SEVEN
Amy
It is strange how things change. Suddenly. Then slowly. Until everything is different. Until nothing is as it used to be.
I couldn't claim to have felt the same confidence about my choice as I had felt when Drake was still with me. As soon as the bus pulled away, the swirling discomfort filled my belly. It grew and spread with each stop, each new place, every new bus, then train.
And it became the biggest part of me the moment I emerged from the labyrinth of Pennsylvania Station and onto the streets of the city I had decided long ago would be my home.
If I was being honest, it was a decision based mostly on some reruns of TV shows I had watched based in the city.
Even if it was also a smart decision safety-wise.
I had spent my entire life dreaming of starting over, of becoming someone new, not just Declan and Opal Winters' daughter. Not just the replacement of two children run off in their youth. Not just a playing card in a game I wasn't allowed to hold a hand in.
I could be anyone.
That was an idea that had kept me awake late into the night in my childhood bed, dreaming of what I could do, say, wear, who I could talk to, what I could experience that I had - thus far - been protected from.
As though there were anything in the universe more dangerous for me than being under my mother's watchful eye.
But as I stood there, shoulder ramming into mine, making me stumble forward, reminding me to move out of the way, that not everyone who stepped off the train was in the middle of some existential crisis about the utter vastness of this new place, the shock of the crush of people everywhere, the sounds that were both natural and not, and all building together in a symphony of discomfort, making my shoulders curl upward toward my ears as though I could block some of it from assaulting me at once.
I had moved a few feet to the side, leaning back against a wall, keeping my head ducked so the man with the eyes pried so wide that you could see all the whites who was yelling something about some apocalypse didn't decide that I would be as good an audience as any, and tried to pull it together, tried to remind myself why I was there, that this was my only choice, that sometimes dreams were scary when they were finally coming true.
And I also tried to pretend that there wasn't a deep well of insecurity, loneliness, this irrational urge to run back, to find Drake, to beg him to come with me, protect me from all the people with the crazy eyes, all the shoulders that would knock me onto my face on the filthy sidewalks.
But I couldn't do that.
Go back.
And I couldn't have his protection.
He was too busy making his own dream come true.
I had no right to even ask him to give that up. As though he would even consider doing it.
For me.
The daughter of the man and woman who had kept him captive for so much of his life, who had rejoiced in his pain, in his helplessness, who benefitted from the work that left his body drained and sore every night.
I was alone.
Utterly, completely alone.
I wasn't sure I ever had been.
I may have always felt alone even when surrounded by others, but I had never been allowed to be on my own for any length of time.
It was normal to feel scared, to feel uncertainty, to wonder if this was a mistake.
I had no one to lean on but myself.
I was going to need to become comfortable with that.
Unsure what to do next, I had found myself in the local library, understanding that the whole world was at my fingertips there. Once I figured out how to use the computers, that is, a skill that definitely took some getting used to.
I found apartment listings.
I called the numbers with a cell phone I had picked up on an outdoor cart.
I went to see it.
I put down a nice little chunk of my savings on it.
But then it was mine.
All three-hundred-seventy-five feet of it.
Mine.
Utterly.
No one could tell me how to decorate it, what to do within it, when I had to be inside it. I could come and go as I pleased. I could pull the bed down from its contraption in the wall and sleep whenever I wanted to.
For the first few days, that was what I did.
I stayed in my apartment.
Sleeping.
Only slipping out to grab food from the market.
Then I slowly ventured out.
I found a place to buy clothing, to buy dishes and utensils, to get bedding and toiletries.
And then, finally, on Sunday, I made my way down to the museum. I waited in a line full of cranky kids and their flustered parents.
I walked around, taking in the history of the human's realm with relish before finding myself in front of the giant dinosaur I had told Drake and Jasper about in my note, watching the bodies move around me, an endless sea of faces. And not one of them belonging to someone I cared about.
I left later feeling an unstoppable amount of disappointment.
The next month was much the same.
But I got some houseplants.
I got art for my walls.
I found a place that sold little creatures as pets to humans. And I asked for a job.
