Did you know you're reading the first draft of this book? The revised edition is now on Wattpad. Check out the earlier chapters of this book to read it now!
🔮
I awoke suddenly with a sentence halfway out of my mouth. In my dream I had been having a conversation; I could've sworn someone was beside me, whispering questions, demanding answers in my ear as I lay face down on the couch. As I was about respond, annoyed that they were interrupting a rather excellent sleep, consciousness kicked in—I had barely uttered a word, but it was enough to jolt me awake. Then I realized I was alone in my dark living room and that anyone who had been talking to me had been only in my dream.
I sat up suddenly, and the darkness was disorienting. What had intended to be an innocent cat nap had ended up spanning enough hours that Autumn sun had set and night had fallen. I had been asleep for at least four hours, and I could feel the lines embedded in my cheek from where it had smushed against the cushions of my new couch. My shoulder length hair was matted to one side of my head and I smacked my lips, trying to rid my mouth of that awful dry, cottony sensation. I hated accidental coma-naps.
My stomach rumbled angrily, the breakfast from this morning a distant memory. I groaned and slid off the couch, fumbling around my dark apartment for the light switch. I didn't remember the new layout of the room just yet, and so I smacked my shins against the new furniture as I went, cursing loudly with every impact.
When my hand finally found the switch, the light easily flickered to life—only to make that telltale tinkling noise and then sputter out. I swore again; I had no spare light bulbs. And still no food.
It looked like I would need to go out again. I hesitated for a moment, because my nap had left me looking like a zombie recently risen from the grave. But I quickly pushed my concerns aside; who cared what I looked like? Who would even see me? No one important, no one who knew me, no one I gave two shits about.
Having a bad break up had done some interesting things to my self-esteem. It had flucated wildly over the past few weeks. Sometimes I felt like no one in the world would ever find me attractive again, and I was sure that I'd be alone forever. Or, I felt like the hottest thing to ever walk the Earth, a gift from heaven to those around me, so sure that it had been Rick's loss for letting me go. And then there were those other times... the times where I couldn't bring myself to care at all, about what I did, or what I looked like; I was impervious to all judgment.
Tonight was one of those nights.
I combed through my hair quickly—painfully—with my fingers and rubbed the side of my face in hopes of smoothing out the lines. It didn't really help, but it was enough to convince me to leave the house in search of a corner store. I was feeling brave. I had already conquered a mountain of Scandinavian furniture; I could do anything.
I locked up my apartment, the bolt sliding easily into place, already feeling like a natural habit. I leapt up the steps to street level and spotted a large illuminated sign in the distance — a convenience store was close by. I was just about to jog down the street, the promise of chips and pop beckoning to me, but I stopped suddenly in my tracks. I hadn't even made it past my own building, distracted by something extraordinary.
The light in the psychic shop was on, the sign was flipped to OPEN.
After two days of no signs of life from the store, here it was, the middle of the night, it's neon sign flickering away, a soft warm glow peeping through the curtains. I stared at it in shock, bewildered that it would be open now, at this hour. At that moment, my stomach ceased growling, forgetting its need. My urgent errand of light bulbs was also dismissed. I didn't even stop to think that I looked like something that had crawled out of a dumpster.
I stepped forward, slinking down the shop's steps. I approached the plain white door, identical to mine, like I was stalking skittish prey. I was strangely afraid that if I moved too quickly or too loudly, the light would suddenly shut off and I'd miss my chance.
Why did I want to go in so badly? It was the strongest, indescribable urge. Maybe it was the mystery of the neighbouring shop that kept such weird hours. Maybe I was just too curious for my own good. Or maybe... maybe it was the feeling of the unknown that pervaded in my life right now. I had been looking for answers, for insight, and... That was what psychic's did, right? They told you about your future.
I reached for the doorknob and I froze, suddenly self-conscious. This was so unlike me. I had never been one to indulge in superstition, and it was absurd that I was on the threshold now. What would I say? What would I ask? Whatever my personal problems were, did I really need to talk to a psychic?
The skeptic in me flared up, reminding me that all psychics were really just perceptive liars. They just tell you what you want to hear, and used smoke and mirrors to weasel you out of your money
But as I was about to turn away, the ache returned, and I knew why I wanted to go in. It was about Rick. My rational self was failing me yet again. Even though my brain told myself that I would be all right, that I would make it through this, that I'd find someone else, that psychics were nothing but frauds... My heart, my weak, broken heart, wanted reassurance. It wanted to hear someone else to say it. It wanted to be told that my future held happiness... and love. Even if I had to hear it from a psychic, someone who I knew deep down was probably just lying to get their hands on my cash.
Then all the arguments I was wrestling with in my head were suddenly thrown aside, because before I could bring myself to grip the handle and turn it, it turned itself. I went rigid, and not out of self-consciousness, but out of fear. Was the door opening itself? Did they know I was there? That would be too creepy, even for a skeptic like me.
