Magic

《Hurts so bad cause when I see you I start crying》

     He saw her in the corners when they first got there. Not much, just a glance worth, but enough to spark an interest.  Taking the kids-the band, to the circus had been his idea and it was proving to be quite disappointing. The place was wreck and most of the acts had been shut down. They wandered around the place almost aimlessly before tucking behind the curtain, which stated for them to keep out.
     "Monkees are naturally curious"  Micky's reasoning for entering the forbidden tent was late to reaching Mike's mind. He was thinking about it all too much, really. That had always been his problem, overthinking,  overanalyzing.  He could tell Peter and Micky sensed he was more distressed that usual and Davy always just minds his own business. Which was...good sometimes.
     Speaking of Davy,  he had gotten into this girl at the circus and was now making ridiculous pledges to help save it. Mike couldn't keep his thoughts quiet enough to know what was going on nor did he really care yet. They get themselves in situations like this everyday, really the same thing each time. They'd get through it. What was on his mind, however,  he couldn't knock that out.
     Sleeping. Sleeping and the nights were the worst. Mike already was a chronic insomniac but this added stress wasnt doing him any better. He tossed and turned, moaned and groaned in agony as the nightmare version of his thoughts played over and over.
"Micheal I don't love you, and no one will ever love you. You are ugly and pathetic and too paranoid! I can't do this anymore!"
     And when she slams the door he jolts awake. Everyone says that, his own parents had said something similar. But when she said it,  it hurt the most. A tear streamed out from his eye and trailed down his cheek. Trying to fight it only made it worse and he sobbed silently,  crying into the night and seemingly no one...but the lady in the corners.
      "Don't cry, my darling," a strange voice spoke. It made Mike freeze. It was female, and her accent was not American, Russian perhaps? Maybe Norwegian, the hell he knew. Her volume hadn't been loud necessarily,  but it was shocking in the dead silence that Mike had be plastered in. Something fell across his shoulders.  Limbs. A tree? No, he knew better. Arms. Skinny, long arms that's were soft and pale white in the soft moonlight. They wrapped around him as a silky body pressed info his back. A tingle-no, a whisper was placed into his ear. In that foreign accent she spoke unto him,
"Why don't you come into my tent? And I may mend your broken heart,"
And with that, Micheal found himself following the mysterious women to her tent.
     His legs were exposed to the coldness of the night air from his nightgown as he, hand in hand with the lady, followed her to her tent.  He didn't have time to find his hat, so his hair flew madly and messily in the winds. She pulled him inside a small sliver of a curtain and was let go of his hand. He squinted in the new light, waiting for his eyes to adjust.  The walls were a strange purple that shone in the weird lights. It smelled like incense and something else but he couldn't place it. There were pillows seated on the floor and on one she sat.
    She wasn't ugly. In fact, she was strikingly beautiful.  Defined looking. She had a warm smile and held out her invited hands to him once more.
"Micheal,  right?" She asked.
" Uh yeah, yes ma'm, " Mike said.
" Please, you may be sit and take upon my hands,"
Mike did as told and sat down on his knees so that he may not...expose of himself in the nightgown. He took her hands in his. They were small and thin and were quite lovely to look at and hold. But he knew not to just look at her hands. He looked up at her into her emerald eyes. Well not emerald,  they weren't green but they weren't jewel-like. They could be better described as half empty 7-up bottles in the sunshine.
"You may call me Madame Lola," she said. Mike nodded. He didn't know what to expect,  much less do. How exactly was this women going to heal him? And better yet, how did she know his name?
     "Uh Madame Lola,  what exactly do you do?" He figured he'd better ask before falling into this too deeply.
"I am psychic, yeah? I read palms, past, futures,  minds," her voice trailed off and she removed a hand from his, stroking his face.
"Spirts and hearts," she finished. She spoke strongly, even in a whisper. Mike felt he could say a thing. He felt...different already. He felt like nothing, like he was one with the air in the night. She was captivating. Yeah, that was it.  That's the word. She returned her hand in his and grew a more serious look.
"Misour Nesmith, I can see into your heart, and what I see, is broken," she explained her accent announcting her every word. Maybe he was already hypnotized,  maybe he was just hysterical from lack of sleep and the stress. But the words that slipped from her mouth cause Mike to blush.