Breaking the story

My inner Picasso

"Are you back here again?"

I glanced up, my senses encased in jasmine, and gave Nathan a wry smile.

"So you've found my hideout," I said, leaning backwards and closing my eyes again. No need to let his character's popularity go to his head. The garden was especially peaceful today and I was hoping for another round of manic delusions.

"You're not hard to find." He chuckled and I frowned. I prided myself on being exceptionally hard to find, especially when Elijah or Jenny looked for me outside of scenes.

"How's life as a kingpin? Are you enjoying all the girls sobbing over your last free kick?" I snickered and I heard the bench creak as he sat down. I hadn't seen him in a while. Hadn't been able to.

"It's boring as hell," he said and sighed. Well, try being me Nathan. You have no idea what dull means when you're cheering in a crowd full of teenage hormones.

"Is that why you came here? For some entertainment?" I snorted.

"Something like that," he replied and I opened my eyes and looked at him properly. You could say there were faint bags under his eyes, as if he couldn't sleep, and that his skin looked the grey of an angry sky. But even as I tilted my head, those things were gone like a mirage and he looked perfect as usual.

"Any luck on the old Jenny front? You could try chicken feathers. I heard she loves them." Because things between Jenny and Lucas were ramping up. The longing glances between them made me want to retch. Apparently the chicken feathers had brought them closer together.

He rolled his eyes.

"Not my style," he said with a mocking flick of the hair. I burst out laughing.

"I forgot," I wheezed. "You have to be all soulful and kind and playing some damn violin or something."

"Don't even say that," Nathan warned, pretending to be serious. "Have you seen the book lately?"

I scowled, already annoyed.

"No," I replied. "Every time I try to get near it, I'm in a scene again. I've just given up today."

Not permanently. But...I needed a break. Maybe the horrendous story had fallen out with me over the shouting in the library.

"That's good," he breathed and I shot a look at him. That was odd. Why was he so relieved?

Just as I went to say something, a sharp pain clobbered my skull.

"Ah!" I hissed and doubled over. Images came rushing with it....Iris, her brown hair wet and clinging to her head, sobbing...terrifying laughter coming from a shadowy figure....the warm sound of someone's breath in my ear as they carried me...Don't forget me, Beatrice. Don't ever forget.

I gasped and the pain ebbed like the tide washing out. Nathan had grabbed me, his face etched in concern.

"Bea!" I tried to reply but colours still swam in front of my eyes. Like some sort of migraine had affected me.

"I'm okay," I managed. That voice was swimming around in my mind, filled with desperation and a yearning I couldn't understand. I wanted to know...who it belonged to.

"Are you sure?" Nathan asked. He was holding me tightly, panic in his dangerous eyes. Why did I think that? Why were they so dangerous?

"Ah ha," I said and smiled, chasing away the strange vision. Nathan was still tense, his grip tight. "I'm fine."

I made a show of stretching, bending down to touch my toes.

 "I'm all good. I bet I could even beat you at football," I laughed, trying to ward off that tension. "I can see it now...Nathan Maxwell, beaten by moi. Do you think all the teenage girls would send me fanmail?"