Page 4 of Cerulean Truth
I closed off my computer around five o’clock in the afternoon, my eyes resembling those of a hipster after three days partying at Burning Man. As I attempted to stand up and prepare for my exit, my limbs, unaccustomed to any movement besides typing and mouse-clicking, had taken on the texture ofoverly done spaghetti. I nearly collapsed under the weight of my own fatigue.
Walking out like a drunk goose, I passed by Alma, the office manager, who waved a goodbye my way and said in her high-pitched voice, “Good day, Miss Thompson,” as she did every night. She was a small blonde lady in her early fifties, with a stern appearance, small glasses, and consistently well-dressed and presentable, as if she were always expected to attend a PTA meeting. She was also the one who was running the place. I smiled at her and waved back, happy with the knowledge she wouldn’t take the time to memorize my name if she hadn’t picked up on some good chatter about me.
Exiting the building onto the street in broad daylight hurt my eyes immensely after spending so much time sitting in a rather dark cubicle with the sole light of badly lit porn. My brain went in complete sensory overload and I tried to blink away the fog in my head.
As if on cue, Lisa’s name flashed on my screen.
“Hi babe, what’s up?” Her soothing voice sounded through the speaker.
“I’m finally getting out of my work-a-thon,” I replied while suppressing a yawn. “What about you?”
“Nothing much, simply wondering if you wanted to join us for a drink tonight?”
“Who’s ‘us’?” I asked, practically sleep-walking toward the road. I was so tired and wrapped up in my own world, oblivious to the people and objects that constituted my immediate surroundings.
“Just me and Jasper,” she replied, which made me smirk.
Back then, Lisa dated a guy, Lincoln something, though she was secretly into this other guy, Jasper, a wonderful artistic man who had spent half his life on magic mushrooms before turning toward his passion: Information Technology. Not that she knewthis back then, but he would go on to develop an app for something I never quite understood, make a fortune, and would later on propose to Lisa, who would of course only accept after the fourth proposal.
“No thanks, hun, I’ll leave you two and your unspoken love by yourselves tonight. I’m exhausted.”
“Oh come on, Em. You haven’t been out with us for weeks now! How long has it been since you’ve gotten some?”
Of course, she had no idea I had spent the entire week watching porn and had no desire for any male company, though she wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t had a significant relationship in years and although I didn’t object to picking up men in bars when I had an itch to scratch genuine emotional connections were a rarity in my life. As I preferred it.
I didn’t have the time nor energy to focus on anything less than me and myself. I was smart and hardworking, but I was impatient to succeed, and I was a very annoying perfectionist and control freak. And yes, I was rather self-centered, which I was well aware of.
“You’re right, but I’m still wiped. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow though if you want? After I’ve gotten some sleep?”
I halted right before crossing the street.
I did. I really did. Of course, I was feeling dazed, and sleepy and distracted. Distracted by my work, by Lisa’s voice but I did halt. Did she answer my last question? Did she hang up on me? Whatever she did, I halted before I crossed the street. And I did gaze at the traffic light.
Didn’t I?
I never saw the car, its color, nor its brand. I didn’t notice how it screeched its tires, nor the loud honking. I didn’t hear the people yelling and I never laid eyes on the driver.
I realized I was going to die right before the car hit me. Which is when this immense calm washed over me, only for asecond. Then panic hit me like a hammer—a certainty of sudden death and horrible angst clouding my mind. In a second of total bewilderment the absurd thought occurred to me to try to jumpoverthe car. Yes, jumping over a moving vehicle…that was where my mind went. A clear sign death was imminent, when the only way to survive was utterly impossible.
There was a guy in a gray suit with blond hair, standing across the street, gawking at me, and the last thing I thought was “wow, this dude looks really scared for me.” Then I closed my eyes.
But I never felt the car actually hitting me.
TWO
JAMES
“How’s the anger?” Jackson asked, casting a watchful eye in my direction while we strutted through the hallways of the Universitas, our Collective’s educational institution.
I averted my eyes and glanced at one of the “wisdom” plaques we passed almost every day, rereading the all too familiar words: “Magi are simply humans who’ve learned to wield their emotions into magic. This is no reason to feel superior.”
As per usual, I rolled my eyes at it−not because I didn’t think it held any merit, but because the hypocrisy of it grated on my nerves. As if translating our emotions into magic wasn’t all we were taught as soon as our head popped out of the fucking birth canal.
“James?”
“Huh? What?” I asked a bit dazed. That last hour in the training room must’ve tired me out more than I thought.
“How’s the anger?” Jackson repeated, patiently.
