Quinn
James and Wyatt explain everything to me, and I'm not really sure how to react. This changes everything, this more perfect version of New York I've been dreaming of is actually real. My best friend is from this world, and I can travel here in my dreams. It's all too surreal.
"So are we the only ones who can do this?"
"Not sure," Wyatt begins to say but James interrupts her.
"If it's anything like regular lucid dreaming, I assume not many people have the ability to do it," James says.
"Are there other worlds besides ours?"
Wyatt shrugs in reply, "I don't think so."
"I wish there was, that would be sick," James laughs.
"So when you guys come to my world, do you feel any different?"
"Not really," Wyatt says, "but sometimes when I resist waking up I feel a heaviness in my body and my head hurts."
James nods, "Yeah, we feel everything we normally would, pain and injuries transfer over between both worlds."
"So how are we all connected? Why us?" I ask.
"We don't know."
My stomach twists awkwardly. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Wyatt shrugs, "Well, now you know."
"What do we do now?"
"Now we should eat because I'm starving," James turns to a little boy I forgot was there. "Jack, you hungry?"
"Sure, I could eat." Jack replies.
"Cool. Dessert for dinner? Don't tell mom." Jack nods enthusiastically in reply. We walk out, and head to a nearby ice cream shop. The door chimes as we go in, bright colors decorate the place and the walls have paintings of icecream in cones. It reminds me slightly of Debbie's shop.
We walk to the counter, and countless of flavors are displayed, some I haven't even heard of. "Wyatt, what is this cot-ton candy?" I point to a light blue flavor that has specks of pink.
"The best thing known to mankind. You have to try it," she orders one for me and one for her.
The employee gives Wyatt a wide smile and says, "A cotton candy for the lovely lady." He then proceeds to give me mine, but never takes his eyes off of Wyatt. She blushes and looks down.
The employee tries to continue chatting with Wyatt when James interrupts, "This handsome guy wants a chocolate." I smirk at James' obvious jealousy. The employee just rolls his eyes then gives James and Jack their ice cream.
After we pay, we find a nice spot to sit down and eat. I take a small scoop and cautiously place it in my mouth. It tastes like nothing at first but then a sweetness explodes on my tongue. I can't really describe it, but it tastes like pure sugar which to me is pure happiness. Amazed, I take another bite.
My happiness doesn't last long, though, because I hear a distant buzz ringing in my ears. It's a familiar noise that I know all too well. I feel myself pulling away from this dream and panic. I can't just disappear in public. Hurriedly, I stand up, my chair falling back as I do and run to the bathroom, the last thing I hear is Wyatt calling after me.
~•~
I wake to the sound of the intercom buzzing. I shove my pillow over my head to try and drown out the noise but the buzzing remains constant. I grunt in frustration and lazily get up. I check the clock and it reads three in the morning. Who needs me at this time of night?
The buzzing keeps going, signaling me to go to the kitchen, I press the button and say, "I'll be there in a minute." I quickly get dressed in my maid uniform and run down the stairs to the main house. I go through the servants' entrance and hear a loud ruckus coming from the kitchen.
When I enter, the kitchen is a complete mess. Flour is spread all over the counter and eggs are cracked on the floor. The fridge is open and I see the one and only Carter Evanoch sat down in front, rummaging through it. "Mr. Evanoch? You called for me?"
He turns his face to me, flour covers his thick coat and pants and chocolate is smeared all over his face. Even through the mess I can make out his devastatingly handsome features. The stench of alcohol reaches me from here. "Quinn, is that you?" He slurs, squinting his eyes to look at me.
"Yes it's me, what do you need Mr. Evanoch?" I ask, trying to keep my composure although the corners of my mouth twitch up in amusement.
"Carter, call me Carter," those words sting as memories I want to forget flood back in.
"Carter," I say with a note of bitterness, "What can I do for you?"
"I want...I want cake, but I don't know how to make it." I roll my eyes and walk closer to him and inspect the fridge to find that there are no more eggs left, just as I suspected.
"We don't have the proper amount of supplies left to make cake, but I could make you something else if you wanted."
"That's okay," he closes his eyes and thinks for a minute. A moment later, his eyes open wide, "I'm going to make a Carter Cake." He exclaims.
"A what?" And before I can stop him, he grabs the bag of flour and dumps it all over the floor and begins rolling in it. Boy am I going to have fun cleaning this up.
He makes "flour angels" and sings the same thing over and over again, "Carter is a yummy snack. Carter is a yummy snack snack snack."
