Maryanland, September 26, 2040, 8:00 AM
"I knew your parents had issues, but never knew the issues were borderline inhumane," Flynn seethed. The glare narrowing his eyes informs me of his anger. I don't blame him for looking like he was about to attack my parents.
With words, I hope.
You know the more you think about this, your anger will make you burst into tears, right?
Yes.
Being an angry crier has not benefitted me once in my life. I either cry in front of the person in disputes with me or alone in a secluded corner. To add to the humiliation, I hate the look of sympathy said people give me. It makes me look like a child. My voice would love to contribute to making matters worse. Bitch wobbles and trembles one sentence into the argument, like stop. Since Crying whilst angry translates to being weak, but what-fucking-ever. It's not, and I'll fight on it.
"What can we do now? They've already been against my mere existence since dad's accident. I think they were waiting for the tick that would set everything off, and well, they got it via Anna," I shrug.
Acting nonchalant about this as my mind keeps replaying the events of last night won't help me, but I am not in the mood to let the residents of Detroit see cry. Heaven knows a certain someone would have a fucking field day.
Flynn smirks, and I know a joke is coming.
Thank God for him and his room reading senses. I'm not in the mood for sentimental talk.
"You know, since I'm a generous, kindhearted individual, I will invite you to move into my home."
I roll my eyes, "yeah, generous indeed." Flynn rolled his head back and let out a boisterous laugh that shook the ground. Oooh, earthquake.
Maryanlandquake, sorry I always forget.
Hyperbole.
The exaggeration of an expression. I hope that's the right definition. Whatever the urban dictionary defines it- I'm still a walking hyperbole.
If an actual Maryanlandquake took place right now, my legs would shake. Literally because of the tectonic plates beneath me acting drunk and figuratively through the impending doom that I would feel.
Once he gets over his laughing fit, he lifts his hand and rests it on his heart, looking offended. "Why not? Isn't that what couples do?"
My eyebrows raise at that, "what? offer shelter?"
His eyes widen, growing more offended, "no, asking their partner to move in with them."
"Sorry, the Image World doesn't sound like my vibe," I shrug him off.
His shoulders slack, "shit, you're right. Okay, fine, we'll move in together after this is all over. Find our place, I know my mom would love that, she won't stop talking about it." His words make me halt my steps. My eyes get too busy staring at him like he is crazy to pay attention to the fact that I'm blocking a short-standing anthill. Flynn notices my sudden pause, holding his arm out in front of me to prevent me from what I assume to be falling forward. His eyes scope the ground for a second before looking at me in confusion.
"Why did you stop walking? Did you step on something?" he asks, worried.
Funny how his words render me wordless.
I'm pretty sure you mean speechless.
It does rhyme- stop being a party shitter.
I couldn't speak out loud, so I resorted to shaking my head. How do I tell him what he said has me shaking in my shoes without telling him?
He's joking, I know he is. He has to be.
"Your joke was funny, that's all," I reason, more for me than for him. He said a joke, and I'm not laughing. Joke, my ass.
In classic Azalynn fashion, it was now his turn to stand frozen.
Our ship name sounds cute.
"I... wasn't... joking," he says each word with a pause.
My limbs move on their record. I get out of my frozen stance and walk closer to him. My hand knocks on his head a few times, "are you okay? Have you officially lost it? Are you Flynn?"
He either got sick of my hand knocking on his skull or got a headache brewing, because his hand wrapped around my wrist. With the gentlest hold known to mankind, he moves my hand away. My brain convinced me he would then lower it to my side to rest it there, but no, fuck no. Boy straight up dropped my hand to my side to fucking hold it.
I ransack my brain to remember the location of the nearest hospital. To my dismay, the closest one is ten minutes away. Useless, I'll fall well passed out by then.
It's just a hand holding another hand, nothing to act dramatically over.
The phalanges and muscles of a human holding that of another, yeah, that's it.
I'm not okay.
Ignore whatever my parents did; whatever Flynn's doing has more of an impact on me.
"No, I'm not joking. The idea of us living together makes sense, at least to me."
"Me too," I blurt out before thinking.
Logical thinking? Bye.
