The Classix

(2ND DRAFT) Chapter THIRTEEN

Life's been hectic, and I'm here now. I love you. I'll update again soon.

       

EMERAY

    "You have to answer me."

    My breathing, quick as it already is, accelerates more. Pressed back against the wall directly opposite the door, I stay as silent as I can muster. But no matter how quiet I am, Norax Geddes is unrelenting.

    "Lumerpa, please. I heard you come in late last night, so I know you're in there. Just let me see you."

    "I don't––I don't feel good," I call out.

    "I'm not accepting that excuse anymore, Emeray."
     It's been two days since the meeting that made Carstan van Horne a Famoux member, and I've done everything in my power to stay away from him. Since I presume the two have been glued to the hip, that means staying away from Norax as well. Just hearing her voice ringing through my room feels like inviting some kind of horrible ghost.

    I spent the first day after Carstan's arrival curled up in my bed, feigning immobility. My meals were brought to me by Gerald, who let me know more than once that I really owed him for coming up with excuses––enough to keep me in my room all day. After all, the whole sickness excuse went out the window the night before.

    "I ran into Norax and had to tell her that you've been journalling all day long" he said while handing me my dinner. "Just so when she asks, you know."

    "Journalling, huh?"

    "Would you prefer if I told them you'd been curiously pacing around your room all day, muttering things to yourself? Journalling was the first thing I could think of."

    "Thank you for thinking of something. Anything beats going downstairs."

    He gave me a teasing look. "Perish the thought that Emeray makes new friends who aren't her fake boyfriend or her bodyguard."

    "I have more friends than that."

    "Yeah, sure. Go eat your food."

     To save Gerald the pain of standing outside my door for hours on end, I suggested we leave the Metropolix on the second day. Since the idea of getting through the hallway, staircase, and kitchen without being noticed by anyone seemed next to impossible, we got up early enough that no one else seems to be awake yet.

    "This is such a production, Miss Essence," Gerald mumbled to me in the car. He pointed to the horizon between two buildings, where an orange sun was barely peeking out to meet us. "You must really hate this new guy to be going to meet Cartney before sunrise."

    "Trust me," I said. "Cartney is a beam of light in comparison to him."

    "You're pretty strong in your first impressions, huh?"

    As much as I wanted to tell him about everything Carstan has done to me, this wouldn't be the time or place to. Instead of replying, I glanced around the car, attempting to make him aware again of the cameras and mics embedded in plain sight. He understood.

    Cartney was understandably confused to find Gerald and I at his door so early. While rubbing his eyes he gestured to the street behind us, telling me something about how if the paparazzi isn't awake yet, he isn't awake yet. I offered to let him sleep a little longer, but he was already turning on the coffee maker before I stepped into the apartment.

    Over several cups, I explained the situation fully––why I was there so early, what I was avoiding. He had a lot of questions, and even more reactions. The amount of gasps that ensued when I mentioned Carstan's relation to Norax were innumerable.