Page 11 of Cerulean Truth
We sat at a table by the window, offering a view of the street where my accident had occurred. A chill rolled down my spine once more, and I instinctively shrugged it off. Stephen observed me, raising one of his eyebrows inquisitively.
Then, the strangest thing occurred. As I was adding sugar to my cappuccino, a bright white cloud seemed to envelop Stephen, if only for a fraction of a second. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the bizarre sight. However, Stephen stared at me with an expression as though he knew precisely what I had witnessed. Then he nodded, almost as if he had confirmed some suspicion he held.What on earth is happening?
Stephen shifted nervously in his chair and cleared his throat, seemingly uncertain about how to initiate our conversation.
"May I inquire your name?" he asked gently with an underlying air of authority, a tone I always instinctively responded to without question.
"I'm Emma Thompson," I replied instantly. "Yes, like the actress, no, no relation," I continued, as I had done countless times in my life.
He nodded, but there was a distant look in his eyes, as if my name held little significance to him. However, he surprised me by saying, "Emma, such a beautiful name... It means greatness, if I'm not mistaken." His comment made me blush slightly. Was it a compliment or merely a statement? I responded either way with a shy smile.
He stirred his black coffee, and I couldn't help but notice a subtle sign of nervousness in his action. I patiently waited for him to continue.
"Emma," he went on, "do you mind if I ask you some questions about your life?" I shook my head, replying, "No, not at all." It was strange how at ease I was around him; I didn't harbor any paranoia about his identity or agenda, I felt inexplicably safe in his presence.
"May I ask what it is you do?" he inquired. I couldn't help but smile at this question, as I was genuinely proud of my chosen career path. So I opened up to him, sharing details about my internship, my academic achievements, and my aspirations for the future. He sat there silently, listening attentively to my every word. I elaborated on my parents' careers and how they’d fought for me to have everything in life. I explained my desire to advocate for those without a voice and how I had meticulously planned the next ten years of my life, with ambitions of reaching the top.
I elaborated on my hobbies—reading and watching porn—and divulged my usual weekly planning.
Reflecting on it, I realized it might have come across as a little conceited, perhaps even arrogant, but it was practically second nature to me. I had repeated my plans for the future to so many people for so long, it felt more like a song than a narrative and I knew its lyrics by heart.
In response to my life's blueprint, I was accustomed to receiving various reactions ranging from awe to jealousy, or in my family's case, pride and joy. However, Stephen's reaction was quite different. He appeared almost disappointed and mostly confused. I couldn't quite place his response. Strangely enough, I had to remind myself I barely knew this man, yet I found myself wanting to divulge every detail of my life to him, and I was still confoundingly eager to do so.
"Can I talk to you about your accident?" He changed the subject so abruptly, it left me slightly disoriented.
"Of course," I replied, after taking a sip from my coffee. I couldn't fathom why he wanted to discuss this. I hoped he didn't think I was suicidal or anything. Then I remembered him congratulating me the day before. Where was he going with all this?
"Can you tell me what happened exactly? As detailed as possible," he requested.
"Um, sure... I'm not in the habit of ignoring traffic regulations or nearly getting myself killed but I had been working nonstop for three days straight, with very little sleep, and when I finally got to go home, I must've mistaken the red light for green or something. I don't know, really. What I do know is, a car seemed to come out of nowhere and hit me, hard. It was such a force I flew over the car and landed on the pavement. I was incredibly fortunate to have escaped with just a few bruises," I explained in a concise and matter-of-fact manner.
He nodded but appeared deep in thought. My adrenaline began to rise, or perhaps it was the caffeine taking effect. Regardless, I was losing patience, and my temper was starting to flare up.
"Why do you ask?" I inquired, the harshness becoming evident in my tone.
"Emma, are you absolutely certain that's what happened?"
"Of course, I have no reason to lie to you." My eyebrows knitted together, feeling slightly insulted. "Besides, you were there; you saw what happened." I was definitely starting to lose my patience.
He waved my comment away and said softly, "No, I know you wouldn't lie, but...maybe you could be mistaken?" he suggested.
"I am a bit hazy on the details, to be honest, so I suppose there could be some room for error," I conceded. “But I’m sorry, I don’t see how that’s any of your business?”
Ignoring my irritation, he continued, "What would you say if I told you the car never actually hit you, and the bruises were solely the result of you hitting the ground after flying over the car?" he asked in hushed tones.
I considered his question, finding it rather odd since I was certain the car had hit me.
"I'd say you're wrong, as I wouldn't have gone flying over the car if it hadn't hit me," I stated firmly.
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "A true lawyer you are," he said, sounding somewhat sad. I couldn't help but smile back at him; it was rather impossible not to like him.
"Emma, what would you say if I told you, you flew over the car entirely on your own, without the car ever making contact with you?"
"I would say you're wrong again, as I can't fly on my own," I replied, still maintaining my dry tone. Was this some kind of test? Perhaps to gauge my reasoning skills?
"Well, what if you could?" he pressed.
I must've looked puzzled, as I asked, "What are you trying to say?"
