Disclaimer: I do not own Demonata or any of the original ideas, characters or setups, Darren Shan does. I do however own any original concepts which are featured in this fanfic, so please do not steal-or ask if you wish to borrow! Sharing is something I'm all into, as long as I've been asked first.
A/N: I have my half-term, so I spent today writing this wonderful chapter! (It ain't that good, but you're all too kind). This entire chapter is set in Esther's dream, so there's not going to be an italic dream/flashback sequence, but it does reveal some shocking truths about Esther's life back in Newcastle-because I realised we don't know enough about her time back home! Next chapter might be in someone else's P.O.V (hopefully, I'm planning on using my OC Andy Flame, but I'm still getting used to writing his character, so it might be a while), but this one is in Esther's so you guys can know our heroine isn't dead just yet! This one focuses more developing Esther's past, and actually explores her loneliness whilst attending her old school, because that was a big impact on the person she's become, so I hope it's not too boring and waffly, but I needed this chapter to explain her!
A big thank you to the ever wonderful Mortition for doing those reviews-you waste too much time on me darling! Again, I need to thank all my wonderful reviewers: creepyperson (thanks for your…interesting support! XD), guest (sorry I don't know your name), nobody (you completely wonderful person!), .18062 (thank you so much for your kindness) and MarchFrostbite (keep up your PruCan feels bitch!). Hiraku Leach, TheCookieWhore and mylesgoodson for favoriting and following; and Terrace44 for following! You people help me continue through all the turmoil's! You're all amazing! xxx
The dream world seemed to be making itself more and more obvious every time I drifted off into that same, strange world. Unless I'd travelled back in time when I'd fainted on the floor of a school hall in an alternate universe, I was definitely dreaming. The music was the first give away. Then, when I stood up and looked down, that was the second giveaway that I was dreaming.
Spike heels have been in fashion as long as I can remember, but wearing a long pair of white socks with them went out during the 1950's. And if that wasn't a complete giveaway, noticing the edge of my mint green poodle skirt confirmed my suspicions. It literally had one of those iconic black poodles on it, and I was forced to almost double take upon realising I was wearing a genuine poodle skirt. Looking up from my shoes, I saw I was facing a large, glass set of double doors and it forced me to turn around. I was standing in a school car park, outside a large school formed of deep reddish-brown bricks, with a large, lemon coloured banner proclaiming 'School Dance' on it in neat, swirling black letters. That was when I began to feel like I was in a Grease re-enactment without giving my I was dreaming I was in a Grease re-enactment without giving my consent.
Turning back around, I looked at myself again and tried not to groan out loud at how Sandy I'd ended up looking. Curse my mind and its ability to remember 50s musicals. My top was halter neck and white, with a polkadot pattern in the same mint green shade as my poodle skirt, although I didn't have a coat to cover my bare, for some bizarre reason tanned arms, and the harsh wind whipping through the car park made me shudder slightly. My pale blonde hair was done in vintage curls, the style that had been around for decades, with a smooth, beehive bump at the front, finishing off the longer curls at the back. I had pale green eye-shadow on, and it wasn't subtle by any standard, with bright pink lipstick.
I was so Sandy-looking; Olivia Newton John herself would've been envious. Although personally, I really didn't want to stick around, waiting for my 'Danny'. Some horrible niggle at the back of my mind told me who it'd be, but small mercies weren't being granted for me that day, or so it seemed.
"Esther!" A familiar, thickly accented voice called from behind me. "I was waiting for you to show up for our next little meeting. So good to see you've made such a charming effort." Part of me knew turning around was the worst move I could make in the chessboard life had become, but I had to; I needed to have a conversation, just a conversation, with Connla.
