“What happened to your face?”396Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa0X4KvpWK2
Cinnia was standing on a small dark landing on the first floor of an old city house, floorboards creaking underneath her heavy boots. She could hear the faint yells of the people working in the kitchen of the restaurant downstairs, mixed with the sound of cars rushing by on the street at the front of the building. The ever present smell of Chinese food hung familiar in her nose.
A tall blonde girl was staring at her, half concealed by the door she was hiding behind, as if Cinnia might attack her as well. Cinnia raised her hand to feel her chin. It was covered in dried blood and as she looked down, she saw drops of it on her coat as well. Great. Her lip must have started bleeding when she bit it. Quickly she ran her tongue over her lower lip. It had already healed, of course, but the taste of blood still lingered in her mouth.
Instead of answering the girl’s question Cinnia decided to settle for a shocked look on her face, blinking her eyes until tears stared forming in the corners. She folded her hands in front of her, wringing them feverishly. She hated to act like this in front of her friend, but it seemed to work, since the girl eased her tense body and opened the door further. Finally stepping aside to allow a full view of the tiny apartment beyond.
“You really know how to pick them Cinnia”, the girl said in a sympathetic whisper, motioning for her to come in. She entered, shrugging off her coat, scarf and shoes. Underneath it she was wearing a slim fitted black pair of jeans and a tight grey t-shirt with long sleeves against the cold. When she was finished she followed the girl through a narrow hallway. There were doors left and right, revealing two dark bedrooms and a bathroom as she passed them.
She emerging in a small sitting room at the front of the house. The girl moved on to the open kitchen at Cinnia’s left, turned on a water cooker and started going through the cabinets.
It was an odd space. The kitchen, once white, was now a dirty shade of yellow. Aged by numerous people using it before the girl had come here. The dark furniture in the living room was worn down and crammed in the tiny space. Cinnia half walked half climbed towards a dark brown armchair under one of the two small windows on the far side, nearly tripping over an unexpected coffee table.
“Here, use this.” The girl had emerged again, throwing her a wet piece of cloth once Cinnia was finally seated. With one fluent motion Cinnia caught it out of the air and started rubbing at her chin.
Cinnia was grateful for the temporary silence, only pierced by the slow cooking of the water and the faint sounds of the city outside. While cleaning away the blood Cinnia looked at the girl. She was wearing a dark blue bathrobe, pink pyjama pants sticking out underneath. Her long dark blonde hair reached almost to her middle and betrayed the hours of sleep she had already had.
“Talk to me”, the girl finally ordered, setting two cups of steaming tea on the table and sitting down in the faint blue couch opposite of Cinnia. Her expression was alert. With piercing grey eyes she looked her over, her mouth set in a firm line.
Cinnia appreciated this about Gwyneth. She did not ask questions. She always accepted whatever twisted truth Cinnia told her, never pushing for more, but caring non the less.
“He hit me”, was all she said as she laid the now red cloth on the table. Her voice was cold, emotionless, but seeing Gwen’s face she admitted in a softer tone, “I just needed a friendly face.” That bit, at least, was true. She did not like to admit it to herself, but seeing John had shaken her more than she had anticipated it would.
Gwen’s eyes softened at that and she leaned back, tugging her legs up on the couch and picking up her hot tea, blowing off the clouds of steam rising up.
“You can stay here for the night, if you want.”
Relieved to finally be able to relax, Cinnia let out a shuddering breath she had not realised she had held. She had travelled all the way to London in one night to get here, not even sure if Gwyneth would let her in at this time. Usually she ignored people coming by at night. With a good reason, Cinnia thought, as her eyes moved over the winding scar clearly visible on the back of Gwen’s left hand. A small souvenir from a drunk ex-boyfriend.
“Thanks Gwen, but I can’t.” Cinnia bent forward and picked up her tea, blowing on it to cool it down faster. “We do have school tomorrow. I need my stuff.” She knew it was a bad excuse, since she has stayed at Gwen’s before, but she couldn’t stay. Not tonight.
Confusion flashed in Gwyneth’s eyes, but she shrugged it off. Too slow, however, for Cinnia not to notice. She felt a pang of guilt. Gwen did not deserve to be lied to. She was the best friend Cinnia had ever had, always taking care of her. But she could not know the truth.
“If I have to beat the guy up for you, just say the word”, Gwen said and gave her a devious grin. Cinnia smiled, grateful for the change of subject.
“Don’t worry, I made sure that he did not go home unharmed”, she said, flashing Gwen a grin of her own before taking a sip of her tea. The sweet taste of camomile washing away the taste of blood. She closed her eyes, savouring the warmth spreading through her body.
“You are not alone you know”, Gwen suddenly whispered. At that, Cinnia’s eyes flew open, transporting her back to another night. A night with blood. Gwen’s blood.
Gwen had called her late at night, her voice steady, but it had not been able to disguise the shock. She only had needed to say one word for Cinnia to come. “I’ll kill him.” She had said, her voice cold. It had been hard to suppress her change when anger coursed through her veins. “I’ll kill him.” And it must have been something in her voice, because Gwen had understood that she meant it. She had calmed her down, reassuring her that she did not want revenge. That she could handle it. It had worked. Cinnia had resigned to taking care of Gwen’s hand, ignoring her own anger.
