26. twenty six
twenty six
EZRA
My legs trembled more with each step I took closer to her door. My knuckles shook as I tapped the door three times. I heard a rumble from inside the room, as if a pair of women seemed to be bickering. Then, an unfamiliar face revealed itself from behind the door.
“Hello?” she asked with a raised brow.
“Hi. I don’t know if I got the wrong room. I’m looking for Lysandra.”
I examined her pale skin and sapphire eyes, which were a deep contrast to her raven-black hair. The more I examined her, the more I realized she’d also arrived with Lysandra from the States.
“I’m right here,” I heard her say before she pulled the door open. I caught a small glimpse of her room before I was completely captivated by her. I couldn’t help but admire everything that she was. Every piece of her was beautiful, I realized when I caught a glance into her dormitory.
A person’s room was a reflection of their mind.
Her section of the room had been dark and gloomy, but there were golden lamps lit atop her drawer and desk.
Lysandra’s bed was covered with a white and black duvet of flowers and vines.
Her desk had been organized with books stacked on the side, her typewriter at the center, and an electric candelabra perched on the wall.
“Ezra, meet my friend and roommate, Camille.”
“I’ve seen you around school. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first,” I said while extending my hand out.
“No worries.” A flicker of fondness flashed on her face as she shook my hand with vigor.
Lysandra stepped out of her room and made her way to me, but there was a certain tension about her demeanor. I tried to understand why. Could she possibly know that this was not just some friendly hangout, but my attempt to woo her and change her perception of me?
“Have fun. Don’t bring her home too late.” Camille smirked at Lysandra before the door clicked shut.
We sauntered through the hallways in silence. My mind raced with the millions of possible scenarios that could take place tonight. Would she reject me? Would she accept me? Would we still be friends even if I confessed that I felt something for her? Or would she avoid me forever?
She didn’t speak until we reached the paned windows of Blackthorn’s entrance. “So… where are we going?”
“How do you feel about going on your first-ever limousine ride?” I asked.
Her smile disappeared and was replaced with a scowl. “No.”
I simply grinned as I grabbed her hand, dragging her with me. “No! You can’t force me to get on that thing.”
“You’ll enjoy it, calm down.”
“I hate limos,” she muffled.
“You don’t actually mean that.”
“Okay, fine. I don’t. I’ve just never been in one, so that’s what I hate about them.”
I glared at her. She’d no longer been pulling her hand back and was walking at the same pace as me. Our hands remained intertwined. I looked at her; she noticed my questioning expression and let go of my hand.
We’re just friends, I reminded myself, for now.
My dark polished limousine had been parked near the fountain. Alfred had been waiting in the driver’s seat, his chin tilted as his thumb slid on his phone screen. I led Lysandra to the back seat door, pulling it open and allowing her entrance.
I tapped twice on the window, signaling Alfred to start the engine.
The limo ride was a bit awkward. Too awkward for my liking. Usually, we always had something to talk about. She looked out the window the entire time as the hills, valleys, gardens, and streetlights blurred past us. I watched her gaze. She’d been examining the scenery outside a bit too much.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m okay. I just… never imagined my life would be filled with such beautiful views. I’m used to dirty trailer parks, broken windows, smelly streets, and screams of anger.”
I had a horrible father. I lived a life of violence and remorse. But I never struggled in the same way that she did. If anything, she went through the worst of it, and that’s why I never dared to compare my pain to hers.
“That’s all in the past now,” I said. I didn’t know what to say, but I wanted to be helpful. What a sad attempt at trying to console the shadows that accompanied her.
She looked back at me lovingly. As if she was silently thanking me for presenting her a different perspective. But what she didn’t know was that she was the entire shift in my mind, she was the only view I needed for the rest of my life.
It seemed a bit forward, but I was certain of this emotion, this belief, this conviction that she was the one breath I’d been waiting to take.
“So, will you tell me where we are going?” she asked, raising a brow.
“Just wait, woman,” I said with gentleness.
Then, we arrived at the heart of Edinburgh.
The streets were lit by yellow lampposts.
The cobblestones beneath were coated with droplets of the afternoon rain of the day.
People strolled and conversed with one another.
There had been laughter echoing into the starry night sky.
Being part of this city, being part of the community, living in Scotland, had been the balm to my scars.
