The Slivers of Avalon: The Abandoned Edge

  * * * *

  Pure hell. That’s what I feel like Saturday morning the second I wake up. My temples are throbbing from not enough sleep—no one quieted down until maybe four am. and it’s only seven right now. I can’t shake this foreboding sense that is filling me. I have a long day ahead of me and not a clue how to start finding the answers I need.

  Using the coffee table for support, I pull my lazy, weak body off the sofa where I crashed. I wander to find an empty bathroom—not that hard of a task, considering everyone else is still passed out. I woke up early, which I’m used to. What I’m not used to is waking up with an empty mind. It’s strange—I don’t think I’ve ever not had a dream before. Not once in my entire life … until last night. I’m really wondering now what the hell is going on…

  Walking down the hall, I am aware that my mind isn’t even remotely free of the things in my dreams. I have a lot to figure out about last night. Heck, from the whole entire day yesterday. But mostly, the impossible, yet real dream that occurred by the pond. It’s all I can think of.

  Now, in the light of day, I am even more confused as to what’s real and what isn’t.

  I open the door of the first bathroom I find, making sure no one is snuggling with the toilet, and then I sit down on the edge of the bathtub, leaning back against the wall. I stretch my legs out and enjoy the quiet and the chance to … breathe.

  All I can do is stare at the ugly, brown plaid border someone had put up halfway down the wall, and think about how utterly odd things are.

  It’s pretty hard to believe that Andrew is an evil creature who is a part of my personal faery world. A world that supposedly exists only in my dreams. And also that he would want to hurt his friends—and mine. I’m not sure I can buy that.

  But I have seen that type of creature before and I know what they are capable of, which doesn’t mean good things for Andrew if all I experienced was real. Until last night, I’ve never had to interact with anything like that—especially not one who is my boyfriend’s best friend. Or ex-boyfriend. Or whatever. I don’t have a clue what’s what.

  Maybe my parents are right. Maybe I should see a shrink. My head is all sorts of screwed up. Eh. No way, that would make them too happy.

  Unable to think about this crap anymore, I stand up and open the medicine cabinet. After freshening up as best I’m able—I borrow some toothpaste and use my finger as a brush, having forgotten my bag in the car—I wander into the kitchen for a glass of water.

  And … I find Andrew there. Just brilliant.

  “Oh, hey. Thought I was the only one up,” he says when he notices me.

  “Nah, I’m an early riser. Have you seen Olivia? I have to get home.”

  OK. This is really weird. And scary. So was all that real or not? Why is he being normal? But he was normal last night after the fight, too. Maybe I was just seeing things. Shit, Alexis—stop talking to yourself and pay attention so things aren’t any weirder.

  I snap to and focus on Andrew. My heart is pounding against my chest so hard I swear it has to be audible.

  “Olivia’s still passed out, I’m sure. Everyone seems to be,” he tells me. “I’m about to head out, though. You want a ride?”

  No. I don’t like you, remember? You’re an ass. And who knows what else? Some crazy, psycho faery monster who wants to kill me, maybe…

  But of course I can’t exactly say that.

  I force a smile and accept his offer. What other choice is there? “Yeah, that’d actually be good. I have a lot to do around the house today. Can’t waste time here.”

  “All right then, let’s go. You got everything you need?”

  “Oh crap. My bag is in Olivia’s car. I hope she left it unlocked. I don’t wanna have to wake her up.”

  “How about we leave a note telling her we grabbed her keys and then hide them in the car? I kinda need to get out of here soon.”

  I shrug, considering, and then nod. I don’t see any harm in doing that. So Andrew creeps into Preston’s room and takes care of the note part while I get a drink of water and wait for him to come back.

  His footsteps arrive before he does, so when Andrew tosses the keys across the kitchen to me, I don’t scream and jump, or worse, get pelted. The two of us walk outside to his truck and I try to be as normal as possible. And even though my stomach is wrapped in knots that are squeezing it down to the size of a penny, I force myself into the cab. Too bad the feeling only grows—being stuck inside this small thing with godsonlyknowwhat Andrew really is…

  Some kind of smell—nothing like old food or gym clothes or anything—just a weird odor permeates the cab. At least it’s nice this morning so I can roll the window down. Which I do the second my hand can reach the handle. My stomach grows queasier by the second once he starts driving down the road.

  I point to my right. “Olivia parked down that street.”

