~ Chapter 14 ~

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

I told my skipping heart to be quiet as I looked from the smiling Satsuya back to my now-black laptop screen, my lips probably in a twisted mangle of a smile that was trying to hide my embarrassment.

You decided not to get involved with anyone again.

Remember your ex?

He seemed nice—until he wasn’t.

Or had he seemed nice? Looking back, I could see a multitude of red flags that I hadn’t seen before: always trying to make my choices for me; always trying to tell me what I was thinking or feeling before I could decide; making negative comments about my appearance or what I was doing, but sugarcoating them to make them seem like complements; not wanting me to talk ill of him ever. Even when I’d first met him at one of my parent’s parties, he’d casually berated my work as a romance novelist, saying it wasn’t ‘real writing’.

Why had I liked that guy in the first place?

Well, he was deemed socially acceptable—and he did give me plenty of attention.

Wrong attention, but still.

I chewed on my inner cheek before grinding my teeth. My ex’s stupid, pretty-boy face popped into my mind, and I mentally pictured myself throwing that face a punch. Pretty-boy went flying back into the recesses of my mind, and I sighed.

Pretty-boy was the first real boyfriend I’d ever had, and may very well be the last. We had met in my latter years of high schooling—years which both did and didn’t count so far as romantic attachments went, considering most people parted ways once their schooling was done. Looking back, I had probably only stayed with him because it was easier than trying to find someone else. It was far less complicated to simply go through the motions of a relationship, to have someone available only when you wanted them or needed them for events. I couldn’t honestly remember a decent conversation we had shared pertaining to anything but parties and the Uni Update. Maybe my lack of actual love was why my last few books hadn’t sold...or maybe I’d given up on the idea of actual love somewhere along the line, and it had begun to show in my writing.

It was a depressing thought, especially for a romance writer, though it might have some honesty to it.

In that case, could mentally entertaining my tiny, possibly developing crush on my next-door-Uni help me to write again?

No! Yuuki would kill you if she heard you thinking that!

The young girl really must have been asleep, seeing as she hadn’t burst through the door behind the bar and tried to stab me yet, or throw so much psychic energy at me that I had a brain aneurism. But if my stupid brain kept going in this direction, she would hear my thoughts eventually. I needed a mental leash, something that might very well be impossible for me.

But, if I valued my life, I had to make it possible.

You don’t have a crush. You just think he’s nice.

You’re just looking for something comforting and familiar, because your world has been turned upside down.

I nodded along with my thoughts, mentally agreeing.

You don’t have the time or energy for a romantic entanglement, either. You’re kind of on the run for your life, you know? Without the running part. Yet.

Not to mention I didn’t know Satsuya very well. Though, technically we were sort of play-dating, I supposed, since the Conscious thought we were involved...

And I could admit that he was cute, at least.

Wait—he is?

It was funny, since I hadn’t thought so at first. When I’d walked into The Red Bar earlier today—gosh, so much had happened—I had thought Satsuya was average, just shy of cute, like someone who had almost scored ninety percent but hadn’t quite made it. How could my opinion of someone change that quickly? Was it because I knew something about him now? Or because he had saved me from those Uni?

God, this isn’t going to be some sort of Stockholm thing, is it? Though technically I’m not a captive.

No, maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe my skipping heartbeat wasn’t from a tiny crush at all, even if the sunglasses wearing Uni was cute. Maybe the reason my perception of him had changed was because we were becoming something like friends, just like me and Mr. Alessi (who was also cute, though definitely not in that way—more like an ‘oh, look at my adorable uncle who uses lace tablecloths to keep the memory of his wife alive, all while being a support for the rest of us’ kind of cute).

“Ivy?”

Yes, that had to be it. My next-door-Uni wasn’t crush material, though he did seem to be a nice guy, minus the dangerous Uni powers and his unwanted involvement with the crazy Conscious and the hints at a past that involved killing (though, considering who was chasing him, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised). If this were one of my stories, Satsuya wouldn’t be the romantic lead. The leads in romances were always freakishly attractive, and there wasn’t anything wrong with that; I wasn’t against a bit of fan service, as long as it didn’t overtake the story. But Satsuya also had something that most romantic interests didn’t, and that was blatant honesty. Maybe for a writer, that was an attractive quality?

“Ivy?”

So, wait, does that mean I have a tiny crush on his sense of honesty, or am I really, really overthinking things?

I am so confused.

No wonder I can’t write!

“Um...Ivy?”

It finally processed that someone was trying to talk to me. I looked up—one hand hovering over my keyboard and the other half-hovering over my mouth—to see the object of my thoughts standing next to my table, a tray balanced on his hand, something delicious looking and bubbly sitting in the glass atop it.

I blinked owlishly as my heart rate increased its speed.

Wait a minute, he didn’t even say anything blatantly honest! Quiet, you!

