The Lion Tattoo

8

THE LION TATTOO

Eight

The past six days had been a roller coaster ride for me. My emotions had been up and down, depending on who I interacted with. Exactly seven days ago, Sheriff... I mean Emma suddenly barged into my study, bombarded me with her made up 'duties' and then hurriedly ran out on me after I managed to steal her copy straight from her hands. That was an emotional high for me.

I remember Robin saying, as in direct from his lips that he is going to give me my happy ending, and yet, the emotional side effect of his declaration can't be compared to that of Emma's, to think the savior had only scribbled it... so many erased words, but - you get what I mean - I was stunned into silence at her hasty exit, and then a few minutes later, after what transpired sunk in, I got angry. The damn woman would not face her own emotion and decides to just run away and then what?

Oh yes, hide. She hid by making sure never to bumped into me or see me for five days! Imagine how small a town is Storybrooke, and she managed to do it. Sometimes I wonder if what we knew of her lack in stealth was faulty, I mean, she can't be that good in hiding if she is that bad right? Anyway, Emma and her constant need to talk to me prior to what happened seven days ago had etched into my psyche, that now, I am feeling down, and no matter how I deny that it was from the lack of the blonde haired sheriff's pestering my everyday, the truth is out. I missed the damn woman! If this goes on, how long do you think I can keep the charade that I am not aware of what happened in that woods a few months ago?

Henry's date schedule started last Monday where I went out with Miss Lucas. I really can't take myself into calling the young woman by her name, and it was obvious since I think she had corrected me a hundred times during our "date". She actually impressed me, she'd went out of her way to create a supposedly romantic ambience by turning an almost secluded spot in the park into a picnic haven, complete with colorful lights surrounding us, hanging via branches of the trees around. If I were a different woman, let's say - if I were Snow or even Miss French -, I'd probably squeal at the romanticized park as soon as I saw it, but then again, I am the evil queen, no matter how much Emma would protest, surrounding me with bulbs in different color doesn't really constitute as romantic. It has been done a million times, in real life and movies. But what the heck, the definition of 'romantic' varies with every person.

Not to sound ungrateful, I liked how she thinks. Simple, yes and quiet. Her almost non stop blubbering was almost cute. Her wolf jokes were acceptable, but they still lack something. Despite that 'empty' feeling as we get along with our date, Miss Lucas still was able to put a smile on my face, why not? Her effort was genuine, its not every day that someone from the good team takes notice of me and get out of her way to bring me some semblance of joy... though not complete. How many of these women vying for my attention has genuine intention for me?

How many people in Storybrooke is genuine in their intention towards me? I can probably count them in one hand... or well, I don't even need my hand to count.

I got lucky the next day I guess, because on the sixth day of her absencia in my usually lonely life, I was able to bump into her at the diner. There will be another budget meeting which usually grates on my nerver, because these people who hold places in the town council cannot understand the simple fact that Storybrooke's coffer has not been increasing and all we ever did was to lose money with all these projects they want to do but never really move to do it. We don't have enough money to sustain the town and yet there are still more demands... and urgently! Okay, I went on a tangent there, but as I was saying, I need a very big cup of black coffee to take to the townhall so that Snow and I can start early on preparing for the meeting, and there was the sheriff, head up, neck stretched and was looking over the counter and into the kitchen, her large cup of I assume was her hot chocolate with cinnamon probably forgotten.