  “Ah, I see her car I think. Red Vibe, right?”

  “Yep.”

  He pulls up next to it and I jump out, taking a few deep breaths while I have the chance. Olivia’s car smells like heaven compared to the nastiness that is Andrew’s truck. But I know I shouldn’t dawdle, so I grab my stuff and put the keys in the console, making sure the driver side door is unlocked before I get out and close it.

  Climbing back in the cab makes me want to retch, but I handle it like a big girl. Andrew and I attempt random small talk on the way, but mostly sit in uncomfortable silence.

  I know I really shouldn’t be mean to him—just like I shouldn’t be mean to Blake. Andrew’s being decent driving me home. But why is he doing it? What does he want—and who is he? A part of me thinks I just might be going crazy with all the nonsense in my head. And I wonder why I care how nice I’m being because he has been the problem between me and Blake and I can’t just ignore or forgive that. Not a chance.

  I’m becoming disoriented with my emotions changing from minute to minute. I feel all crazy hormonal, but I shouldn’t be. And even so, I’m never like this. Ever.

  To make things even worse, my extra sense, which normally only works on Hollie, kicks into gear. I know the same types of thoughts are running through Andrew’s mind. That he is sitting there picking me apart piece by piece. I just don’t understand why he cares about me in the least, though.

  We hate each other, right? So who am I to him?

  “Hell, I’m almost out of gas. Do you mind if we stop? I’m not sure if I’ll make it to your house and then back to a station.”

  Are you freaking kidding me? More time with him?

  “OK, no problem. I definitely don’t wanna do any hiking around today.” I attempt a laugh. It is true that I have absolutely no desire to run out of gas while with him.

  He picks the gas station just down the road and pulls up to the first pump, seeing as they are all free. He climbs out of the car and slides his credit card for authorization. As he is putting the pump in the truck, a guy walks up to him and the two start chatting quietly. Even though my window is all the way down and I’m trying really hard, I can’t make out what they are saying.

  I do notice the guy is damned good-looking, though. Sort of a pretty boy, which I normally don’t go for, but he is rugged enough to add some edge to his looks. Andrew is gorgeous and I can’t help but stare, but this guy has an even stronger effect on me. I didn’t know that was possible…

  Shit! I can only turn so many times and I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m looking in the mirror, so I’m glad when Andrew replaces the gas pump and the cap because he then steps forward toward my window to introduce the mystery man.

  “Hey Alexis, this is Sloane. He’s one of my buddies from the other side of town. Never went to school here or anything.”

  Sloane smiles at me with perfect white teeth and I allow myself a quiet sigh. I grin widely back at him (feeling a bit like a fool but unable to control my face) and I hold my hand out the window. When Sloane grabs it, I swear on the gods’ green earth I feel a shock. But it’s a good sh
ock. Like a jolt of electricity and excitement. He holds my hand a bit longer than necessary, which I certainly don’t mind, but then he lets go and says, “I have to head back, but it was great meeting you, Alexis. I hope to see you around again.” With a heart-stopping wink, he starts to turn back to Andrew.

  “Yeah. You too,” I manage to muster out, not even sure if he can hear me. I can’t stop smiling as the two guys say their goodbyes and Andrew walks back around to his side of the cab. When he gets in, I’m somehow able to force my face into a fairly normal expression. I am beyond grateful for this control.

  “So, how do you know Sloane?” I ask him, trying for complete nonchalance.

  “Just a family friend. We do some work together sometimes.” Andrew is putting off a vibe that more than announces he isn’t going to tell me anything else about the guy.

  “Huh, interesting.” Not knowing what else to say and not liking the feel floating around in the truck, I choose to stay quiet.

  And that’s how we stay for the rest of the ride, which is fine by me because with my crazy ups and downs about Blake, I’m having a nice time daydreaming about Sloane and his sexy smirk.

  Not soon enough, Andrew’s truck pulls up in front of my house. But at first I don’t notice since, in my mind, I am on the beach at night, walking hand in hand with his hottie friend. I shake my head to get rid of the image and grab my bags.

  Reluctantly, I turn to Andrew. “Well, the ride was … great.” I grimace inside as I say this. “Way better than walking. When you talk to Blake today, can you ask him to call me, please? I kinda need to talk to him.” I know I probably shouldn’t, but after last night I feel I need him. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know.