Hooded eyes met my own when I turned, the wind whipping slightly so my hair was all swept round so it hung loosely down my right side shoulder; and a smooth pair of lips curved into a smile which was somewhere between a smirk and a sneer, although I couldn't imagine Connla ever being capable of a smile that looked marginally friendly or pleasant by any standards. His black hair was slicked back and fashioned into an Elvis Presley, or James Dean-esque pompadour style, and he seemed to have shaved the moustache off his upper lip, as if he'd changed himself to fit with the times. In the fifties, facial hair on eighteen year olds wasn't as popular as it must've been during the Celtic times of Ireland. The collar of his faded, dark brown leather jacket was upturned flashily like most boys in the fifties wore their jackets and the darkness of the brown made a sharp contrast with the clean, freshly pressed whiteness of his tight-fitting t-shirt. He had a pair of equally fading dark blue jeans on his long, lean legs and he wore a pair of bright red baseball boots. He reminded me of a teenage version of John Travolta, only we hadn't begun singing a duet. YET.
"I'm disappointed I missed this time," Connla sighed as he took a couple of steps towards me. I didn't flinch or attempt to run away-Connla was dangerous when armed, possibly, but this was clearly just a simple meeting his 'manager' (Lord Daire) had orchestrated for the two of us in the dream world. "I think I would've enjoyed all the little perks that came with it. The development of film. The music. The fashion. The cars. The general atmosphere it seemed to possess. And if Bec MacConn hadn't had intervened, I would have the potential of living until time itself ceased to exist…" His tone changed to that of an icy, somewhat chilling hiss upon mentioning the name of Bec MacConn, whoever she or he was, and something told me he was mentioning his own killer now.
"Well," I clenched my fists as he stopped walking, so he stood directly in front of me, so close our noses were almost touching. I wished they wouldn't. "We can't always have everything we want, now can we?"
My flippant remark only made him laugh, although he didn't seem too caring about my opinion of him. Then again, Connla never seemed to care too much about what anyone thought of him; I figured being a spineless, heartless, traitorous murdering bastard meant that ignoring other peoples' opinions of you was part of the day job. Whilst I was processing whether or not I should run back into the school hall where the odd dream dance was taking place, Connla held out his arm and I realised I'd have to swallow back the rising sick which was bubbling down in my stomach and agree to be his fake date-or his real one. It depended on how he saw the situation. Linking my oddly tanned arm through his much paler one, he began leading me towards the makeshift school the dream world had created for us, and I could see how the strange smile on his face had evolved into a full-blown smirk. I personally preferred him when he was smirking. It meant I could at least half-tell what was going through that horrible, smug, devious little brain of his.
Upon reaching the glass doors which lead to the school, he let go of my arm and I opened it, gesturing me to step through the threshold first-which I did so-before walking in after me. He relinked our arms, a new sensation I really wasn't mad about by any standards; and began practically dragging me down the hallway, due to my attempts to drag my heels into the floor to as much affect as I could. The hallway was relatively simple and boring-the dream world wasn't trying-with white laminated floor which gleamed in the moonlight, teal painted walls and an army of grey lockers lining the corridors. There were no decorations, trophy cabinets or certificates proudly stapled to the walls like my previous secondary school had been littered with, so it was obvious no effort was being put in to keeping up the façade. There was a low thrum of 50s jazz music playing loudly from the end of the corridor, although I planned on downright refusing entering a room with Connla, not wishing to be mistaken for his girlfriend. Even by dream creations. Half-people. Whatever you wanted to call them; they were simply filler created by the dream world so you didn't feel completely alone. Unless the dream wished for you to be alone.
"Don't you just love school dances?" Connla prosed, pulling me a little closer towards him; naturally I wanted to squirm away from him, maybe even smack him in the face, but doing so could just end up having him turn violent, and I knew Connla would easily beat the shit out of me in a fight, and I doubted my powers would work anywhere near as effectively in the dream world as they did in real life.
So I opted with just playing it icy and not indulging Connla in his ridiculous mind games, and there was no way I would stoop to the low of entertaining him by agreeing to begin singing"Summer Lovin'" or another infamous song from Grease. "Not really." I said curtly, digging my nails slightly into the material of his thick leather jacket; I doubted they'd be capable of piercing through the jacket and break through to Connla's skin, but it gave me some comfort imagining the horrified look on his face when I sunk my nails deep into his pasty flesh. I'd do it for Lorcan. "I never attended one. Never had anyone to go with." I swallowed slightly, trying to ignore horrible memories of my own loneliness during school back in Newcastle. Before I moved to the Vale and became acquainted with Grubbs, Mary, Bill-E, Ellie and Lorcan; in other words, people who actually paid me attention.
