Miles Within Constellations

Prologue-1-3

“Here, put ice on the sore area,” he said after being gone for three whole minutes.

“Where did you get the ice from? I thought they didn’t give it here.” I looked around to see if he was from some legitimate fraternity of guys who rushed their way in through hazing. They were the only ones who have any kind of power to get things done around here.

“I know the guy who controls the cafeteria surge. I told him I needed it urgently and that I spilled my hot coffee over some innocent victim. He figured.”

His face contorted into a panic smile as he was gesturing the last words. I thought it was cute.

“That feels so good.” The iciness numbed the shooting pain in my shoulder when I remembered about Carrie and that I should get back to her. He was holding a Styrofoam cup filled with ice, so I took it. “I’ll take this."

“Yeah. Are you going to be okay?” He watched me put three blocks of ice in the handkerchief as I rolled it and placed it inside my shirt. I buttoned the third button back.

“I guess so,” I tried to smile at him, and turned around to move away from him and back to the cafeteria. “Thanks."

“It was a pleasure. Not the coffee spilling part,” he chuckled. “But meeting you.”

I just smiled at that, not knowing what else to say. I took two steps away when his voice made me stop. “Am I going to see you again?" He asked.

“I guess so,” I turned around to flash a confident, flirtatious smile. I saw him running a hand through his messy black hair.

”Where were you, Lee? What happened to you?” she asked, pointing at my shirt. “I’ve been waiting for you. My lunch is almost over. I don’t have a free period next.” Carrie was looking me up and down, ready to fire her inquisitive questions at me.

“I got sucked in some drama, sorry,” I mumbled as I took the seat next to her on the table. I put the backpack down as it was weighing my shoulders down, and took a deep breath.

“What happened to your shoulder? Your shirt looks drenched,” she tried to pry my collar down to take a look. “What the f**k?”

“Yeah, someone spilled their coffee on me,” I gently put her fingers away, peering a look at my red shoulder.

“What? You mean hot coffee? Who?” Her mouth opened in an ‘O’, which she ultimately closed tsk-ing.

“Someone,” I whispered, annoyed.

“Actually, I saw him with you. Spill! Wait, he spilled his coffee on you?” Carrie was giving me her tell-me-everything-right-now eyes.

I traced the edges of the table with my shoe, “Uh-huh."

“s**t,” Carrie gasped.

“Uh-huh,” I stretched the sentence to a lull when Carrie decided to put her cellphone down again.

“Did something scandalous happen?” She piped up, looking around us.

“Like what?” I started to get frustrated.

“Like he said your first name or made a conversation?” She deadpanned with a straight face.

“You would like that? Wouldn’t you?” I narrowed my eyes into slits, lips thinning into a sharp line.

“Yeah, anything more than you breathing the same air as him.” Her sassiness was irritating me to no end.

“Well, FYI, we talked. He was sincere,” I finally spilled the beans, to get her off my back. I folded my arms, closing on my chest.

“Like he asked how you felt after he spilled his coffee all over you?” Carrie was now slitting her eyes on me, irritated that I won’t tell her everything. Her need to control everything knew no bounds.

“Carrie!” I finally broke into her constant glare.

“Lee, use your head and be smart." She was back to reprimanding me like a little child as if she knew everything. “Also, choose to be courageous. If you like him, go ask him out.”

”I have nothing more to add to this conversation,” I walked away from the FBI treatment my friend was giving me. I knew she cared but sometimes she was a huge pain in the a*s. I won’t be subjected to this emotional drainage.

“And bring me a chai latte this time, will ya? Without falling for someone or in someone's cup of coffee!” Carrie’s voice boomed in the middle of the cafeteria, as I walked out of it.

Chapter 3

PRESENT

I am caught in a web of my own premonitions of an intricate pseudo-reality of lies.

I was curious, it wasn’t that I didn’t want or love Cassiel. I have wanted him for so long, more than he can ever think. Sometimes, he thinks it isn’t so but it is this simple fact that has strung me all along. Even after three years of dating him, I am in constant need of want and attention from him.

Is it bad to want someone this much?

I am pondering over my love, or something in between, for both the men in my life, lost in my own alternate reality of thoughts when Daniel’s voice breaks me out of my dreamlike reverie.

“Don't you want some more of that sumptuous wagyu steak?” He asks me, l*****g his lips discreetly. “You would love this!”

“Yeah, I'd like that Daniel,” I hastily murmur.

A shabby-looking flower girl, with her hoodie rattled at the edges, enters the outdoor bistro where we are having our steak and potatoes with vino. She stops in front of our table, evidently in want of something. Her eyes are hungrily laid on our table, and my heart wants to give everything up just to wipe that look from her eyes. My heart weeps for her and goes out to her situation. She looks like a girl who can’t even get three proper meals on her table in the kind of life she has.

