Logan
He watched Park drag her betrothed off, and he could feel the angry steam radiate off of her like solar flares off a sun. He remembered when they first met, and the first impression he got of her was a petite, shy, and pathetic little girl with red hair that couldn't speak.
And, boy, was he wrong.
His eyes wandered over to his girlfriend, Sophia, who looked like she was tittering on the brink of Niagra Falls worthy tears. Sophia had always been picked on when she was younger, called names that weren't true and anger surged beneath his blood.
Park glanced behind and he shot her a dark look. She, of all people, should understand what it was like to be called names. Sophia wasn't a slut--she was the farthest thing from one. But for Park to shoot that at her with that look of pure hatred on her face.
"Soph, don't cry," he said quickly as he rushed to her side and pulled her slim figure into his arms. She didn't fit like he always thought she did. She was too small, like she could slip away at any given moment. Her body was too warm and she smelled too much like Tropical Paradise.
Stop! his mind yelled as Sophia began to cry in his shoulder. She's your girlfriend! She. Is. Perfect.
But as much as he fought it, Logan began to think of Park and when she cried his arms. How she smelled like sweet tea and lemonade and fountain water, the tears not even blotting out her make-up. He asked her if her mascara was ever waterproof and she just laughed, saying waterproof was for babies.
No, Logan. Don't do this to yourself.
"Shh, Soph," he muttered into her blond hair. Vincent Van Hastings had blond hair. That stupid git, tall, broad shouldered, blue eyed British boy.
"Sh-she called me a slut!" Sophia hiccuped and the bawling grew louder and louder until Logan had to press Sophia tight against his chest so that the volume was turned down about a quarter of the way.
"Am I slut, Logie?" she said, removing her face from his chest. Her brown eyeliner and mascara were smeared around her blue eyes, and for a quick moment, Logan glanced down at his dress shirt and saw black stains.
Not again.
"No, Soph, you're not a slut," he reassured her. "Park's just in a bad mood. She doesn't mean it. Plus, you called her that too, and she's not a slut either."
"But she was trying to kiss you! I had to get her away from you before she forced you to do something you didn't want to do!" Sophia blubbered, and burst into even more heavy tears.
"You're getting worried over nothing," he protested. "Park doesn't like me in that way."
"Yes, she does! Can't you see it when she looks at you? She's going to try and steal you away from me! But you're mind, Logie! You've always been mine!"
What was Sophia talking about? Park had made it clear that the feelings they used to have for each other were unwelcome. Sophia needed glasses. Or a therapist, perhaps.
"But why were you guys so close?" Sophia managed to ask as she calmed down, sniffling frequently in the thirty second span it took for Logan to think of a perfectly good reason for wrapping his arms around Park's waist.
"She fell, and was unsteady on her feet," he quickly lied. Well, if he was going to be technical, then it was the truth. Park had let out this completely unexpected scream and shoved herself away from him, then continued on whispering about making a fire go away.
Park was weird--but that moment had been undeniably too strange.
He should check on her. Even if she had been cruel towards his Sophia, he could not get the image of the fright on her face from before.
Sophia must've felt him relax, and instantly this predatory glare was set on her face. "Are you thinking about her?"
"What? No!"
Lie.
"You are too!" Sophia's voice, normally bubblegum sweet and light, like delicate wind chimes in the summer breeze, now rose to a high shrill. He remembered what Darkwood had said about her voice once: One moment it's persistingly annoying and the other it's a high frequency sound wave of Shut-The-Hell-Up.
He really shouldn't be thinking this way of his girlfriend.
"Do you like her?" she pushed, and leaned into him, a ferocious, alarming venom beneath her light blue eyes as she waited for his answer.
"No. I don't," he said, calm and cool, even though there was a volcanic explosion of chaos underneath. Of course he didn't like Park. But, he did, didn't he? She said they couldn't be together. He had a girlfriend now. And she just walked off with Vincent Van Hastings. And I bet, if they called off the betrothal, then she'd go to Darkwood because they kissed. No matter what she said, Darkwood probably liked her, and she probably liked him.
"Sophia," he started. "You're beautiful, funny, sweet, and my first kiss. It's been six years, almost seven since I've met you and I still haven't forgotten how I felt. I've never forgotten."