I never even went through the pathetic gesture of turning up at a dance, only to stand in the corner, going on continuously ignored and eventually rushing out before bursting into tears in the private of the school car park. Better safe than sorry, I'd always told myself, but my own inner loneliness and shame about not having a single friend was too much for even me to bear. I was glad I wasn't bullied-that would be even worse than being a complete loser who was ignored by everyone-but being rejected by everyone didn't mean the inner pain inside me ceased to any degree.
Watching the other kids, chatting merrily in class, laughing in corners at break time, eating lunch in their large and small groups; sharing jokes, gossip, lies, petty annoyances at other peers and so forth; I had to stupidly blink back tears and continue staring down at my lap, threading my fingers together, picking away at my lunch, biting my lip, praying the bell would ring so I could get on with the work that distracted me from my own loneliness. If I didn't know the truth about Connla, and we'd met under other circumstances, I would've shallowly accepted his attempts to ally himself with me, and we'd possibly even graduate to friends. That sickened me about myself-how I'd so easily sell myself out to someone who'd betrayed people who'd surrounded him for his entire life, who'd killed my boyfriends' brother, who'd almost allowed the demons to win for own selfish reasons, similarly selfish to the way I'd become his friend.
"I'm sorry to hear that," we both knew he didn't mean it, and I refused to even feel somewhat charmed because of his fake apologies. "Maybe I can cheer you up-"
"I sincerely doubt it." I cut him off, glowering up at him, and he grinned back at me, clearly enjoying the fact my temper had so easily flared, and he tightened the grip on our arms, making me feel both uncomfortable and the desire to punch him overcame me. "I mean, you sold out people you knew and had grown up with to serve your own selfish needs; I sincerely doubt you're capable of cheering myself up or feeling any form of empathy towards anyone either than yourself. No offence." I added, smiling back at him with the same smug, self-assured smirk, and returned the tight grip on his arm the skin-crawling way he'd done so with me; giving him a taste of his own medicine.
Connla laughed, although a tone of anger and bitterness crept in there and we looked towards the large, pale teal set of double doors in front of us. "Do you want to go in?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." He stuck out a foot and slammed it into the doors, letting go of my arm and pushing the door open, seemingly a proper gentleman to a girl who didn't know the true horribleness concealed underneath his perfect façade. "Go ahead, Esther." He gestured towards the hall where I could see brief glimpses of pastel coloured skirts swirling around as various women were swung around by their partners, probably having an incredibly good time in my dream world. I wished I was attending this fake dance with Lorcan, or even a friend like Bill-E, then I'd be having fun. Only San Valentino would be a worse dance partner for this evident, but I tried to blank him from my mind, having a horrible feeling he'd replace Connla if my mind lingered on him for too long.
Ignoring the thought of having to dance with Connla for a blissful couple of seconds, I airily walked past Connla, keeping my head held high, ignoring his mere presence and flouncing past in an uppity, vain, self-absorbed way I'd seen numerous peers of mine do in both the secondary schools I'd attended. I heard Connla snigger to himself at my over-the-top behaviour, but his opinion didn't unnerve me in the slightest. He muttered something under his breath, undoubtedly an insult directed at me, but I ignored him and stood still, lowering my head, and looking around the dance hall my mind had created.
The walls were painted a bleak, cream colour, but there were bright coloured lights flashing against the wall, coming from overhead lights hooked on the overhead black railing linking from the ceiling. The flooring was laminated and shiny, with a sea of white balloons floating around, only cleared in a circle where the main dancing was taking place. There was an area where I assumed the school stage was but it was covered with a white curtain, and the brightly coloured lights were flashing against the white curtain, making it appear: orange, yellow, blue, green, pink, red, purple and so forth. There were several tables, covered with white cloths and had white, plastic chairs surrounding them, with several people sitting in the chairs, chatting idly. There was a matching, larger white table pressed up on the right hand corner of the room, covered with various food, drinks and so forth. There were several speakers up on the corners of the rooms' walls, and they were blasting out classic 50s music which I didn't recognise. Everything was so graphically classic 1950's the dream became surprisingly more surreal than I figured it could.
