Eros

Prologue

Thirteen-year-old Angie was taking her Labrador for a walk around the block when her Mum approached the receptionist's counter. She'd named the golden Lab Buddy, because the digital dog was- at this moment in time- the only friend Angie had. In the whole wide world, mind you. Angie didn't so much as have an imaginary friend.

Mum says I can't have a real dog. Why? Because they make too much mess.

Even though Angie had promised to clean up after it and love it with all her heart, it hadn't taken well with Sheila. In fact, knowing Angie's Mother, it'd probably been the selling point that set her against the idea of getting a dog.

Sheila DeCentum, Angie's Mum, didn't like anything that made a mess.

That's why she doesn't like me.

Nothing left a mess behind like children. Angie especially. In fact, Angie was certain that if her Mum could go back in time and stop herself from having a daughter, then she'd do it in a heartbeat.

Especially now that Angie's messes had gotten that little bit more complicated.

Until a few months ago, she'd been the same mess every other kid in the world was. The kind that didn't keep their room clean. The kind that left dirty pots in every room they entered. The kind that just wanted to have fun with their sticky fingers and scarred knees. A kid, in effect. Angie had been a normal kid.

Now, she was a different kind of mess.

Angie was a blubbing mess of tears whenever she saw her Dad's things lying around, a constant reminder that her only friend in the world wasn't here anymore. Angie was the mess of a broken marriage. Even before her old man had died, Angie was the only thing tying Sheila down to a man she didn't love anymore.

Other than her reputation, of course.

But with social images, Sheila played pot and kettle.

To Sheila, the mess of Evangeline Georgette DeCentum ran much deeper than that.

Angie's mind was the latest mess.

With her digital dog now taking a nap, she followed her Mother over to the receptionist's desk.

"I have an appointment," She was saying, voice lowered so no one would hear. Sheila didn't want Angie's problems getting out in the real world. Heaven forbid the elite socialite found out about Angie's trauma. "Booked under the name Evangeline DeCentum to see a Doctor Conway."

"Evangeline DeCentum," The receptionist murmured, punching it into her keyboard. "Fancy name."

"It's a powerful name," Sheila corrected.

"Powerful, sure. It's not coming up. There's no appointment booked for an Evangeline."

"Are you spelling it right?"

The receptionist rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm spelling it right."

Already, her Mum was losing patience with the staff.

She'd come dressed up for work, clad in her usual pantsuit. She hadn't so much as left her clipboard in the car, which meant she'd be working whilst Angie spoke to the Doctor.

Because I have problems.

That was how her Mum put it.

Problems that couldn't be allowed to fester. Problems that had to be stopped at all costs.

Because normal children didn't have Angie's nightmares.

Angie half believed that her Mum didn't care about the nightmares. To her, these nightmares were nothing more than a cry for attention. She thinks I'm doing this on purpose.