Marcus Delacôte

A second part?

Yes. A second part. I must he insane. But my dear friend basically sold her soul for this so I have to, really. This didn't go where I expected it to go, but it's... interesting?

I meet him again on several occasions after that.

Suddenly I see him in the corridor in the flat, and he grins and calls me Marlene and then Nora.

I meet him in the morning when I am on my way to the bus to school and that time he winks.

Another day we are huddled up under an umbrella. We had been sitting in the same bus, apparently, but I hadn't seen him since I was zoned out with my headphones and he was in the back, while I had chosen a seat closer to the driver. But when I come out of the bus and irritably attempt to open my umbrella, to which it promptly breaks, he is suddenly there. Liam is holding a dark umbrella, his hair a little damp despite of the thing. He hasn't shaved in a few days and it suits him well. Damn.

"Hi, Nora. Did you order this weather?" he jokes.

I gratefully step under the umbrella as he gestures me to do so. "Definitely not," I sigh. "My order for the sun must have drowned somewhere..." Stupid joke. But he smiles, so I guess it's fine.

"Can I offer you a walk home?"

I nod gratefully, my heart pounding. "If it's no trouble. Wait, I guess it's no trouble, since you live there too and we have to go the same way." God, Nora. Stop.

"I haven't seen Marlene in Starbucks again," he says, looking down at me. He is right. I have purposefully been avoiding Starbucks. I didn't want to seem pushy, although, now I think about it, going to drink coffee can hardly be seen as pushy, can it? I shrug. "I didn't really have the time... You know, school..." For some reason, he actually seems disappointed.

"Hey, give me your number..." he says, taking out his phone. "So you know when I work, and I can give you a free cappuchino." He hands over his phone to me, and obediently, I type my phone number and my name.

We walk to the flat then, and I find out he lives on the second floor when we take the lift upstairs.

He looks for a while at me, with a ghost of a smirk on his face, but before I can make up my mind about stepping out with him, the lift's doors close and I am left alone.

Not more than two minutes later my phone buzzes.

Liam: Here's my number :) Did you arrive home safely? Liam

I feel my heart jump as I read it. Most times IF I ever get a guy's number, nothing happens. They just forget about me or don't reply after one or two texts. I know I am just too fabulous for them.

But Liam.

Oh, Liam. He's the most gorgeous person on earth and he chose to flirt with... me? God only knows with how many other people he's been flirting but hey, do they have the advantage to live this fucking close to him, love Harry Potter and have gotten a nickname? (Kind of.)

I wait a few minutes before replying. Don't want to be too eager. I send him a simple 'Yes' with a happy emoji. I hope it's okay... I guess it must be, because there is a message not much later.

Good. ;) L.

I grin like an idiot at my phone.

*****

I am preparing my breakfast a week later when my mother tells me there is a letter for me. I frown as I take it from her; no one ever sends me letters. I do not recognise the elegant, almost too-perfect handwriting on the envelope, and I curiously open it.

The letter that slips out is peculiar, to say the least.

Written in the same hand as the envelope, the unnerving text is as follows:

Good morning, Nora.

As I write this letter, you have not yet been born, but I know that right now, you are in your kitchen, that your egg is close to burning and you are wearing a set of pyjamas you would describe as inelegant.

The reason for my writing concerns a certain person you have met not so long ago, and with whom you have started to build the foundations of a relationship.

It is very important that you encourage this relationship, although it is my belief that encouragement isn't strictly necessary in your case.

Now, as I assume you know who I am talking about, it will be essential that you keep him away from three things. I can not tell you directly in the form of this letter, however there will be clues that will be obvious enough to decipher.

Keep him away from these three. It is you, Marlene, who has to do this. It is written in the stars.

Yours sincerely,

Marcus Delacôte

I stare at the in blue ink written words, not knowing what to do with this. A joke, I think. It is probably a joke.

I know no person called Marcus Delacôte and I certainly do not know people who can see ahead of time.

And who calls me Marlene? The whole letter makes me feel uneasy, even though my mind dismisses it as a stupid joke, a schoolboy prank.

Then a terrible smell fills my senses.

My egg has burned.