Clara
I stare at the cup of lukewarm coffee infront of me while I check the time.
Why am I feeling anxious? It's just a simple meeting. I didn't need to run out of the house, get in the car, and drive here myself for it. If I had told my family that Zach had asked to meet me, I'm sure they would have understood and even asked the driver to drop me at the café.
But one call from Zach and the serious tone of his voice had me running downstairs and out the door. After changing into a cute outfit, of course.
I was just...in a hurry, and my mind was overflowing with curiosity. Brimming since our little evening escapade in Spokane, thoughts tangled together in threads of meaning and meaninglessness alike.
"Clara, sorry I'm late."
I quickly get up, almost knocking over the cup. Zach's walking toward me from the counter, black helmet tucked under one arm, the other raised in a half-wave.
"Did you wait long?" He asks, and I shake my head. "Not at all. I just got here."
He settles into the purple leather booth and places the helmet on the table.
"Quite an eventful day, huh?" I say casually, as my finger fidgets with the cup handle.
"To call all that 'eventful' is an understatement " He smiles, looking at me with his gentle forest green eyes.
Once, maybe, I would have searched myself for the telltale flutter. Once, I would have held my breath and wondered if it meant something more. But there was no rush beneath my ribs, no dizzying skip in my pulse. Not now, not when he smiled at me across the table, not even when he trailed beside me in shops. I wanted clarity—needed it—so I invited him shopping, of all trivial things. I thought perhaps the hours, the laughter, and the rhythm of old familiarity would rattle something loose inside me.
But it didn't happen.
He studies me for awhile, before his permanent smile seems to falter as he sighs and leans back. "I'll just cut to the chase since you must be curious about all this."
I say nothing, just lift the cup to my lips. The espresso is bitter and cold, but it gives my hands something to do.
"My dad insists we get into a relationship. A long-term one."
I nearly choke. The cup clinks too hard against the saucer as I set it down, coughing.
"Wait...what?" I stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to clear my throat. I never would have expected to hear those words from his mouth. So out of the blue. "And… what did you say to that?"
His hand moves instinctively to his chain, twisting it—a nervous habit I've seen a hundred times.
"I didn't know what to say at first. I'm fine with whatever, honestly." He says with a shrug, and I narrow my eyes at him. "I wanted to ask your opinion on the matter."
That's the worst answer he could have given me.
"I don't understand." I say, trying to wrap my head around his words. "My opinion? What about your own? ...Do you even like me in that way?"
He looks away, abit uncomfortable and I know my answer right there and then. "Do you think I wouldn't be loyal?"
He would definitely be loyal. A long-term relationship that might lead to a future with him. But...it's all forced. He couldn't say no to his dad, so he came to me. He isn't denying or agreeing to it unless I say so. To make sure I have a say in this. And for me to make the final decision. I think back to how our fathers were talking about this at my birthday party.
"So, Clara Austin." He leans forward, trying to sound as sweet as possible. "What do you want to do? If you agree to it, we could go out once this whole mess is over. If you deny, I'll tell him about our decision."
Our decision.
There it is. His opinion. He doesn't want to go through with it.
A waitress walks over, placing his coffee on the table. Zach smiles politely and thanks her.
I think about our future selves. Like I used to fantasize.
Us, together in our little home. Days spent filled with happiness and love. I imagine him coming home, and me opening the door and wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. And I'll drag him into the living room where our families will be, enjoying their visit. The atmosphere will be filled with nothing but joy and laughter as everyone has a good time.
I look really happy in there. Just one word and it could all come true. But I don't feel it. It all feels...hollow. And empty. And forced.
Because...he isn't in it.
"I...can't." The words spill out of my mouth before I know it. And I don't regret them.
"Are you sure?" He confirms.
I take a deep breath and look him straight in the eyes. "I used to have a crush on you." His eyes widen in surprise, but I don't stop.
"I...thought it was a crush, but I don't think so. I just admired and envied you. You had everything I ever wanted. Love, happiness, warmth, and positive outlook on life. I wanted to feel the way you did—to love the way you did. And I thought being with you would give me that. That it would fix everything wrong inside me."
I look down at my hands, tracing the rim of my coffee cup, gathering the words.
"You glowed in a way I never knew how to. I thought if I stood beside you, maybe I'd glow too. I...thought if we were together, I'd be content with life."
I smile as I feel all confusion wash away from me. Every conflicted feeling I had became clearer. "But now I realize...we can't choose who we fall in love with. No matter how much sense someone makes on paper, it doesn't mean they're meant to hold you."
The silence that follows stretches longer than I expected. Long enough for doubt to creep in. Long enough for the heat to rise to my cheeks.
Oh no.
My voice comes out muffled as I bury my face in both hands. "Say something, will you? This is already embarrassing as it is."
He lets out a soft laugh. "Well… that was the kindest rejection I've ever received. I feel spiritually enlightened."
I groan into my palms. "Zach."
"Really," he says quickly, still grinning. "It was a good one. I assure you even my own parents don't think that highly of me."
I start to rise, needing to flee before the embarrassment swallows me whole. "If that's all—"
"Wait—sorry, sorry!" He laughs, reaching out to stop me. "Sit down. I promise I'm done. No more jokes."
I hesitate, then slowly ease back into my seat. I keep my eyes on the floor, hands curled into the sleeves of my sundress. My chest still feels tight.
He glances out the window with a pained expression and cracks his knuckles. "I'm...sorry for that day at campus. You were trying to open up to me, and I didn't take you seriously. Even gave you some lame half-baked advice."
