Lovestruck

FAY

Ting!

My eyes open wide.

That notification sound. The chiming one.

Tyke's!

Electric bliss shakes me right where it feels the best, all over my very—I'm in sweats?—hot body.

The ghost of a frown glides over me as I twist a hand from under the clingy damp duvet, crusted wet in every fold of my damp, damp skin.And even more, when I realize how high the sun is in the sky as I squint through the window. Definitely didn't plan to lie-in so late when I said I was going back to bed...But do I care?! My hand slaps my bedside table, capturing my phone in a flash. Swiping it open with fucking ecstatic pleasure, I read,

Bear

12:13 pm

Bug, I'm coming for you. Get your things ready. Backpack. Only the essentials. Nothing more. We leave tomorrow.

My toes dance under the sheets, piano keys composing lyrics of the utmost freaking happiness. My nostrils flap as my chest blows up. Rahh! Yes.

So. Fucking. Happy!

I play the following voice memo, his raspy voice burning me up. I have a job for you, fairy: Burn your passport. Any pictures where you're on, cancel your accounts, and destroy your computer. Go to your bank, pull the money out, cash only.

My gaze drifts from my phone to my door. Cash? I'm going to have to scratch things together to get by, turn jackets, and ransack the place for a few coins and discarded notes. I don't have cash, even less an account... At most, a two-digit number poking about my account.

Voice memo number two.

And close them. Ask them to delete your personal details. That part is important. Don't forget. It takes ten days to do so. Slide them some banknotes and get it done on the spot. Dump your phone in a garbage can at the extremity of the city, fly back, and lock the door and windows.

Way not to freak me out, Tyke.

And it won't! He's being a dork. I dab beads of sweat bursting down my temple, the dampness irritating my scalp.

I missed you, too.

Do it.

Okay.

Whatever. Questions later, and who gives a fuck? I'm going into the unknown with Tyke!

I jump out of bed, flap a wing or two, make a perfect twirl, and land on the carpet like a gymnast, bowing to myself in the mirror because it's an amazingly great day, and the landing was aced to first-rateness!

Then I untangle my hair with a brush. Idea abandoned after three knots and an enervating tug at the scalp.

After shoving the torture device into my drawer, my closet beckons.

Flap the doors wide, and pick out three random T-shirts, three pairs of underwear, and two shorts. Revolve on my left, to where a dusty backpack is hooked against a wall, loosen the drawstrings tops, and stretch its mouth wide. I shove my load into it.

Now the critical part...

I don't have to go far to find my books. Just a little step on my right to face an epic bookcase towering over me, ten-units high. Would you believe I spent a ridiculous amount of time rearranging them rainbow-style? Yes, a perfect gradient ranging from red to yellow to purple... Don't say it. I know. The ultimate bookcase exists, and it's mine.

I glance up and down my flight of fancies, my nose scrunching, undecided about which to take and which to abandon...

So... My finger tapping at my mouth is not helping. I have so much. Come on, Fay, difficult times ask for great sacrifices. Choose wisely. The Arachnid's Mate, Queen of the Rings, Kisses and Monsters...

Mmmhhh... these as well. Twisted Dove, The Found Heir, Heaven Bent, Arax and the Alpha. And then I move my pot of paint brushes to one side and clamp a whole load. The series of Fire Planet Warriors, not forgetting my beloved Forbidden Skin... trapped between two of its pages, a key I was given twice. Little wooden figurines stand on the side, guarding my inked gateways to other worlds. Tyke sculpted them, fashioning a fae, an orc, and a tusked horse–Fajor'hos, they're called… I sweep my hand over them and hop them into the bag.

I swirl to my right and race for the bathroom.

A cheer bursts out of me. There's even room to wedge in a toothbrush!

I stretch out a smile at the mirror, checking on my gnashers. Well, now that I'm here, better give them a brush. After smudging toothpaste on the bristles, cleaning my grin, and swishing mouthwash, I tap my cheeks for some color. But then my smile in the mirror shrinks. I'm pale, my face glowing, but not in a healthy way. I palm my clammy forehead... It's a little warm.

Right when Tyke is about to return, I must come down with something.

I look like sh?—

No. Don't go there. This is a good day. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. It's probably just a cold.

After wiping my face, I shuck the towel into the sink and whiz out with my rucksack in hand. Fleeting over the parquet, I'm trying not to overthink this fever, praying it's not linked to my persistent pixie problem. Give it a day or two, Fayra. Focus on the essentials.

Quince.

I reach my bedroom and fly over my bed to unhook the frame.

He's staring back at me, a smile full of cake. My mother sure knew how to make treats.

My hands drop, a bundle of unworthy fingers clutching the portrait. It's just me and the wall now, watching nothing. Mom... I tighten my jaws and close my eyes. I haven't spoken to my mother in ages. Not my fault. June cannonballed my way with such intensity that my head still spins.

Or maybe I excel at torpedoing myself, and June was just the pinnacle of my career as a self-screwed bungler. I entered the stage of shame by being nearly assaulted by a friend. Then, if things weren't bad enough, I yeeted Tyke like a piece of chewed gum, just to realize I was the piece of trash. Then got fired by my very own father.