Another lie. If it hadn't been for Park Sparrow, it could've been true. But in those few months that he had truly known her, he had forgotten all about Sophia Misser. But it couldn't be that way anymore. Now it had to be the other way around: he had to forget Park Sparrow, and remember the girl he met at one of the agencies when he was eleven.
Oh, gods, he needed to stop thinking about that cursed girl.
Did he really just say gods?
The jealous fire in Sophia's eyes began to burn out. She wrapped her arms around him, seeming happier (obviously) than before. "I knew it! I knew you loved me!"
Wait, what? When did he say that?
Before he could correct her, she pressed his lips against hers, and he tasted sugar and honey and lip gloss for ten seconds before she pulled away and graced him with a peck on the cheek. "Call me later?"
He nodded, still trying to figure when he had ever said the dangerous Three Words to Soph. His girlfriend wandered away, her long blond hair bouncing against her back as she skipped, happy that Logan had no feelings for Park.
At least, that's what he hoped to achieve before he would have to watch Park walk down the aisle with Golden Boy.
Feeling like an extreme mess, he journied towards his mother's office with hopes that her soon-to-be fiancé had decided to go rent out a hotel and stay there for the rest of the day.
But, alas, his hopes were futile. For when he opened the door to his mother's circular office, nestled on the fourth corridor of the academy, with a window to look out in the courtyard that his mother loved to stand by, he saw Vincent Van Hastings sipping a cup of tea while his mother conversed with him, a resigned expression on her face.
"--please do try and explain to your mother that we could find a suitable place for someone of your status here in Paradise. It was so sudden and we can't just rent out a mansion for no reason. Gosh, Evangeline is going to throw such a fit."
"Lady Cross, please do not worry. I will speak to my mother about everything," Vincent said quickly.
"I'm so sorry if our welcome wasn't more warming. Especially with Park. It's just that sweetheart has had so much to deal with lately. She doesn't show it but after all these surprises, especially the one about her amnesia, I'm surprised she hasn't tried and strangled anybody yet."
Amnesia? Park never mentioned anythng about amnesia. Then again, Park hasn't mentioned much to him besides Harry Potter lately.
"And what did you say happen to her earlier? She was screaming about something?"
"A fire. Mister Logan and I didn't know what to do, she seemed to be in a world of her own that we couldn't take her out of. It was like her night terrors."
His mother didn't say anything, and feeling left out, Logan seized the opportunity and let himself in. "She said to make the fire stop. Mother, what's this about amnesia?"
Logan's mother didn't look at him, but merely put her face into her palms, sighing heavily. "I cannot tell you. No, I will not tell you. Not now."
Wow. That was the first time his mother had been truly secretive about something. And Catarina Cross didn't seem to be in the mood to have her buttons pressed, so Logan shut his mouth about the topic of amnesia.
"Where's Park?" Logan asked. Vincent Van Hastings was the one that answered. Logan disliked the look on his face. Too kind, too trusting. If Logan had met himself twenty minutes ago, he would've hated himself. But here was Vincent Van Hastings, looking incredibly happy to be of service.
"She is probably with Lord Darkwood," he informed Logan. "She had called him earlier."
A pang of jealousy struck at Logan's heart. She had called for Darkwood and not him? For a split second he let his cold expression drop to show the disappointment he held. He felt replaced all of a sudden, not welcome around his princess anymore.
"Do you know where they went?" Logan asked Vincent, a bitter tone creeping into his voice. Vincent noticed, for he quailed in his seat, unable to look Logan in the eyes.
"I think she called it the Locker Ghost Courtyard," Vincent mumbled into his tea. He had an extremely quiet voice, and had Logan not been trained to use all his senses, he wouldn't have been able to catch it.
"Thanks," Logan said quickly before rushing out the door. He didn't know why he was in such a hurry to interrupt a private meeting between Sparrow and Darkwood. An imaged flashed beneath his eyelids: he was back in the coffee shop, watching Darkwood pull Park into his arms and kiss her.
No, she wouldn't do that again. It had been a dare. But what if Park had fallen for him after the incident on the boat? Superman syndrome or something? He could've protected her from the brutes they found unconscious. Both Alec and Park had returned home with bruises covering their bodies.
Soon, he was stalking towards the private courtyard that Park loved to hide in. Especially after that one time when he had told the whole academy they were dating. Oh, the fury on her face when she learned why everyone started admiring her.
