The continuation of The Ghost of The Memory!
Summary: 5 years after their separation and heartbreak. Misty lives in NYC, carrying the memory of her first love in her hard-guarded heart. As fate dictates, her path crosses with Cordelia's again. (I suck at summarizing I know.)
"Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you'll find an edge to cut you."
― Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns
Misty Day was indifferent. Detached, aloof, stolid, whatever you want to call it. It wasn't necessarily that she hated people. She just didn't have any opinions on them. Nothing they did or said interested her, and most of the time, spending her time alone was much more entertaining than talking to another human being.
So naturally, as she stared at the soaring clouds in the powder blue sky, her only wish at the moment was to go home. At the same time, though, she knew she needed to stay there if she wanted money. No job was easy, especially for the wild blonde, who found every bit of human interaction burdensome and draining.
At least, the girl thought, her job didn't necessarily require friendliness. To be a bartender, knowledge about alcohol was the number one priority. Sociability, not so important in Misty's opinion. Her boss might oppose to this attitude, but if he ever did, the girl simply had to find another job. Not a big deal. Every job was the same.
The agate eyes that bubbled in indigo and silver moved to the mass of people in front of her. Most of the men were dressed in plain, uncreative suits. The women, on the other hand, showed off their vibrant dresses and exquisite jewels. From Gucci to Channel to a brand that the feral-haired girl couldn't even identify. In the two years of serving alcohol at parties, Misty mused, this one seemed way more extravagant than regular parties.
Her boss had said it was a wedding party. Whose wedding, he didn't say, as such information wasn't of necessity.
"It's hell of a party," she mumbled to her co-worker.
Kyle, with golden hair neatly combed, shrugged at her words. "Yup, as it should be. The groom is Hank Foxx." Contrary to his nonchalant gesture, his charcoal eyes shone in what seemed like thrill.
"Who?"
Her question earned a strange look from the aspiring engineer from Louisiana. A look that said 'are you for real?' The girl didn't care, though, since she was so used to people thinking she had been living under a rock.
"He's the president of Delphi Trust, one of the biggest companies in the world," the blond boy replied. "His father is the CEO."
The name of the groom had already been tossed into oblivion by the girl. Whoever it was, though, he must be a famous, and quite powerful man to have a wedding like this. After all, only those who are exceptionally wealthy and pretentious would have their weddings on the roof of a five star hotel in the center of NYC.
Although the wild blonde had never fancied a thought of ever getting married to someone, she couldn't help wondering how it was like to be celebrated by so many people.
But what about the bride? Was she famous, too? Harmless curiosity took over her mind as she made a drink for a guy who, without a doubt, too hammered to speak a human language. Misty hated people who couldn't handle their alcohol, and she had seen so many of them. It was ugly, irresponsible, and so idiotic. Even from the other side of the counter, the wild blonde could smell the alcohol.
His droopy eyes travelled up and down, studying her features, lingering on her jacket-covered chest, raising his untamed brow. As nasty as he was, Misty knew to stay professional. Pouring the martini into a chilled glass, she mentally stabbed his balls with an ice pick and squeezed lemon juices into the punctured wounds.
"Here come the newlyweds!" someone screamed in the crowd.
The drunk sicko, much to the girl's discontent, grabbed the unfinished martini and staggered back to the mass of people.
"Fucker," Misty cursed under her breath, wiping the spilled gin off the counter.
The entrance was blocked from her view, but the cheers and screams of the crowd made the couple's arrival known to the bartender.
The groom was a tall guy, a beard covering the lower half of his face. When Kyle'd said he was the CEO of a huge company, the girl imagined him to be old, greasy, fat, and perhaps bald. In reality, though, he was none of them. His white teeth shone in the sunlight as he smiled at the bride, whom Misty couldn't see.
Behind the people, the bride's head was barely visible. Still, the silky blonde hair, which made a perfect contrast to the groom's raven-like hair, was visible between the heads of the people. The blue eyes were trained on the head of blonde. A bizarre feeling was beginning to take up residence inside her chest. It was such an inexplicable feeling, different from banter, not quite the same as curiosity.
It simply seemed like following the nameless, faceless bride was as natural as a sunflower chasing the sun. The woman reminded Misty of something, a thing from the past. What is it? she tilted her head.
The merry music stopped, and comfortable breeze descended to the roof. It played with the hem of the bride's white dress. It twirled in the wind as freely as the corsage of a blue rose in her hair.
It's a ghost. The enigmatic magnificence was almost hypnotizing to the bartender. A surrealistically beautiful ghost.
Then the ghost bride, oblivious to the wild blonde at the bar, turned her head around. The girl's breaths halted. The heart that had hardened over the years suddenly started to weep. In the state of dazed awe, Misty Day deeply wished this was a dream, or a hallucination. But it wasn't, and she was looking at the ghost from her past. Cordelia Goode, her blue rose, in white.
ooOooOoo
The bride was truly beautiful. Her hair was rays of sunshine, her cheeks sweet rose petals, her eyes orbs of sweet molasses. The blue rose in her hair was just a bit darker than the shade of the sky, and her skin was so pale in the sun that the lines between her and the dress were barely visible.
