f*******n love

Chapter 2

Anastasia O'Johnson sat bolt upright in her bed in downtown Los Angeles. She wiped her hand across her forehead, and found it was damp with cold sweat. She could still feel his arms around her, hear his words lingering in her ears. But he was gone. There was no one in the room, except her.

She swung her legs off the bed, and stumbled her way in the darkness to her bathroom. She flicked on the light, lurched towards the sink, and splashed the cold water in the basin onto her feverish face. The sudden ice-cold water on her skin felt too much like the mist she encountered in her dreams. She didn't like it. She didn't like anything that reminded her of... him.

She had never believed in dreams. She was the sort of girl who believes in reality. And, of course, because of her many passionate relationships with various guys, she never really believed in romance or love. No, the one who believes in those stuff is her mother. Her young mother, who was only seventeen when she had Anastasia, and at the youthful age of thirty-five, she was completely obsessed with her romance novels. Sometimes, Anastasia even doubted whether Helena O'Johnson knew she had a daughter. Well, even if the answer is negative, Ana still knows why. Her husband, Ana's beloved father, ran off with some trashy p********e from The Lounge three years ago and her mother had been in denial since. Oh, she provided everything for her only daughter, and gave her as much love as possible. If love means shopping every weekend and going for drinks every Sunday, that is it.

She looked up at the mirror, and saw that her blue eyes had darkened like a storm. Her face was pale, even paler than the previous nights when she had the dream. She pinched her cheeks, trying to get some redness in them, and then laughed at herself. Who did she think she was? Girls from the Elizabethan period?

"Anna?" Louis, her roommate for three years, poked his head in from the door. "You're okay?" She smiled, and brushed her brown hair back from her face. "Yeah, guess I am."

Louis took one look at her, then shook his head. He slipped in, shutting the door softly behind him.

"That was a tricky question. I heard you yelling from the living room. For goodness' sake, Anna, when are you gonna stop these bad dreams?"

"Hey, I didn't ASK for them." Anastasia gestured to the bed. "They just... Well, they're just stupid dreams. And they are just stuff my brain makes up. I can't stop them, you know." She shrugged.

Louis sighed, and walked over to her. He clapped a hand on her bare shoulder, and squeezed it tenderly.

"Look, if you wanna talk about it, you can always talk to me. I know I may not be the best shrink you can find, but..." He flashed her a smile. "You know you can trust me, right?"

She looked down at the hand on her shoulder. Then smiled faintly back at him.

"Of course."

His blue eyes twinkled at her, and he moved the hand on her shoulder up to the side of her neck, then cupped her cheek. He used a thumb to graze her lips, and she shivered unintentionally. He leaned close to her, and all Anastasia could see was his deep blue eyes, and his perfect lips, coming closer and closer. She leaned in too, feeling the heat on her face. Surely this isn't the time to... The telephone rang.

She jerked away from him, and hurried across the room to answer the ringing machine. Louis blinked, looking embarrassed, and lowered his eyes to the floor. She gave him a small smile, held up a finger and pressed her ear to the phone.

"Ana?"

"Mum?" She almost dropped the phone. "Yes, who did you think it was, the Pope?"

"Why are you calling in the middle of the night?"

"Can't a mother call her daughter whenever she wants to? Oh..." Realization flowed through her voice. "Am I, um, interrupting something? I mean, if there is a man in your all-too-empty bed, then..."

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Mum, this is the 20th century, it's not called a man in my bed anymore. It's called making love or fuc-"

"For the love of God, don't say the 'F' word." Helena's voice sounded panicked. "If you must, say a prayer afterwards. And don't try to change the subject, you do have a man in your bed then?"

"Mum, there is not a single one-"

"Oh my God, Anna, how many are there?"

"MUM!" Anastasia was almost screaming. "Mum, what is it?"

She heard a sharp intake of breath, then her mother spoke in a clipped voice. "Your father called me."

Anastasia closed her eyes in annoyance. "You can tell him to go to the seventh circle of hell for all I care."

"Anna!"

"What, what did he expect? We to welcome him back with open arms? Well, you may go and meet him, Mum, but don't get any ideas about me going to your little family reunion."

"Sweetheart, listen-"

"No, you listen, Mum. If you are going to fall for his pledge for undying love, you can count me out. I don't want a father like that bastard-"

"Anna, will you please shut the hell up and listen to me?" Helena screamed.

Silence, then Anastasia drew a deep breath.

"Sorry, I wasn't having a very nice time sleeping. What does he want?"

"He doesn't want to see me. He wants to see you. And it's not because of money or anything, he wants his daughter. I know how you felt about him, but I can promise you he isn't trying to get you or me back. He only wanted one day with you. He said he wants to explain things."

"And explain what, may I ask?" Anastasia said coldly, gripping the plastic receiver so hard that it was a wonder it didn't buckle. "Why he ran off with some young s**t? That he was so deep in debt that he is turning to us for money? Or explain why he disappeared for five years?"

Helena paused, then spoke in a calm, rational, a little pleading, voice, "He is your father, Anna."