I turn the frame and slip my nail under a spring clip.

Maybe I should call her.

No, better...

I'll surprise her.

I remove Quince's picture and carefully place it in the front pocket. I throw the backpack on my bed, satisfied with my accomplishment.

I then open the windows wide.

Wind gushes through my hair and, inhaling summer, I hum.

I tilt to my left, knitting my eyebrows with angst. Shop alarms are blaring in the distance. It's been like that for the past week.

Thankfully, heights have been relatively safe from the riots. But I'm not landing one foot down there until people chill the eff out.

I climb over the window frame, spread my wings, and soar.

Not even three flaps into Titan Junction, and I get a whistle.

"Hey, cute fly, wanna go on Cloud 9 with me?"

Where the fuck?! I lift my head, noticing an angel preying above me with an unbuttoned shirt flagging in the wind. This horny pigeon matches my pace, licking his smirk like it's made of sugar, a gaze obsidian...

Is he seriously thinking I want to go to a flying island brothel with him?!

"Go fuck a halo!" In all fairness, angels are dicks.

A shadow speeds before me, a fae. We fly past each other, his blond head twisting as he gawks at me.

Weird...

As I struggle to brush off the feathered perv, something crashes. I take a rapid glance between my whirring flaps. A pair of fae wings and legs are dangling out of a window while cracklings of glass tingle down the building.

Breaking wide, my wings slam into the air. I sweep my eyes over the skyscrapers' glinting windows, and?—

I scream!

There, right in front of me, my reflection.

It's beaming at my raw self.

My clothes! I think I forgot one tiny detail...

A winged silhouette descends before me, close enough his breathing dampens my face.

Avoid eye contact! I lick the dry fear off my lips amidst heavy wings pounding the ether, the hit of them humming strong as they forcefully heave up and down.

Fingers grip my wrist.

The angel tugs. "Pretty fly..."

I thrash backward.

"Come with me."

Shoved against his chest, my eyes widen in horror to find it laced with scratches. Nails have been at him before.

Fear grips me, my words trapped.

Twisting, I try lashing out, working my wings so damn hard their birth ache from the strain. And I panic because I can't. They are pinned against my back by his fierce embrace. This fucktard spreads his own, throwing out an expanse of pure white feathers, much, much larger than mine. They pick up speed, drubbing the gushes, stirring some more.

Wriggling, I cry, "Stop!"

"I'm just taking you for a ride. Hush, fae." As he soars through the zephyr, my air comes to miss, my vision sways, everything fucking down to a dot.

Dizziness sets in... I'm not built to fly so high.

My mind clouds with familiar sensations.

Nothing's new about the experience. Hell's Garden, my baptism. And I'm not going to go through the same shit twice!

"You're one of a kind," he husks, chin disgustingly nudging my forehead. Despite his angelic appearance, I won't be fooled again. I recognize this gaze: the same black eyes Deon bore.

Fury builds up.

Rage.

Hate.

And something supernatural I'm terrified to find loving, the desire to hurt.

Lungs halt.

Lips wave.

Voices inside my head rise.

Louder.

Strums of growls emerge from the depths of my mind. Eerie chants coil into a ringing. It's growing, taking the whole of my skull.

I gasp. Bloody screams in my head! Insufferable, hissing, bursting my eardrums.

Dares defy me!

Kill my enemy!

Breathe out the nightmares!

And I scream, unknown gut-wrenching wails possessing my ears, shattering my brain.

Heat surges throughout my body, rushing like a torrent of fire up my back, and I can't feel my skin anymore. Can't feel anything...

My eyes fling open.

Wings falter, and I plummet into a haze of cotton puffs.

Gasping and huffing, I shut myself away in the only safe place I know. Tyke...

I try taming the shitstorm that is my heart.

Try breathing again.

I revolve a couple of times, my face tangled in a thick rope of hair, everything very much out of control, my vision wild of creamy sky, struggling to calm my hysterical wings.

I squeeze my jaw, taking the violent gusts pelting my body. What if I can't manage to open my wings? What if I crash? I wonder what Tyke would think of me if he saw me now...

He'd say, 'There's no place for the weak in Nikresh!'

Nikresh. Only the brave can walk through its gates. I flip headfirst, allow the force of my descent glaze over my skin, these fold naturally behind me. I bawl out, nerves falling about me.

My wings finally bloom, and stabilizing what I can of myself, I force my gaze on the horizon. It slumps. Down under, a sea of mist brims with cumulus. It's a blanket of clouds, darker shades contrasting the great sky above. And I exhale when I find the Statue of Sovereignty's hand-born flame peeking from under a thinner layer of fog.

My span steadies, wings flapping at right angles. I think I've just experienced the worst flash migraine to date.

Skipping beats like crazy, I turn on myself, siphoning the skies for this piece of fuck. Where is he?

Feathers rain down on me, some flickering in sparks. My eyes follow one. It's red at the bristles, crisping.

It's okay, Fay. It's just another random Monday…