A ghost or an angel. There didn't seem to be, at least to the wild blonde, such a significant difference between those two imaginary creatures.
Misty had to, though with little mind power, remind herself to breathe every time she found her eyes following the older blonde. Indeed, her beauty was extraordinary. Yet, concluding from the girl's sneaky observation over the past half an hour, she didn't look so happy. Every ten seconds or so, her neat brows would knit together as her jaw tightened. Definitely not the look of a bride at her wedding party.
There was no wonder, though, because nothing seemed to be going the way Cordelia wanted. Back in the room before the party, Hank'd told her their honeymoon trip had been cancelled for whatever the reason. The stylist had failed to find the hair corsage Cordelia wanted, and instead given her the blue rose. It was just the right shade of blue, and she hated wearing it. And now Fiona, who had showed up already high, was starting to make a scene in front of everyone. Not just her guests, but Hank's as well. His father didn't appear to be a fan of his new daughter-in-law, and Cordelia couldn't afford to make another bad impression.
"No, Fiona, we've talked about this," the bride pleaded.
"Well, it doesn't mean I agreed with you." The woman, who could easily play a devil in a movie, puffed a cigarette. "Of all men you could marry, you chose that one. That man is not who he claims to be."
Her black dress and stilettoes were as dark as her heart. The attire was the visible sign of her utter disproval towards her daughter's marriage. She had downright told Cordelia they were the clothes for funerals.
The woman in white curled her lip. "Really? And how would you know that?"
"My instincts are more accurate than the little brain of yours," the mother snickered as she strolled towards the bar. "And I have more experience. Unlike you, I've been with many men in my life. Trust me, he is the kind of man who will cheat on you as soon as he puts a ring on your finger." In her voice was venom and repulsion as she chinned at the groom across the venue. Then she, fanning Cordelia's exasperation, proceeded to order her fifth Margarita for the afternoon.
"Mother, please, you don't need any more drinks."
Yet Cordelia's poignant plea was none of Fiona's concern. The only important things in her selfishly sumptuous life were sex, money, eternal beauty, and drugs.
Cordelia, with teeth sinking into her bottom lip, decided this was the worst day of her life. Or perhaps, the second worst. Still, it didn't change the fact that she was already looking at the very bottom of the pit of despair when her mother had shown up unannounced. The wedding had been kept a secret from Fiona for obvious reasons. It must have been compromised by some of her relatives, Cordelia frowned. It couldn't go any lower from there.
Sighing in defeat, the fed-up bride began to walk away from the human version of sin. She threw a last grudging glare at Fiona, and glanced apologetically at the poor bartender who had to witness the foulness.
The blue and the brown met. The brown, staring into the same hues of the hair corsage, froze.
ooOooOoo
As more time passed, the party became merrier and, in Misty's opinion, messier and uglier. It was so typical of a party that involved alcohol, though, for the crowd to slowly lose control. In usual cases, this was where the wild blonde would have to fight the urge to punch a drunkard or two in the face. But this time, her attention was still occupied by a single person.
Their eyes had met. There was no doubting that. And guessing from Cordelia's reaction, she had recognized the wild blonde. But the reunion couldn't be more different from how Misty had seen in her countless dreams. It was quiet, and almost emotionless. No hugs, no tears of joy, no smiles, not even a 'hi'. Just like two strangers staring at each other. Recovering from her paralysis, the older woman had walked away, and since then, she'd been staying away from the bar.
Although it'd be a lie to say this didn't hurt, Misty could understand how the other must be feeling. It was her wedding day, a day that's supposed to be the happiest of any bride's life. An unforeseen encounter with an ex-lover on the very day was just plain awkward. Of course, technically speaking, they were never lovers. All they did was to share a small part of their lives together in a room hidden from the outside world, believing their unspoken affection could be heard in the melody of piano. There was nothing more, nothing substantial.
It occurred to Misty that, maybe, the former teacher had already gotten over their dream-like days. If so, well, the wild blonde didn't have any problem with that. People come and go. Scars eventually fade away. And memories, no matter how impossible it seems at the time, lose their colors as time passes. No problem. The girl knew the reality like the back of her hand.
In the middle of her internal monologue, another person came to the bar. Unlike most of the guests there, the brunette girl's steps were steady and light. The blue eyes immediately recognized the gentle, and slightly miserable smile of Zoe, her old schoolmate.
"I got it," Kyle told the wild blonde, before wearing his innocent smile. "Hi. What can I get you?"