His previous smirk returns, "I'm glad we're on the same page." Like the dumbass I always become around him, I nod vigorously. Forget logic and elegance; they both left.
"Did you know our ship's name is Azalynn?" my attempt at shifting the topic contributed to making matters worse. Flynn has become smirking central right now, and I'm dizzy.
"Cute," was all he replied. I think his thoughts, whatever they may be, keep him too busy to answer with an eloquent response.
Any further questions I had to ask him to gather more detailed information got thrown at the sun when a voice interrupted me.
Have I mentioned that I fucking hate when people interrupt my words, which then disrupts my train of thought?
Ugh.
"Oh look, isn't it the little miss father killer? How did your parents take the news?"
Anna.
Who else resembles the devil minus the horns in a human form other than her?
Better than her.
Wherever she stood, I knew it was somewhere behind me. My back faces her, and my front doesn't want to bother presenting itself. Any fury I had from earlier came back in tons. I feel bad for Flynn's poor arm; I keep glaring at it. Speaking of Flynn, maybe my twisted face gave him indications about her identity. His hold tightens on my hand, reassuring me. I would never admit it, but it's helping a lot.
The shaitan behind me must've noticed our wordless exchange because she had to fucking comment on it.
"Awe, you got yourself a boy, how cute. I feel bad for him, though. Surrounding myself with a criminal wouldn't make me or my reputation feel safe."
That's fucking it.
I went to turn around to give her a piece of my mind, but Flynn held me back. With his free hand grasping my shoulder, he bent down to my level. After he makes sure I'm looking at him, he speaks. A quiet and firm tone that helps me realize what would have been embarrassing consequences of my emotionally anger-driven actions.
"I can handle it if you let me," he mutters, removing his hand from my shoulder to wipe the small tear that fell. I didn't need any further convincing when I drowned myself in the feeling of one hand squeezing my shoulder and the other caressing my cheek.
Words were hard to speak, so I nodded. He takes two seconds to look over my face before his expression turns sour. With a final rub on my cheek, he stands to his full height. I didn't need words to guide me to what to do next; I stood behind him without a thought.
"Anna, right?" Flynn asked a question we all knew was rhetorical.
Doesn't take a genius to guess that a menacing smile is on Anna's face as she giggles, "yes."
"You're Arab also, right?"
She replies with a questioning yes this time.
Flynn pretends to think, "hm, wouldn't you feel embarrassed if your mother found out about what her grown daughter is doing when she's living in such a terrible place?"
My eyes shoot up at him, my mouth hanging wide.
No fucking way.
Damn, despite my dampened eyes, I can't miss seeing Anna's reaction to the world. And that is why I sidestep Flynn to get a look. Flynn's arm he held in front of me acted as an appreciated shield. I'm glad I did because the sight of Anna trembling is laughable. Girly looks like she does not have a grasp of her body, and her widened eyes are a different story.
"W-what?" she asks, hand raising to her mouth.
Is Flynn trying to expose us, or what?
Status: nervous.
Part of me wants to stop him, but the other part of me is so here for the drama.
A small smile that I know is for show rests on his mouth, "I heard stuff here and there about her. Since her daughter is, you know, famous for creating fake gossip, information about her mother got out somehow. I don't know if it was real or some mythological lies, but believing shit you didn't see is a common theme around here. Must be the number of people you've told stuff to who are spreading them around. Either way, if she lives where I heard she does, I can't imagine the pain she will feel when she hears what her daughter has been up to all this time."
Anna, who still has eyes as wide as Saturn's rings, speaks trembling words. "H-how, no, w-who told you about t-this?" She swallows a lump after asking her question.
"I can't tell you a name when every person I walk past in the streets says different things. Almost as if they don't know what's true and what isn't. As if they're making stuff up, but I wouldn't know. So maybe consider some locals being the culprits."
Anna goes to say something, assuming more questions, but Flynn holds his hand up, stopping her.
"Anyway, we have to leave. A realistic life awaits us, have an okay day," he nods a goodbye before dropping his arm, gesturing for mine to hold his hand. I place my hand in his without question. Not sparing Anna another look, I follow Flynn to wherever he wanted us. I would go anywhere with him. Maybe it's romance or Maybelline, or my lack of direction making me trust him with my life.
