My Funny Valyntine: Book One - The Pull

Chapter Ten - What a Difference a Day Made

i.

Knuckles rap on the door only moments after pulling the blankets over her head.

"Valyntine? It's eleven o'clock."

He's lying. He has to be lying.

"I thought you might want something to eat before the unpleasantness."

'Unpleasantness?'

"The coffee's just finished brewing."

Coffee?

Valyntine grunts her acknowledgment.

Latin's footsteps fade down the hall as Valyntine tries forcing herself up into a sitting position. Every muscle in her body screams in defiance, every ache an immediate and harsh reminder of the day before. The first moments of waking are like the desert – barren, clean of time or consequence. With every passing second, reality reveals the desert is a mirage, an oasis from the tragic reminders of the past.

There's a sharp intake of breath as Valyntine's feet find the cold floor. Moving across the hardwood, the events of yesterday bob to the surface – the Pull, her forced resistance while locked in the sitting room, her and Latin's flight from The Robin's Nest, the long journey to get here, and the bizarre lift that allowed them entry into this apartment.

Finding her clothes in a pile on the floor, still damp, Valyntine picks them up, setting them along the rail at the foot of the bed. After flinging the trousers, something heavy hits the hardwood next to her bare feet. Jumping back, startled, she looks down to see the timepiece. Her mind flashes to Tunisia's body on the floor of the dusty shop. She picks up the pocket watch and runs her fingers over the smooth metal.

Glancing around the room, half-naked and shivering, she spots a terrycloth robe, hanging on the back of the door, and reaches for it. After turning the watch over a few times, she places it on top of the comforter and heads toward the kitchen.

"Fuck!" Valyntine exclaims, lifting her arm to her eyes so fast, there is a soft thump of her terrycloth-covered forearm thudding against her forehead. Reaching the end of the hall, the windows lining the vaulted ceiling flood the room in a cascade of light. She waits for her eyes to acclimate.

Latin stands in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his right hand, his left flat on the counter, looking at her with a cocked smile on his unshaven face. He still wears the majority of the clothes from last night, his dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal a white undershirt, suspenders hanging at his thighs.

"Coffee?" he asks her.

She nods her head of short, pillow-mussed hair. He extends a large steaming mug out to her. She takes it from him, feeling a stab of guilt for missing her shift at Soul Sauce this morning.

"There's cream and sugar if you're-" Latin doesn't finish the thought, as Valyntine brings the mug to her lips. She walks from the kitchen to one of the many windows in the dining area. She stares out across the vast city, sipping her coffee. Scalding hot, she tips the cup anyway, letting it burn, scorching her throat on the way down. She lingers in the pain, the stillness, and the long view. Even under an overcast sky, the city stretches on for miles in every direction, a geometric landscape of sharp edges, concrete and brick, mortar and glass.

She has never been this high up before. Latin's apartment towers over all the other buildings in the area. She has to look way off in the distance, further north, to see taller scrapers. Valyntine lets her mind wander over the people in the North Borough. What did they do for work? Did they work? How did they acquire their wealth? What did someone do to be born into one of the Elite families; or one of the most powerful, one of the Compass Families?