It was about then that Connla's hand slammed down on my shoulder and I practically jumped a foot in the air at the sudden contact of his hand on my shoulder, which make him snigger slightly. Either punching him or slapping him seemed so tempting, but maybe both would work even better.
But the surrealness of being back at a school dance only reminded me of my awkward, lonely time at school back in Newcastle. I wasn't naïve or emotionally-suicidal enough to attend a school dance during my lonely years at secondary school there; but it didn't help when I overheard the other girls gossiping about which boy had asked them, or what shop their dress was coming from. I only cried in the school bathroom when I was positive no-one else was around, and the second I heard another girl so much as walking near the bathroom, I'd silence my childish tears, rub my eyes furiously with the pack of Kleenex mum always provided me with, and quickly exit-even if the other girl/girls weren't coming into the bathroom. People never knew how to approach me, and I never knew how to approach them; it was the way things always went. I was thankful no-one bullied me despite my outcast status, but whenever the teacher assigned group ofpair work, I'd always opt to work by myself-something no-one ever objected or cared about, which stung.
Lunch times were probably the worst, whenever I saw other girls' sitting in large gaggles, gossiping, bitching and joking with each other; whilst I was confined to a bench by myself, picking at my lunch, before dumping most of it in the bin. I made my lunches myself, so I wasn't rubbing it in my parents' faces, but I still disliked wasting food; but the sickness which always welted up inside my stomach made it unbearable for me to finish eating. People never even glanced at me to snigger. I was a ghost, leaving no imprint on their minds; they'd just walk past me, giggling and sometimes arguing, not even throwing a glance in my direction. It was the ignoring provided by my classmates that stung my heart; not like some of the other students who were stung by the cruel comments or constantly outstretched feet to trip them over. I didn't envy the bullied kids, but even they often formed cliques of picked-on students which I'd never qualify for; maybe I'm wrong, maybe I did envy part of them, but it was their unity I desired, not the negative attention they received from our peers.
I guess that's how I got involved with Ezra.
Ezra Pace was English class 2As student teacher during my final three months attending Khale High School. He was twenty-one years old, still attending university, and was personally chosen by our teacher, Mrs Hannah Hammond, to teach our Year 10 class from a September to December period, having left a month before I moved to the Vale. I was never sure if the, unhappily I might add, married Mrs Hammond chose Ezra because he was an excellent teacher-which he was in all fairness-or because he was a former student of hers-whom she'd potentially had an affair which judging by the hungry glance she often cast over him. Ezra had a habit of ignoring her glances, which told me the affair was something he regretted-if they'd ever had one; but I couldn't blame Mrs Hammond for her choice in student to have said torrid affair with.
Ezra was tall, about 6'0", with a well-built figure which, judging by the photos he'd shown me from his prom night, he'd developed during his Year 11 period of attending Khale. He'd told me he'd originally wanted to do Physical Education at university, but only got a B in his GCSE's whilst he'd got an A* for English, so he'd switched sixth form courses immediately after his results came in. His skin was on the more tanned side, but his mother had come from Spain so it was inherited-I used to joke Ezra was short for Ezard, and he used to laugh; although I'm not sure whether he really found it funny-and it suited him. He had a wonderfully healthy glow to his complexion, unlike my sickroom pallor which sent people away from the "escaped morgue inhibitor" as Violet used to joke with me. He had short cropped, curly black hair which came above his ears, but was thicker on top; unlike Lorcan's shaven hair which borderlined skin-head. But I'd always liked his eyes best, right from the second he arrived in our classroom on the top floor of the FY Block-FY being short for Feng Youlan, famous Chinese philosopher. They were a beautiful pale green, which reminded me of holly when dusted with a light sprinkle of frost during the winter; reminding me of my birthday in January. He always dressed practically yet stylishly, and somehow seemed to have time for everyone in the class, even the bullied or the loners…like me.