“You are not alone you know.” Cinnia had whispered later, when they both sat huddled on Gwen’s couch, drinking hot tea. She was stroking her friends hair, repeating the same words over and over. “You are not alone.”
“Cinnia?” Gwen’s voice came like a careful whisper. Cinnia blinked, clearing away the memory. She was back in the chair, holding her tea, Gwen looking at her with concern in her eyes. And something else, Cinnia thought.
They sat staring at each other for a moment, before Cinnia abruptly set down her tea, almost spilling it.
“I have to go”, she said, her own voice strange to her ears. She got up, disoriented for a moment, and sprang over the furniture. She hurried through the hallway, not looking back.
“Cinnia!” Gwen was coming after her.
Cinnia ignored her as she shot in her shoes and grabbed her coat and scarf. She had already opened the door and was hurrying down the stairs when Gwen stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned over the railing.
“Cin!”
Cinnia gave her one last glance, an apologetic smile on her face. She would call her later, she thought, bursting out into the night.
The front door closed behind her as she tugged her scarf higher, covering her nose. She looked up, the sky alive with the twinkling of stars. Closing her eyes she tipped back her head, letting the soft breeze wash over her, lifting up her hair and erasing her uneasy feeling. The cold of it stung her face and her fingers went numb. She could just leap up and fly home, letting the darkness swallow her whole. It would be easier, not to say faster. But no. Instead she turned towards the underground and started walking.
She did not fly often, afraid of drawing too much attention. Besides, she did not feel like getting undressed every time she had to go somewhere, since her clothes tend to get ripped when wings grow out of her shoulder blades.
She shoved her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders against the cold as she walked through the dark. Gwen would forgive her, but Cinnia could not shove away the feeling that she would not forgive herself. Every lie she tells causes them to drift further apart, a wound she could not heal without telling the truth. The corners of Cinnia’s mouth turned down at the thought of it.
She had tried it before, long ago, with someone else. Telling the truth had lifted a weight off her shoulders and at that moment, she had been relieved. But she had been wrong in feeling that way. The truth was dangerous and that being so, her friend was killed.
No, she did not regret telling lies to Gwen. It had to be that way for her to live.
Shrugging off her thoughts Cinnia picked up her pace. She did not look back as she hurried down the stairs and into the underground.
Large Victorian town houses rose up on both sides of the quiet street Cinnia was walking through. The occasional car parked off the road and no lights behind the windows. She slowed down halfway, turning to her left and walking through a low black steel gate into the garden before her own house. At least, what would be called a garden. There were no plants and what little grass there was had long since died. The steps up to her front door were in no better state. Weeds were peeking out between the bricks, creating a network of crisscrossing green veins. She walked up the stairs, ready to go in and close the door between her and the world, when she halted.
She was suddenly hit with a smell. Iron and smoke. Drifting through her door, stopping her in her progress and causing her body to tense. It was very faint, but her nose was more familiar with this scent than any other. She looked around quickly. The street was empty. She focused on her door again, her key sticking in the lock. Going back now was useless, he probably already knew she was here. She clenched her fists. Damn his better senses.
She changed before she opened the door, her heightened senses alert as the lock clicked open. It was dark inside, but the smell grew stronger. Not making a sound she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She was in her bare entry hall, a simple staircase going up on her left. On her right was a door to the living room and ahead of her the door to the kitchen. They were both closed. Taking a step forward Cinnia slipped her right hand to the back of her jeans, gripping one of her daggers and pulling it out. Its golden handle glinted in the moonlight falling through the window in the door behind her.
Why did he have to come tonight? Any other time would have been fine, but all she wanted to do now was take a needed shower and sleep.
Reluctantly she creeped forward, following the scent now coming from the kitchen. She rested her hand on the handle, pushing it down slowly. In one sweep of her arm she threw the door open, disregarding her element of surprise which she actually didn’t have from the beginning.
She gave him no time to react as she shot forward. She could navigate her house blindfolded, thus she knew where everything was. It also meant she knew where he was.
There was a flash of white blonde hair and eyes black as pitch before she had her dagger pressed to the intruder’s throat, pushing him against the wall left of the door.
He was at least half a head taller than her, with long hair half in a ponytail, keeping it out of his face. His skin was tanned, his eyes standing out among high cheekbones and a strong jaw. His lips curled up in a grin.
The man was looking down at her, amusement in his eyes and his dark brows raised high. He held his hands up in defeat, but Cinnia knew better than to let go.
“O goodness, is this how you greet an old friend?”
She bared her long teeth at him, hissing in his face as she pushed the dagger a bit farther, drawing blood. She ignored how it dripped down his strong throat, colouring the collar of his white shirt a deep red.
“What are you doing here Aspen?”
He chuckled. A soft sound capable of driving her mad.
“I just thought that it would be good for us to talk.”
His tone grew serious then, slightly surprising Cinnia, but she did not let it show.
“Something happened.”396Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHv5kTrrYwv
