Prologue
One or two would say that four letter word beginning with 'F', which has two vowels, and a hard 'T' sound at the end has peculiar sense of humor. Looking back on one momentous New Years Eve, Bianca Reid would agree entirely. She had always believed that the whole timeline of the universe was already been written out, so everything that happens is meant to happen, and there is nothing that can change it. This included the way she found the love of her life in a very unlikely scenario.
Standing in front of her on that fateful night was the man she was meant to be with from the inside out. The tragic thing was that she didn't know he was her soul mate at the time, but honestly neither did he because had every intention in the world to kill her, and therefore had a gun pointed at her.
He made her heart beat faster, her hands sweat and her whole body tremble. She couldn't believe what was actually happening, and part of her did wonder if she was dreaming, or somehow had been transported into the middle of some gangster. She started to imagine a scenario of her slumped against the wall, and clutching onto her chest as her blood gushed out. It made her feel frustrated that she couldn't take control of the situation because she was defenseless. However, she realized that panicking wouldn't help, and that her best bet for not getting shot was to wait out the storm. Switching her perfected poker face on, she slowly lifted up her hands and walked toward him.
"Take whatever you want," she said in a low, frightened tone of voice. "Cash is in the register and there is some more in the safe."`
"Oh, I don't want any money," he smirked, his finger on the trigger on the gun. "I want you."
"Why do you want me?"
"It was you," he said, still pointing the gun at her. "I know for a fact it was you."
"What?"
His anger began to rise. "Don't act like you don't know."
"I really don't," she insisted, wondering why this man wanted to kill her. "I really don't."
She saw in his hazel eye's complete detestation as he placed the gun next to her temple. Her heart was racing, threatening to break through her ribcage. She could feel shivers running down her spine, and goose bumps rising on her arms. She didn't want to die. She had to think of something, and fast if she was going to get out of this one. First, she needed to find out why...
Last January
San Francisco, California, 2026
A first dance as a newlywed couple was the perfect way to bring in the previous New Year. A doting groom wrapped his arms around his bride's waist and she threw her arms over his shoulders. They slowly swayed on the dance floor together, looking deeply into each others eyes. Everyone watching them could tell that the Grays' were excited about embarking on their journey through life together.
Most 'good girls' don't end up marrying the 'bad boy.' Regardless, Bianca won the game and got the 'bad boy' to fall for her. Austin liked chasing girls he couldn't get. She came across as independent, mysterious and unattainable. Her devious plan worked because she has his ring on her finger.
The groom was handsome with his sleek black hair, strong jaw and piercing blue eyes that seemed to make every girl melt right under his stare. Just by looking at him you can tell he's rebellious. The downright playful smirk that played on his face showed off his cockiness. He's confident, and smarter than the average guy, but the archetypal bad boy. He can be a gangster, or a gentleman depending on the situation. Both were born into Phoenix families, but he was expected to live how prior generations of his family did. Breaking up with his Coven was like asking for a death sentence.
Nevertheless, he had disassociated himself from The Phoenix. Sadly, walking away had put him in a dangerous position and her in inadvertently a worse one. She did live in fear that if the Phoenix wanted to retaliate for his departure that they'd hurt her. This regrettably happened on the later parts of New Years day. Sometimes the "new beginnings" turn out to be "painful endings."
A stealthy Phoenix barged into their home in the later hours of New Years Day. This man gunned Austin down. Before she could aid her dying husband, she was cornered the man and threw down onto their bed. She wanted to scream, fill the room with the sound of her anguish, but she couldn't. After the assault, her legs wanted to run, to find anyone, but they lay inert at her side. The theft of her own body was devastating for her. It was even more devastating to realize that Austin had died.
She was held captive for seemingly forever. The salt of Bianca's soul bleed out as it poured from her bruised eyes. She saw the darkness that she knew would soon swallow her and she feared it, but longed for it to take her. The dark figure would always be menacingly close to her. His face was hidden, beneath his dark hood and a pair of sunglasses. Her entire body trembled every time he laid a hand on her. This man was going to kill her, but first he was taking pleasure in her suffering, and she couldn't stop it. Sickly numb, she allowed him to do as he pleased; too exhausted to fight against him. He had already done his worst to her. She prayed that her misery would end sooner than later.
That anticipated time came two days later. She woke abruptly as she heard a metallic sound, indicating the man had taken out a knife. She tried to escape him, but he predictably stopped her. It was futile fighting against him, but she wasn't didn't want to die. Ultimately, the adrenaline took control of her and she didn't think about what she was doing. Somehow, she managed to get away from him, ran out apartment door, to afraid to ever look back. She ran fast, only seeing a blur of trees and images pass as she searched for someone to help her. She wasn't sure if she had killed him...
Prior to this day, she didn't believe in taking an eye for an eye, and she would rather turn the other cheek. On the other hand, seeking vengeance was necessity because her self-worth is destroyed. Now, she wanted to take revenge - calculated, sharp, swift revenge on those who had harmed her and brutally murdered Austin. The retaliation would re-balance the fairness quotient of the universe. It would instantly make her feel empowered, and able to move on without lingering resentment. He was getting out of the coven, but to get her vengeance she had to somehow get in.
