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A FEW WEEKS LATER.
𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 professor and dappling in Chemistry did keep her mind occupied and her curiosity satisfied, but she constantly felt an emptiness at the bottom of her heart, though she was not sure of its cause.
Bonnibel’s flipping through document after document, and her eyes fell on a certain article that her colleague, Pepper, had dropped off at her desk this morning.
“Colourless apples found in New York. Farmers are...perplexed...”
Bonnibel mumbles off-bat, and blinks. The first thing that had crept to her mind wasn’t exactly pleasant.
It came in the form of lush black locks as dark as the night itself, green eyes the colour of emeralds, and the smell of strawberries filling her senses.
Bonnibel shakes her head to rid it of any more thoughts about her. Even after having lived seven hundred over-years since the demise of Ooo, the same emptiness that swam about in her heart never wavered.
It sucked, really. Being a thousand-over years old (she doesn’t bother keeping track of her age anymore) never did make life any more interesting. The only thing she could hope to achieve, however, was that she could pass on her exoansive knowledge to all the ignorant humans she had the luxury of teaching.
“But still...”
Bonnibel mumbles out of the corner of her mouth, adjusting her thin circular-rimmed glasses atop her nose and leaning back into her swivel chair.
She had just finished a class, and was hoping to get home by six. Bonnibel glances at the clock; five o’clock. She could leave, now.
Bonnibel takes up her shoulder bag and a couple of slim files that were filled with scientific hypotheses, then looks back at her messy desk, sighing to herself. Life was boring. She needed a spark, something to fulfil that arid emptiness in her chest. And unfortunately, Chemistry just wasn’t enough.
Bonnibel makes her way to the carpark, her Volkswagen keys swinging from her fingers. Then, she feels something soft and furry rubbing her leg, so she looks down to see a small black cat with green eyes.
Bonnibel winces.
“Marceline.”
She hisses, her grip iron on her slim files, and squats so that none of her colleagues or her students could see her talking to a, presumably, cat in the middle of the carpark.
The cat meows up at her, and this heightens Bonnibel’s frustration, so she scoops the cat up into her arms, and gets into her Volkswagen quickly, placing the cat roughly into the passenger seat.
Bonnibel scans the carpark one more time in hopes that no-one had seen her, then turns back to the cat, who was now licking its paw innocently.
“What are you doing here?!”
Bonnibel demands, and she watches the cat before her morph into a fire of shadows and into the familiar form of the half-vampire, half-demon girl she used to love.
Or does she still love her? Love had no rules, no logic; it was something that puzzled Bonnibel more than anything else in the world. It gave Bonnibel funny flutters in her chest, tingles all along her limbs, and a fuzzy warm feeling that spread throughout her body — akin to eating a plate of fresh spaghetti.
Now, before her, sits the manifestation of all those things jumbled into one.
Marceline faces Bonninel with those green eyes, and leans forward, closer and closer, till Bonnibel could feel strawberry breath fanning her lips. But she doesn’t attempt to pull away.
“...sorry about those apples,”
Marceline whispers softly, and Bonnibel feels an accumulation of seven-hundred-years worth of something take hold of her, and it took everything Bonnibel could give to prevent her from smashing their lips together.
Bonnibel realises that she was quivering. She turns a shade of rose red and leans away, anything other than starring into Marceline’s emerald orbs.
“That’s what you decide to say to me after seven hundred years of not talking to me?”
Bonnibel murmurs, kneading her fingers together. A thousand words want to slip from her lips, but she kept them on a leash. Was she, possibly, afraid?
Marceline scratches her nape, face apologetic, and she slowly indicates the back row of seats, giggling nervously.
“I sorta broke into your car,” she explains, the broken glass scattered on the seat nearest to the left window elaborating the rest. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me so...”
Bonninel groans, and brings a hand to rub the creases between her brows, before letting it fall in defeat. Typical Marceline.
She didn’t even have the capacity to be angry.
“Where’s your guitar?”
Bonnibel asks, knowing that the instrument was practically an extended limb of Marceline, taking hold of the steering wheel.
“In the boot.”
Maybe Finn knew something about this. For the past few weeks, he had been waggling his brows at her whenever she talked to him.
“Let’s go,”
Bonnibel starts the engine, and makes sure that Marceline was strapped in after arguing over the road regulations. How many times must she tell her that not wearing safety belts would result in a fine?
“Sorry, Bonnie.”
Marceline mutters, and the softness of her tone has Bonnibel wondering if there was more to why Marceline had returned. Never mind, she’d ask later.
“Bonnibel, to you.”
She says curtly, before pulling the car out of the parking lot, and heading home.
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this book is gonna be quite short, i guess? but i’ll let time tell. thank you for reading!