"You were just trying to help, as always." I reassure. "Like now, you're helping me and Alister with this whole situation. Putting yourself in danger for us."
His smile slowly seems to falter as he avoids eye contact.
Something's wrong.
He lets out a breath, quiet but heavy. "People aren't that black and white, Clara. And I'm not really as… benevolent as you make me out to be."
"What do you mean?" I lean forward, my curiosity starting to peek.
He stares down at his cup, fingers curling around the ceramic like it's anchoring him. "You remember how my mother died, right?" He asks, and I nod.
"She tried to save a kid in the middle of the road but got run over." He says, looking away. "She was a great woman. The kind of person who'd bake cookies for kids that didn't even live on our street. And then she… she throws herself in front of a car for someone else's child. That's who she was."
"You...don't need to talk about it if you don't want to." I offer, suddenly wishing I hadn't pushed.
He glances up at me before continuing to stare at the cup. "There was a blood pattern," he murmurs. "Right next to her hand on the road. Just a smear, y'know? until..." his pupils seem to dilated, as he turns to me. "I saw that book you guys found. With its unique language. And turns out, it wasn't a pattern, but a message."
"What message?" I lean forward again, being at the edge of my seat.
Zach doesn't answer right away. Instead, he pulls out his phone. The screen lights up as he taps through a few things, then angles it toward me.
"I've been… talking to Rubecca about it," he says quietly. I lean in, watching as he opens a chat thread. Her name is saved in his contacts—Rubecca (weird witch doctor).
The messages are casual, surprisingly so. Their exchange is littered with sarcasm, jokes, and sprinkled with facts about the artifact book. Then he scrolls up—past a dozen messages—until he stops at a photo.
It's jarring. The image is raw, too vivid for comfort: a bloodied hand sprawled across wet pavement. But my eyes are drawn to the shape next to it. A smear of dark, half-dried blood, but the lines... they aren't random. They twist and bend in a way that feels too familiar.
"She said it means 'Run'" he explains, pulling the phone back. "Nothing makes sense. The guy who drove away got arrested. Maybe it WAS just a simple blood pattern, but...I have a strong feeling it's all connected."
I lean back. "What are you planning to do?"
"For now, I'm just going to help you guys. But I'm also going to look more into the book. And investigate into what happened." He finishes his drink and sets down his cup.
I nod slowly. "We'll help you too." There's more certainty in my voice than I expected. "Whatever you need."
He winces playfully. "Sure. But don't tell Alister. He might use it to as blackmail against me for some reason."
I open my mouth to object but then realize he's right. Alister would definitely do that. He likes holding power over anyone with connections.
Zach stands, brushing invisible crumbs from his jacket. "Well, that's my selfish reason for helping you two. It may not be as alturistic as Stephanie's or as fate-bound as Simon's, but… it is what it is."
I blink. "You know that about hers?" My voice drops, startled.
His gaze softens as he looks down at the floor, hand covering his mouth. "I know everything about her." Then he glances up at me "in a good way, of course."
I sit here staring blankly at the table as he leaves, taking in that information.
How did I never notice!?
I take a long, weary sigh and let my head fall onto the table, cheek pressed against the wood.
What a mess.
I'm too tired. I don't want to think about anything for awhile. There's a lot going on behind the scenes that we just don't know.
I pull out my phone, and call Alister.
"Hello?" He sounds just as tired as me. I'm guessing he didn't get any sleep on the way to Seattle, seeing as how he woke me up everytime the nightmares took hold.
"Hi." I answer as I feel my lips instinctively curl up. Letting myself enjoy the warm feeling in my heart.
"...what is it?" He asks suspiciously, after I don't say anything.
"Nothing." I nudge my coffee cup, twirling it on the saucer with the tip of my finger. "What are you up to?"
He exhales hard through the speaker. "What do you want?"
"Just felt like talking. I'm at the Lilac Café on Maple Street, by the way."
"Is it anything important?"
"It could be," I tease lightly. "Are you busy?"
"Yes." And then he hangs up.
Jerk.
The entire drive home, all I can think about is punching him. My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I wait for the traffic light to turn green, jaw tight, breath short.
I thought he'd be nicer to me now. Seeing as how it looked like my words definitely had an effect on him at the mansion.
I smirk as I glance at the rearview mirror.
Not only was I able to get Lev to warm upto me, which will now make him more obedient, but I also managed to make Alister feel guilt and shame.
I feel a wicked little laugh rise up in my throat. Now he'll remember my words every time he thinks of hiding something from me. What a delight.
Still, I understand why he did it before. Hiding the fact that he saw Leora possess our gems in the memory transfer ritual. It's a good thing, I suppose, that he didn't expose this to those two devotee women. If they knew Leora was in here, they wouldn't have helped with the spell to get rid of the curse that might erase her completely.
Plus...seeing how close Zach has gotten to Rubecca, I'd be worried he doesn't let anything slip accidentally.
Still, could his mom really be connected to all this? I can't imagine what he might be going through. He's usually so nonchalant. Even today during our mission. It didn't seem like anything was bothering him.
I sigh as my foot slams on the accelerator.
I feel terrible. Did I really not see that he was going through something? Or does he hide his problems that well?
Ugh, why am I surrounded by such guarded people? One will just be all moody about something, and the other will rather hide it behind a smile. Why can't people just be open? Tell me their problems. Tell me they need me. That I could help them.
That I'm a supportive friend. That my existence has value, beyond... whatever I'm told.