Austin's funeral service was a fortnight later on Tuesday morning. There were red flowers everywhere, the air was tense, and various sets of teary eyes looked at the black casket. Grey clouds grew darker, floating moistly above the sorrowful mass. Then Bianca saw it, the whole reason that she didn't want to attend the funeral. The coffin: Its black refined surface was dabbed with spots of rain from the clouds, dimming its reflections. She closed her eyes, trying not to allow the tears to fracture from her already watery eyes. She knew that Austin was inside the coffin, and he was no longer alive. It felt like hundreds of sets of eyes were on her as she prepared to give her eulogy to the man she had loved for the last year.
She closed her eyes, counted to ten and took a deep breath. "Austin was such a magnificent man. I'm not sure I can really articulate just how much I will miss him. Not only was he a wonderful partner, but a wonderful best friend, colleague and so much more to so many people. He prided himself on being a Southern gentleman – refined and polite, but always quick with a witty remark. His cheerfulness and geniality attracted people the moment he walked in the room, and no one could forget his raucous and contagious laugh. He was my soul mate and my inspiration – my unwavering rock that helped me through thick and thin. He supported and loved us all, and was always there to help navigate through life's challenges. I don't know what I'm going to do without him. I hope his soul rests in peace."
She watched as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, but could still not believe she would never see him again. Her love for him will never leave her even though he is out of sight.
"Why did they have to kill him? Why?" Bianca sobbed, standing at his graveside next her younger brother. "It's just isn't fair for someone to be able to steal a life just like that!"
Clay looked sympathetically at his sister. "I know, I know but-"
She stormed off in tears."You don't know anything. I loved him! I would have rather it been me!"
Why did it happen to her? When she finally found the sunshine of her life, why did the rain have to come again? She dragged herself away from the cemetery with a broken heart and a battered soul. She ended up at the place where these unspeakable things happened – her former home. Standing inside her old bedroom made her feel physically sick. She was still haunted by the flashbacks.
She was going to try claim back what was taken from her. Her enemies would feel the same hurt, anguish they had caused her. Her pain cannot be expressed just with words, and usually the best lesson is when a person experiences the same misery. True harm had been done, and she was unquestionably going down the revenge route, but she had to stay ahead of the game and think of the possible consequences. Admittedly, it didn't matter to her because she had lost everything.
After contemplating for a way to embark on her plan, she ventured into a well known Phoenix haunt, let the door slam behind her and she walked to the end bar stool. She sat down, unbuttoned her coat and pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her purse which she slapped on the bar. Without a word the bartender brought her a shot of tequila and a glass of wine. She tossed back the shot in one gulp, sighed deeply, and then washed it down the glass of wine. She ordered another.
She sipped the wine more slowly, with no evident interest in those around her, or the blaring sound system. She slumped lower on the bar stool and leaned on the bar for support. She reached into the bowl on the bar and pulled out a handful of pretzels, eating them slowly, one at a time, and glanced around the busy bar. Her gaze eventually stopped at a man entering the bar. She recognized the man as the member of the Phoenixes Californian Chapter. She and Austin had attended an extremely lavish party of his last fall. She gawked unintentionally at him as she tried to remember his name. He sat down on an empty bar-stool next her. The man turned his head to look at her. She smiled back and he instantly turned away from her, but he lured her back to his unwavering stare.
He cleared his throat to get her attention. "I'd like to be reincarnated as one of your tears, because I'd be born in your eyes, live on your face, and die on your lips," said the man, making her laugh at cheesy chat up line as she picked up her glass of wine. "What? Do you have any better ones?"
Bianca turned to look at the man. "You're like a cappuccino: hot, sweet, and you make me nervous."
"Touché, I'm Damon Blake," he introduced, confirming her suspicions about his identify. He looked at her up and down. "Why haven't I seen your face here before in this fine establishment?"
"I'm Bianca," she said, subtly drawing attention to the Phoenix birthmark on her wrist. He noticed it immediately because it was similar to his one. "And this is my first time at this fine establish."
Ordinarily, she would have found Damon extremely handsome, but recent events had made her shy away from the company of men. He was her type with blue -black razor-cut hair, chic dressy attire, and the countless tattoos covering his body. Austin did have a slightly similar appearance to him.
"What's your poison?" he asked, motioning the bartender. "I can't let a pretty girl like you stay thirsty."
Damon was instantly drawn to Bianca because of her red wavy hair, old Hollywood movie star looks, and her petite but curvy frame. Her personality and a wit made her interesting to talk to over the following hours. She had a great ass which never hurt either.
"I think I'll break into the local zoo and make the lion like me," Bianca slurred, now intoxicated. "And I'm going to tell that stranger she has streaky tan on her legs and her skirt doesn't look good on her."
"Oh no, the whole room is wobbly, and I can't think straight," he laughed, feeling now under the influence too. "I don't know where the bathroom is and I feel like I'm going to be sick"
"I hope you still remember how to get to your room?" she enquired, running her fingertips along his arm. "Can we continue our drinking somewhere more private?"
She angled her head, leaned in till their mouths met precisely. He didn't kiss her back, but instead gently pushed her away. Truthfully, she was relieved that he turned down her advances. It was far too soon for her to become intimate with someone. However, the reason the brush off became clear when she noticed the gold wedding band on his ring finger. She had hit on a married man...
She pulled away and held her hands up in horror. "My God, I'm sorry! You're wife is going to kill me..."