The brunette chuckled out of nervousness, absolutely dazzled by the brightness of the barman's grin. Yet she was still courageous enough to engage in their conversation as avidly as the boy. Her walnut eyes, which rarely left the ones of Kyle's, shifted to the other bartender for a split second. The frizzy blonde hair triggered something in her distant memory, and Zoe gnawed at the taller girl.
The curious gaze led Misty to turn her face and offer her a polite mien, which soon turned into a gentle smile when her old schoolmate's jaw dropped at the coincidental reunion.
Meanwhile, Cordelia, on the other side of the venue, had been hiding from her own groom. Hank was so eager to get her and his grandfather to meet. The rumor had it that Hubert Renard, the founder of Delphi Trust, was a notoriously scathing man. The bride had no idea what he looked like, but she figured the man, who was complaining about the food quite loudly, must be him. Hank worshipped him, as a business man, as a man. It couldn't have been a bigger burden on Cordelia's already pessimistic heart.
This is exactly why I didn't want to have a big party, she groaned. It was in the middle of her internal grumbling that Zoe came into view.
"Oh my god. You would not believe this." The brunette looked like she had seen a ghost. "See that girl at the bar? Do you recognize her?" Zoe pointed at the younger blonde, the other hand firmly on the bride's forearm.
"Um…" the older woman swallowed.
No more words rose from her throat as it dawned on her that nobody, absolutely nobody else, knew about the story between the two. Their history, the days that had seemed more important than the world itself at the time. The realization slapped her hard on the cheek.
Blind to the invisible struggles of the other, Zoe exclaimed: "It's Misty. Misty Day from high school!"
After Cordelia had managed to give her a small nod, together they shifted their focus to the wild blonde. When the older woman realized she was having trouble tearing her eyes off the younger blonde, it was too late. All their memories and suppressed emotions inundated her like a tsunami. She found herself suddenly drowning in nostalgia. Her Misty. It had been long since their bittersweet goodbye, since their last day of shared smiles and tears.
Cordelia watched her almost-lover. The way those lithe limbs moved like a willow tree branches, the way her strand of her wild blonde fell into her face and twirled in the wind. She could almost hear the sound of piano, their melody, in sync with the way the girl batted her long eyelashes.
The blue gaze rose and looked her right in the eye. Despite the distance between them, the older woman easily could see the hues of those eyes. They smoldered, pierced, and drenched every inch of her skin and soul. Then, Cordelia realized her heart was racing. Faster and stronger than when Hank put a ring on her finger.
She looked away.
ooOooOoo
A loud ding, accompanied by heavy buzzes, briefly interrupted the silence in the apartment of Misty. It was almost past the midnight. Not the time of day to expect a text message from someone, especially for the girl, who had no friends to talk to via text. It was quite understandable that the loud noise had startled the girl off the chair in the midst of her studying.
In search of her phone, Misty rummaged among the piles of books and papers on the table, careful not to knock over her mug of tea.
Hi, this is Cordelia.
The message on the bright screen was simple and brief, yet so cryptic to the wild blonde. She blinked several times, as though the action could somehow give her clues to solve the mystery. What could the woman possibly want now? It had been more than two weeks since the wedding party. And the girl couldn't help but wonder why the older woman had decided to text her at the dead of night all of a sudden.
how did you get this number?
The moment the phone was put down on the table, it buzzed.
I asked Zoe to ask your co-worker Kyle. I think that's his name.
"Freaking Kyle," the younger blonde murmured into the silence. That pretty boy needs some lectures about the importance of personal information for sure, she took a mental note.
what do you want?
Misty knew this sounded quite dry and trenchant, but it was an intentional choice. Her heart was telling her to be careful. Careful not to easily let Cordelia in, careful not to have her heart break into pieces again. So she decided to turn a blind eye on the very heart, which was pounding in desperate expectation as her eyes stared at the dots in a balloon on the screen.
Across the town, Cordelia chewed on her bottom lip while having an internal war. She kept typing in and deleting the words repeatedly, looking for the perfect words, but in vain.
About two weeks prior, at the end of the party, the then-bride had left without bidding Misty a proper farewell. It had seemed to be the right choice at the time, because there was Hank, and so many people. It was too big a risk to take, and their secret was too precious for anyone else's eyes.
Then, the next fourteen days were a series of debates with herself. A myriad of Should I?'s and No's. With the help of alcohol, she'd finally gathered up courage to take action tonight. But three shots of tequila turned out to be just not quite enough; as the conversation went on, Cordelia was quickly sobering up.
The antagonizing balloon of speech on Misty's screen had disappeared about ten minutes ago. She figured the other woman had fallen asleep, or worse, had decided to pretend the conversation never happened. It was almost driving her nuts, though the rational, stubborn part of her insisted it was no problem.
When the very anticipated ringtone echoed in the room after another five minutes, the girl grabbed her phone at the speed of light.
Would you like to have a coffee with me?
more to come. stay tuned :D