Different

Chapter 3

Matthew must have followed me or scried my whereabouts. I could have asked how he found me or whether he was following me, but he could just lie to my face. How would I even know what tricks he had?

"I see you're alone." His deep voice was irritating.

"Glad to know your eyes are working." I stood up.

"Where are you going?" The curious look he gave only made my eyes roll.

"Home."

"All right." I thought he was going to do something else, like grab my hand, but he sat still and shrugged. "Guess I'll just have to say good night." He smiled.

I smiled back before turning around.

"Won't you say sorry?"

My feet froze, not because of the cold or of some curse. I remembered something. "You wanna get even?" I spread my arms. "Strike me. I won't strike back."

He just chuckled. I searched for any sign of pride on his face. His smile alarmed me. I was unsure if he had good or bad intentions. But if he wanted to get even with me after I sent him into the air earlier, I'd give him that freedom just so we could get it over with.

My eyes twitched and my throat tightened when he quickly opened his right palm. I was about to prepare myself for some painful revenge, but the petals he conjured amused me. He blew them towards me, and they transformed into sparkling butterflies before vanishing. For a moment I thought I was bathed in warm air.

His eyes sparkled as he smiled. And I felt uncomfortable. I kept asking myself what he was up to. Maybe he was trying to lure me. Maybe he had a plan to trick me and then put me in his evil trap. "Come on, I'm waiting. Let's get this over with. Hit me with a curse. I can deal with it."

"I'm fine. I don't wanna get even."

"What do you want?" My hands hit my thighs after I dropped them in dismay.

"I want to be friends with you."

Mawkishness! My eyes rolled. Whatever. "Well, I don't feel like going home yet. Coffee maybe?"

If I had a choice, I wouldn't spend the night with him. I wanted to be alone, and that guy just invaded my solitude. He loved to talk. I had no choice but to fake smiles to make him feel good.

"When did you realize you were a witch?"

My eyes suddenly pushed themselves out through the lids. I darted my gaze around the cafe to see anyone eavesdropping. "Drop the witchy business," I said, barely opening my lips. "We're in a public place."

"Like they'd care anyway."

If only I could roll my eyeballs backwards... "I can't remember. It wasn't like I was keeping track of the crazy stuff that's been happening in my life."

"You're lying." There was something in the way he stared at me. I couldn't put a finger on what it is.

"When I was thirteen." I buried my stare into the cappuccino. I wondered for a moment what it felt like to dive into it, if it was possible, just so I could escape the boredom.

"I also discovered my abilities about the same age."

"Really?" Faking interest is hard. The warm aroma of the latte filled my nostrils, taking me away from this self-induced boredom. In the corners of my field of view I could see him smiling at me. He was trying his hardest to charm me, and I was intent in making his efforts futile.

He wasn't bad. His curly hair, cut short, was perfect for his facial bone structure. His cheeks bore confidence that slid into the sexiness of his growing beard and mustache, which looked as if they were shaved the day prior. He had luscious lips. I wondered what his girlfriend felt kissing those. I wondered if my ex-girlfriend ever felt good about my lips. I never asked her how I was as a kisser.

His eyes were magnetic. There was something about those blue eyes that seemed to glow the longer I glanced at them. I wasn't sure if it was a natural charm or a spell. Dread soon engulfed me. It coursed through my veins and filled my entire body with embarrassment. I caught myself staring into those deep, dreamy blue eyes, whose lids came closer together as Matthew broke into laughter.

"I thought you were going to ignore me for the rest of our stay here." The teaspoon tinked as he placed it on the saucer while he sipped his coffee, looking at me as if waiting for me to respond. His smile was mesmerizing.

"Are you trying to charm me?" My leer was supposed to intimidate him.

But it didn't work. "No," he responded with an air of confidence that bothered me. "This isn't how I charm women."

Something nudged in my insides when he said women. He knew I wasn't a woman, not in the conventional sense, not in a way people understood. My lips remained sealed. My eyes were fixed on the cup of coffee that was half empty. I wanted to disappear, but I knew I couldn't do it in front of many people.

He cleared his throat, not because he had phlegm, but because he wanted to get my attention. His warm smile gave the intention away. "Hayley," he spoke in a low, serious tone that kind of made me nervous, "can we be friends?"

"We're already talking." My shoulders moved up. My brows came closer together, making creases between them. My tone had a bit of condescension that I tried to suppress.

"That wasn't the question." He leaned closer, arms on the table. His deep gaze was both alluring and worrying. It seemed as though he wasn't affected by my attempts to dismiss his gestures. "Hayley―"

"Shut up," I snapped making sure my tone was casual and not rude.

"―I'm interested in you."

I faked a laugh. "Stop."

He leaned even closer and mumbled something along the lines of wanting to know me more, while I was rolling my eyes and shrugging him off. He was fine, but I wasn't into him. I wasn't into anyone. I didn't want to date. I didn't want to know anyone.

It was at that moment when I began to ask myself what the point of my existence was. I had that chilling epiphany that for quite some time I appeared like a drift wood. My goals were unclear. They were bound by nothing but cynicism and fear of the societal stigma. I didn't know what I lived for. My motivations were clouded by my inability to sense and feel.

There I was, sitting in front of a stranger whose smiles disturbed my calm disposition that hid the internal disquiet. Inside, I was wrestling with thoughts and questions about where I was supposed to be heading.

Matt, as he wanted me to address him, soon left, not like a displeased guy who failed his would-be date, but like a friend who just had to go about his own business. That was a relief. I was soon left to my own musings, lost in my haunting thoughts of failure and despair. My neurotic mental wanderings kept the biting cold at bay.

The old apartment complex greeted me with desolation. It was an eerie, lonely scene that I was too used to to even care. But, at last, warmth. My room smelled like maple syrup. Mrs. Perrin must have freshened it up and let the heater on. Sweet old lady. The clock ticked at 3:15, invading my ears as if taunting me about my insomnia and solitude.

Jackie's pictures were my refuge. She looked so happy, so alive, so in love with her boyfriend. I missed seeing her happy with me. I missed her. My phone hit the table with a tapping sound of desperation. Prayers were sent to who knows whom before sleep.