"It's okay! A little harmless flirting is allowed," he assured, fidgeting with his wedding band. "I'm going to go, but I'll call you a cab. Get yourself home safe, darling."
And with that he was gone. But he wouldn't stay away for long.
Cramped like a vacuum-packed sardine, Bianca's brother Clay cursed again at the driver of the hearse in front of him. He detested sitting idle and going nowhere, wasting costly fuel at the same time. Since leaving band practice, he had literally sat in traffic for countless hours, and all he couldn't breathe most of way because of the smog-it gave him a pounding migraine. There were times when he would think that things were finally running, and he would begin to cruise, but he had to throw on the breaks because the moron in front of him wasn't paying attention. Being stuck in traffic was a frustrating, though temporary, delay. He knows that he'll get to his destination eventually, and he could adjust to this situation. Feeling stuck in life is a much worse feeling. It feels permanent. He had lost track of his destination, and can't see a way out. It's a heavy dissatisfaction that eats at his soul.
Meanwhile, driving the hearse in front, a smile always played on Chris Halliwell's lips despite him living an internal nightmare. As he continued to smirk, his head was bursting because he was finding it difficult to hold on to reality. He should be used to living like this by now. He was diagnosed as schizophrenic at the age of fourteen. The voices' have been tormenting him since his adolescence.
Some sense of routine is essential to his life. He'd always wake up at the crack of dawn, eat breakfast, and drive thirty minutes to his work. However, his job was anything but normal. At the end of the day, it was just a job, and he completely loved his profession. Honestly, he couldn't imagine doing anything else. He could always work easier with dead than the living. The dead hurt you or can't sue or...
BANG, smash, smack, crash, BOOM!
All of a sudden, the hearse lurched and Chris was thrown forward brutally. The seat belt bit into his chest and it knocked the wind out of him. The sound of raining glass echoed in her ears as an airbag exploded in his face. The squeal of tires, the bang of car connecting with another object, and the sound of smashing glass overwhelmed Clay. It was when the airbag burst in this face he knew he has been involved in an accident. This wasn't ideal because he was borrowing Bianca's expensive car.
Clay didn't feel the paramedics messing with him. It was like he couldn't even feel his injuries at first because of the shock. He gave the police all the information so they could fill out the accident report. The car accident happened fast...It was very disorienting. It was loud, everything becomes still and quiet right after the impact. The airbags deployed, smoke rose from the dashboard and it felt like the car was on fire. Chris knew that he was lucky to be alive, but he was on the warpath.
"Hey, do you have a minute?" Chris shouted, walking towards Clay who sitting on a sidewalk next to his car. "Haven't you heard of watching where you're going?"
Clay looked straight ahead. "It was totally your fault. You made me slam on the breaks!"
"I was driving within the speed limit and stopped when I had seen a pedestrian crossing a red light," Chris exclaimed, waving his arms. "I was stationary for a few seconds then you came from around the corner and hit me from behind. I'm driving a fucking hearse, man. It's hard to miss!"
Clay lifted his head to look at Chris. It might have been a slight possibility, but there was a chance that he could have met him before. He did look familiar. He was tall and athletic, with a mop of dark hair and heavy, serious brows that were offset by a boyish grin. His pair of green eyes now stared at him with concern.
"Are you okay? You look like you have seen a ghost," Chris commented, moving to sit on the kerb next to Clay. "But seriously, you will be okay by tomorrow. I suggest a long soak in the bath to ease your aches. If you are no better in the morning, go and see your doctor or go to ER."
"Thanks for your concern, but I'm okay," Clay said, searching for his packet of cigarettes. He found them and shakily lit one. "You should be getting on your way or something. You have my details and I have yours. My people will call you're people and sort out everything."
"Come on man, I don't care about a company car," Chris sighed. "I'm glad that no one was killed or seriously injured. I'm badly bruised, but I can live with that. I need to take a few days off work, though."
"Look, I'm sorry," Clay apologized, stopping because he didn't know his name. He sighed. "Sorry, I'm just a little rattled. I'm Clay Reid, btw."
"I'm Chris Perry," he introduced, giving him a look that fell short of a smile. Then the right side of his upper lip went up. "Haven't I met you someplace before? "
Clay found Chris's eyes. "Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore. I'm only kidding! I was going to ask you that. Do you haunt any of the clubs in San Francisco? The Cat Club, the Death Guild club or the Lookout?"
"No, Harvey's is more up my street," Chris replied. "I love that place. The food is magnificent - high end diner food. My mother was a professional chef, so I would know what decent food is. If you don't drink one of their Bloody Marys, you are dead wrong."
His words made Clay look down at Chris's socks. From his previous experiences, he had learned that straight guys generally don't care about the state of their socks - they're covered by shoes. But a gay guy will take pride in his. His were clean, didn't smell or have holes. Plus, he had mentioned he liked Harvey's, which was popular haunt for gay men like him. It was concluded that Chris was either gay or bisexual. Either way, he probably didn't have a chance with him because he was out of his league.
Chris smirked because he knew what he was doing. "So, are you gonna ask me out?"