"روحة بلا رجعة"
Leave without returning.
I snort at his comment, can't say that I disagree.
When I get over laughing at his joke in my head, I acknowledge the melancholy hitting me like a fucking tank. I know we're going from street to street to head to the park nearby. A variation of differently heightened buildings surround us, but my memorization of each one doesn't make me bother to look. Cars honk to my right, and Flynn's hand warms that same side. It's all too much and nothing at all.
Little miss father killer.
Tainted reputation.
Safety.
"I'm sorry," I say without prerequisites.
A perplexed Flynn gestures for me to sit on the first bench we have come across.
"For what?"
"Being seen with me doesn't bring good things. It'll get worse when you get back and we go out often. If my name isn't a bad omen, I don't know what is."
Flynn turns to face me but gets a view of my side profile. Shame doesn't let me find the nerve to make eye contact. However, my shame will convince me to stare at the old and young trees surrounding us. My shame will also crane my head in multiple directions to observe the people and shops around us. Who knows, it might also make me stare at some license plates. I know he's glaring at me; I know he is. But he still found it in him to hold my hands that I put away from his.
"What the fuck are you saying, Azail?"
His voice sounded angry, confused, questioning, and unsettled. I hated I caused the disturbance in his head.
From my peripheral vision, I could see him narrowing his eyes. "It's because of whatever the fuck that name Anna gave you, isn't it?" He claims, leaving me no room to argue even though I didn't have any rebuttals, only agreements. Taking a deep breath, I nod. His hands tighten their hold on mine, "and I'm supposed to give a shit about that, why?" He scoffs, sounding offended at his words.
"Does the meaning of my name and the nickname I so humbly received not give you enough of a reason?"
I fight the urge to pull his hand back once he lifts it from mine, but at least I still have his other one in my clutch. Said hand lands on my cheek, tilting my face towards him. "You don't believe in that shit, and you know it. You can't lie to me, Azail," he's so fucking correct. I raise my eyebrow, using earned nerves that make me maintain eye contact.
"I hate when you're correct even more than you hate when I am," I confess. His arguments almost always leave no room for further discussion, only defeat.
Maybe he should be the psychologist here.
His hand intertwined with mine before he crossed his free arm behind his head. The bench must feel mighty comfortable on the body because he leans back, crossing one leg over the other.
"Don't do that," I scold, using my free hand to point at his crossed legs.
He does what I said, yet still asks, "why not?"
"Crossing your legs can cause an irregularity in the blood flow that is making its way back to your heart. So keep them uncrossed as much as you can."
"You got it, Aza," he gives me a thumbs up, to which I return. Awkward people things.
"Circulatory System aside, I want you to know that I couldn't care less about what Anna says. If I'm with you by choice, know that I sure as hell don't mind being seen with you. Let somebody photograph us or spread rumors. That'll only give me more attention to steer onto the Image World, and you to your clinic. What part of my confession made you think otherwise?"
"None of it," my head drops in shame. That must be today's theme. I thought that themes only applied to whatever piece of writing we would read in English class, but never mind- she's versatile.
"I'm glad we have that settled."
A small smile that I try to hide presents itself, making Flynn return it tenfold. A sudden loud sound has us crane our heads in its direction. We find a small child on the ground with his father consoling him. I would laugh, but one- that's mean, and two, the interaction looks wholesome. I turn to Flynn to make a comment on them when my surroundings began spinning at a quick rate. Letting go of Flynn's hand, I lean forward with both hands clutching my aching head.
"Are you okay?" Flynn's worried voice asks. All I can do is shake my head in response. I'm scared to open my eyes because all I see is a spinning version of the surrounding park. I keep my eyes clenched as much as I can, not daring to open them after my ambitiousness told me I should.
Multiple times.
Practicing self-control is difficult in these conditions.
I don't know what Flynn's doing or where he is, but I keep my attention on my aching head and clenched eyes for an hour.
Dramatic, it lasted for less than two minutes at worst.
Still, shit felt like an hour.
I perform a trial run by opening one eye to try my luck. While thanking all the heavenly bodies above, I open my other eye when my surroundings become stable. Taking a deep breath, I remove my hands from my now messy claw-clipped style and sit up.