I couldn't exactly say when I felt romantic feelings towards Ezra, or 'Pace' as he'd told us all to call him when he'd begun his trainee teaching. He told us he found 'Mr Pace' or 'Sir', too formal, so everyone who had him referred to him as Pace. If I could guess, it started when he began paying me so much positive attention, probably because I was the only person in the class who sat at a desk by herself. I sat in the middle of the third of four rows, being further away from the door; I sat at the back, but Mrs Hammond had always liked me because I hadn't chatted (who did I have to talk to?) and had always handed in my assessments and homework assignments on time, and I didn't complain as much as some of the others' did.
He'd invite me to his marking sessions at lunch on a Tuesday and Friday (when Mrs Hammond wasn't there to harass him I might add), and we'd just talk. I'd never been good at socializing with people of my own age, never mind a twenty-one year old university student, but somehow Ezra put me at ease somehow, and we just chatted about music, films, books and anything else that came to mind. Originally, I'd rationalized he invited other students to marking sessions too, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays; but one Wednesday lunch time after I'd binned my ham sandwich and half-eaten apple, I'd snuck up the FY Block stairs-careful the dinner ladies didn't see me and kick me out-and had loitered around the classroom for about fifteen minutes until Ezra showed up and asked me what I was doing. I'd considered lying, but seeing as I doubted he'd believe my lame excuses, I flat out asked him if anyone else came to his marking sessions; he'd laughed and told me that not even Mrs Hammond attended them, and I'd automatically felt special. I still only attended marking sessions on Tuesdays and Fridays afterwards, so people wouldn't ask questions why I hung around the FY Block all lunch, but I enjoyed spending time with Ezra regardless.
I began calling him Ezra the ninth time I attended a marking session, after I'd asked him what the 'E' on his nametag stood for, and he'd told me it was for Ezra -which was when the Ezard joke we shared had begun. Possessing common sense, I never told my parents I spent lunchtimes with a twenty-one year old, giving him company whilst he marked the books of the Year 8 and 9 classes; but they never learned of it, so I didn't lie to them either. I just didn't inform them because they'd worry about paedophilia and the potential of me getting sexually assaulted.
And at first, there had been no romance on either of our behalves either, despite the childish crush I, along with half the girls in English 2A, had directed at Ezra. He'd told me he had a girlfriend called Jackie from university on the second of our sessions together, and I'd accepted without questions. I'd predicted it. But on the ninth time, when I began calling him Ezra and not Pace, he admitted Jackie was just a person he'd invented to prevent the chance of me getting interested because people wouldn't exactly approve of a twenty-one year old and an almost-fifteen year old having a relationship. Even if there was no sex or foreplay involved, people, especially my parents, wouldn't be thrilled. Maybe if I was sixteen, people wouldn't have been so overwhelmingly negative, but a six year age difference only didn't seem so bad once you were eighteen when put into perspective. I was just pleased I was receiving positive attention from a person, more specifically a guy, who seemed like he understood what it was like being a loner; I doubted Ezra had ever been lonely during his schooling time, but he'd told me when he was younger, his parents' had worked away from home a lot, meaning he had an understanding of loneliness, albeit different from my own.
"Y'know Esther," he used to tell me, occasionally glancing up from his marking, which was always written in his beautifully neat, sloping handwriting. "I think you're probably the only girl in this classroom who doesn't think of me in an entirely sexualised manner. You wouldn't believe half the fantasies I bet your classmates are having about me whilst I've got my back turned to the board and they all get a good look at my arse." I'd laughed at that comment; and now, considering I know about magic, I've considered if Eddie was possibly a psychic, or maybe just a telepath. Either way, he was right about the comment on teenage girls fantasizing about him; I'd overheard Claudia Miller commenting on "what a nice ass" he had during Art which was fifth period-directly after Lunch, with English being a Friday fourth period subject. Girls' like Claudia would've sold their golden hair for wigs to have a private lunch time session with Eddie Pace like me.
Oddly enough, Ezra was never cruel about girls like Claudia who deliberately seemed to unbutton the tops of our uniformed blouses every time English came around; but I could tell he wasn't exactly comfortable when either Claudia or her desk buddy, Abby Mathis, deliberately leaned forwards, exposing the tops of their bras to him. If I was a guy, even I'd be a little uncomfortable at such a bold, possible career-ending gesture. Ezra, or Pace as I referred to him during lessons, was patient but even he looked like he wanted to lose his temper at Claudia's over-affectionate nature.