"Excuse me, what makes you think that I'd ever go out with someone like you?" Clay scoffed, flabbergasted by Chris's straightforwardness. An offended Chris prepared to stand, but Clay quickly apologized before he could. "Sorry for being a little defensive. I just turned twenty five and I have only accepted myself as being gay, so I'm still a little nervous and weary about hitting on men and vice versa. "
"Don't worry, I totally get it," Chris disclosed, turning his body slightly towards Clay. "My advice, gay or straight, is be yourself and don't try and be something you're not, that's usually a turn off for most people, including me. Just because you've come out doesn't mean you should change anything about how you talk, walk or dance. I believe that sexuality is only a tiny part a person. I'm Chris Perry, I'm attracted to attractive people, but I don't let that define who I am."
A paused followed, and Clay cleared his throat. "You're just attracted to attractive people? What does that even mean?"
"That I'm developing a thing for brunettes with massive brown eyes," Chris said, pulling a business card out of his back pocket and handing it to Clay. He smirked. "Did you say that you're straight? So is spaghetti until you heat it up."
"I didn't," Clay said, accepting the business card off him. Judging the smile on Chris's face he was only teasing him. He smiled back. "I must be insane for asking this, but how about we get some coffee tomorrow afternoon?"
"That wasn't hard, wasn't it?" Chris agreed, standing. "I'll meet you outside Golden Gate Park tomorrow at midday. I'll bring the coffee."
"Sure," he nodded, placing Chris's business card into his jeans pocket. "So, I'll meet you tomorrow at three, then? I guess today hasn't been that bad after all."
"It hasn't," Chris said, stepping backwards and beginning to walk away. "Give me a call later to tell me how you are!"
Clay smiled as Chris walked away because he would be seeing him again. Chris decided not to go into work, and leisurely strolled towards his apartment because his ride was banged up. His cell phone rang. A smile crossed his face realizing it was a withheld number. He thought it was Clay. The smile on his vanished as he answered his phone. It was a psychiatrist on the phone, concerned about his cousin, Dominic, or Henry Junior as Chris knew him as. He was asked to fly out to Nevada at once.
One Day Earlier
Las Vegas, Nevada.
Being in high school wasn't a cake walk for seventeen year old Dominic Mercer. He sighed as he looked at his battered reflection in a washroom mirror. His left eye was bruised and he had a badly swollen lip. His eyes hazel were a void of any emotion. The soul behind them had died long ago.
Being bullied is one of the worst feelings on Earth. It makes you hate yourself, hate how you look and your life. It's like he's the only one in the world who appreciates him and he isolates himself. He just wants to die. He even cuts himself, it was cathartic at first, but he quickly hated himself again.
Everyday it's something... Today it was really bad and he got into a fist fight with a bully. The teachers didn't do anything about it, so he fought back. You hit him; he'd smash you in the mouth with a knuckle-sandwich. You come up behind him and do the knee in the back of the locked-knee for a joke - he'd turn around and kick you in the balls. He'd admit this is probably not the best method of conflict-resolution, but it certainly works. However, the bullying was becoming worse.
Caleb, his Grandfather didn't seem to pay attention to his anguish. Plus, it feels as if he will never be proud of him no matter what he does. Caleb is a joker, so he's always putting him down to get some laughs in. He doesn't know what he can do to change his Grandfather's view on him. He has good grades, has been accepted into a college, and is planning to do a four-year business course. He's even dabbled in the Vegas Underworld him to make him proud. However, that's not enough for Caleb. He passes by him, hoping that he'd maybe give him some sort of love, maybe even a "how are you?"
The only thing he gets from him is a look of disbelief and then he looks away. Sometimes it feels as if he sees through him. He hasn't tried talking to him because he believes he'd only shoot him down even more than he has already. He was feeling extremely lonely, thinking of packing up and going on the road to nowhere, and hoping that his elderly Grandfather can make it without him around.
He took a deep breath as he pushed open the classroom door. As it swung shut behind him, every eye in the room turned his way. Everyone in the class is staring at him with pity.
"Why are you late?" asked Mrs Jones, his calculus teacher. "Class started twenty minutes ago."
He bit his lip and mumbled. "Isn't it obvious?"
Mrs Jones sighs. "Detention for the next two weeks and don't let me catch you walking into my class late again!"
"Fuck this," he shouted, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door loudly behind him.
He ran so fast that he thought that his legs are going to explode. He moved as fast as they can possibly take him, heading towards the house he shared with his Grandfather. Caleb was home and sitting in the kitchen, reading a paper, and drinking a glass of bourbon. He put down the newspaper as his Grandson bounded into the kitchen.
Henry could swear that he has never seen his Grandfather smile. His aged skin was moulded into an almost permanent scowl. Years of unhappiness were etched by every deep line and wrinkle on his face. His pensive eyes never focused on anything as he seemed to be permanently lost deep into his thoughts and unhappiness. His lips were slightly turned down and his forehead had deep creases that pulled his eyebrows down, as if he were glaring.
Caleb cleared his throat. "How was school today?"
"It was fine," he lied, thinking it was horrendous. He sighed that Caleb didn't notice his bruised face. "Thanks for asking...my face don't hurt that much."
Caleb raised an eyebrow at him as he picked up his glass of bourbon. The thing all humans have in common is the desire to feel loved, appreciated, validated for who they are. Henry is going through some extreme insecurity, but no one seems to care or notice. Due to various childhood traumas, he felt unworthy of being loved, and that that's why he craves his Grandfather's love.
"Are you staying in tonight? You should go out more," Caleb said, picking up a newspaper. "Do some more exercise, take up a new hobby, do something that you enjoy. Cheer up because you can't be sad all the time."
