"No matter your problems, face them with a bright smile and a bucket of chocolate ice-cream," nana once wisely told me. At the time, I was barely twelve and thought that I could summon a unicorn if I just believed in myself.
A decade later, despi...
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Mark's point of view
I've learned two things in law school: a brain's ability to stretch is largely underrated, and preparation is always key. Research, investigate, read, and the court will be yours to conquer; my father keeps telling me. Although I've never been fond of his advice, this one I have to give him credit for.
There's nothing like being two steps ahead when others are still struggling in the back. Life is not exactly known for giving heads up, nonetheless. When you least expect it, it can and will throw you down a cliff; bringing you back to the point where everything started, wiping away all of your effort and so-called preparation.
"Are you okay, Maeva?" She sits on the ground, eyes wide in disbelief and breath strangely accelerated. Her glasses barely sit on the tip of her nose and she does bother pushing them up. Although I try to hold her hand in reassurance, she abruptly takes it away, her brown eyes refusing to meet mine. The Maeva I used to know could handle a titanic thrown at her without batting an eyelash; what's happened for her to have such a severe panic attack?
"What's with her?" When Stephanie's nasal voice echoes in the garage, it is hard for me not to clench my jaw and wish that I haven't spoken to her earlier today. How did she even manage to make me help her with whatever shit she was talking about back at the gym?
As I remain crouched behind the car, she places her hand on my shoulder and begins scratching it with her stiletto nails. Shivers run through my body in response to the triggering, and I try in vain to get her claws off of me.
"Stop it!" I snap at her but she ignores me as both her hands find their way to my neck, and I stand upright almost right away. Before I get the chance to warn her not to touch me anymore, Maeva gets up as well, the vulnerability that was once in her eyes replaced with raging fury.
She picks her red shoes from the ground and turns on her heels without even looking back. Her bare feet stamp the grass as she flounces away when an electricity-like bolt snaps me in the head. My vision gets darker as memories find their way back to my mind, and the urge to crash something is almost too hard to resist. How could I forget what she did that easily?
"Just leave. Isn't that what you do best?" As my voice resonates in her ears, she turns around, eyes dripping with wrath and mouth pursed in refrain to the words hanging on the tip of her tongue. She remains silent, however, which adds fuel to the fire ignited in my head. I want her to speak. To tell me why she left. How she doesn't care.
Both frozen in place, we fix each other defiantly, waiting for whoever burns first under the piercing gaze of the full moon. Although it might seem like we're on the verge of jumping and taring each other's flesh, she keeps looking at me in incredulity and I can't stop my eyes from skimming her.
From the now hollow cheeks and slightly prominent collarbone, she seems to have melted on high heat. The plumped hips she once had are nowhere to be seen and I almost lose my composed façade as I realize how much of a change she's been through. The black dress hugs her somewhat remaining curves perfectly, and she seems to have gained a few inches in height if that's even possible.
