Don't Leave Me

Penny leaves for America tomorrow morning. And I have no idea how the bloody hell I'm going to manage without her. Yes, I've always got Baz, but Penny... 

Penny's different. She's basically a sister to me. She's been my best friend since our first year at Watford, and that was nearly ten years ago. Crowley, was it really that long ago?

Anyway, imagining my life without Penelope Bunce is like imagining Baz as a ginger. Or London without Big Ben or The Eye. It's completely off and abnormal (normal, not Normal). Our flat will seem so empty without her, not to mention I'll just miss being around her magic. I quite like Penny's magic-- it's cool and calming, and leaves a slight aftertaste of sage in your mouth. Living without Penny means I'll be living a life devoid of magic. Well, except for Baz, of course. He's already haunting our door night and day. But it's one thing to visit with someone who's magic, living with magicians is a whole other ordeal. It was one of the things I loved most about Watford; the magickal atmosphere. At Watford, you lived and breathed magic. You were magic.

Despite everything I tell Baz and Penny, I miss it. Having magic. There are things I definitely don't miss, like the burning, or the Going Off. But... just being magic, having the ability to do anything and everything you wanted at the flick of a wand... it'd be impossible not to miss it.

That's what I'm thinking about as I sit on the couch, curled up like a cat against the arm. Penny's working on something on her laptop-- a crappy PC-- and her brow is furrowed in concentration. As much as I'd like to say something to her, I know better than to interrupt Penny when she's got that look on her face. If I did, I would wake up and find myself in the middle of a pond, sitting on a lily pad and croaking. 

Is there a spell for that...? I wonder. I'll have to ask Penelope once she's done working on whatever it is she's doing. 

Closing my tired, itchy eyes, I rest my chin against the pillow in my lap. Aleister Crowley, I love this couch. It's soft, and I fit perfectly in the corner between the arm and the back, and it's that blue you only see in the October sky; a pure, sapphire blue. Penny almost had a fit when I brought home a blue couch last year. "Simon, there's nothing wrong with our current couch!" she'd argued. But then, Micah had come to England for a visit before she had a chance to get rid of the couch, and he'd loved it. Penny had muttered, "boys..." In an exasperated tone and stalked off to her room.

I got to keep the couch.

Actually, that's how we got into this situation-- Penny leaving. Micah asked Penny to come back to America with him. He claimed it was "Just for the summer", but something in my gut tells me that Penny won't be coming back. Unless she convinces Micah to come back to England with her. Which, I suppose, is possible. Anyway, Micah asked her to go with him. And Penny (the traitor) said yes. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for her-- for them. Micah is a nice bloke, even if he was scrawny when he first came to England in our fourth year. He was an exchange student, and he instantly fell for Penny. She took a bit longer warming up to him (mostly because he was always stuttering when he was around her. Nerves, I think). But now, she's leaving me and Baz, and going to America. 

It would be easier to be happy for them if Penny wasn't Penny. Because Penny hates goodbyes. She hates it when people make a production of things. But she's going to America for the rest of Crowley knows how long. How can I not make a production of it? We've argued (if you can call it arguing) over it nearly every day this week.

"You defeated the Humdrum, Simon. This should be easy," she'll say, looking up over the top of those cat-eye glasses. I like Penny's glasses; they make me smile.