Henry mumbled."Yes I can because it's a massive part of being Bi-Polar, but you would know that I am if you actually talked to me."
"A person your age should be having the time of your life, but you're wallowing in self pity," Caleb chortled, turning the pages and not seeing the stunned expression on his Grandson's face. "You don't like feeling that way? So, change it. It's all in your head."
"Yes it is," Henry snapped. "Do you want a cookie with that observation?"
Caleb glared at him over the top of the newspaper. "Have you gotten tired yet of all this me-me-me stuff?"
These remarks made Henry feel like his heart was ripped out of his chest and dragged around in front of him. He don't even know himself anymore, and he is genuinely afraid that he's changed into someone who will never be normal again - that all of the things he liked about himself are gone, and that no one feels close to him the way they used to. His words were confirming his worst fears. He swept furiously out of his grandfather's house like a turbulent hurricane.
Caleb shouted at him. "Go get a haircut, a new set of clothes, and new attitude while you're at it!"
Henry had always felt as though he was alone, and that he would be alone forever. This agonizing feeling wouldn't go away. As he walked, hundreds of thoughts and feelings went through his head. The self hatred for being 'crazy,' the lack of control he has over his life, and the pain, frustration and fear, anxiety, and guilt over what he was going to do, but still, on some level, he felt what he was thinking of doing was for the best. The way he was going to do it was very metaphorical. Literally, he was 'burning all his bridges' in life. What more poetic way to commit suicide than jump off a Las Vegas bridge?
Death would not be immediate, but his chances of being rescued are between slim and none. His feet became heavier as he got closer to his death. A flash Mercedes slowed down as he climbed over the bridges barrier, but it sped up and carried on towards its destination. He looked down at the water, feeling tears coming to his eyes. The emotional torment would end, but he was quite scared of the unknown. However, he would feel a sense of relief, no longer having to bear the pain that has caused him to feeling suicidal in first place. He would finally feel at peace.
One for lifted from the ground, but the sound of a car speeding down the bridge made it make contact with the concrete again. It was the silver Mercedes. A woman exited, darted out of the car and stopped a few feet away from him. The woman was beautiful in the twilight, eerily wasn't sure if this woman was real, or actually a guardian angel. He stared blankly at her as she walked toward him.
The woman grabbed onto his arm. "Look, I'm not going to tell you not to do it, but suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem , you just need to focus on talking and getting the hurt out and you will have less and less of the thoughts, but probably never a total end to them. I know things may seem rather bleak right now, but I can promise you that this will not last forever."
"I'm just so sick of life like this. It seems like no one cares about me," he stressed. "I've been to counseling so many times and I've called many suicide hot lines. Nothing changes my mind. I feel like no one wants me here. I've been like this for a while. Everyone says I have a purpose but I honestly don't feel like I do. Is there any hope for me at all? Or should I just give up and say screw it?"
"Please, don't give up, sweetie," responded the woman, rubbing his arm. "I'm sorry to hear you're struggling, I get what you're saying, but are you really going to give up like that? Come on, life is full of opportunities and you just have to find some that you like. I'm not always happy with life and I might feel a little depressed, but never enough to want to kill myself. To me personally, being a competitive person, I look at it as giving up and quitting on life. Maybe you should try talking to someone, like a good friend, or a close family member. You say that you don't care who misses you but do you really? Think about your life and the people in it, do you want to make them feel like shit? Come with me, we can talk about his and find a way to sort things out. You can't come back from death."
The woman had a point. He really didn't want to die, but he didn't want to live this way anymore. He chose to fight for his life till he saw better days. The woman pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly, afraid to let him go.
"Thank you," he whispered, resting his head on his shoulder. "I probably would have gone through it if you didn't turn up."
"Life can and will be hard, to the point you want to kill yourself, but does that really solve anything?" she asked, letting go of him. "No, it doesn't. You have to hold your head high and don't let anyone get to you. Things will get better. Things do happen for a reason. And don't hate yourself, it makes things worse. Go find the power to live on, and please don't do anything stupid! Now, let's get some coffee, talk about everything. I think someone listening to you is something that is that you need."
He agreed to go with her because he needed someone to talk to. The drive towards a coffee shop was silent. In Henry's life, too much silence in his life was deafening. Some people like him fear silence because it opens the way for him to think about things that trouble them, including past failures, and the things that made him think that suicide was his only way out.
The woman cleared her throat. "You haven't mentioned your name."
"Dominic Mercer," he introduced, turning his head to face her. "But everyone calls me Nick. What's yours?"
"I'm Hazel Blake," she replied, pulling her car into the parking lot of a coffee chain. She turned off the engine. "But everyone calls me Haze."
Hazel exited her car and Henry followed close behind. She sat down at a booth and ordered two black coffees. Being socially awkward, he waited for Hazel to start the conversation.
Hazel laughed as she stirred her coffee. "Come on; let's hear your best line."
"I don't have one," he gulped, caught off guard by what she said. "And girls hate pick up lines when they're not interested in being picked up."
"Hmm," said the woman, running a hand through her long hair. "Who says I'm not interested in getting picked up?"
"I'm guessing that you get hit on all the time and that must be exhausting," he answered, thinking carefully of his response. "Personally, I think women should be respected and should be expected to be treated like a human being and not a dog."
