Holiday break was upon campus, so the library was blissful silence, not even the rustling turn of pages of students studying. There was only one person in the library, right then. Her dark hair was in a thick french braid down her back, her eyes focused on the computer screen in front of her. The thin wire framed glasses framed her green eyes as she worked, highlighting sections of the paper she had spent the better part of two years working on.
Sarah Williams had been sitting in that same chair for hours, the keys to the library sitting on the desk beside her.
She had the benefit of being the acting librarian while the actual librarian was on maternity leave. And it was a benefit, because it gave her unlimited, free internet access for as long as she required it. It also gave her a quiet place to work on her damn graduate thesis and doctoral dissertation. Her apartment was quiet, too, but she preferred the consistency of working in the same place when she did work on it.
The school clock chimed elsewhere, and she looked up, frowning. Then, she glanced at the time on her watch and sighed.
Seven o'clock.
She sighed, shaking herself and taking her glasses off, pinching the bridge of her nose. That was enough time for the night. But if she stopped working, her mind would have nothing to occupy it. Then, she'd have to focus on the problem that she had been trying to ignore when she'd sequestered herself there, earlier that day.
She pushed that thought away, getting to her feet, wrapping her hand around the keys, and turning off the computer. "Time to go, feet."
She bundled up, tucking her scarf down into her coat, and pulling her hat over her hair before heading out the door. She locked up the library as she left it, and started trudging home.
Overhead was a low ceiling of clouds, and the air smelled cold and crisp. A heavy sigh escaped her as she looked up at the evidence that the weather report was right. It would snow tonight.
How festive, she thought with sarcasm, her lips pulling into a bit of a frown.
She'd spent the last several weeks working on the paper that would get her a doctorate of philosophy, and she was exhausted. It was also the twentieth of December, and she was expected home in four days for the holidays. With a boyfriend, assuming she somehow managed to find one in that time.
She half-glared at the bright, twinkling Christmas lights hat hung along the street on her way home, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders to ward off the cold.
She didn't hate the holiday. She didn't even hate going to spend time with her family. The fact of the matter was this was her fault. She'd been lying to her father and step-mother about having a boyfriend and promising that she'd bring him along to visit her family "next time" for too long. That had resulted in her parents telling her that they expected her to bring him along with her for Christmas.
This was the problem she had been hiding from by burying herself into her paper. There was no boyfriend, hadn't been one in more than two years. Men were not a concern of hers, at the moment. She was trying to finish out her doctorate, and men had a bad habit of complicating her plans and her life.
That was a habit they'd had since she was a girl of fifteen.
Sarah's lips twisted into an irritated frown. In more recent history, they didn't like that she was putting her career ahead of them, that she didn't give them enough of her attention and time, and were unsatisfying enough in bed that she didn't see the point in trying to make a relationship work any longer. They were always disappointed that her dreams meant more than they did to her. They didn't see or understand that if they supported her dreams, the relationships would last longer.
But, no. It was always about them, and how she wasn't giving them the attention that they required.
Her parents didn't understand that. They didn't see the constant disappointment that she'd endured for the last eight years of her life. Getting a doctorate was a big deal for her. It was something she'd decided she wanted to do, and she was doing fine on her own without men complicating things. Besides, how was she supposed to split her attention and her time between a man and something so grueling? Especially when she was finally almost finished with it.
The unfortunate truth, however, was this line of thinking left her in an awkward position of trying to figure out how to get a man to pretend to be her boyfriend over the Christmas holidays, and to walk away when it was over. And be convincing enough at the deception that her parents would leave her the fuck alone until her thesis and dissertation were finished and she had her damn doctorate degree in hand.
The problem was she'd burned through most of the other students and teachers at the college, at this point and none of them were a good bed. They still called her "the glacier" and "sub zero" as a joke. Or at least they called it a joke. She scoffed, her temper sharp.
She looked up, finding herself at the entrance to a liquor store and she felt the tight frown on her lips. It would seem that she'd need some liquid company, tonight. She sighed and went inside. Browsing the shelves, her mind continued to wander.