But our lunch time hangouts almost came to an abrupt end when someone, I'm not sure who, found out Ezra was having private lunch chats with a member of Year 10 Class 2A-thank God no-one ever knew it was me or I'd have been attacked by a rabid hoard of beautiful, made up girls-and we had to not meet up for about three weeks whilst a parade of girls asked him if he'd give them one. Eddie had dismissed the truthful news as a childish rumour, and eventually, after I'd kept away from the FY Block and he was observed alone for three weeks, Claudia, Abby, Rae Sawyer, Sabrina Jones, Maura Horne, Lily Avery and the rest of the in-clique dismissed the news as just a stupid rumour and continued their classroom flirting sessions instead, still with practically no effect on their target. Lily was the only one who came close to figuring out who it could've been when she actually walked over to my desk one English session and asked if it was me-seeing as Pace often complemented my work in front of the class-but I'd smiled and told her it wasn't, which she'd accepted easily because I was quiet and had shown no interest in anyone at the school. I'd even overheard Will James, one of the popular guys, propose I was asexual once, but it'd lead to nothing because he'd then noticed the short length of Jordan Carver's skirt and had quickly become distracted by her.
Thank God none of the Khale staff had suspected any truth behind the rumour, or Ezra would've been kicked out upon impact; making me lose my only ally in the entire facility. He'd tried to find out who'd spread the ironic truth around school in the first place, but his search had come up fruitless, despite the fact he'd narrowed it down to about four people: Jasmine Ross-resident hair-dye obsessed gossip, Inez Sparks-quiet yet calculating secret popular girl, Alaric Carney-class joker who was genuinely funny, or even Vince Bolton-the cleverest guy in the class who began attending lunch time sessions on Mondays and Wednesdays, about a month before Ezra returned to university. Vince was cancelled off the list when he too began attending lunch time hangouts with Pace; Inez when she proved more interested in having sex with Harry Cross in the girls' toilets in the downstairs B (Basilides-Greek philosopher) Block because it had no cameras; which only left Jasmine and Alaric, but he never managed to discover who had more motive or time to learn of our lunch time chats before the rumour was spread. And even then, it could've been someone entirely different, so he let it drop when no more rumours circulated.
We'd been meeting for almost two months when Ezra and I kissed-as scandalous and shocking as it might seem; but my feelings for him overruled any sense of the impact it could've bought for both of us if anyone had known of what happened. It hadn't been sensual or passionate; it was rushed and even a little clumsy. We'd been discussing films, more specifically 1980s horror films in all their campy glory, and I even remember how I looked that day, sad as it is.
My hair was curling at the ends, because I hadn't straightened it like I sometimes did for school, becoming somewhat ringlet-like at the very ends; with a black headband threaded in my pale blonde hair to keep it out of my face for the history assessment I had third period. I'd worn the optional grey V-neck sweater with no sleeves to cover my white blouse; I had the standard navy tie, pleated black skirt above the knee, grey knee-length socks and black shoes which had been shined previously. We'd just been talking, and before I'd known what I was doing, I leaned over and kissed him. Like I said, it was nothing romantic or over the top, just a short peck on the lips. After doing so, and receiving a shocked stare from him, I expected he'd kick me out the classroom or awkwardly end our lunch time meetings…But he didn't.
Like any good teacher, he'd asked me if I was okay, which I'd responded "yes", and he'd then asked me why I'd kissed him. Knowing lying would just get me in trouble later, if he informed another teacher; or that if I lied about a troubled home life leading to sudden sexual outburst, he'd call a social worker and the entire thing would come crashing down on both of us, potentially ending his successful career aspects and leading to me being shamed eternally in school (probably named a "slag" hypocritically by Claudia, who once practically tried to sit on his lap during a drama class he took, according to gossip I overheard thanks to Olivia O'Claire when she was talking to her on-off boyfriend, Joe Penndel, in maths). I told him I'd been attracted to him like the rest of the class, which he told me he understood; I then admitted I'd been grateful of the attention he'd given me, unlike my classmates, which he also said he understood; then I confessed my attraction had become emotional because of the warmth, compassion and genuine kindness he'd shown me, and he'd been a little taken aback by that comment. He seemed shocked I wasn't just doing it because I was a hormonal teenage girl who'd developed sexual preference for her student teacher, which would've probably been a more normal response from anyone now I take it into consideration.