"Aww, you're sweet," Hazel laughed, leaning forward and running her hand down his cheek. "Wow, someone who is actually nice, adorable and down to earth. I bet all the girls go crazy for you!"
He looked away nervously, but he couldn't hide the red glow that came over his face. "Why would say that I'm those things?"
She smiled. "Well, you have a fantastic smile glued your lips, an intelligence lurking behind those golden eyes, and another quality I can't put my finger on yet."
"Now, you're the sweet one," he smiled, straightening his posture. "Most girls won't give me a second look. They think I'm weird, which I am, but ..."
"I think you can get any girl you want if you shake up your image," she enlightened. "Maybe cut your hair, get some near clothes and build on your self confidence. Confidence is seductive to most girls."
"So I have to change everything about myself?" he asked, rolling his eyes, thinking that she is copying what his grandfather said. "Changing the way I look like isn't gonna make me popular or majorly improve my life."
Hazel shook her head. "It might. I do think you would suit Layers, angled towards face and front bangs. And while you're at maybe get some contact lenses, some new clothes..."
"I'm not changing the way I am!" he retorted, standing from the table. His defensive wall eventually crumbled as he sat back down. "Okay, you're right. I know what I do wrong; I know what I want to change and who I want to be. I just don't know how to do it. People don't seem to like who I am at all, I really don't like who I am either. I don't know how to make myself into a different person and keep it that way. Can you help me please?"
"I can't, but my aunt Lana can. She is top celebrity stylist," she agreed, reaching forward and grabbing his hand. "Yes, you can change yourself. Some things will be easy. Some will be hard. If you are determined to do it, you can and will do it. People are always changing all their lives. The decision of what kind of changes will occur within you are yours, so if you work hard to be someone better, someone you'd be prouder of, then you can do it."
"What do you think?" Hazel asked, holding a mirror up. "I think you look incredibly handsome. You really suit that haircut, those clothes, and you can really see those golden eyes now that you have got rid of those hideous glasses. Contact lenses are the way forward for you."
He tilted his head as he looked at his altered reflection in the mirror. It was different, not awful, but different. It was something he could grow to like. The real test would be how other responded to his impromptu makeover. It would be nice start again and feel good once again...for the first time.
"I think that I like it," he said, running his hands through his newly styled hair. "Although, it will take a while to get used to the fringe, but I do like it. Although, I don't think my grandfather will like it."
"Do what makes you happy, the rest doesn't matter," Hazel suggested, sitting next to Henry onto of her Queen-sized bed. "The happiest person is one who has gone through the darkest times."
Henry frowned. "He is the only biological family that I have, yet I'm not even sure I can call him family. He never asks how I am; he doesn't give me any money, and he basically doesn't really care about me. I get quite high grades, but when I tell him he's just like 'that's okay'. He is extremely negative about everything I do, no matter how impressive it can be. This tends over time to consume my confidence and enthusiasm in the things I do every day."
"Then leave," she said, closing over a pizza box. "If you're a strong person then it will be easy for you to leave, don't let guilt get the best of you, if you sit and think how he'll feel then you'll never be happy! Go and chase your dream hun, don't let anything stop you, be strong, I promise you it's worth it."
"You know what? You're right," he agreed, putting the mirror down on the bed."I'll think of way to deal with everything later."
"You're really tense; I can help you relax," she said, leaning towards and oak dresser and opening it. She pulled out a silver tin and closed the drawer over. "This will chill you out a little."
He watched Hazel place a good amount of marijuana on the middle of the paper in a line, and very carefully rolling the paper around it. She lit the joint, took at draw and then passed it to him. He raised an eyebrow as he accepted the joint off her. One draw of the joint lead to finishing the joint and that lead to another one. Being high was like being in a golden zone. A place outside the physical world of space and time, it was like he looking at the universe in front of him while the sunrise shines through the trees and bushes and the warm air gently brushes against his skin as he lay down on the bed relaxed with a smile on his face and not a single worry in the world.
"I feel like my head is floating 2-3 inches above my neck," he commented, lying sprawled out on top of the bed. She laughed at him because he was stoned. "I can't believe that I haven't done this before!"
Hazel said something, but he couldn't concentrate, couldn't hear anything. He got the synopsis of what she said when she climbed on top of him. She gave him soft kisses and slowly started to make out with him. He had to hide his excitement about this being his first kiss. Things were going to fast.
She stopped kissing him because she sensed his nervousness. "What's the matter? It'll feel amazing because your senses are heightened, you won't regret it."
"I'm sure I won't regret it," he stuttered, his eyes shifting manically around the room. He watched her slant her head at him for a few seconds. A smile crossed her face realizing the reason behind his hesitation. This made him feel embarrassed. "What's the big deal? Sex is a pleasure-giving activity, so what? It's not that interesting. I have better things to think about and for sure I'm not going to lower any standard for..."
He stopped because Hazel had unbuttoned her shirt. She leaned over him again, kissed his neck and started undressing him. She was indubitably a cougar with her French manicured claws digging into his skin, but he couldn't care less in reality. This would an experience he wouldn't forget, and one the twist of fate wouldn't allow him too...
The next morning he felt like he was skydiving and landing on a field of marshmallows. Even the prospect going to school hangover seemed exquisite. Hazel still looked beautiful in the daylight, still eerily beautiful. He couldn't stop looking at her as she drove him to school.