I burst out laughing, "Wow, you're really drunk." I try to help him up but he refuses to, I sigh in frustration and try fruitlessly to brush the flour from my cloths. "I'm going to need you to get up so I can get you to bed."
"I didn't know you felt that way about me, at least let me clean up first before I do what I do best."
"Sorry to disappoint, but you will be sleeping alone tonight." He pouts but reluctantly gets up , stumbling like a new born fawn. I drape his arm around my shoulders and try to help him walk. It doesn't do much considering I'm a head shorter than he is. I drag his body to the stairs, he suddenly goes limp and I almost drop him.
He snores loudly. I gently slap his face, "Carter wake up, wake up." He doesnt even stir, so I shake his body and he jolts awake.
"Hey...it's you," he slurs and grabs my face. He squishes my cheeks and leans in, I quickly swerve to the side, barely dodging his mouth. He sits, his lips puckered, kissing the air.
I laugh, "You're going to have the worst hangover when you wake up. Serves you right for making such a mess." We finally make it up the stairs and to his room.
He plops face down on his bed and yawns, "I still want cake." He quickly begins snoring again, and sleeps with his face smearing chocolate on the fine silk. It's like taking care of a giant toddler.
I catch a glimpse of the back of his pale white neck, which probably has never seen sunlight, always covered by his long blonde hair.
There's a birthmark that I've never noticed before. The light brown mark forms what looks like a flame. It's just like the leaf birthmark on the back of my neck. "Weird," I mumble to myself. I quietly leave and close the door behind me. Now it's time to clean up the huge mess in the kitchen. Thank you Carter Evanoch.
~•~
My arms ache after carrying Carter up the stairs and I'm a mess after cleaning up. I head back to the servants' corridor, and plop down in bed. I already know I won't be able to go back to bed, so I grab my mom's journal.
I put the key in the lock but hesitate. This doesn't feel right. I can't open this without Ashton, it's his book too in a way. But this is the only time I have to read it. I glance at the clock again, four thirty, but I dont want to wait until morning to see him.
I stand and pull on a light jacket, making the selfish decision to go to his apartment now, and step out into the cold night. I realize that it's four in the morning and I'm walking into the sketchy parts of town by myself. I look around for the nearest object and grab a medium sized rock and shove it into my pocket. Better than nothing.
The walk to Ashton's house isn't as long as I remember it being. I arrive at his little brick apartment, and press the button that rings for Ashton's apartment. There's no answer, so I ring it again. Still, nothing.
I sigh in frustration and I look up at the tall gate. The only way through is that gate and I'm definitely not giving up. I square my shoulders, determined to get over. I'm already here, might as well try.
I step back for a running start and jump as high as I can, grunting from the impact, and grip the iron bars. I wedge my feet in between the bars, and shimmy up the gate. Awkwardly, I swing one leg over the top, hanging precariously. With an immense amount of effort I pull the rest of my body up. I'm only at the top for a short moment before I lose my balance and fall over the side of the gate.
I land with a thump on the ground, the wind knocked out of me. Trying not to panic, I focus on my breathing until it recovers. Shaky and painful, but recovered. I groan as I stand already knowing my body will be bruised before morning. I brush off the dust and dirt on my cloths and look up when the gate squeaks open. A woman walks in and slams the door shut behind her. I mentally kick myself realizing that I could have just waited for someone to come along. All that work for nothing.
I limp up the stairs, which seem to go on forever. When I get to Ashton's apartment I knock loudly on the door. I hear some shuffling on the inside and the door slams open. Ashton's in a defensive stance with a sword pointed straight at me. I scream and in a frenzy I grab the rock in my pocket and throw it straight at him.
The rock misses him by a few good inches and flies past him and into his apartment. Ashton looks over his shoulder, confused and bored, before sheathing his sword. "What are you doing here this early in the morning?"
"I came here to read my mom's diary with you, I couldn't sleep and this is the only free time I have. So...here I am." I shrug, hoping he won't just kick me out and call me ridiculous. He scoffs and moves aside to let me in.
The apartment is still as spotless as the last time I was here. I set the book on the kitchen counter, turning to Ashton. He studies me and I blush at his intense gaze. "What? What are you looking at?"
"You have flour all over you," he replies.
"Yes I know, can we move on?" I ask embarrassed. We sit down on the couch and I start flipping through the pages of the journal. I catch a glimpse of a new name. Marie. "Who's Marie?" I think out loud.
"Marie was my mother's name," I hear Ashton say under his breath.
I look up from the pages at him, but his face is as blank as a mask. "Was?"
"It's a long story," he shakes his head and I get the message. And not one I want to go over right now. I flip to the second journal entry and we begin reading.