That was when he'd admitted he liked me in a romantic sense too, and I'd asked why. He'd told me it was because I didn't value him because of his looks, and the fact we generally had something in common. Our relationship never became official-like Lorcan and I's-but we did typically couple-ish things together, like talk about our lives, tell each other stories, admit our fears and aspirations, kiss-without any tongue action I might add. We even went out a couple of times at weekends. That was when I'd had to lie to my parents; I told them the school had a new exchange student who I'd become friends with but he lived outside of town, so I had to get bus fair to see him. That was half-true; Ezra lived outside of town, but we always went to his place and travelled around rural Newcastle together to stop the issue of someone from school seeing us together and my parents discovering the truth. I'd planned on introducing him to them if we were still together when I was eighteen, because my parents would be accepting of it then, despite him being twenty-four; because I was a legal adult. My mum had dated someone ten years older than her when she was eighteen, so she'd automatically understand and defend me from dad if he didn't get it.
If he had been my age, or even two-three years older than me, I know my parents would've loved Ezra because of his understanding, intelligent and sensitive nature; even though he was comfortable lying-and much better at it, somewhat secretive regarding his friends, and his blunt attitude about those he didn't like in my class, they would've accepted it. His age was the only hindrance in the situation.
Despite being a 50s musical style dream with a ruthless arsehole whose company I couldn't abide, my mind was fully focusing on my previous relationship with a student teacher. Ezra and Lorcan were alien to one another, yet I'd become romantically interested and involved with both of them; I didn't know if I specifically loved one of them "more"-because I'd spent limited time with both of them, but part of me hoped I could at least continue being Ezra's friend now that I'd began my relationship with a resurrected Irish warrior. Ezra and I had broken up, for lack of better term, when he'd had to return to university; he'd explained remaining in contact would be too difficult with him having to hide it from his university friends, and I was so worried about the relationship, even Violet didn't know we'd kissed more than once. She assumed we'd kissed once and then just become close friends. Although, he'd given me his phone number, and I'd texted him about my move to the Vale, which reminded me I needed to contact him again upon returning from this mission of sorts. He had answers I needed to provide and we needed to discuss my new relationship. I hoped Ezra had found someone at uni, although I'd be undoubtedly jealous if I got to see a picture of her; but it wasn't fair to claim he could never love anyone bar me, or love someone more than me. Even our relationship even progressed to love. I cared deeply about him, but I wasn't sure if I'd ever loved him like the way I felt for Lorcan.
"Hello?" Connla snapped, his face a matter of inches away from me, and he shock my shoulders hard, immediately snapping me out of my Ezra Pace thoughts and the urge to punch him resumed, although I managed not to just let a fist fly straight into his now irritated looking face. "Do you insist on zoning out-"
"Better than thinking about you." I hissed back instantly and we glared at each other, although none of the dream couples seemed to pay attention to our petty squabbling. "Why do I always get stuck with you paying me dream visits?" I snapped, my eyes narrowing further. "And how come we're always forced to act like we're a couple. We're either getting married or attending school dances! What is up with this? And you are aware I'm dating someone you assisted murdering and am engaged to a psychotic vampoari-"
It was his turn to cut me off. "Oh I'm more than aware." Connla seemed smug now, his arms folded over his chest, and he raised a dark, nearly trimmed eyebrow. "But I don't get what you see in a completely reckless idiot like my former ally; or what that powerful creature sees in you for that matter. The attraction Lorcan's instilled in you, and the desire to possess you instilled in San Valentino shocks me to some extent, but it isn't my place to judge really. Although you're pretty once looked at long enough."