But it wasn't magic, or something otherwordly. It was just a person, silhouetted by the bright light behind them. The contrast made it difficult to see them for a moment, but when my eyes finally adjusted to the change in light and I looked into their eyes, I could barely remember my name.
It was the guy — that gorgeous, perfect guy — from this morning. His green eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, sharp and crystal clear. I was simultaneously entranced and envious; I only had dull brown eyes that didn't do anything spectacular.
And all I could do was stare at him, like he was a mirage and would disappear as soon I could find the will to blink.
"Can I help you?" he said, breaking the awkward silence that had started to drag on. His gaze was shrewd but kind, and a little confused. He just looked a little surprised to find me on his doorstep in such a disheveled state.
"Uhm," I replied, wittily. "I'm here to see the psychic...?"
He blinked for a second before his face eased into that wide, beautiful grin — the same one from this morning. "Sure, come in."
As he stepped aside from the door to allow me to enter, it suddenly occurred to me that this was the second time I had seen him around here. What was a gorgeous thing like him doing hanging out in a shop like this? Was he a friend, or just a regular customer? Even my usually rational mind ran out of control as I wondered to myself if I could date a guy who regularly visited psychics shops like this...
The thought of shops like this flitted away as I entered. This was not what came to mind when I had thought of a psychic shop. I had been expecting a wizened old woman hidden beneath a mountain of shawls, candles on every surface, with embroidered tapestries and bizarre art covering the walls. This shop, however, was the absolute opposite of that. It was surprisingly modern.
It looked, obviously, the same as my apartment on the other side — or, at least, the part that I could see did. I couldn't see the rest of it. The room had been divided by a large white curtain, splitting the main room in half and hiding the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom from the customer's view.
In the part of the apartment I could see, furniture was sparse but in a stylish, minimalist sort of way. Pushed against the far wall there was a long, thin table in a blonde wood, cluttered with various knick knacks and instruments. In the centre of the room, a matching square table was placed with two chairs on either side, facing each other. While the thin table was piled with oddities I couldn't name, the square table only held a single deck of cards, slightly overlarge, with delicately decorated backings.
No, this was not at all what I had expected.
The mysterious, delicious man waited paitently for a moment as I gawked around the room. When I finally came back to Earth, blushing as I realized what a space case I was being, he lead me towards the table in the centre of the makeshift room.
He pulled out one of the chairs for me and wordlessly invited me to sit with a wave of his hand. I smiled at him as I took my seat, admiring his chivalry, trying my best to look alluring despite the fact I actually looked like I had lost a fight with a rabid animal. I prepared myself to wait, expecting him to disappear behind the curtain to retrieve the elusive psychic, wondering if it was his mother, or grandmother, or girlfriend... my chest tightened at the last thought. I hoped it wasn't that.
But he casually took the seat across from me, and, for a moment, I was stunned. Surely, it couldn't be him? Him? He should be modelling somewhere overseas, starring in movies, seducing a thousand women with a single glance, not working in a psychic shop.
My earlier thought returned... Could I date a man who regularly visits psychics? Maybe. Could I date a man who is a psychic? The idea seemed insane... until I looked into those green eyes, those impossibly green eyes, and suddenly the answer wasn't so clear.
Pulling the cards towards him, he smiled at me again. I smiled back, trying to suppress this budding obsession. I forced myself back to reality and tried to stay there.
"So, are you looking for a general reading?"
"Huh?" I responded, failing miserably as I was lost again in those gorgeous eyes.
"Are you looking for an answer to a specific question?" He gently prodded, without a hint of exasperation for my flighty behaviour. Why couldn't I act normal? "Or are you just looking for a general reading?"
"Oh! Well, I'm kind of wondering about..." a blush flooded my face, and I finally begin to feel a little stupid being here, "my... my love life." The last two words came out as barely a whisper. I looked at the table, too ashamed to meet his gaze.
"Of course," he said. His tone held no scorn; in fact, it so kind that it gave me confidence to look up again. His eyes were still sweet, not judging me, and my silly questions. But as I thought about it, he's probably like this with all his customers. "My name's Luc, by the way. Anything more specific, or just your love life?"
"Well, my boyfriend... ex-boyfriend. I just broke up with him. His name is Rick. He cheated on me." It all just tumbled out of my mouth. Why couldn't I control myself around him? I was suddenly hyper-conscious of my appearance and tried my best to covertly smooth my wild hair.
If I had known it was him, that I would be here, alone, with him... I could've prepared myself, done this right. I could be here in a killer outfit, with hair tantalizingly mussed, softly whimpering to him about just how awful Rick had been. I could've hinted at how I was lonely and looking for someone new, hoping that he'd prefer to comfort me than play with his cards.
I could've played it perfectly.
But instead, here I was, with my disastrous hair and hideous outfit; one side of my hair looked like it had been attacked by a muskrat. And my clothes... I was still wearing my moving outfit, clothes that were so holey and stained I didn't even wear them to the gym. I wasn't wearing a smidge of make up and I still felt the lines from where the couch cushion pressed into my face.
