FABLE

Chapter Nineteen

Pancakes. Pancakes with crispy bacon and syrup.

I wake up to the smell of my dad's Saturday morning specialty. The sudden pang of hunger literally makes me nauseous, as if I haven't eaten in forever.

What did I have for dinner last night?

My appetite is gone in an instant, as the events of the evening come back to me.

Oh yes, that's right. I didn't have time to eat. I was too busy having my clothes ripped off by a pack of psychotic girls.

And after I went to sleep... I had the dream, but it was different.

No. It wasn't a dream.

That was a memory.

My mind wanders to the shadowy shape in front of the bus just before we went over the cliff. I'd never noticed that before. I'm sure it didn't really happen. There couldn't have been anyone there. Just my dreaming mind adding little embellishments to my memories, as if the actual event wasn't already horrifying enough.

I pull the covers over my head, terrified of falling asleep again, but not yet ready to face the day.

It really happened. I met Felix Lockhart. I met Fable.

And I ran away.

I curl up into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut.

My one chance. And I blew it.

Moments later my mom calls out from downstairs.

"Ashling! Breakfast is ready!"

"I'm not hungry!" I yell, just as my stomach growls back in disagreement.

A few moments later I hear her quiet footfalls as she moves up the stairs.

There's a gentle knocking on the door.

"Ashling?" She says softly, "You have to eat. Please. You can't do this again."

After the accident, I struggled to eat for months. It was a partly due to post-traumatic stress, and the meds the doctor prescribed to numb it.

Mostly though, I couldn't eat because every bite of food made me think about how my friends would never eat again.

It only got better after I moved to Huntson High and made friends with Zee and Jamie and Grace.

Now my mother stands outside my door knocking softly against the frame, probably terrified I'm going to slip back to being that fading ghost of a girl trying so hard to erase herself.

I can't do that. For her sake.

"Ashling?" She murmurs again.

"I'm ok mom..." I say. "I'll be down in a minute."

When I get downstairs, I find my dad in front of the oven, pouring a ridiculous amount of syrup over plates stacked high with pancakes.

"We had a bumper night at the restaurant last night," my mom says as she sets the kitchen table. "Full house. I was worried when you didn't come and say hi after your set."

I decide to ignore her, choosing instead to sit down and trail my fingers over the wooden patterns rippling across our kitchen table.

The table was a parting gift to us from my gran, just three months before she passed away. At that time, we had no idea that she was sick. She carved the entire table by herself out of apple wood, complete with an intricate border of swirling apple blossoms and leaves and stars. The doctors told us she must have known she didn't have long. The table was her way of saying goodbye.

My fingers brush lazily over the table's minute valleys and rises, remembering my gran's smile as I watch my parents make breakfast.

The sunlight steaming in through our bay windows turns my dad's red hair a flaming vermilion. The same red as my gran's.

"How'd you sleep sweetheart?" My dad asks as I slouch down at the kitchen table.

"Same as always," I say. "Can I help with the table?"

"That's ok, it's under control," my mom answers, grabbing napkins and place mats from the cupboard.

"You just take it easy." She and my dad share a worried glance between themselves, which I'm sure I wasn't meant to see.

Jamie's right about everything. Everyone really does treat me like I'm made of porcelain.

"Your mother and I were thinking about visiting that new farmer's market in Pettygrove a bit later," my dad says. "The Carters said it was great last weekend. Feel like coming along?"

I'm tempted to make up an excuse. I could tell them I'm too tired. And once they leave the house I'd wrap myself in my duvet and cry for hours about the fact that I messed up and I'll never see the Fable boys again.

But telling them I want to stay at home would make them worry too much, so I nod my head and force a smile.

"Sure, sounds great," I say.

Besides, it's no use crying over spilled milk. I need to get on with my life.

Just then the landline rings.

My mom hurries out the room to answer, before calling out my name from the hall. "There's someone on the phone for you Ashling! A boy."

Oh joy. Back to reality.

I have band practice with Alix and Micah tonight.

Alix usually texts me about practice times on Saturday, but with my phone left behind at the stadium (hopefully in lost property by now) he's probably been trying to contact me all morning and decided to try the landline instead.

Mom brings the landline mobile handset to me. As she puts it in my hand, the barest trace of a shadow passes over her features, before she turns her back to me and continues setting out plates and coffee mugs.

I get up from the table and walk out into the hall for some privacy.

"Hey Alix. What's up?" I speak into the handset with false enthusiasm.

There's a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Who's Alix?" Asks a strangely familiar voice.

Oh my god. Could it be...?

"Felix?" I ask.