"Oi," she laughed, pushing his face to the other side gently. Her fingertip ran over his cheek again. "You're distracting me."
He smiled. "I'm the distracting one?"
"What is your plan for life after you graduate?" she asked, pulling her car outside of his school and turning her engine off. "You don't have long left now. I assume you graduate soon?"
"I want to become a tattoo artist," Henry said. "I have been drawing for years and I have designed some tattoos for some friends, but now I would love to see my art on someone done by me."
"I think you can do it," she nodded, encouraging his dream. "I imagine that it'll take years, but I do think that you do have some raw talent from the pictures you shown me. Someone who can't draw or color inside the lines isn't going to be a good candidate for being a tattoo artist."
"Do you think I can do it?" Henry inquired, taken aback by hers support. "Do you think that I have talent?"
"Yes, but you need to hone your raw talent to develop talent into skill. Skill can come from fine art classes, working with a fellow artist, learning technique from books, or all of the above. On top of that, you need to practice, practice, and practice," she said. "Once you're a competent artist on paper, you'll need to build a portfolio. A portfolio is a case or binder containing examples of your art, to show your different skills. The next thing you need is an apprenticeship. An apprentice is someone who learns a skill from someone else already skilled in the trade. Sometimes an apprenticeship can be free, but many times they cost thousands of dollars. You will need to find a way to save or acquire the money needed for your training."
"I doubt Caleb would approve," Henry sighed. "He wants me to become to study business..."
"Don't let him squash you're dreams," she interrupted. "You'll be eighteen in a couple of months and you can do whatever you want."
Hazel was right and she echoed what Chris said. He would soon be considered as an adult and able to make his own decisions. Should he follow his dreams or stick to reality? However, he would kick himself every day for not doing what he wanted to. He has to give his dream at least one good honest push, where he devotes yourself entirely to it. If it doesn't work, he can at least return to reality with the satisfaction of knowing that he did his best. He was going to make himself happy.
"You better go," she said, hearing the school bell ring. "Maybe we'll cross paths in the future?"
"I hope so, Haze," he wished, leaning in towards her and kissed her. He pulled away as he gripped the door handle. "Well this is goodbye, Take care."
Grinning, he watched her drive away before he walked into his high school. An unearthly silence fell upon the school corridor as he walked down it to his homeroom classroom. All voices hushed and movement paused as if time itself did not dare continue in his dramatically altered presence. This is when he remembered the makeover. He smiled realizing that he had shocked everyone into silence. He thought he was alright looking, but he would admit he has days were he felt completely ugly, and other times he would have days were he felt he was good looking – like today. He felt like a God.
The rest of the day felt as if he was living a dream. Mostly, everyone was unbelievably nice to him, complementing him on his new look, but around the last bell he was pulled out of his fantasy land by some of his tormentors. He found himself on the receiving end of a savage beating.
Henry tried to sit up; a sharp pain in his stomach persuaded him not to. They'd really layed into him. He lay there a moment trying to slow his heart rate; he then rolled on to his badly bruised stomach and struggled to his feet. The sounds of the bullies' maniacal laughter made his blood boil.
He is a human being that can only be pushed so much before he pushes back. He pulled the razorblade out of this pocket and watched their conceited faces vanish in an instant. The power had dramatically shifted from their hands into his.
He spoke in a low tone. "It's funny, how you're the scared now? I really don't understand why you're picking on me? Is it because I'm smarter, wittier and more of human being than you? Look at three of you. You look like a professional blind date, you're something that someone would only meet in a nightmare, and you are no longer beneath my contempt. Stay the Hell away from me or else!"
He placed the razor blade in his pocket as he stormed away. It was not long till he was pulled into the principal's office and the razor blade easily taken off him. Authorities weren't called because the principle was a close family friend of Caleb, but he was expelled from high school, and this pissed Henry off because it was due to the principal's incompetence everything had lead to this moment. So, his response to this act of injustice was to wait after school was finished and set his car on fire.
A smile crossed his face as he saw the principles expensive Mercedes engulfed in flames. Mr Taylor was naturally shocked beyond words when he saw his car smouldering in the parking lot, but he had no delusions whatever-so-ever that was responsible for it. He picked up the phone again to his old school buddy Caleb and discussed another proud moment in the life of his Grandson.
Caleb burst in Henry's bedroom where he was listening to music. "Is it all true? Going into school high, taking a weapon into school, and setting fire to Ron's car? What the hell has gotten into you?"
"It's true," Henry answered, turning his music off. He walked towards his grandfather and stopped a few inches away from him. "It's funny that me fucking up has gotten you're attention quicker than my attempts to reach out for help. The more I think of you, the less I think of you."
"My God, you look just like you're father," Caleb reveled, knocking Henry for six because he wasn't expecting that. "And I have noticed what has been going with you, but I don't know what I can do to help you. That's why I have called in some people to help you."
Henry's eyebrows rose. "People like who?"
Then his Grandfather done something he had never done before. He wrapped his arms around him and hugged him, but it didn't feel like an ordinary hug, and he felt years full of love passed through it. It was rather overwhelming for Henry. However the reason for the lingering embrace became clear when the so called 'men in white' and cops arrived to take Henry away.
"I'm sorry, my boy," Caleb whispered, pulling away and allowing the men in the room. "You're a little out of control and I believe..."
