A terrorist attack takes place in Canada during the widely loved politician's wedding. The horrible incident leaves hundreds of people dead, but the politician's son survives. Luckily, he meets a gorgeous med student in the hospital of who he just...
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july 13th toronto
IMAGINE BEING TEN AND FORCEDLY SITTING BESIDE THE MOST HANDSOME BOY OF YOUR CLASS, your little hands neatly folded into your lap as both of you remained crippling silence. The worst part was the tension between the two of you, because the sphere consisting of pure awkwardness more or less compelled you to start talking – but where could you start? Thousands of potential subjects flooded through your head, but you wondered whether they really were potential; how could you know if they were potential when you didn't know what mister handsome beside you wanted to talk about? You didn't know what to say, because you didn't know him. And besides, why didn't he just start a conversation – he was known for being a good talker, quite the social butterfly. Maybe he didn't know what you wanted to talk about either. Maybe.
That situation was exactly what I was witnessing in his car. We sat together in the backseat, and I had caught the driver glancing at us through the mirror. I was exhausted and had to calmly process everything that had happened during my night out, and hearing Hart's soft breathing, feeling his positive aura, smelling his cologne, made it all good and I didn't mind the silence that much. Though, the sound of his voice was what I secretly craved – I wanted him to ask me how I was doing, and I wanted him to explain to me what he was doing in a club on crutches. I could've started the conversation asking what I wanted to know, but anxiety and laziness held me back. I was a ten-year-old sitting beside the handsome boy from my class, and I hated myself for it.
"Nova." It was weird how my name rolling over his tongue made me feel.
I turned my head to look at him – his dark, shiny curls neatly in place, the eyes reflecting the light coming from the moon, his long, masculine neck, those broad shoulders and biceps underneath his short-sleeved, tan blouse; I secretly longed for my fingertips intimately brushing against those spots. The tattoos on his arms were exposed, and I could even see a necklace – two things I despised on a man, but Hart had the pleasing ability to pull anything off. Even a hospital gown.
"Did you have fun at the club? I've never seen you at Rum & Drum before," he said, his hand supporting his head as his arm leaned against the door on his left.
"Sure," I nodded, "they play good music over there. It was a little crowded, though."
He looked at me, the expression on his face showing disbelief, but it looked like he wasn't going to ask any further questions to get me to say what he thought. "Are you tired?"
Exhausted. "Not really. Are you?"
"I'm never too tired to go to an afterparty," he sent me a wink, "and I'm taking you."
Honestly, there was no saying 'no' to Hart Feingold. He'd look at you with the sparkles in his eyes, he'd charmingly push a hand through his head of curls, and you'd be mad at yourself if you rejected all of that. His driver dropped us at a mansion – no, not a house, a fricking mansion – and Hart had rejected my offer to help him move as we walked up the stairs towards the entrance, he on his crutches, all by himself. To my surprise, he had a key to the mansion, and just like that we were inside. The interior was carefully chosen by someone who wanted to make their house resemble a museum – the gorgeous statues caught my attention, but a split second later, the minimalistic paintings did.
Hart chuckled, and I looked at him to find him sweetly smiling at me. "You coming?"
Still looking back at the astonishing hallway, we entered a room where the loud music was coming from, and once again, I didn't know where to look the second I came in. Purple LED-strips illuminated the whole room, smoke filled up my nostrils within the slightest bit of inhalation, and a few people were sitting on the floor and on the couch. One of them in particular knew how to hold my gaze; a gorgeous girl on the couch with a bottle of expensive-looking wine in her right hand. Short, dark hair adorned her face, and so did her perfect features. She wore a risqué and sexy, green latex dress which appeared to be much darker because of the purple light, and it complimented her curves so much. But what attracted me the most was the confidence circulating around her, she had that kind of I don't give a fuck attitude which I had been longing for as long as I could remember. Her dark eyes met mine, and as she kept looking at me, she put the tip of the bottle against her lips and started downing the entire bottle. This girl is crazy, I thought to myself, especially when she didn't make a disgusting face after finishing.
"Usually Hart brings whores from the street, but this time he either got a hella expensive on or just a cute girl," she said, causing the boys around her to start laughing and give indistinct comments. Her voice was husky, unique and raspy – I was convinced that she would be very good at singing.
"This is Nova, she's the nurse who saved my life," Hart said, secretly gesturing that the girl needed to act normal, but unfortunately for him I had caught his hand movements.
"Nova needs to sit down and," the girl grabbed a bottle of whiskey, "drink this the fuck up. What the fuck you bringing sober bitches for? Come over here, babe, we'll take good care of that."
"You sound like an alcoholic aunt," Hart said, shaking his head. His shoulders raised up, seeming tensed, and I had the urge to massage them.
"I'm, in fact, your alcoholic niece," the girl said, "but your aunt's an alcoholic as well."
"Amazing introduction," Hart sighed, where after he apologetically turned to me, "so, that's Liv, she's the crazy niece, that drug addict over there is her brother Zed, he's the reason this room's full of marijuana – Zed, seriously, open a fucking window, you know I've got asthma – , that guy over there is our friend Hudson, the man beside him is Ian, those two are the only normal ones around here, and I think Vito is at the toilet, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Hudson said, a tall-looking, very handsome twenty-ish man with his flawless mocha skin. I was jealous of skin color, and also those full lips of him and of how good his braided locks looked, "I think he's throwing up."
"Ew," Liv said, where after her eyes landed on me again, "I'm glad you're here Nova, I was getting sick of all this testosterone."
I smiled, yet didn't know how to start off a proper conversation.
"Don't be shy," she said, patting the space she had made for me beside her on the couch, "take a seat."
I did what she asked me to, and as soon as I felt the fabric underneath my cleanly shaved legs, she wanted to pour me a glass of whisky. "I don't-"
"You don't drink?" she interrupted me, "Nova, look, first of all; I don't believe you, second of all; you're safe here. We're all cool, we're happy to have someone new to get lit with. It's not like we're going to take advantage of you when you're drunk or anything . . . actually, maybe Zed will, he's a fucking pervert who watches weird hentai octopus tentacles shit."
"Hey!" Zed who looked exactly like Liv, but then in a manly shape, put down his joint into the ashtray on the table and defensibly shook his head at me, "Don't listen to her, Nova, she's just jealous of the fact that I have more sex than she does. Or not, you fucking virgin?"
"Jealous?" Liv laughed, "Tomorrow Brent's coming over and I'll make you hear that I'm no virgin."
"Dis-fucking-gusting," Zed continued drinking.
"I'm going to check if Vito's alright, guys, be nice to Nova." Hart quickly disappeared around the corner, and I mentally cursed to myself when I felt the awkward silence coming up.
Hudson stole the bottle of whisky from Liv's hand and poured himself a glass.
"Aye," Liv said to Hudson as she fetched her bottle from his hands, "that's not yours."
"It's mine," I said as I grabbed it from Liv who stared at me with two enlarged eyes. She started yelling and clapping, just like Hudson and Zed. I was proud of myself for delivering such a clever thing to say.
"Oh, she's a bad fucking bitch!" Liv shouted. And after that, I started downing the bottle of whisky. Thankfully, I was having a bit of a cold, therefore the taste was less distasteful. As I drank, I hoped to get tipsy, and much more free and social as fast as I possibly could.
