looked familiar. She had seen them before. It hit her like a brick on the head. Lena’s feather. Jon that night in Santa Monica stating how he had seen Lena’s bird. But it couldn’t be true. This made no sense. Her head throbbed from the confusion.
“What are you?” she managed to croak, her throat suddenly felt dry and although she swallowed down it wasn’t helping. She lifted herself up into a standing position. The girl was taller than her. Fear settled into the pit of her stomach, making it churn with unease. No one was in sight. The only sound was that of the people on the boardwalk. But on the beach, they were alone.
“Everyone always asks that,” she replied as though she had heard the question a thousand times and was annoyed.
“It doesn’t matter what I am. What matters is that I only come to those in need.”
“In need of what?”
“Relief of living.”
Her thoughts went back to Blake and the feather they had found near her body. Was it possible that…? She didn’t even allow herself the luxury to complete her thought, too afraid to come to the realization of why the girl was standing before her.
“But…I…I don’t want to die.” There was a tremble in her voice that was foreign to her, like she was going to burst into a fit of sobs all over again, but now for a different reason.
“That’s what they all say. And yet, your soul evokes me. Beckons me to release you of this pain.”
She wanted to run but her limbs felt heavy like dumbbells. The girl’s eyes glowed in an eerie black and the shadows seemed to circle around Amelia’s body, forcing her to her knees. The girl’s wings spread out before her looking as though she were to take flight as they flapped. Her red curls moved from the wind created by the wings.
“Please…I don’t want this.”
“But you do. Don’t fight your will. Release yourself.”
“Please…” she closed her eyes, tears emerging. She could only bring herself to beg the girl, she couldn’t even scream. All her natural survival instincts were being stunted. “I don’t want this!” she wailed.
“But it’s the only way for you to rid yourself of him. Your only way to be truly free.”
“Maybe I want to be a prisoner.”
“Your lips lie because your heart desires the opposite.”
Amelia found herself yielding her wrists to her. In a flash, she felt a searing pain and then saw the blood. It was dripping all over her and upon the white sand. It would look more glaring under the sun, but in the dark it only resembled fallen blots on a candid canvas. The girl smirked, licking a bloody nail in satisfaction. She was about to wrap her hand around her neck when she suddenly recoiled. Amelia was both confused and relieved by this as she watched the creature recede backwards like a shadow disappearing with the first rays of dawn.
The farther away she got from her, the faster Amelia began to gain control of her limbs. Initially she toppled over, but then she stood up, the need to flee was apparent and before she had time to question any of what had just occurred to her, she ran towards the boardwalk. The sand made it difficult to move fast but she forced herself to drag her feet forwards. She had to get away from the black winged creature. This was the only thing she was certain of in that moment of uncertainty. Light began to come into view. She must’ve been a spectacle. Wide-eyed, messy hair ablaze in red, wrists bleeding, and barefoot; she was like Lavinia in Shakespeare’s Titus, walking amidst the crowd in a state of confusion and unable to speak
after a traumatic experience.
At first no one seemed to pay attention to her until someone noticed the blood and started to scream. The blood had traveled up her arms from the running. Some of it had smeared on her white tank top. She began to feel dizzy. The lights from the various rides seemed to swirl into one huge psychedelic mess of pinks, blues, and greens. A group of people circled around her.
“What happened? Did someone attack you?”
“Was it a junkie?”
“Someone call 911!”
“Are you alone?”
“Who did that to you? Did they run away?”
“What’s your name?”
All the questions were overwhelming her. The faces blurred until they all resembled faceless individuals with gaping mouths. She brought her hands to her ears wanting to cancel out the voices, not wanting to hear their questions because she didn’t know the answers. She only wanted them to stop. Her legs shook, and buckled over falling on the wooden boardwalk. No words escaped her parted lips. The pendant around her neck gleamed from the various lights. She could hear the faint flutter of wings directly above her, but she was too weak to move. Slowly, her hand gripped the pendant as thought it were her last resort as the world around her began to fade to black.
* * *
Lena had overheard Hope and Jon talking in the hall earlier that morning of how they were planning to go to Zuma Beach to see if the mysterious girl would appear. She hadn’t revealed her intentions to Michael when she suggested they stop by the beach later on that night. The beach was dark apart from the candles that were flickering in the distance and almost deserted if it weren’t for the two silhouettes of Hope and Jon. Michael had parked his Ducati a couple of feet away from them. She and Michael walked towards them.
“Isn’t it too late for you to be out?” Jon remarked when he saw them approach.
“It’s barely ten,” she replied, looking down at the white candles that Hope had spread out in an odd circle.
“We’re kind of busy, and your presence will only distract us.”
“It’s okay, they can stay,” Hope replied as she placed various jagged mirrors along the inner circle.