He had only meant to help. And then she went and hid in the city. What was wrong with her?
"--I have nine hours of pure freedom left, Alec," Logan heard Park say. Ducking behind a pillar, he listened in. Why was he hiding? Why did he feel like she didn't want him there? Park had never pushed him away before, yet why did it feel like if he showed up, he wouldn't be wanted?
"Normally, I'd complain that I have to listen to you complain, but that does really suck. I'm sorry," Darkwood said. "Do you hate Vincent?"
"No, of course not! Vincent's like a gigantic cuddly teddy bear that probably can't even a harm a fly. I tried making him play Black Ops once and he freaked out."
"Pathetic," Logan muttered at the same Darkwood said it. Seriously? Darkwood was going to copy his words now?
"It's just I don't want to be engaged so soon. I'm too young to be married!" she protested, and she grumbled in frustration. Logan could just imagine her expression: scrunched eyebrows, scowl on her face as her dark eyes blazed with irritation.It was always so fun to fuel the flames by teasing her, like he did all those years.
"That, my friend, is where you are wrong!" Darkwood said cheerfully. "You are forgetting that you are a princess. Princessess, especially the Disney ones, get married at a frightfully perfect of sixteen, where they are at their smartest, wisest, and brightest stage. So you're a bit old to be married."
"Then no one's going to want to marry you either, you old potatoe sack. You turned eighteen in June, didn't you?"
"Do you stalk me now?"
"Yes."
Logan couldn't help it; he smiled widely. Park and her replies to everything and everyone never changed, did they?
"I have a question for you, you old crone," Darkwood said. "Why did you call me again?"
"That sounds like an insult. Am I not worth your time?"
Darkwood sighed. "Leave it to you to turn a simple question into something more dramatic. You should be an English teacher."
"I had no one else to talk to," Park said simply. "Zen and Minnie probably are left. They've been so busy trying to track down my assassin. Elijah's at work. Father's with Professor Fell. All I have now is you, Alec."
"What about Cross? Your bodyguard?"
Logan waited intensely for her answer. Yes, she had him. He would always be at her call, ready to come to her when she needed him. She just had to ask, did she not know that?
"I don't want to talk to him."
* * *
Park
Despite how rainy it was outside, Elijah's coffee shop was still as packed as usual. There was soft jazz, featuring only a drumset, piano, bass, and a saxophone playing in the background as customers lined the counter, waiting for their daily dose of caffeine.
I didn't have to work today, but still I was here, sitting with Alec as Professor Fell explained to us some more about my amnesia.
My red wig was pulled into a ponytail, the tail thrown over my shoulder because I had pulled the gray hood of my tight gray sweashirt over my head, my army green jacket snuggling me nicely as I listened in. My boots and jeans were still wet, and it was beginning to bother me.
Alec, on the otherhand, looked rather bored, his chin propped up on his hand as he attempted to tune into our conversation. The hood of his black jacket was pulled up as well, but only because his wet hair made me want to ruin it, and guys, let me tell you: if there's one thing Alec Darkwood loves more than his own life, it's his hair.
Just remember that.
"It is really alarming, though," Professor Fell said again. "You said it just came out of nowhere?"
"Yes," I repeated. "One moment, I was thinking about a teddy bear, and the next, this five-year-old sets a cabin on fire. I just don't understand!"
Professor Fell stared outside for a few moments, his fingers locked together and used as a base for his chin. Sometimes, I wondered if he was a vampire too, because he didn't blink as much as a human should.
"Memories can be triggered by simple things. Perhaps what you were thinking of could've been linked to the past. Something important. Something that was a key part of the incident," Professor Fell said. "Can you remember what you were thinking of?"
"Were you thinking about setting Vincent or Logan on fire?" Alec suggested. Oh, so he was awake! "You are quite violent like that."
"No, I was actually thinking about setting your hair on fire," I remarked, sipping the hot chocolate Professor Fell had bought for me. He had bought Alec one as well, but he had barely touched it.
"Don't you dare," Alec warned with a hint of vehemence in his voice. "Leave my hair alone, Sparrow."
I stuck my tongue out at him. That was the most alive he had sounded today. In the morning, he had been dazed and stuck in Wonderland, refusing to meet my gaze. Then he had accompanied me here, but barely participated in the conversation.
"I was thinking.." I began, "about a teddy bear. There was a teddy bear in my dream as well. Little ol' me said my father had given it to me."
