Red Velvet

Prologue

This prologue is dedicated to Noelle (hepburnettes) because she writes wonderfully and inspires me to do better.

River Crest is a small town, some ten miles south of Philadelphia in North Eastern U.S.A.

Quite obviously, with the economic anchor of Delaware Valley located somewhat in the vicinity, our existence is too meager to be noticed. There's honestly not much to notice here even, the name in itself is a daunting irony as we do not have an actual river, all we have is a little lake which we call the 'Mudwell' somewhere in the secluded parts of the woods. I have never been to the Mudwell but I wouldn't be surprised if it actually turns out to be a big hole dug up in the ground, much like a dull patch of quicksand. I have no desire to find out either.

We have a small population of about two hundred and fifty people, a town hall, a tiny library, a housing firm where I work, a few small offices and garages scattered about in an unplanned fashion, a local pub, a little clinic of Dr. Schmidt, some grocery stores, cafes and restaurants, a bank and a police station. Crime rates however are next to nil and that is one thing the citizens of this town are proud of. Nothing major has ever happened in River Crest and life is absolutely as mundane as it goes.

The morning of ninth January was no different for me. Little did I know that my life was about to hit a very unexpected bump and I was about to be thrown into, metaphorically speaking, a very twisted, unkind and unwelcoming place, even if that place existed only in my head.

It was a Tuesday morning, although in River Crest you couldn't really tell for sure. Every morning was the same. My days mingled with nights, leaving the dusk somewhere I can't decipher. But despite having a job which I abhor, neighbors who pry to the extent of violating personal space, a landlord who begins to yell for the rent before the month is up, I love living here. This little town is my home.

For they often say home is where your heart is and my heart is in the firm grasp of Trevor Mark Anderson.

It was not the pretty blue and white birds whose melodies seeped in through my window panes, or the soft breeze which sang through my curtains making them flutter, or the sharp rays of a shining sun which caste a net of shadow and light across my floorboards. No, none of these things made me want to get out of bed and continue my day, then come back again and live through another night so I can again witness the morning splendor, as these were not the things that added splendor to my mornings.

It was Trevor. The gleam of his bright green eyes, the glow of his face splattered with tiny, almost invisible freckles, his coy smile against my hair, his quick 'good mornings', his bitter coffees, his everything that made my heart flip wildly in it's cage, thrash against it until my skin burned, for it was that sweetest kind of burning that made my mornings a splendid affair.

It was a Tuesday morning and my alarm went off at exactly seven thirty. Snoozing it shut, I groaned and pulled the sheets over my face.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," I heard Trevor call out from the kitchen. The click of the toaster was my cue to drag my lazy butt out of the comfort of my bed. I mentally counted to ten before sitting up , then taking a deep yawn.

"Not a morning person, are we?," Trevor smiled at me from the doorway and walked in with two cups of coffee in hand. The bitter scent of coffee wafted towards me, waking me up instantly. I took the cup he offered and thanked him.

He shook his head bashfully and muttered something along the lines of 'it's the least I can do'.

"No of course not!" I was quick to say.

He looked at me with a glint of gloom in his eyes and I was immediately washed over by sadness.

"Trevor, I love you," I told him.