Blues

20. Blue Nineteen Pt. 1

I frown down at my phone, feeling mystified. Who would that be?

*Who is it?* I fire back, my eyes lingering on the screen of my phone, watching for another text.

“Is everything okay?” Dylan purposefully asks, and I finally relinquish my engrossed gaze on my phone, and tarry my eyes to him. He's got a gravelled expression on his face, his eyes scurrying between me and my phone twice in indication.

*Yeah, why?” I inquire, raising a jaunty eyebrow, and an arctic look fills his eyes for a split second, before he governs his countenance once more.

Before he gets a chance to retort, a cloying, dulcet, feminine voice interrupts, invoking our attention to target the intruder. “Dylan.” A middle-aged brunette approaches us, green eyes zeroing on me with curiosity. I can't help it when my eyes do their job as well, discerning how she looks. She's got a slender figure, attired in black jeans, and a white tank top that doesn't obstruct much of the colorful tattoos on her thin arms. Is this Patty?

As if reading my mind, Dylan unriddles any puzzlements with a resonant tone. “Candice, this is Patty. Patty, this is Candice, the new receptionist.”

I extend my right hand for her to shake, and she takes it in a gentle grip, giving me a quizzical smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet our new rescuer.” She exuberates in a singsong voice, causing me to smile right back at her.

And then she embarks on listing my responsibilities, going from calls to scheduling, and if it wasn't for Dylan telling her that I start tomorrow, I'm sure she would've unboundedly went on. I've always reckoned that receptionists do nothing but hang around and chew gum while meeting customers with bored, catty miens, but apparently, that's not the case. I'm thankful when Dylan excuses us for the night, assuring Patty that I'll be back tomorrow, and she gives me a list with tomorrow's sessions, entreating me to come after I finish my classes forthwith.

I take off with Dylan, and unlike the ungenteel mule he is, he decides to take me home. During the ride, I find myself dissecting the names and the sequence of tomorrow's schedule. There's more that twenty customers, which addles me. I don't know how much a tattoo parlor is supposed to earn, but the place seems to be profitable, yet not lucrative enough for its owner to buy a Porsche. Promptly, I recapture a memory of Dylan telling me that he doesn't work at that place, which impels me to ask him where he works, except that I don't get to do it, before my eyes fall on tomorrow's date.

September 18th.

My birthday.

Tonight, I turn nineteen.

It's like a sudden volcano erupting inside of my demised soul, memories of my birthdays with my family and Ethan precipitating over my head like gurgling shots of burning lava. It's not the first birthday I spend alone, but it's the first time I forget all about it. It's like my life has become so negligible that I don't even remember when it has begun, and as miserable as it is, I have literally no one to celebrate it with me.

Not even myself.

It takes most of my might to swallow the massive lump that forms in my throat, and force my eyes to stay latent. The comatose state I force on my body vastly contrasts with my scorching insides, but I still don't yield. I have already given Dylan enough about me, and I can't afford to let him see more.

“Would it be too much if I ask you to deliver me to NIGHTS?” I ask Dylan, and then wince when my voice comes out brittle and spaced-out.

He looks sideways at me, but I don't grant him my attention back. He'd see how deep my soul is scarred. I just keep staring ahead, watching the cars as they speed by. “Yes, it would. Why do you want to go there again? Is the new job too petty for your majesty?” He grills, his voice bittersweet​.