When Angels Fall [GXG]

Chapter 24

Sofiel sighs.

Again.

For what probably is the fifth time that hour.

She's been leafing through the same few pages of the Great Gatsby for the last couple minutes now, reading but not really reading. The long string of text and letters have since begun to blur into one; floating off the pages, morphing and twisting into garbled nonsense.

And Sofiel has no idea why she's even trying.

She flips a page, scans through the first paragraph, and waits — hoping that it'll all start to make sense soon.

It doesn't.

And so, it's with another sigh that she finally sets her book down, and stops trying to pretend to read.

"What's wrong?" asks Abigail, glancing up from the laptop that she's been furiously typing on the entire time.

Working from home, or so she claims.

She's been doing that a lot often these days. Given the alleged 'flexibility' of her job. But Sofiel thinks — knows— it's mainly to keep an eye on her on days when Alex is unavailable to drop by for her usual visit. Not that Sofiel minds. The extra supervision is warranted, what with her still spreading stigma and all.

Tipping her head back against the lounge, Sofiel soughs out a breath — yet another sigh.

"That's your sixth one so far." The feet on her lap give a wiggle, jabbing her pointedly in her belly.

"And you're keeping count?" Sofiel chuckles, languidly sliding Abigail a sideway glance as she pinches at her big toe in playful retaliation.

"Maybe," Abigail laughs, good-naturedly. Her blue eyes are dancing, sparkling invitingly under the soft rays of the morning sun. Though, the expression on her face is quick to sober into that of worry. "But seriously, though. What's wrong? Is your stigma acting up again?"

She bolts straight up from her lazy sprawl across the lounge, having pushed her laptop off her lap to scoot in closer towards Sofiel — to better inspect her for any signs of distress.

Sofiel shakes her head. "Nothing's wrong, Abigail. It's just..." she trails off, working her lip between her teeth as she struggles to string her thoughts together into words. To no avail. Her features contort briefly in conflict before finally, she heaves out a sigh, and shrugs — in lieu of saying anything else.

Dropping her gaze to stare at Abigail's bare feet on her lap, Sofiel can almost hear the frown in the perturbed rush of air that leaves her lips.

There's a heaviness sitting on her chest. And it's been there for days — weeks now. With each passing moment, it only seems to grow. Bit by bit. Sofiel can feel it bearing down on her soul, slowly crushing at her ribs and gradually squeezing the air out of her lungs. It draws out sigh after sigh, and Sofiel is left wondering what would become of her when there's nothing left of her to give.

Melancholy is what she eventually names the weight on her chest. It didn't even occur to her until she had glimpsed past the yellowed pages of Abigail's copy of Wuthering Heights and began to find a bit of herself in every passing text of the dreary novel.

Melancholy.

It clings to her like a shadow — an ever-constant presence looming over her in the background.

Though, noticeably it's been getting worse over the weeks when she had finally run out of books to read and has now cycled through Abigail's collection at least once over now. Being left idle and alone in Abigail's apartment only seems to fuel it further. For the most part, she feels like a caged bird. Wings clipped, can't fly. Trapped in the sanctuary of its cage, outside looking in at the world moving around it.

She thinks Abigail has caught her once or twice now; staring wistfully out of the window, watching the birds fly by. She wonders what the mortal thinks when she sees her like this.

Pity, more than likely.

"Alright!" The peppiness in Abigail's voice slices through Sofiel's bleak thoughts like a radiant confetti gun. Sofiel starts with a breath, looking up in perplexity when Abigail inevitably shifts, legs whipping over the side of the lounge as she jumps to her feet. "We're going out!" she announces brightly, a crooked grin hot on her lips.

"Whatever for?" Sofiel eyes her warily, unmoving from her spot on the lounge. As infectious as Abigail's enthusiasm is, she is adamant to not match her in zest.

"You've been cooped up in here for months, Sofiel. When was the last time you've been outside?"

Sofiel shrugs, flippant and ever so indifferent. "Literally just yesterday when we went grocery shopping together," she answers point-blank, and huddles further back into the lounge, crossing her arms pointedly across her chest.

A defensive gesture against the knowing, albeit rueful smile that Abigail sends her next.

"No, I mean outside, outside. Where you get to smell the roses, see the sights, hear the birds sing up close."

"Don't you have work to do?" deflects Sofiel, a little too testily for her tastes.

She fumbles, reaching for her book that has been left neglected on the coffee table for the most part once more. Anything to busy herself with. To keep herself occupied from the look that Abigail's been giving her — that look as if she can see right through into Sofiel's soul and piece out every doubt and insecurity.

"Come on, don't be a sourpuss."

In a blink of an eye, Abigail has singlehandedly managed to swipe the book out from Sofiel's hands. And in the aftermath, she's forced to come face to face with Abigail's ever so roguish grin that makes her heart swell, her stomach flutter.

But Sofiel is quick to school herself together, donning her ever so impassive mask of calm.

"I don't know what that means, but I'm guessing it doesn't have a particularly favourable connotation to it. So no, I'm not a sourpuss."

"I didn't say you were," Abigail laughs, blue eyes lighting up and glowing with mirth and just the barest hint of tease. "Come on, Sofiel."

She grapples for her Sofiel's hands, hauling her up to her feet in an effortless show of strength. Sofiel stumbles, nearly tripping into Abigail. Her breath inadvertently catches when she realises how close she's standing to the mortal. Nearly eye-to-eye, with Abigail's slightly added height.

The grin that splits across Abigail's face is absolutely radiant as she tugs at Sofiel's hands, giving them an excited squeeze. "I know a place," she says, cheeks bursting like she can barely contain herself. Her eyes are aglow, twinkling away in a dazzling shade of sky-blue that Sofiel can't turn away from. "Please?"

And like always, she just can't find it in herself to deny the mortal.

Sighing defeatedly, Sofiel acquiesces.

"Where are we headed to?"

Sofiel doesn't think it's possible, but the grin on Abigail's face grows all the more wider. Straight rows of pearly whites revel against her lips as the pretty lights dancing away in sunny blues glint with mischief.

"You'll see."