She had been having a good day, until she saw the display at the circulation desk.
His laminated face, wrinkled not with age, but tireless work, stared at her. His eyes were electric with sparks of innovation, but what she saw was a callous coldness that was only softened when he wanted her for something. She felt the collar of her turtleneck cinch tight around her throat - the splatter of faded bruises that traveled down her neck suddenly exploded with a fresh wave of raw hurt, pain. Her fingers curled into her palms, and dug into the calloused layer that sheathed them. Discomfort. That was all she needed to feel. Not pain, not hurt. Discomfort. If only she could package up her heart and fold it into half, then fourths, and eighths, until it was nothing. She weaved in between the lacquered wood shelves, brimming and humming with knowledge, whispering soliloquies and sonnets written by the greatest and saddest minds alike. She made herself comfortable in the space between the American Lit shelf and English classics. She folded her lanky, awkward frame up, and collapsed to the rough carpeting that smelled like..well, she couldn't put a finger on it, exactly, but it was musky. She let its scent fill her nostrils, all whilst what little she had eaten rumbled in her stomach with a sort of volatility that made her tuck her head between her knees.
The pounding started up, first in her chest, then in between her eyes, those brown eyes that Paris had called sweet, especially when she kept quiet. He couldn't hurt her anymore. It was a rational thought, but an unbelievable one, for her. She uncurled her fingers from their tight hold, reached up, and ran them down the length of her ponytail. Once. Twice. Three times. She would do it a million times over if it made him go away.
"..Look at her, Leo. She looks so sad." A hushed voice flooded from in between a copy of Great Expectations and Oliver Twist. She lifted her head.
The books spread further apart, and the voice was joined with a pair of eyes that crinkled at the corners. Those crinkly eyes were paired with a smile.
"Mikey, who are you talking about?" A second pair of eyes joined the first, wide, and curious. The curiosity that was held within them turned to shock. "Oh..oh, shell. Mikey, what have I told you about talkin' to pretty girls?"
"I dunno, I've never talked to one besides April."
Pretty? She wanted to try out the word for herself, but her tongue seemed to grow thorns. Her lips cracked into a forced smile.
"Well, you're not gettin' a response, as far as I can tell." The mischievous one pushed forward, and she could see a flash of blue appear, blanched by the fluorescent lights above them. "Come on, we're here to return those wildly overdue Jupiter Jim comics."
"But she's sad!"
"..You're not wrong." The words burst forth from her lips, so quickly that she had no time to take them back.
"Oh?" Blue pushed forth yet again, shoving his companion to the side. His face was smashed up against the cover of Great Expectations. "What's..got you down?"
Paris's grin flickered and flashed. She felt the shape of his lips press up against the back of her neck, then again, and again, until blood was drawn. Her punishment for speaking out of line.
"..Someone I used to..know."
"A boyfriend?"
"..Something like that."
It couldn't be further from the truth.
"Well, screw 'em." Blue poked his face out so that she could see him completely, and she was surprised to see a green, scaly face, adorned with crescent shaped red markings. He extended a reptilian hand towards her. "I'm Leo."
She had to pull her hand away from the bedraggled ends of her ponytail, but she wrapped her five fingers around his three. "Athena."
"Athena." He echoed. "Ah-thee-na. Classy. Don't mind if I call you something a little shorter? Like.." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Thea?"
"I don't see why not." By God, she was shocking herself with the words that she was saying. She was talking, in an even pace, in an even tone, to a giant turtle that was peering at her through a bookshelf full of Dickensian classics.
"Great. Great. Now, why don't you tell me what you're doing in the boring section of the boring-est place in the city?" He crawled forward, just a little bit. His companion scoffed, and made his presence known. He was a turtle, with emerald green scales, contrasted by the bright orange of his own bandanna mask.
"Leo, weren't you the one that said we had to return those Jupiter Jim comics?"
"And didn't you say Thea here was sad, Mikey?" Leo rebutted, gesturing to Athena with an open palm. Athena felt her cheeks go red. She willed the hue to drain from her face, but it only grew brighter. The sound of heavy footfalls, ones she knew well, snapped her out of her daze.
"Athena, dear, are you here?" A warbling voice made her body go cold. She looked up, and was met with the thick-lensed, magnified gaze of Mrs. Earp, the oldest librarian in the whole city, most likely. Her worn-paper-bag-like skin wrinkled when she smiled at the young woman. "Oh, of course you are. What am I saying?"
"..Er, yes. I mean, of course." She unfolded herself to her full height, and grabbed the first volume she laid eyes on - a crumbling copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. "This.." She ran a fingertip across the spine, trying not to wince as it crackled underneath the gentle pressure.
"Seems intriguing."
"A character study on youth, is what it is." Mrs. Earp remarked with a simple nod. She pushed her glasses up her hooked nose, and started on her slow trek down the rows. Athena felt every hair on her body relax. She sunk up against the American Lit shelf, relief washing over her like a cool, ocean wave.
"Youth is somethin' she could use a little of." Leo's voice slithered down from above. Athena looked up, and saw him at the very top of the British Lit shelf, crouching like a tiger waiting for its prey to come galloping across the savanna, perhaps.
She laughed.
"Mrs. Earp is sweet."
"Yeah, for an old lady. They're supposed to be sweet. But you're different."
Her guard went up. "..What makes you say that?"
"You're really sweet. I-I don't know how to describe it, but my Pops always talks about auras and stuff, and yours is..like, nice." He dropped down to the ground with no more than a gentle flutter. He was shorter than she was, by at least a head or two. He was lean, and muscular, too. Blue ribbons of some sort were looped around his shell, some with pouches and some without.
"Oh. I see." Her voice went flat, soft. It was time to go. Her feet were carrying her away before she even had time to think about it.
"Hey, where are you goin'? Did I freak you out with that aura stuff?" His ridges creased and knit together. "I didn't mean anythin' by it. It was just a little quip."
"..Going home. My dad..is waiting for me." She felt her chest tighten. Dorian Gray's paperback cover became part of her armor.
She heard his voice again, Paris's. Leering and swooping down dangerously, leaving fresh marks that oozed and screamed for attention. She swayed backwards, and fell right into Leo's swift grasp.
"..Hey, you good?" His voice split into shards. "You aren't lookin' so hot. Can humans spike fevers spontaneously?"
"Leo, stop!" The orange one's, Mikey's voice cut through her barrier, clear as day. "You're gonna draw attention to yourself, and more importantly, to us!"
She screamed, right then and there. The world around her began to pull away, up towards the high, stained glass ceiling. It was happening again. Shelves collided, books dropping from their perches unceremoniously, and the sound of people screaming. She was picked up, held tightly in Leo's thin arms as he and Mikey raced for the nearest exit. The fresh, autumn air filled her lungs for a silver of a second, but was replaced with the dank smell of rotting garbage.
Her vision was tunneling in, but she saw the look on Leo's face, calm and reassuring, with a flair of overt coolness, and she knew it was okay to fall asleep.
Her last thought before falling into the inky, black seas of sleep was if Mrs. Earp would ever forgive her.