Lenora
From my new bedroom I can hear my father’s voice. It’s rough and loud, punctuated by my mother’s softer words, indistinct yet urgent before I hear shattering glass. I’m out the door and tripping down the stairs before I know it. Hugo manifests into being, bypassing the stairs, and stands in the doorway while I crouch out of view.
“It’s okay,” Hugo says, though he keeps his arms outstretched, fingertips resting against the doorframe, as though to stop me from barging in.
I’ve not seen my parents fight in years, though I know they still do. Harsh whispers in the dark after my father returns home after another late shift, or in the kitchen early in the morning when they think I’m still asleep. Rarely is it serious, and generally it’s about the same things: the long hours Father works, Mother’s addiction to vintage video games, never about me. They’re always unified when it comes to me.
What broke? I ask, trying to make out the moving shapes reflected in the deactivated wallscreen opposite the door.
“A glass. Full of whisky, by the looks of things. There’s a puddle,” Hugo relates as Father’s voice rises again from the furious whispered argument as to whose fault it is.
“Mari! I don’t need this from you, too!” he snaps and I see a figure pace in the wallscreen’s reflection.
“Your mother’s trying to get him to be quiet,” Hugo says. I can imagine my mother waving her hands about, gesturing to the ceiling, to the room above, where they think I’m getting ready for my date.
“Dylan, please. This has gone too far. Even Rhia’s having her doubts. If I’d known …” Mother says desperately. I see movement and hear the tinkle of glass.
“You’d have what?” Father growls, towering over my mother. For a moment I think he’ll hit her. Hugo waves a hand to me to keep still and I quiver, prepared to burst in. My father has never raised a hand at either of us. I’ve never thought he could be capable of it, and now that I have, the thought refuses to leave me alone and I feel guilty. My father is a good man. An honest one. Hard working and dedicated to the thousands of rules that define this station, define him.
“What would you’ve done, Mari? Would you’ve given all this up? Declined the Guardian’s offer?”
“I don’t know,” Mother hisses, voice tight as she reins in her anger. “But this is wrong! What happened to Ashville is wrong!”
“Your father looks like he’s going to blow an eyeball any minute,” Hugo informs me. I edge closer to the door, sinking until my bottom hits the carpet and I sidle across. Quickly, I chance a look.
Mother has collected the broken glass and mopped the amber liquid with her scarf. Father pulls back when Mother stands with a cupped palm full of glass, his hands flexing into fists then opening again as he takes deep, steadying breaths. He looks tired, his skin pale and tight around his lips. I sit back, my head gently falling against the wall as I listen. This is different from their usual arguments, and yet it seems familiar, as though they’ve always been arguing beneath passing the salt and compiling grocery lists.
“We both agreed to this,” Father says, resigned, and the two figures blur together in the reflection.
“They’re hugging. That’s good, right?” Hugo hisses.
“I worry about her. Maybe we were wrong,” Mother murmurs.
“She’s well on her way to being most popular. A year, maybe two, and she’ll have everything she’s ever dreamed of. This couldn’t have happened if we’d said no,” Father soothes. It’s like a storm has passed.
“But she’s so lonely,” my mother sobs. I leave, my vision blurring and my throat tight as I sneak up the stairs and into my room.
“What do you think they were talking about?” Hugo ask.
“I don’t know.”
I drag on my best haptic suit before pulling on an old tracksuit, soft and stretched one size too big. I select a plain black pair of modes and fluff my hair before switching on my live feed.
I stomp down the stairs to make sure my parents hear me. I almost make it to the door before my father calls me back. I scrunch up my face and spin on my heel, finding my parents sitting in the living room as though they’d never fought at all. My followers grumble as Father’s usual Blocker interferes with my live feed.
“Are you going by motor-carriage?” Father asks.
“I prefer to walk.”
My parents share a look and I try to be patient as I check the time.
“This boy,” my mother starts, and I look at her incredulously. Torin Hunt, a boy? “You’re being careful, right?”
Warmth flushes up my neck as I dart a look at my father and then back at Mother. She’s going to have this conversation now, with everyone watching?
“I think she knows,” Father mutters with a cough.
“I know relationships develop more quickly for high-rankers, but be careful,” Mother says. Father shoos me out without another glance, but Mother follows me out onto the front stoop, insisting on a kiss before I leave.