Flynn goes right to it, in gentle Flynn fashion, of course. He now carries a water bottle and a worried expression on his face. His posture looks to share the same emotion. I ease his worries because seeing him like this makes me feel bad.
"I'm fine now, everything started spinning out of nowhere. A headache that can crush rocks is upon me, but I'm not new to those."
Sudden thirst-
For Flynn?
No, for water, goofy.
As I was saying before my subconscious had the nerve-
Jokes on you because nerves are a critical composer of your consciousness.
Throw logic out the window for now.
What I want to say is that I'm fucking thirsty, and if I don't drink water, my throat will dry out like SpongeBob.
That would have my childhood self disturbed.
Eh, you're already disturbed.
Fuck you.
"Can I have some wa-"
"Here, have some water," an uncapped water bottle touches my lips before I could finish asking.
A calloused hand rubs the back of my head as I take a few sips. I might pass out for extra drama so Flynn can act like a wholesome gentleman some more. I put the water bottle down, making the man next to me go to work on the double. He doesn't let me hold it for more than a second before taking it from my hand to cap it.
"Are you sure you're okay to continue the day? We can go back home."
I shake my head, laughing despite my condition, "what home?"
"Mine."
There he goes again.
"I'm okay, don't want to bother khalto with a dizzy Azail. It's probably a transient problem because I didn't have too much to consume for breakfast. That may be why," I reason. My hand rubs my neck because an aching neck is what I need right now. Once again, someone doesn't let me do something on my own. A hand much warmer than mine points at my neck, and a chivalrous Flynn asks if he can put his hand there. My surprise didn't come from his suggestion but from my agreeableness. I nodded as if my life depended on it.
It somewhat did since I don't feel well, but whatever.
Like the human heating pack he is, the heat from his hand eases the tension around my neck in seconds. Apart from the talent of always being warm, he moves his hand in intricate ways to massage my neck. Damn, even I can't get the tension out of my muscles like that. Forget mental therapy, he should consider physical therapy. Another reason to grow my liking for him.
Not that I needed a reason, man could breathe, and I'd swoon. Whipped bitch.
"If watching a screen doesn't work out for you in the long run, consider physical therapy."
"Excellent suggestion, but I can't imagine myself enjoying it." His words make me furrow my eyebrows as I question why.
"I only feel comfortable massaging a certain intelligent woman. And that out of the discomfort I feel when I see her in pain."
Fuck...
A shocked expression on my face doesn't bother Flynn anymore. All he does when he sees me doing that very expression is laugh.
"You know what you're doing," I punch his side. If I had my full strength, he would've moved an inch, but he didn't. Sad.
"I know, that's why I do it, sweet," and that marks the end of Azail. It was a short nineteen years she lived. Sad to know she evaporated days before her twentieth birthday.
"Nice nickname," I speak the truth. I do like it a fuck ton.
Because your parents didn't give you any, so you enjoy the affection from Flynn?
No, I'm past feeling hurt over whatever negligence my parents provided. All I care about is the affection I'm not used to, but I know I will continue to appreciate it the more I receive it- from Flynn and my friends.
"It suits you, you're sweet," he returns to his previous leaning position. His leg goes to cross over the other before his eyes widen in realization, putting his leg back down.
Lmao.
"That's what she said," we both say.
"Astaghfirullah," we both speak at the same time once again.
"Unintentional dirty jokes aside, are you sure you're okay? I'm worried," the hand massaging my neck halts, choosing to rub the back of my head again. Eh, my hair is messy anyway; he can wave his hands through it as much as he wants. It would be tragic not to feel warm hands caress my head like reading addicts do to every page in a book.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Head spinning here and there, but I'll take it easy at work. I'll ask doctor Mohammad to take the lead in the sessions and I'll do some stuff off to the side."
He sighs, "Okay, take care, please. I don't like not being there to watch over you. Yes, I know you're an adult, but a man can still worry."
I smile at his care, and my heart flutters for extra measure.
"I'll take care, if you promise to do the same," I raise my pinky finger. He nods, connecting his pinky with mine, "promise, always."
Smiling is all I can do when I'm with him. It makes me forget the discomfort of momentary goodbyes but still grows high anticipation for future meetings.