And yet, though a part of me wanted to crawl into a hole and die, I still felt so comfortable with him. He didn't seem to care that I looked like an escaped mental patient. Luc just smiled at me, like he was genuinely pleased to see me. I could feel myself melting a little, even though the rational part of me reminded me that this was probably just business for him.
"What a complete and utter asshole." Luc said, still smiling. It was almost strange to see such a sweet guy utter a profanity with such sincerity.
To hell with my rational side, I thought, as I melted a little more.
"Uhm, yes." My conversation skills were unrivalled. "I was just... wondering... if everything, you know... will be alright. If I'll be alright."
Luc nodded knowingly as he shuffled the deck, my eyes drawing to them. The cards looked older now that I focused on them, with their worn edges and curled corners. He did one more complicated shuffle, then flicked them out onto the table, spreading them out into a complex formation with the dexterity of a Vegas dealer, all the cards lying face down.
Once he was done, he hovered his fingers over one particular card before flipping it over. He paused again, examining it, and then moving onto the others, turning them over, one by one. Each card revealed detailed and colourful images of people holding swords and goblets or surrounded by stars, each captioned in some language I couldn't read.
I watched as he carefully examined each card, fascinated... and then blanched when I recognized one of the figures on the card without needing to read the caption. It was a simple figure, its face hidden under the hood of its long black cloak, and it was carrying a scythe in its skeletal hand. It was the Grim Reaper — Death. Death had shown up in my future. I gulped and smothered a whimper.
Luc must have noticed the change in my expression and my focus on the card. He tapped it lightly with his finger to get my attention. When I looked up at him, my eyes wide and desperate, he gave me a comforting look.
"These are tarot cards," he said. "And there's no need to fear the Death card. It simply represents an end to something. In this position, it's just speaking about the end of your last relationship. You're perfectly safe."
I sighed, relieved, feeling a little stupid. How could I let myself get swept up in all this? What sort of skeptic was I? I couldn't help but notice a gentle smile playing on his lips as he scanned the rest of the cards. I took advantage of his distraction to admire his beautiful face — but it was more than that. He was sweet, kind, understanding. If only I had prepared myself better. But we were neighbours now; I would have other chances...
Just as I began to entertain the idea of us together, plotting out my seduction, his smile suddenly fell. I caught his eye as he shot me a sneaky glance, and I immediately noticed a difference; his sweetness was gone. His eyes were steely and cold, like the warm light had gone out. There was no more compassion there. The smile that seemed to constantly be at his lips had died, and his mouth was only a thin line of disapproval.
For a moment, I was sure he was just teasing me. I expected him to break the facade, to laugh out loud at my reaction, as his expression had to be a joke. I waited him to return to normal and assure me everything was fine... but the longer we stared at each other, the more fear crept up my spine. His expression did not change. He wasn't faking.
I began to panic internally, drowning out my rational side completely. "W-what is it?" I stammered, afraid to ask the question for fear of getting the wrong answer.
"Not much. Nothing too bad," Luc's voice was calm, but it had lost the playfulness and charm. He was all business now. "You won't meet anyone anytime soon. Romance isn't in the cards for you at this moment. But your future is bright; you'll find love eventually. Just not now. Not for a while. You should take time to focus on yourself. That's all they say."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
I winced before I could stop myself from reacting. My shoulders slumped, and I could feel the prickling of tears in my eyes. My inner strength roared up again, and I willed myself not to cry in front of a psychic. A goddamn psychic, for chrissakes! Why was I getting all worked up about something as stupid as this? What made me believe that this is even real?
But I said nothing. A weak "Oh," was all I could muster without my voice breaking. I nodded, and stood up, heading straight for the door, utterly defeated. I thought of Rick, and it suddenly seemed all the more horrible. My throat seized like I wanted to sob but I fought it back. All I wanted was to leave, but something stopped me. These kinds of psychics — these frauds — would never do anything for free. I was going to have to pay him for doing this to me, and that at least pushed my anger ahead of my depression.
I turned back to him, blinking away the tears, and shoved my hand into the pocket of my pants, feeling for the money I had reserved for dinner and light bulbs. I silently held it out for him; I didn't even want to ask how much it was.
Luc was still at the table, not looking at me but down at the cards. He must've felt my eyes on him as he flicked his gaze to me, and saw that I was holding out money.
"No. No, this is free. This one is free," he said, softly, with a strange hint of apology.
"How nice. Thanks," I said—my tone was cold, unable to hide my disappointment. I put the money back in my pocket, and as I turned to leave the little shop, promising myself I would never return, I swore I saw him glance at me with a look of deepest remorse.
If you're looking for something more polished, you should check out the new & improved version of THE PSYCHIC NEXT DOOR! It's been completely edited and expanded. I'm currently posting the new chapters on Wattpad every week!
You can download it for FREE right now! Find the links here:
http://www.yvetterussell.com/the-psychic-next-door