Chapter 3 - What a Way to Start a Day
Galen
The comments that always follow me every time I enter July’s apartment early in the morning subside as I close her door behind me.
The corridor of her floor seems never to be empty, no matter the time of day.
The faces are usually the same, but they always treat my presence as if they’ve never seen me before.
But today, I must have given them a majestic spectacle by rushing up the stairs and barging inside her apartment like Libera’s on fire.
Panting in the least disgraceful way possible, I cross the small living space, with its pale blue wooden kitchenette, past the sofa bed I sleep on at least once a week, and slowly open the door to her bedroom.
“Sof, you up?” I whisper in the crack between the door and its frame, hoping she is because last night I promised I’d wake her up for her appointment with Popplewish.
When not even an upset groan comes as a response, I walk inside, finding the room empty and the bed a tangle of sheets.
“July, are you in the shower?” I yell this time, but the door to her en-suite is wide open with no sign of steam or running water.
Odd. I sit on the edge of her bed, resting my right shoulder against the dark grey headboard to take in the mess we made last night when we decided it’d be tomorrow’s problem.
A couple of cardboard boxes lay abandoned on the floor, revealing the little food Sof didn’t manage to devour after her mission in Cleryce.
A surprisingly tall pyramid of plastic cups towers over a pile of clothes scattered on the floor, right next to several empty bottles of wine, more than two people should be allowed to drink in one sitting.
I run a hand over my face. “At least there is no bucket by the bed,” I mutter, closing my eyes and making myself comfortable, resting my head against the headboard.
I breathe in the sour smell of the leftovers and the lingering trace of Sof. The scent of her damp hair from last night’s rain, the orange pillow spray she swears does miracles against hangovers, and the aroma of the coffee she must have had this morning.
If my head is still spinning after the amount of wine we had, I bet hers is not feeling any less rough.
The room begins to blur and fade behind my heavy eyelids, and I would quickly fall asleep if it weren’t for the sudden, angry buzzing of a phone hammering at my brain.
In time, I crack an eye open to see it vibrating too close to the edge of Sof’s bedside table. My phone!
“That’s why you didn’t tell me you were heading out early,” I exclaim, leaping out of the bed and catching the phone before it hits the floor.
The phone starts aggressively vibrating again in my hand.
She’s just left my classroom. We need to talk. Plans have slightly changed.
As if that’s never happened before.
I check my reflection in the mirror above July’s desk. There are fresh scratches on my neck and one on my left cheek, a gentle reminder of how strong young Nistarei can be after they wake up without a soul. I touch the one on my face and wince. It won’t scar, but it does hurt.
And July’s last crop from yesterday was a particularly angry one.
She referred to Nistarei’s souls as stolen. I wonder when her mind will click and when she’ll come running, asking if she left me any last words.
I put the phone back on the desk, gripping its edge with both hands and let my head hang between my shoulders to stretch the muscles in my neck.
I study the chaotic array of random objects. “This desk is a mess,” I murmur, moving my gaze from a stack of papers to various books to a banana peel, and a half-empty glass of water nursing a dead leaf.
I lift my head to find my reflection staring at me. My hair is tousled and long enough for the echo of July’s voice to whisper in my head: I’ll chop it myself if you don’t.
I grin in the mirror as if she’s right before me. “Do I rearrange your desk and drive you mad when you find out I destroyed your perfect chaos?”
Another buzz interrupts my one-way dialogue.
Would you mind taking the time to reply to my messages?
P.
“Would you stop signing your messages when you are the one sending them from your freaking number?” I scoff.
I guess I can let P. wait a little longer, take my time to neatly reposition July’s books in alphabetical order, and throw away the banana skin.
“And what do we have here?” I ask of the corner of a large, thick envelope peeking out from under the stack of books. “Wait a minute…”
I know the stamp on the bottom corner. A cool breeze blows in from the window July left open.
My phone screen lights up again.
“For fuck’s sake, P.” I snap, snatching my phone and a hoodie, which I must have left on July’s chair days ago.
I’m out of July’s place so fast that the door slams, making more than one head turn. An entire corridor of Harvesters heading out for their day stares at me as I storm away, pretending the piece of clothing fits me perfectly.
Not my hoodie.