Daniel hastily puts back his napkin and raises his eyebrow at her. The girl looks anxiously and a bit squeamish at him, "Sir, would you like some flowers? Here are some of the calla lilies and roses?"

He looks at me, as if uncertain of what to get me. I think he would ask me something like, “What would you like me to get you, Lee?” But, I’m ultimately left disappointed.

He just goes ahead and orders for me. Red roses. Red f*****g roses. Not yellow, not pink, nor calla lilies that are here, but just red roses. Did I tell him I hate those? Of course not, you didn't Lee, you had to see this coming.

“Gladly, here, we’ll take these," he says and takes a bunch of them, all vibrant and shining in their own right. Daniel hands them to me, all the while fishing for a hundred dollar bill to pay the young girl. “Here,” he places the hundred dollar bill in her small palm, “Keep the change."

When the little girl walks away, I look at him intensely, “You could’ve paid her a bit more, easily. It’s not like money’s hard for you. She looked like she’s in need of help."

“I didn’t make all this money by being a pushover. I gave her what she deserved, Angelique.” He looks at me vividly, his hand grazing my knee and squeezing it, "Now sip your wine because we have got to get out of here soon."

“You’re... never mind. I don’t feel like having dessert,” I feel the bitter taste of his comment invigorating my palette.

“Okay, we’ll get the check then,” he deadpans, not catching up to my mood.

I nod at him and go back to sipping my wine, all the while thinking that if Cassiel were here, he would’ve paid everything he had in his wallet to that young, ragged girl without missing a beat.

Following our short dinner, I decide to take a walk in the city. As I come out of the bistro, I check my cell phone, except no more new text messages from Cassiel. I pull my sweater closer to my waist, wrapping my hands around my torso.

Daniel decided to stay behind. He was talking to the restaurant’s valet and taking a quick smoke.

The weather is so cold and lonely, and I want to take a few minutes alone to introspect my feelings and to really think about where I'm letting my life take me. Where I am drifting away to? With what kind of a man? Someone who thinks giving away a few bucks means being a pushover? Isn’t it wrong of me to go behind Cassiel’s back? Then again, I'm not doing anything wrong, am I? I deserve my freedom and my happiness. I don’t need to ask for permission to breathe.

”You look cold,” I hear a voice say. I turn around and there’s Daniel, with a loose cigarette still dangling from his lips. He knows how much I hate people smoking around me. I don’t intend to die anytime soon from lung cancer, especially not from passive smoking. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks.

“I’m okay.” The words are drier in the air than when they left my mouth.

“Are you sure? You’re not feeling feverish?"

“No,” I shake my head, not to deny the statement but to calm myself from snapping at him again.

“I think you should get back home. Come, I’ll drive you,” his fingers find mine again, but they don’t hold the same kind of warmth they had a few hours ago. “I know I’ve spoilt your mood, I didn’t mean to, Lee.”

He looks at me firmly and a bit more intensely than usual so that I find it difficult to avert my eyes.

“I didn’t mean that the girl didn’t deserve all the help she can get, but I want her to learn that life isn’t easy. Nothing in this life is easy. After you walked away, I found her again outside and gave her a thousand dollars.”

His eyes are a bit solemn now, looking like they’ve suffered a lot of tragedy.

“It’s okay, Daniel,” I wrap my fingers with his, looking for the warmth I crave.

“You sure? You don’t hate me?” His eyes are somber like the night.

“I can never hate you,” my lips are closer to his face now, the wisps of air that I exhale, seems a lot like smoke. Daniel finds me cringing with my face on his shoulder but I brush my lips lightly on his cheek anyway. “I don’t hate you. I just hate that cigarette smell.”

Daniel loses the cigarette and puts out the butt with the front of his brown boots. He opens his arms, and suddenly, I don’t know what is wrong and what is right. I’ve always wanted a boyfriend with arms that can excite every inch of me. And right now, I’m in the arms of Daniel Miles. His are as intoxicating as coke and rum. I don't ever want to leave the safety net of his arms that is being weaved right around me, at this very moment.

As a young girl, I’d always believed in black and white. But I don't know how, whenever I’m with him, I see the world blurry, somewhat smudged around the edges. I think with my heart. And I’m scared that my heart is taking more wrong, blurry decisions than the right ones.

The eternal fight is always emotional. I’m standing in the doorway when Daniel turns me around and hugs me one more time. The white rush of panic seeps through me and invades my entire being.

What if Cassiel is inside? Should I run? What if he catches me with him like this? Should I leave him? What if I lose control? What if I entirely let the control over my body and soul loose? I can’t do this to Cassiel. He doesn’t deserve this. Our four-year relationship doesn’t deserve this.

So, help me, God. Please. Please.

I immediately let him go and busy myself with opening the front door. I look for keys in my purse, and unsteadily, feeling the wine finally kick in my legs, push the key inside the lock and barely open it. God, I can’t even open an effing lock? Am I that wasted? You’re definitely not sober, Angelique.