"That why you enjoy spending dream time with me so much? Gee, Connla, never would've assumed ya could be so shallow!" I spoke in a traditional valley girl American accent, adding a 50s esque to the language choices I made.
Connla laughed then, but there was no humour to his tone and he looked mortally offended that I'd dare criticize him. "You aren't too accepting yourself." He spat, although we both knew his comeback was pretty shit, although neither of us voiced these opinions in case he attempted to strangle me-not that I'd put it past him. He rolled his eyes then, as if he was ashamed by letting his temper getting the best of him and allowing the darker Connla to emerge from the suave, cocky front he'd been putting up some professionally. He held out his hand, smiling cockily again at me and beckoned with his index finger. "But we're still dancing, Ms Blake."
"I'm not dancing with you-"
"You're in no place to argue." He grinned smugly, and I was aware of that. The earlier outburst had been a warning; I tried anything cute again and Connla would genuinely take me out in the real world. This wasn't like A Nightmare on Elm Street where death in the dream world resulted in death in the human world, but Connla was clearly capable of committing first-degree murder, so if I pissed him off, he'd find me and dispose of me. "So, I'll ask again," this time his grin had widened and he looked even more assured. "Would you care to dance, Ms Blake?"
"Yes." I spat through gritted teeth, taking his outstretched hand and he led me towards the dance floor, although I dragged my feet the entire way and glowered at the back of his head. There were just over a dozen imaginary couples dancing around us, and as I gingerly rested my hands on Connla's shoulders and tried not to squirm at the feeling of his hands on my waist, I looked around the generic, smiling couples and wished I could be as blissfully happy as they were with the horrid excuse of a "date" I'd been stuck with. As we turned in the gentle, swaying circles to the lyricless, calm music; I wondered if Lorcan would be capable of doing slow dancing as well as the former ally of his could. Maybe Connla had been practicing with Lord Daire? The thought of that amused me slightly, but I hid my smirk and had no intention of telling him this thought because he'd probably backhand me. And even though it was just dream pain, it was pain I could do without.
"Psst…" A small voice whispered from somewhere around me. I ignored it, assuming the speakers had bad reception. "Psst!" The voice sounded more impatient and I looked to my right, where the voice was coming from and almost had a heart attack on the spot. It was Bill-E! He was dancing with a pretty, red head who was taller than him, although I didn't recognise her.
'Who's that?' I mouthed, raising my eyebrows at the girl he was dancing with. She stood at about 5'6", with a slender figure, blue plain shirt, pink shorts, pink sneakers and a pink headband in her bright red hair.
'Some dream girl I created for myself!' He winked at me. 'She's called Bonnie-I always liked that name and I've always liked tall red heads!' I rolled my eyes and decided to resume seriousness.
'How did you get into my dream?'
'Mage spell.' He mouthed back, winking his good eye at me. 'I was taught it when I was about twelve; I noticed you seemed to not be enjoying your dream, based on your mumblings of the world "asshole", so I decided to investigate whilst your boyfriend was panicking and no-one could understand what he was saying bar the General!' I nodded to show I understood and Bill-E continued. 'Who's your date then?'
I glowered at him like a sulky child. 'I'm not even sure you want to know.' I mouthed back, just as the song ended and I pulled away from Connla. "Dance done, I want to leave."
"Tough. I want to continue dancing." He smirked and I felt my hands curl into fists, the urge of socking Connla in the face becoming almost irresistible. Sensing I was going to let fly at him, Connla took hold of one of my clenched hands and spun me around, forcing me to face him again and hold his hand with the one he'd taken hold of. "Don't you just love your dreams Esther?" He smirked.
"Go fuck yourself." I hissed and he just rolled his eyes, pulling me ever closer to him as we continued dancing. I was praying I'd wake up soon, because even the comfort of Bill-E being there meant I didn't enjoy having such close contact with Connla-aka the biggest arsehole the gene pool had ever created. I hoped he'd receive a Darwin Award soon, but for now I was stuck. In a stupid dream, wearing stupid clothes and stupid makeup (which my skin should've rejected already), dancing with a stupid twat, with the only none-stupid other real person being Bill-E Spleen. God I needed to stop fainting.