She couldn't even put her friends into that situation. Knowing her family, this was going to be an "event", meaning the whole family would be there, and it would be hectic enough that someone would see through the deception if she left them alone for even a minute. Besides, her behavior with friends was different, and familiar enough her father would know.
Which meant she had to pick someone who knew how to act their way out of a paper bag, so they could fool her parents into thinking that she was in a loving, healthy relationship with something other than the school paper, which at this point was almost as thick as her copy of the Lord of the Rings Anthology.
With a sigh, she picked up a cheap bottle of vodka, and headed to the checkout. The bored attendant rang her out, and she paid for the bottle, accepting the brown paper bag it was wrapped in. She and the attendant spoke less than two words to each other, and he looked bored enough to scream.
When she stepped outside, fat, cheerful snowflakes were falling down. She glared at them, sticking out her tongue at them. It was childish, sure. She wasn't worried about that. One, as if to spite her, landed right on the center of her tongue, leaving a cold spot on it.
She sighed, again, and started trudging home, again. At least she'd worn her winter boots, today. The ground was slushy and slick within moments of the snow starting, and it would have been easy to fall and hurt herself.
Inside her apartment, she stomped the snow off her feet and headed upstairs. The elevator was down, which wasn't a surprise. The elevator hadn't worked in the time she'd been living there. So, she took the stairs, gripping her bottle of liquid oblivion in one hand, her messenger bag thrown over her body. She was on the fourth floor, and when she reached it, she unlocked her door, and stepped inside.
The apartment was a one bedroom efficiency, rented to college students since the place had become a rental. There was a very small kitchen and a small living room, with no dining area to speak of. Down the short hall was the bathroom, laundry closet and bedroom. It was cheap, which was why she stayed there. It was also big enough for her, so she didn't feel cramped, and could have someone over to visit, without having them sharing a room with her.
Not that she'd had visitors since she started her doctorate studies.
"Home sweet home," she said, giving a quiet sigh.
She took off her boots by the door and locked it behind her, hanging her keys on the hook. Her bag went on the next hook over, and she walked to the cabinet that held her glasses. She pulled one down, and grabbed the half carton of orange juice from her fridge. She took a moment to strip from her outerwear, dumping the coat, scarf, and hat on the kitchen table. Then, she stepped onto the carpet that covered the small living room and ran down her hall to the bedroom.
She poured herself a drink, first, and as she leaned back, flipped through the channels on her tv to see if there was anything that could get her attention off the calendar that hung on the wall, with December twenty fourth circled. Only four days between today and that day.
She really needed to pull the damn thing down so she'd stop focusing on it during her downtime.
She nursed her first drink through some reruns, then added more orange juice and vodka to the drink, dumping the contents down her throat.
It wasn't often that she imbibed in alcohol, but she was hoping that it would give her some inspired idea to get her out of this impossible situation. The last time she had gotten good and drunk, she'd had a brilliant idea for the topic of her dissertation. That had been years ago, and she'd started working on it immediately.
But drinking like this had never helped her with her problems with men, nor the issues she faced with her family.
Still, she flipped through channels until she found a mindless tv show that she wouldn't pay attention to, and nursed her screwdriver, trying very hard to not think at all.
In the last few days, the only man who had come to mind as a potential solution to her problem was the same one she'd written off every single night since she'd considered him. First, it wasn't likely that he even existed. Second, if he did exist, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he'd actually consent to something like this. Finally, how the fuck do you even call something like him to ask for a favor?
So, she sat there, drinking herself into a stupor and hating that she still hadn't found a way out of this situation.
"You aren't going to call on the Goblin King," she told herself for the upteenth time. "You're not going to do something that stupid, just because you don't want to disappoint your father for Christmas."
Still, what other option did she have? Who else was there?
She tugged her carefully braided hair over her shoulder, and started working her fingers through it, unwinding the braid between sips of her drink. Once her hair was free, she finished her drink and poured herself another one, trying to drown her thoughts and frustrations to silence.
Maybe she should just suck it up and tell her parents she had 'broken up' with her non-existent boyfriend, right before Christmas, and that it'd be for the best, anyways. Then, as usual, she remembered the looks on their faces every other holiday when she'd come up with a similar excuse why she wasn't trying harder to give them grandchildren.
