Noelani pictured above
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My mother always told me that Queens were never afraid to fail and that since I had the blood of Queens I shouldn't be either. As a child, it never occurred to me that was a peculiar remark, seeing as she had adopted me as a baby and shouldn't have known my familial history.
When I turned seven years old, my father nicknamed me Sea Queen, having taken me to the beach every weekend, driving out at dawn and arriving home at dusk. The smell of seawater filling my nose, the feeling of tiny pebbles of sand and rocks between my toes was one I would never forget, along with the sand in my scalp. Mom would spend hours, washing, twisting and combing through my hair, furious that I forgot to wear my swim cap again. Daddy would remind her that my crown of curls couldn't be held down by a meager piece of rubber.
Tonight, as I watched the sunset over London, I recalled the night my dad pulled me close and hugged me, whispering in my ear to be a good girl for Mom before heading to the car and starting up the engine, driving off into the night. Streaks over orange and yellow reaching out through the sky, the sun falling from its throne, submitting to the reign of the moon for the night. Winds blew past, tickling my cheek with the frost on my cheeks, pushing the hair from my face with a single blow.
"Noelani, you can't stay here all night." I looked over my shoulder, my braids whipping around, to glimpse a pair of concerned gray-silver eyes matched with knitting eyebrows that stared at me, filled with concern. "It's chilly out here, you're not even wearing a coat."
"It's not that cold out here, Alex," I shrugged slightly as I leaned back over the rail of the balcony, my head down as I took a deep breath. "I just need some time to breathe, you know?" My eyes looked up at the stars above, gleaming, spots of brightness in the consuming darkness. I felt Alex move next to me, her hair tied back into a ponytail and she rested her hand on top of mine.
"I'm here for you, Lani, you know that." She offered with a small smile which I returned.
"You'd think someone would have the guts to tell their girlfriend of a year that their attention was caught by their roommate," I responded quietly as I looked out ahead at the rooftops of buildings in front of us. I closed my eyes tightly, as I recalled the scene of walking in on my best friend and ex-boyfriend having a rather close moment. While he did break up with me this morning, or rather mention that we needed a "little break", it still hurt me. I blinked quickly as I shook my head.
I didn't want to cry.
"Hey, Kenny is messed up in the head. That's why his name is Kennedy, an ugly, misshapen head." Alex quipped names and was a fan of harping on them. "He certainly didn't deserve your heavenly mistiness," Alex finished nudging my side with her elbow and I laughed as she spoke in reference to my own name.
She kept true to her own name, Alexandra, to defend or protect. She definitely was my protector and had a second sense that seemed to ward off bad things and people, she wasn't the biggest fan of Kennedy when he first got with me. I inhaled a deep breath as my sadness came back, woven with memories, like a wave crashing against the beach. Relentless. Unforgiving.
"Are you willing to talk about what else is bothering you?" Alex asked carefully. There was no use denying it, she could read me like an open book. It was healthy to rant, to release the frustration I felt all day.
But I didn't want to cry. I wanted to keep my tear ducts sealed shut.
"The photographer decided to change his mind last minute, I was supposed to come in for a swimsuit line and when I arrived he said that he sent it in as a nude photoshoot." I began, before pausing. I bit my lip, trying to get my train wreck of thoughts into a sensible order. Alex was quiet, patient, waiting. "I showed him the booking and demanded why such a sudden and abrupt change. This then he started saying how I was so lucky to even have him as a photographer, and with my rather repulsive appearance with my 'raggedy braids'..." I trailed off as I recalled. Alex's hand tightened around mine, her lips were drawn in a tight line, with eyebrows creased.
YOU ARE READING
The Siren's Flute
Fantasy"My name is Noelani Brimland, and I am not your darling, sweetheart." - - - Noelani Brimland is an independent 22-year-old and lived a life most people would be jealous of. She had it all, money, respect, and a good career. Her job is slowly declin...