“You seem to be concentrating pretty hard, though your computer screen went blank, so I’m not sure how much work you’re actually getting done.” My next-door-Uni’s lips quirked into a tiny grin, and I resisted the urge to throw a napkin or something at him (not that I had any on my table).

There’s the blatant honesty.

Okay, heart, you’re excused.

I looked from Satsuya to the drink he was carrying and back again. “Writers tend to space out. It helps us fix plot holes and think of what to do next.” I sniffed, just a little bit superior, though that was definitely not what had been happening here.

“I see. I hope I didn’t interrupt you, then.” Guilt stabbed me as Satsuya set the glass he’d been carrying on my table, where the ice from a lonely, long-ago soda was turning to water. “I’m about to go on break, so I brought you this. You looked like you needed something. It’s one of Mr. Alessi’s concoctions. It has chocolate in it.”

I looked at the fizzy drink—which looked like a chocolate cream soda, only with a faint red color—and swallowed, resisting the urge to down it. “Um, I’m really grateful, but I don’t drink alcohol.” I laughed—or tried to, though the sound quickly deflated. “I’m, uh, kind of a lightweight. And you don’t want to hear my already overactive mouth when it’s been fed alcohol. It’s torture for everyone, I promise you.”

That was putting it mildly, as the last time I’d drank alcohol (one of the three times total), I’d spent what felt like half a day vomiting both words and my insides, and I’d only had one drink.

Of course stupid pretty-boy ex-boyfriend had quickly vacated the area, leaving me to suffer alone. I mentally punched him again, wondering if this would become routine for at least a little bit.

Satsuya chuckled in a non-depreciating manner, spinning the serving tray on a finger in the same way Mr. Alessi had before. Completely unfair. “Don’t worry, Ivy. I figured that might be the case, so the drink isn’t spiked. But if you don’t like it, I can make you something else.”

I picked up the glass, giving the straw a whirl. “Aren’t you supposed to be on break?”

“It’s fine. It’s only fifteen minutes.” Satsuya shrugged as he tucked his now empty tray under his arm.

Isn’t that all the more reason to be spending your break, you know...breaking? I thought as I took a sip of the fizzy drink I’d been given—and resisted the urge to cry.

It was so good. Heavenly. Chocolate and...I think raspberry? Second only to coffee.

“I take it back. I don’t think you’re the god of coffee—you must be the god of drinks! This is soooo good!” I praised before taking another sip.

“I’m not sure how well I like that title, but I appreciate the praise. I’m glad you like it.” Satsuya shrugged. “Good luck with your writing. I’m thankful your laptop wasn’t harmed earlier. Mr. Alessi says you’re penning another bestseller.” He went to leave, and I experienced a moment of panic.

“B-But I’m not writing!” I half fell out of my seat as I turned, feeling like I owed him some honesty; or maybe I just wanted to complain to somebody. Satsuya stopped and looked back at me in surprise, but the other bar patrons didn’t mind my outburst. “I was excited to write earlier, but now that I’m trying to work, I can’t seem to type a thing. Well—nothing good, anyway!”

It was frustrating. Even after I had finally decided I wanted to write, remembering why I thought writing was important, the words were like gremlins that kept scurrying around out of reach, even though there were plenty of them to pull into a story. I had answered why I wanted to write, but not what. There was yet another wall before me.

Satsuya regarded me for a moment before he said, “I’ll be right back.”

“...okay.” Guilt attempted to strangle me yet again as I sat back in my chair and waited for him to return, nursing my drink.

I didn’t want him to think all I did was complain, because that wasn’t the case. It was just—

For the first time in a while, writing or not writing feels like life or death, and that makes me excited.

It makes me feel alive, like something is normal, even if...

Satsuya returned before I knew it and handed me a rectangle—that is, a writing book, its cover humorously bearing a drawing of a journal. I took the worn leather carefully, and he added a matching pen.

“If you can’t write on your laptop, maybe you should try writing by hand.” Satsuya suggested, stuffing his own hands into his pockets. “I mean, I’m not a writer, but maybe a change in how you work will help. It seems like you really want to get something done. Maybe just write whatever comes to your mind, even if it’s not what you normally write?”

I stared at the journal, strangely touched. It hadn’t been written in, but it was clear from the worn edges that he’d had it for a while. It wasn’t a brand-new, shiny gift like I was used to receiving, but it had more thought behind it than the revealing outfits my mother often bought, the gift cards my father remembered months after a present was actually supposed to be given, and the suggestive lingerie my ex had always shoved at me.

“Thank you.” I told myself I wouldn’t cry, even though I was feeling a little overwhelmed; no, this time it wasn’t the day’s events, just me. “I’ll give it a try.” I offered Satsuya a nod, and he returned it before resuming his break.

As I opened the writing book, I silently asked it what story it wanted to tell. And as I put pen to paper, the image of the journal on the cover came to mind, along with a face—no, two faces: sisters.

I began to write.