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months.
And I slowly learned to love this new city of mine, to feel like a part of it instead of an outsider.
Enough so that I could give the tourists with the bulging eyes and ready cameras a small, amused smirk, remembering when I, too, was so fascinated by everything around me.
Before I got used to it. Before I learned how to move with the crowd so they didn't trample me.
Before I figured out how to get from one place to the next without getting lost five times.
Before the other things about my new home took that sheen of wonder off the surface.
The homelessness, the crazy people on their soapboxes, the unpleasant and constant stench of garbage, the way no one seemed to genuinely care about one another.
Except for maybe my new super who took perhaps too much interest in me, in the fact that I lived alone, that I was young and clearly naive to some things.
But I wised up quickly.
I voraciously took in every little bit of information I could to appear as though I fit in with them, that I had never been anything other than a human.
I put an extra lock on my door.
I learned to become friends with a little loneliness.
And as the three-month point came and went, I started to feel it.
A small bloom just trying to break through the dirt to be able to spread and blossom.
Just a seed of happiness given the right combination of elements to grow.
It would be okay.
I was sure of it.
I would meet more friends.
I would get a bigger apartment eventually.
I would create a life for myself.
The kind I had always dreamed about.
"I want one!" A child of maybe four demanded from beside me, pudgy hand lifted, finger pointing to the giant dinosaur I had gotten very familiar with over the past few months.
I was starting to regret being quite so specific in my note. I could have named a wing of the museum instead, given myself some room to roam.
But there was no changing that now. And I had a long human life ahead of me standing at this very spot every single Sunday.
As I stood there, my mind wandered as it so often did with nothing else to do but eavesdrop or memorize the signs around me.
And as they seemed prone to do, my thoughts drifted back to a warm body, protective arms, hands sifting through my hair, lips claiming mine, body pressing me into the mattress.
It was an image that woke me up many nights, leaving me tossing and sweating, all-too-aware of my hollowness, trying to think past the heaviness in my chest, the clawing need in my core.
Need.
But, more specifically, need for him.
I lived in a place with millions of men, had more than a few speak to me each day. I could have gone out with one of them. I could have gone home with one of them, done away with this unyielding desire.
But no matter how attractive they were, how charming their smiles, how slick their words, there had been nothing. No pull. No desire to know more. No aching for their touch.
It would change, I promised myself.
One day.
The memories would fade, taking with them the need for his hands on my skin.
Then I could feel for someone else.
We'd shared a lot in a short time.
It was normal that I felt attached, that I felt plagued with the loss of it.
Looking down at the cell phone in my hand - one that I usually kept in my purse to avoid the headaches it so often gave me - I realized my time was two minutes shy of being up.
Letting out a held breath, I tamped down the familiar disappointment, reminding myself how different time was there.
Even if Jasper had gotten the note already, it had likely only been a few days.
Surely not enough of them for him to figure out how to get safely from the Seelie Court back to the human realm.
I had to be patient.
Someone would come someday.
I wouldn't always be alone.
I turned to make my way back toward the exit, finding my upper arm snagged in a fierce grip, hard enough to send a stinging across my skin.
My breath hissed inward even as I felt a warm breath down by my ear, something that sent a swirling discomfort through my system.
Surely no one would try to mug or assault me here. With the cameras. With the crush of people all around.
"Duck your head, keep your mouth shut,and walk with me," a voice demanded. Cold. Detached. Confident.
A King's voice.
Or, perhaps, a to-be-king.
I swallowed hard, having to actually bite into my lip to keep it from trembling.
All I could think was They found me.
"Unless you want my father to find you," he added, making my head whip around slightly, just barely able to make out a strong jawline and the outline of a black shirt. "You don't want him to find you, Amethyst," he added, fingers digging in deeper as he pulled me a few feet to the side with him.
The panic must have been in my eyes, in my face, in my tense body. Eyes drifted over, brows drawing low, sizing up me and Jet and the way his fingers were seizing me.
"Smile and act happy. We don't need a crowd," he instructed as he pulled me a few more feet.