  “Sure thing. And no problem—being stuck without a car is no fun. See ya later.”

  “K. Bye.”

  I bounce out of the truck and slam the door behind me. Practically tripping in the process, I attempt to jump all five of my front porch steps at once, desperate to get as far away from Andrew as possible.

  Quietly, I unlock the door and creep inside. My parents were probably out late at some fundraiser or other function of the sort last night. There will be hell to pay if I wake them.

  Jeffrey&Diana (one word) or The Hodges, as people around here call my parents, are the type of parents who are more interested in their careers and social lives than the goings on in their daughter’s life. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t dislike my mom and dad; I actually kind of like them as people, but as parents they aren’t exactly the best.

  We’re not close and I wish we were, like when I was a kid. They had tried so hard to have a baby and I was their miracle, but now… I’m not sure what happened—I rarely see either of them, especially my mom. I feel like I’m simply a house-guest at times. An ignored house-guest.

  When I think about it, it really upsets me, obviously… I think of the times I went mini-golfing with my dad and we would ride the go-carts or when we’d go on picnics with a big groups of my parents’ friends who had kids my age. That type of thinking really gets me. So, I pretty much just try not to think about it. They live their lives and I live mine. That’s how I am with most things that bother me. Out of sight, out of mind. Mature, I know, but what can I do?

  But there is one thing I can’t help but think about. Blake.

  Oh, and Andrew. Can’t forget him … or his friend whom I must learn more about. Maybe if it doesn’t work with Blake— No, I can’t think like that. We’ve been together too long just to give up. But still, Sloane is one hell of a good option who won’t seem to leave my mind even when I try to force him out. And I only met him less than a half an hour ago! What is that?

  I trudge upstairs, careful not to drag my bag or my feet, which is not all that easy. Heading straight to my bathroom, I drop my bag just inside the door and I strip off the clothes that carry last night’s memory. I jump in the shower, hoping I can wash away my pain and confusion. No such luck. Instead, I find myself mulling over recent events and wondering how my life got to where it is right now—at this exact moment.

  Closing my eyes, I wishwishwish with all of my heart that I could just tell Blake why I am always running late. It’s one of the main things we fight about. But I can’t tell him. I’ve never told anyone. Just like something tells me to write down my dreams, I also know not to speak of them. I’m not sure why I can’t, but the warning is strong enough for me to heed.

  Loneliness sets in even more and my tears run down the drain with the water. And I’m not one to cry. Normally I take pride in thinking of myself as a tough chick.

  I am upset, for sure … furious, in fact … that my dreams, visions—whatever the hell they are, dictate my morning routine. And my relationship. It’s such an odd problem. But not one I can change. Well, unless this new not dreaming thing sticks around…

  With that as a glimmer of hope, I—or rather, my stomach—can’t stand thinking about these problems any longer—I need to do something about them instead. I step out of the shower and wrap one towel around my body and another, turban-style, on my head.

  Re-armed with the confidence I possessed during last night’s fight, I focus on getting ready, and fast. Grabbing my most comfortable (and most favorite-ist) pair of worn-in jeans and a soft, faded, grey t-shirt, I throw them on and go back to the bathroom. Stress is pouring out from the inside and I am positive it shows.

  Along with the out-of-place tension on my face, I also notice I am still wearing the necklace that had bothered me so last night. Strange—it isn’t doing anything now and didn’t again last night once I had it back on. It feels like any other necklace.

  For safe measure, though, I take it off and place it on the counter. I want it nowhere near me. Not until I have some idea as to what is happening.

  Looking in the mirror, something I tend to avoid, I pull the top part of my hair back, being careful to leave enough down for the soft waves to cover my Arwen-like ears. (Although any resemblance to Liv Tyler can’t be that bad, but still…)

  I actually really like my eyes—they match my dad’s—so I concentrate on bringing them out—making the intense color pop, and the whites look refreshed. My normal, super basic makeup does the trick, along with lots of eye drops to help me look more awake.

  “There,” I say aloud. I’m on the path to feeling human today.

  I grab one of my thirty-some-odd pairs of flip-flops, slip them on, and head down to the kitchen. I hope Bonnie is already awake. Some gut feeling, or maybe some newly honed senses, are telling me that Bonnie is the one and only person who can help right now. Just thinking about her makes my brain buzz a little and I feel we are connected more closely than I have ever realized.