"I'm not going anywhere with them!" Henry shouted, feeling betrayed by his own blood. He wasn't having any of it. "You better stay away from me! I know my rights."
Henry was scared because sectioning literally means being taken to hospital, being detained and usually treated against your will. All Henry could remember was being thrown to the floor by cops and handcuffed because he wouldn't comply. He was strapped to a chair and taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital where he was locked within in a private room within psychiatric hospital. He asked one nurse if he could leave and she said it was up to the doctor. He asked to see the doctor and she said he had to wait until because she had already made a decision that he was a danger to himself and he needed to be kept for observation. This was fucking fantastic, but he literally couldn't do anything about it. So, he closed his eyes and went to reluctantly went to sleep.
Henry wanted to crawl up into a hole and die. The uncontrollable shaking, sleepless and anxiety had already been going on for days now.
"You can't keep me here!" he shouted, looking at a man pick up a clipboard. "Let me out of here!"
"We can under the Mental Health Act," informed the doctor, reading his chart and sitting down on an armchair. "Kid, relax, please. I don't want to have you restrained."
Henry froze. "Are you telling me that I'm actually fucking sectioned?"
The doctor nodded. "Uh-huh because of your Bipolar disorder. I read from your notes that you came here under the influence of alcohol and illegal drugs. You know, using alcohol or illegal drugs are known to have harmful physical and social effects, and they're not a substitute for effective treatment and good healthcare. Some people with bipolar disorder find that once they're on effective treatments, they can stop misusing alcohol and drugs."
"Oi," Henry said, clicking his fingers at the doctor. "Dr Doolittle, answer my question."
The doctor looked up and shot Henry a dark look. "I wouldn't click your fingers at me, kid."
"Sorry, but I have a right to know how long I'm here," Henry sighed, sitting down on his bed. "I'm scared that I will rot away in here."
"Listen," started the doctor, standing up and preparing to leave the bedroom. "I know that you're feeling angry, scared and alone. However, you are in the right place and things will get better. I can promise you that."
"How long will I be here for?" Henry asked, folding his arms. "Will I be here until my birthday?"
"You'll be here as long as you need," said the doctor, opening the door to his room. "If you need anything, just ask for me."
Closing the door over, he smiled at someone waiting patiently outside. He held his hand out to the worried man. "Hello, Chris Perry? We spoke on the phone. I'm Doctor Damon Blake."
"How did he take it?" Chris enquired, thinking that Henry didn't take being sectioned well. "I fully understand what he's going through because I'm schizophrenic and I have been sectioned before. It's really scary, especially if it's you're first time being committed."
"Naturally, he didn't take it well," Damon confirmed. "Can I ask Is Dominic always this spirited?"
"He is and it is hard to deal with sometimes," Chris confessed, crossing his arms "That might sound strange coming from me, but I would rather have my mental illness than his. I couldn't cope with the constant highs and lows. Is there anything I can do to help him?"
"Bipolar is difficult for everyone involved. The best you can hope for your cousin is that he learns how to manage his illness, and remains stable for long periods of time," Damon said. "You sound very understanding - he's lucky to have someone like you. Someone with Bipolar Disorder has to be medicated, so he will treated with medications such as mood stabilisers and anti-psychotics. If you have questions give me a call, anytime. You can see him in a few days when he stabilizes."
Chris sighed. "I was hoping that I could see him today, but I understand why I can't. Anyway, I'll be in Vegas for a few days. Can you give me a call when I can see him?"
"Of course," Damon said, holding his hand out to Chris and he shook it. "If there's anything, don't hesitate on calling me."
Chris's phone rang in his pocket. He didn't have to answer it to know who it was. Today was meant to have been his date with Clay, but he is in Las Vegas and not California. He begrudgingly ignored the call.
Damon looked at Chris. "Mr Perry, is there anything else you want to know?"
"Not that I can think of," Chris sighed. "Just keep me updated of what's going on with him. Call me anytime - day or night."
Damon smirked as watched Chris away from him worriedly. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand clutch his hand. He turned my head to face his wife of six years. She was already staring directly at me. At that moment, she moved her face closer to his, and they kissed passionately.
Hazel couldn't believe her eyes. "Whoa, was that who I think it is?"
"Yup, that was the one and only Chris Halliwell," Damon laughed, bring his wife into his arms. "And I learned something extremely useful about him. Apparently, the Charmed One is schizophrenic. You know, people like him have problems differentiating between reality and hallucinations."
"How is this information useful?" Hazel inquired, making Damon place a finger to her lips. She knew to back away from the subject for the time being. She looked up at him adoringly. "How about we stay at our place in California? I'm sick of Las Vegas, and I would like to spend some time with my husband, if it's not too much to ask?"
"Let's go," Damon said, taking Hazel's hand into his. "We'll shimmer out in the car park."
Hand in hand, the couple left the hospital and shimmered back to their apartment in Diamond Hills. To outsiders, the Blakes' had an idyllic relationship, but there was more to their marriage that meets the eyes. Trust, respect, compromise is the essence of a healthy relationship. An unhealthy relationship can be described as co-dependent, selfish, and self destructive. These things can cause a destructive bond between people. Recently, Hazel had been questioning their marriage. Chances are if you're questioning a relationship, something isn't right. She should really go with her gut feeling. It could potentially save her life.