a separate introductory section of a literary work.
Donatello was frozen. He felt as if his intestines would cease to function with the sudden drop in his body temperature. The joints of his fingers had gone rigid, strangling the stems of the small bouquet he now clung to as his heart was rapidly enveloped in a thick layer of ice. His warm russet eyes turned a harsh dark brown.
He had no idea then, but they'd remain cold for quite some time.
"Donnie?" April cried, like she'd just realized his presence. Like he'd been invisible for the last fifteen seconds. Heck, he probably had been to her. How could she have noticed anything else while Jones attacked her lips ravenously.
Donatello knew he could never be so demanding of her kiss, of her close proximity. Casey had no restraints when it came to asserting what he wanted. Donnie, on the other hand, considered it a blessing just to have April's hand in his.
That had been his thrill for the past two weeks. April placing her small palm into his abnormal hand, and April smiling up at him.
It had been a gift to him.
A gift, it seemed now, that could be snatched away all too easily.
"You weren't supposed to be here for another ten minutes," Casey accused.
Classic Jones. Even when he was clearly in the wrong, he'd found a way to somehow blame Donnie. Even after practically admitting with his statement that yes, this entire ordeal of meeting and kissing April - DONATELLO'S girlfriend — had been planned, he felt the need to make a snarky explanation at the terrapin's expense.
And with that snarky explanation, he'd torn apart any hope that this whole thing had been a terrible snafu. That perhaps Casey had HAPPENED to show up at April's apartment, HAPPENED to be so brash as to kiss her at the moment Donnie had HAPPENED to slide through the window.
No, Donnie thought bitterly, The universe isn't kind enough to grant me such a coincidence.
At least if the whole situation had been a fluke, the ninja could have ended the impromptu kiss with a well-aimed punch, swept the girl he loved into his arms, and left Casey bleeding on the floor.
Now that he'd concluded that April was an accomplice in this crime against his heart, Donnie felt like his own life was draining out of him onto the lovely, pristine carpet.
"I figured I'd show up a little early," he defended when he finally regained the ability to speak, holding up the bunch of white rose buds in his hand, "I found these and didn't want to wait to give them to you." His eyes had found April, her mouth hanging open with a look of horror and regret. "Guess I should've been a little more patient."
"Donnie, I can explain," she started. She couldn't, judging by the silence that ensued.
Donatello looked away, too pained by the fact that Casey and April were still holding each other close, too proud to let Casey see the heartbroken tears welling up.
Donnie had always dreamed of embracing her like that. He had fantasized about the day when he'd work up the nerve to kiss her dainty and perfect lips. He'd spent hours piecing together what the future might have looked like for him and April.
Casey had ripped those plans to shreds.
Donatello's eyes burned with sudden hatred, honing in on Jones as he began to advance. Casey, having foreseen the turtle's actions, backed away quickly, reaching for a goalie stick in the golf bag slung over his shoulder.
"Stop, please!" April shouted, rushing forward and holding Donnie back.
"Yeah, unless you want that gap of yours to get even big—"
"Shut up, Casey," she silenced him, turning back to the genius with pleading eyes. "Donatello, don't hurt him."
And Donnie stopped in his tracks. How could he refuse his red-haired angel? How could a voice so soft and serene be ignored? He considered it impossible to resist.
"Can we just... sit down and talk about this like civilized people?" she requested hopefully.
Donnie didn't want to talk. He wanted to scream, throw things, have a down-right toddler tantrum. He wanted to grab Casey and whack him over the head so hard his grandchildren would feel it. He wanted to make Jones feel how much it hurt to have April taken away.
"No," Donnie shook his head slowly, backing away from the girl of his dreams, "I should go."
"Please," she begged, following him as he retreated to the window from which he had entered, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I care about you."
Donatello knew that. Why would she have agreed to go out with him, if she hadn't cared for him?
He turned to look into her eyes. "I loved you."
He'd never the courage to say that. April gawked, her piercing eyes wide with shock. He pressed the bundle of rose buds into her hands. "Donnie..," she whispered incredulously.
Deep within, he found the will to ignore that irresistible lilt in her voice.
"I loved you," he repeated, emphasizing the past tense, "and now I'm letting you go."
He was out the window and into the night before she could say another word.
Donatello finally allowed his tears to spill over, Casey's lips on April's the only thing playing over and over in his mind.
Donnie was frozen. He felt as if his intestines would cease to function with the sudden drop in his body temperature, and he knew he had lied to that redhead back at the apartment.
He hadn't stopped loving her.
Now, he also believed in the depths of his soul that love was far too risky to fool with.
And he vowed to never take that risk again.
The truck flew across the highway, its wheels kicking up dirt and gravel. Telephone lines swooped across the horizon, thin black streaks silhouetted against a darkening sky. A girl watched the ups and downs from the passenger window as the line ran alongside the truck, chasing and leaping with each new telephone pole. Her white earbuds drowned out the sounds of bass drops and techno blaring from the radio, replacing them with the sultry, soothing tones from decades past. Her long and elegant fingers reorganized the stacks of sheet music she was supposed to be reviewing, her hands itching to reach for her small journal of doodles still residing in the duffle bag at her feet.
The back of her seat thumped, and she glanced over her shoulder at the toddler in her booster seat, dark hair matching her own tied up cutely in pigtails and giggling as she watched other cars whisk past. Her tiny feet, sporting tennis shoes with flashing soles, pounded lightly against the seat.
The girl turned to look at her mother, still firmly gripping the steering wheel, her frizzy brunette mane contained with a San Francisco baseball cap. Her periwinkle-gray eyes returned to the city fast approaching just beyond the dashboard. Her heart skipped a beat, the excitement that had been slightly smothered by hours of boredom returning in full scale.
"Forty five minutes, if traffic is kind to us. Which it never is, there," the woman beside her estimated, punching the gas and making the old truck jerk forward accidentally. Whether it was exhilaration or apprehension, the sight of New York City had obviously affected her as well.
"Our new home!" Her sister cried joyfully, hugging her blue elephant to her as her methodical kicks quickened.
"Yeah. Our new home," the girl replied, a softer smile gracing her full, pink lips.
A series of small yips made everyone in the truck jump, and a small black nose poked over the console, a lolling tongue just beneath it.
"Missy's awake!" The toddler squealed, riling the small dog even more.
"Emelia, stop egging her on," the girl scolded lightly, stroking the fur between the petite canine's ears and murmuring, "Easy, Artemis, easy."
The dog eventually calmed down, her dark twinkling eyes gazing up at her in veneration.
"Vienna, you'll have to retrain her. I don't want Missy barking at every car in New York."
"I know, Mom," she responded, glancing around the cab of the old Chevy at the suitcases and bags piled up in the back seat, "I'll make sure she's behaved."
"Good." Her mom's eyes flicked to the girl in slight warning. "And then we're talking about your decision before we left."
Vienna shrunk back in the seat. "I paid for it on my own."
"With the money for your lessons," her mother said, forcing her eyes back onto the road, "You need those lessons if you ever want to get into Juliard. And a tattoo is permanent, Vienna."
She sighed, reaching for her iPhone, tucked away beneath her sheet music and cranking up the Frank Sinatra crooning through her earbuds. She tugged the sleeve of her shirt down over the new tattoo on her forearm, a kanji:
鴞.
Vienna watched the city lights brightening as the truck approached New York City, the thin black streaks silhouetted against the darkening sky, chasing and leaping with each new telephone pole.