Page 3 of Origins
My breath caught, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back at him. He hadn’t moved from his seat. It was only the concerned expression on his face that gave away his thoughts.
His dusty blond hair fell over his forehead, in a striking display. And he looked so sincere at the moment that I wanted to apologize—to not be angry. He only cared. I had no reason to be upset.
But I was. All he had to do was listen, and he refused to do that. With this mindset, if I spoke to him about this anymore, he’d change from concerned to dominating in an instant. I couldn’t afford for that to happen.
“Sorry to bother you.” I took a step back—an action that seemed to startle him. “I’ve been tired lately. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bianca?”
“Bye.”
And for the first time in my life, I walked away from Finn Abernathy.
Huddling under my covers, I tried to ignore the presence in the room. Surely it could only be an evil spirit with intentions of sucking out my soul. But it wasn’t making a move yet, and there was nothing I could do about it right now.
Besides, all I could focus on was how pathetic I was acting. Currently my greatest concern was that Finn might be angry with me. I walked away earlier, not thinking things through. But what if I lost my only friend over this?
Without anyone who cared, I might as well let the ghost drag me into the flames of eternal hell. I would welcome the journey. Perhaps a demon or two might want to be friends.
But even more frightening than that—what if Finn decided to snoop around behind my back? What if he checked my prescription?
I shouldn’t have brushed him off.
It was one o'clock in the morning—at least according to the chimes of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Maybe he would still be awake. Would he mind if I sent him a message?
I couldn’t stay angry with him. He had to know this.
Without hesitation, I snatched the phone from the bedside table and glanced through my contacts. I easily located Finn, considering that there were only four numbers listed in my contacts: my parents’ landline, their cells, and Finn’s cell.
I wasn’t sure how to approach my apology, but after a moment I realized that I didn’t need to worry. The best bet would be to pretend nothing had happened. It was the most foolproof way to escape this conflict. I should text him.
Me:Are you asleep yet? I didn’t get a chance to say goodnight.
I hit send before second-guessing my decision. While I had been the first to cave, it would essentially be up to him to ans—
My phone chirped and I blinked at it stupidly for a moment. Never before had he responded so quickly. I had been expecting to wait until later in the morning, at least.
Maybe this was worse than I thought. He might actually be calling it quits, and messaging me to tell me so.
My hands shook as I pulled open the message, expecting the inevitable, but too curious to procrastinate. I looked across the room toward where I knew the evil spirit to be, a chill sliding down my spine.Five more minutes, then you can take me to your master.
The heavy feeling in the room increased substantially, as if the ghost heard my mental promise.
But it seemed as though my fears had been for naught.
Finn:What are you still doing awake? Are you feeling better now? I was worried.
Did this mean that he wasn’t angry with me? It was almost too much to consider. Then again, Finn also had an avoidant personality. That was one thing we did have in common.
But how should I respond? I wanted to be honest, but I simply couldn’t. There was no way I could admit that I was certain there was a ghost sitting across from me, touching my foot over the top of the covers. No way could I admit to him that I felt as if I was living in a nightmare. It would only start an argument.
I couldn’t even ask him to stop by, just to keep me company. It would look suspicious, considering our earlier conversation.
No, I couldn’t discuss this with him ever again. He had made that abundantly clear.
Me:Everything is perfect. I’ll meet you tomorrow at our usual place.
Somehow, I ended up here—in the depths of the liberal arts building, within the maze that was the psychology faculty’s hallways. It was bright and early on Saturday morning. I was lucky that a staff meeting took place earlier, so the building was open. True to the secretary’s directions, I had discovered Dr. Gregory Stephens' office.