Professor Fell pressed his lips together in an effort not to laugh ."Forgive me for asking, but why were you thinking of a teddy bear?"
A blush bloomed on my cheeks as I recalled being held like a bride in Logan's arms, his grip tight, his cologne spreading over me like fairy dust sprinkled down upon a field.
"I was going to buy Alec a teddy bear," I lied, trying to look sweet and believable as possible. See, the worst thing about me is that at times, I could manage to look trusting and princess-like. However, most of the time (ninety-nine percent, to be technical), I looked like a frustrated wizard hermit stuck in the forest by herself who hated people.
"I don't like teddy bears!" Alec protested hot-headedly, looking at me with a pissed off expression. "You know that!"
"He's been having nightmares," I said gravely, and clamped a hand over Alec's mouth. "He's been in denial about it, but late at night, he screams and lashes out at me whenever I try to calm him down. That's why he's been so quiet today."
Alec was probably looking at me with daggers aimed at my heart, but I didn't pay attention. Professor Fell glanced between the both of us, a fine eyebrow raised as he digested my story.
"Right, like that's believable. However, what was the purpose of the bear in your dream?" Professor Fell said.
"It was a gift to me, but this girl wanted it. We had a tug-of-war, and I won, obviously. I mean, no one can beat me."
At this, Alec scoffed, and I would bet my Harry Potter book collection that he was rolling his jade green eyes. No, I take that back. I would rather die than give up Harry Potter.
"She threw a tantrum," I said. "A really big one. She was knocking objects, screaming, whining. She pushed over her bag, and this can of hairspray rolled into the fireplace. And boom!" With my hands, I imitated a small explosion. I heard Alec suck in a fresh breath of air as I made sound effects.
Professor Fell blinked several times, a look of utter disbelief on his face as we watched him process my account on what happened in a cabin twelve years ago.
"Let me get this straight: two little girls fought over a cheap teddy bear, and your friend threw a tantrum because she lost and that's how the cabin set on fire? That's how you lost your memory?"
I nodded and shrugged, slightly distracted by Alec's creeping hands towards my hot chocolate. Quickly, I slapped it away, and a look of hurt flashed on his face as he massaged the back of his hand.
"You don't know it was cheap," I corrected. "I mean, this is my father we're talking about. He spent a hundred dollars on a coffee mug for my mother once."'
"Even if I was prince of a country, I would not spend a lot of money on a teddy bear, that, let's face it, you'd probably hide away in a bag when you grow up. But seriously? That's what happened?"
"Professor Fell, you are a brilliant teacher in history, but if you ask me that question one more time, I'll have to make you history as someone who was thrown over a bridge by a soon-to-be eighteen year old princess."
"It's just hard to think that the reason you lost your memory was over a bear. A fake, pink-ribboned bear."
"Lord, that is one possessive, psychotic, temperamental child," he breathed. "Now we just have to look out for a possessive, psychotic, temperamental girl around your age. Perhaps she had a teddy bear now."
I could feel Alec tense up besides me. That was strange because Alec never tensed up for anything. He and Zen were (in my mind) running for the Most Impassive Person Of The Year. Was his strange behavior connected to me?
"Professor, could you give us a moment?" I asked.
"Actually, yes. I have errands to run anyway," Professor Fell said, but he had caught on to the dark look that Alec was wearing. "Good luck, Park. I hope you recover soon."
As soon as Professor Fell left the coffee shop, I whirled towards Alec. "Are you okay? You haven't been acting normal."
"What have I been acting like? I'm curious," Alec said. He appeared to be lost in his thoughts again, far away from reality.
"Alexander Darkwood, what is going on?"
In a flash, Alec pulled out his phone and dropped it on the table. In that moment, everything changed with Alec. The boy, disinterested and mysteriously quiet with raven hair that fell onto his forehead was gone. He looked petrified, but it wasn't fear for himself.
Tentatively, I picked it up and unlocked his phone (I was the one who set the password).
"Go to my messages," he said, his voice low, shaking with undeniable fear. I did as he said, tapping the green box with a white speech bubble. "The first one, the one who the number," he said. And so I pressed on that.
You thought you could escape, did you now, little Darkwood?
Well news flash:
You didn't.
Send my love to the princess. The red wig looks absolutely wonderful on her.