I felt at home; I didn’t believe the four walls and structure with my family crest was my home. Yet, these streets were.
I reached for the knob, pushing the rear door open and extending my hand out for Lysandra. She took my hand and stepping out of the limo. I bid Alfred farewell. Dismissing him for his break. “I’ll call you when we are ready.”
He nodded once before heading into the road.
“What are we doing here?” she asked tentatively.
“I think it’s time we take a break from all of the books, libraries, and scandals of the academy to enjoy on a joyful evening in the city. What do you think?” I suggested. Putting my hands in my pockets, letting out a breath that was visible under the lampposts.
“Good idea,” she exclaimed. “Lead the way, Van Dorren.”
We headed toward the nearest vendor cart. “Can I get a Scotch pie?”
The lady replied, “Yes. Coming right up.”
“What is a Scotch pie?” Lysandra asked.
“You’ll see in a moment.”
The vendor had given me a plate with a large piece of pie. I looked to Lysandra with a smile, our expressions had been completely opposite. Hers had been twisted in disgust as she eyed the heavy piece of bread that’d been on the plate. “That looks horrifying.”
“It tastes better than it looks, I promise.”
“I’m not eating that. It reminds me of tamales, and I hate tamales.”
“That’s like hating the pizza from New York,” I exasperated. “I happen to have tried tamales before, and they were banging.”
Lysandra’s lips pursed. Her eyes bulged and her cheeks creased, then she burst out laughing, holding her stomach.
“Haha, very funny,” I said, fixing the frames that sat on my nose. I knew that my British accent mixed with Spanish would be terrible, but since I met her, I’d been trying to learn a little more.
“I’m sorry, your Spanish is horrible.”
Ah, yes. We come from a long line of Dutch and British ancestry, mostly British, but I won’t bore you with my family history, that’s not what was important here.
“Don’t be like that,” I laughed. We’d begun to walk deeper into St. Andrew’s Square.
The small pond appeared beside us; I looked up and I found the tall monument of Henry Dundas staring back at me with dull, classical eyes.
Beneath the trimmed grass, there were whispers of an unforgotten history. “Come on, try it. Here.”
I grabbed a spoonful of the pie and held it up for her. She tried the pie and her nose only scrunched even more.
“Ezra, I’m sorry to break it to you, but that is disgusting.”
“No, it’s not. You are just not accustomed to the fine foods of Scotland.”
She chortled. “Oh, so now you deem me a peasant.”
“Okay, I did not say that,” I argued as I chewed on my Scotch pie. Once I gulped down the rest of my pie, I announced, “To me, you are a queen.”
Lysandra took a sharp breath as her cheeks flushed.
We continued to walk down the foggy paths of Edinburgh. The towers of the city had been tall and haunting. As I raised my gaze upward, it felt as though I would never reach the top of the buildings based on how grand they were. Black cabs drove near the sidewalk we’d been strolling on.
“How do you like it here?” I asked.
She remained pensive for a few moments. “I like it. It’s different. Being here has definitely been the change of scenery that I needed. I was so tired of seeing the same bland and colorless visions every morning.”
“Colorless because of where you lived or because of the life you had?” I asked.
“Both.”
“A few weeks ago, when you saw my dad and me…” For some reason, I couldn’t finish that sentence. “You mentioned something about your stepfather.” I could see her coiling into herself, wrapping her arms around her torso.
I’d attempted to spark dialogue between us about her sorrows before, but she immediately shut down.
“That’s not something I like to talk about.” There it was. Perhaps the pain was too great, but she had been the alleviation to mine. If only I could be that for her too.
“I’m just trying to help you out. You’re my friend, and I’ve noticed how sometimes you get troubled when we talk about your—”
“Truthfully, it’s because I feel so disturbed by everything I was put through. Like everything in my mind is unorganized, my thoughts run all day, every day. I can’t think clearly,” she explained. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
I sat down on a park bench; she sat next to me.
“I will take and cherish any thought, any piece of you. You don’t have to be afraid of speaking your truth.”
She smiled, but there was a slight downward twitch on her lips. Her brown gaze had grown shiny, and I saw the way she struggled to keep her composure.
“I’m scared that if I talk about it, I won’t stop crying.”
“Then don’t stop,” I replied, my hand resting on hers.
Instantly, her eyelids were inundated with tears.