All Yours

V

...

Several days earlier...

Dorian is an idiot. A loyal one, sure, but an idiot nonetheless. Why he insists on dragging me to these mundane little cafés for lunch is beyond comprehension. I have everything I need in my own building- a private cafeteria, silence, and the luxury of solitude.

He tells me it's "good for the mind and soul to get out once in a while." What pathetic nonsense. My mind is sharp enough without distractions, and my soul, if I even have one, doesn't need saving.

Today's destination is Duke's Café. Dorian claimed it "sounded promising," but I already know it's another excuse for him to waste time.

At least it's close, sparing me from dealing with traffic. As usual, he didn't bother driving himself, concocting some flimsy excuse about his car being in the shop or out of gas.

My personal favorite, though, is when he claims he "took the subway." The man wouldn't last five seconds surrounded by the filth of public transit.

The café is predictable. The smell of pastries hangs thick in the air, mingling with the acrid bitterness of burnt coffee. The decor is laughably quaint, an obvious attempt to create a "homey" atmosphere. I find it nauseating.

Dorian, on the other hand, is practically glowing with enthusiasm as he scans the menu board.

"You find us a table, and I'll order the food," he says, waving me off like a child. I don't argue. Arguing with Dorian is as pointless as it is exhausting.

I weave through the maze of tables and settle in the corner, my back to the counter. I prefer not to have eyes on me. People are predictable, their curiosity irritating.

They stare too long, thinking themselves subtly when they're anything but.

Dorian returns with two glasses of water, sliding one across the table to me. His face is alight with some thought or other, and I can already tell he's about to say something I'll regret hearing.

We've been friends since grade school and we kept in touch once we reached college. He's been my backbone for as long as I can remember, but he is the root cause of my internal pain since he is a class-A dumbass. Being an airhead, I have to talk him through the smallest things, and one day, it's going to actually make my head explode.

A sly smirk makes its way onto his face and he looks at me beaming in his seat. I sit impatiently, still waiting for what he has to say.

"The girl that just took my order is staring at you pretty hard, dude," he says, his voice smug. "She's cute. Not my type, but I think she's right up your alley. I think her name tag said Aurora."

He nudges my arm, grinning like a fool. Yeah, not his type because he's already found solace in one of his employees.

I roll my eyes, but the name sticks. Aurora. A flicker of curiosity sparks in me despite my better judgment. I glance over my shoulder, intending to humor him for a second. And then I see her.

Time slows. Her presence is magnetic, commanding attention without even trying. There's something in the way she moves, fluid and deliberate, as though the world revolves at her pace.

Her smile—soft, natural—carries an ease that shouldn't exist in a place like this. She looks like she belongs somewhere brighter, somewhere untainted.