Toby, after all, had settled down with a pretty girl who had started popping out kids almost right out of the marriage bed. That wasn't a kind way to think about her sister-in-law, but she wasn't feeling generous, right then.
She didn't understand why her parents wanted her to do the same.
She'd run out of orange juice before the first show had ended. So she poured herself a glass of straight vodka and lifted it to her lips. A brief laugh escaped her, as she imagined her parents trying to deal with the Goblin King. Her step-mother trying to deal with the charm and her father trying to wrap his mind around those pants that left very little to the imagination.
"Maybe I should," she mumbled, staring at the glass and downing the entire contents. "What's the worst that could happen? His royal tightness traps me in the faerie realms and I miss Christmas dinner?"
She scoffed, then a groan escaped her as she thumped her head forward against her coffee table. There was no way she was drunk enough to consider that a valid option. A glance at the now half-empty bottle and she wondered if she even had enough to get her to that level of complete stupidity.
"What does it even matter," she mumbled, pouring herself another glass. "What man in their right mind would come at the whim of a girl who'd rejected them."
She knew the answer to that well enough without having to think about it. Her long line of ex-significant others told her that well enough. Even the ones that wanted to "stay friends" after they broke up with her didn't actually want that. Some wanted to stay on good enough terms that she'd help them study or with their homework or papers. Others fancied that they'd get to be friends with benefits without the requirements for an emotional attachment, not understanding that friends are an emotional attachment for her.
That long list was, to be honest, the main reason she hadn't even bothered trying to call on the Goblin King. A sigh escaped her and she looked into the glass, again, giving the quietest sigh. "For what it's worth, I hope your holidays are going better than mine…"
The twist in her stomach made her realize that she hadn't eaten, and that all this drinking was going to go to her head with prohibitive speed. Ignoring that, she downed the remaining fluid in her glass, and again poured more into it. It didn't matter. She'd nurse her hangover, tomorrow, and she'd suck up her pride and admit to her parents that she didn't have anyone to bring to Christmas dinner. She'd hope that they hadn't gone through the trouble of getting a gift for any figurative boyfriends.
She thumped her head against the table, and groaned. "I wish the goblins would take me away. Right now."
She wasn't aware that she'd actually mumbled that, but she giggled and tipped over sideways. As if it worked like that. As if she could do such a thing just to avoid this stupid problem she'd gotten herself into. She sighed, pushing herself upright, pulling the vodka close to her and pouring herself another glass.
It was a fat chance.
She was so focused on her glass, she almost missed the glitter that fell in her line of sight and she wondered how drunk she was. She looked up and felt the room spin around her. She was really drunk. Amazing, that she hadn't passed out, yet. She almost fell over, but a hand caught her shoulder and vivid blue eyes, one with a blown pupil looked down at her with a bemused expression.
She wasn't certain if this was a dream or a hallucination. Still, she smiled, hiccupped and pointed at him. "You're the Goblin King. Are you real?"
A puzzled smile played on his thin lips. "You're quite drunk, right now, aren't you?"
"I'm not drunk. I'm cone sold stober." That sounded wrong, but she didn't worry about that. Her body swayed a bit to the tinkling music she could just hear. With a wobbly hand, she lifted her glass to him. "Here, you should have some."
She could see her glass sway and bob in her hand, and a gloved hand took the glass from her. Instead of taking a drink, he set it aside, his face looking terribly amused as he crouched down beside her. "I appreciate the offer, my dear, however faerie rules do not apply to alcohol. Perhaps some other time."
She razzed him, reclaiming her glass and downing the vodka, the room spinning around her. That gloved hand held her steady and she looked back into his eyes. He still looked so wild and beautiful. She was probably dreaming, though, there was no way the Goblin King would just show up at her whim. Since this was a dream, she could say the thing on her mind, ask him for this favor in a way she knew she never could if she was awake.
"Be my boyfriend for Christmas."
Surprise, maybe shock in those beautiful eyes. She couldn't focus on it. His face blurred and she swayed towards him, and she felt gloved hands catch her before she smashed her face on the table.