Anastasia closed her eyes, and let the painful truth wash over her. Then she replied in a stiff voice.

"Mum, I don't give a damn who he is. As far as I know, he is a bastard who knocks you up, stays with you until his daughter is thirteen years old, then run off with a cheap s**t. He is not my father. And I am sure as hell not his daughter."

"Anna, please." Helena sounded tired. Anastasia imagined her squeezing her forehead together. "Would it kill you to just go out with him for a cup of coffee? You would never have to see him again. I promise."

She glanced over at Louis, who was seated on the edge of her bed, watching her with a frown. "Fine. I will think about it, Mum. Just... don't promise him anything, okay?"

"Don't worry, Anna. I will sort things out. But... really think about it, sweetheart. He really wants to see you."

Anastasia slammed the phone back down and squeezed her forehead together. Her head ached like hell. She put her hand to her forehead, and swayed on the spot. Arms caught her before she could fall onto the floor, and Louis gathered her into his arms and guided her back to the bed.

"You're okay?" He sat her down on the bed and bent low towards her. "Do you feel faint? Do you need aspirin? Tell me what to do."

She looked up at his darkly gorgeous face and shook her head. "I just need to... sit down for a minute and think about this."

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Ana." He brushed her bangs back tenderly. "God knows no one would force you."

"No, but it's what my mother wants." She nuzzled her face against Louis' cool palm. "And I love her so much that I would do anything for her."

"But that does not mean you have to do something you don't want just to please her." He caressed her cheek. "Don't be unhappy, Ana, it pains me."

She placed her palm above his and removed it from her face. She felt strangely excited by his touch, and hated herself for having such a strong reaction to her friend... who she never really felt anything except loving him like a brother. But ever since three years ago, when she first moved out at fifteen, he had insisted on living with her. Ever since then, he had been looking after her. But now, it seems that he wanted something more.

She looked up at him, and found that he was gazing at her with scorching green eyes. She stood up, and locked her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his shoulder. "Thank you." She whispered.

Louis seemed surprised, but he recovered himself almost instantly and locked his hands through her hair. "Hmm... who is feeling a little sentimental today, hmm?"

She smiled against his shoulder and drew back. He seemed disappointed.

"I am sorry I woke you up, Louis. I will be okay now. Go back to your Walking Dead." She shoved him gently towards the door.

"Well, I am not at all sorry you woke me up, though." He shrugged casually, still looking at her in a curious way. "Your screams are sure as hell more exciting than zombies eating people."

She gave her a playful shove, her dreams finally retiring to the back of her mind. "s******c bastard. Now will you please go, so I could get back my beauty sleep?"

He surprised her by running a finger down her cheek. "Sleep well, Anastasia." He whispered, as softly as the breeze blowing outside.

He was gone before she could reply.

He watched her through her bedroom window, his wings flapping slowly, keeping him in mid-air.

She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But she seemed to be in pain, in pain from the dream he sent her.

'Was it really a good idea to send her a Messenger?' He thought to himself, more than once already. He wants to keep me from her. It was our bargain after all. I would be able to stay with her if I keep sending her Messengers. But those dreams... they are killing her, eating her heart out alive.

'It is not your fault, Alexander.' Roger's voice spoke in his mind, connecting with his in a strong Mind-bond. 'It was his decision, not yours. He wanted her to forget about you, but you stopped him. You did the right thing, Alex. Don't blame yourself. She is sleeping peacefully now... because she is dreaming of you.'

'But she will never know the truth.' He thought painfully. She would never know why she kept having dreams of me. She would never understand the world she was supposed to be living in.

"Alexander, you knew the consequences of the choice you made." Roger said sternly, clear as a bell. "You chose to be with her. He chose her to be a victim. You were there for her, weren't you? Now let things go, Alexander. You did what you have to do."

Rage burned through him, causing his snow-white wings to flash red. I could kill him for what he did to her. To the both of us. Just because he is the lord doesn't mean-

"Alexander, there is NOTHING you can do to make her remember you, or our world. And if you want to live, you'd better man up and let her go. You are already permitted to see her whenever you want to. Isn't that enough mercy for you?"

He gazed at her face, so soft, so smooth. Exactly how he had remembered her a century ago. He remembered touching her cheek, how they flush with color every time it was caressed. He remembered making her laugh, a sound that was more beautiful than any sound he had ever heard before. But most of all... he remembered her promise. Her promise of loving him forever. Even though she knew she will forget him one day, her heart will always be his.

"Goddamnit, Alexander, stop it!" Roger cursed in their connection of the Mind-bond. Alexander could feel his companions rising anger. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't help remembering her. He couldn't help... falling in love with her all over again.

He beat his wings upward, the wings which had returned to their natural snow-white color. She had turned over in her sleep, her auburn hair spread all over the pillow, and he could hear mumbled words coming from her lips. Oh, God, he longed to go to her, he longed to put his arms around her, where they should be, and comfort her and tell her everything would be okay. Everything would be okay because they are finally together again. And because... because... he loved her.