My Angelic Master

Like Any Other Day

It was like any other day.

With the perfume of coffee rolling off my hair and bitter on my tongue, I finish up my shift at the local café, The Drowsy Mug, and gather my things to prepare for another long night of studying.

Unlike the rest of the local rich university clientele, I am one of the students who'd carved her way through stone to get into Massachusetts' illustrious Baleyard University. I actually have to work to survive, although I did score a dorm room through scholarships and grants, the rest of my life requires funding. And god knows mom and pop won't help me out.

No, they're perfectly content to live out their days on their fifty-acre farm in Texas, ignoring the fact that they have several children floundering about the world like leaves, not knowing where they're going or what to do with themselves.

My younger brothers, Tatum and Collin, left soon after I did, and I wish I knew they were safe. Doing something good with their lives. But I can't know that, and I don't think they'd tell me even if I asked.

I wave goodbye to my coworkers and their blonde bobbing heads, my eyes tripping and fastening for a moment on a couple holding hands at a table, their love blossoming under the cozy lamplight as espresso hisses in the background and lazy jazz music saturates the air. They're utterly absorbed in each other, and for some reason, this annoys me.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep, but I'm not one for sappy romances lately. In my mind, love is a withered old finger coaxing people toward a black abyss with promises that lead to torture and eventual death.

Or maybe it's the fact that I am studying biology, and for some reason, I can't stop looking at people as if they are mere animals. When I see something like that, all I can think is: the male human has found a mate willing to bend over and allow him to deposit his seed inside her, with the hope of procreation. Will their species live to see another day? And yes, that is indeed in an Australian accent.

I twist myself out onto the sidewalk, wriggling my shoulders as the fall air hits me square in the face, and I tug my jacket tighter. Maybe life would be easier if I wasn't such a cynic. So, listening to the scuffing of my boots against the sidewalk, admiring the maple leaves falling all around me as cars whir past, I try to imagine what it might be like to love. To be loved.

But try as I might, all I can think of is the two of them rutting like pigs in the mud. Does any of it even make sense? How is that romantic? How is that desirable? Do I really want to have some long thing stabbing in and out of my body like a knife? Tell me you're a virgin without telling me you're a virgin. That's what my roommate Lola would comment sassily.

The sun is setting, and I notice a man in a black hood fall in step behind me a few paces. Where did he even come from? My heart jolts in my chest, and suddenly I'm the heroine in a horror film. That would be my luck. Forego the romance—enter Chucky the clown with a hacksaw.

I bring out my phone hastily and pull up Lola's contact and start typing...

"Hello there," a male voice sends spindly hooks into my chest, and I look up. The hooded figure is gone, but now a man with swooping black hair stands in front of me with a clumsy smirk and charming gaze. Haunting ocean blue eyes pierce me, fringed by what I believe to be fake eyelashes, that fan all the way down my tan jacket, blue jeans, and to the tips of my leather boots. He then takes in my wavy black hair, tan skin, and copper eyes. His smirk intensifies.

"Not interested," I say and sidle past him. But he grabs my arm. Without thinking I jerk away, but he holds on tight, fingers as strong as iron. A yelp forms in my throat, and I can feel my arm bruising in his grip. His eyes register shock and then he lets me go, as if he has surprised even himself and feels a stray bit of guilt. An emotion this giant creep of a man no doubt rarely allows into his features.

"My name is Vimore," he says, voice gritty. "It's very nice to meet you, Gina Sarai."

Ice slips over my body. One large wave of it.

"H-how..." I clear my throat and stand tall. I'm no frail, fearful girl. "How do you know my name? Do I know you?"

"What matters is that I know you. In fact, it could be said that I've known you for quite a while," he smiles again, but all I feel is looming danger in that feigned niceness.

"Fuck off. Leave me alone," I try to hasten past him, but before I can build up momentum, he is speaking words that I don't understand, and my mind goes still and blank.

Everything becomes dark, and the last picture I have is of the world being upended, the man reaching out to grab me as his lips move to the tune of a language that sounds like death and life combined.