As she pulls away, leaving my cheek warm, I ask softly, “Is everything okay?”
Her lips part, startled, and then twist into a sad smile.
“Of course, sweetheart.” She fusses with my hair, tucking it around my modes. “I really wish I knew who gave you your gorgeous red locks.”
I want to push. I want to ask why she’s been fighting with Father. Instead, my mother tugs on my hair once more, her smile shifting to something fond, and goes back inside.
As I leave, the house offers a quiet farewell, which makes me homesick for our old house and its well-meaning ways. I know Father will be keeping tabs on me and Mother will be checking my live feed. Hugo adjusts my holo-glamour until I’m another face in the crowd. I spot a few fans who are obviously following my feed, gaggles of confused yet giggling groups that are all one step behind me as they try to spot me. It’s a game of sorts, as though they’re on a treasure hunt.
I reach my usual VHS and log in to the Cyberinth, my entry room lit by invisible candlelight.
I open my wardrobe and consider what my avatar can wear to impress Torin Hunt. I discard one dress and consider another two. “What do you think?” I speak aloud to my fans. I pretend to compare the materials, one silky smooth and the other more slinky. I’m really watching Hugo. A little crease appears between his eyes and he sucks a tooth as if trying to get rid of a particularly distasteful flavour.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
“Beats me,” he shrugs from the couch. “Choose the silk one.”
“Why?” I ask, even though I’d been leaning towards that one myself.
“It’s not as short,” he looks away. I choose the short blue one to be contrary, and my followers approve. They especially like it when I slip into a pair of gold heels that give me an extra six inches and do amazing things to my calves. I pause in the mirror to blow a kiss then sweep from my room.
At the Studios tele-station, I select a capsule to Neptuna’s Realm, a water world I’ve yet to have the pleasure of visiting. Seconds later and I’m stepping out onto a wooden deck stretching in both directions as far as I can see, narrow wharves dotted with tiny, white rowboats jutting out into the water, smooth as a mirror. The evening sky is a stunning swirl of creams and apricots, and the air is salty and fresh. My dress sparkles in the light.
“Skies above, I love this,” I murmur.
Torin is waiting for me at the wharf, dressed in skinny charcoal gray slacks rolled to the knees, his feet bare, and a dark blue blazer that buttons up at the sides with big brass buttons. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal lean arms dusted with fine golden hair.
“Good evening, Lenora,” he purrs and gathers both my hands to alight soft kisses on them. Half my followers swoon and the rest offer suggestions that make me want to laugh.
“Torin,” I greet and allow him to tuck my arm in his as he leads me across the sun-bleached wood.
“Careful here.” Torin grips my elbow more firmly. “I’d hate for you to take a tumble. What kind of date would I be then?”
I laugh and gaze at him with a careful cocktail of adoration and appreciation. His return smile is just as designed, heated desire and enchanted, yet for a tiny second I could have sworn it had been cooler, more calculating. Wally’s words have wiggled deep into my mind and I’m second-guessing Torin’s every smile and carefully turned word. If I’m playing this game, it makes sense he is, too, except he’s been doing it a lot longer than me.
“Welcome, Mr Hunt, sir,” the merman maitre-d’ gives a precise bow from the water, pearly blue scales flashing across his skin. “If you would leave your shoes here, Miss Rey.”
Neatly placed pairs of shoes, a mix of glitzy heels and shiny loafers, sit in a row along the wharf’s edge.
I lean on Torin a little more than I need to as I slip off one heel and then the other. He feels good along my side, strong and warm.
“Clingy mood tonight, Nora?” Hugo mocks, though his tone is sharp and I draw away, strangely embarrassed. Sometimes it’s difficult ignoring how my heart still skips for my invisible best friend.
You try wearing these shoes! I hiss.
“There’s no pain in this realm,” Hugo replies. He’s transparent as usual, yet his eyes are focused on my feet with an intensity that surprises me.
You can try them for yourself later, I tease.
“Don’t think they’re my size,” he replies with a smirk, eyes trailing up my legs until they rest on my face.
“Your boat is this way,” the maître d’ gestures.
Once we have settled enough for the boat to stop rocking, something gives a little tug and the boat is moving, drawing away from the wharf and towards our restaurant. The sun dips into the ocean and stars shimmer across the darkening sky in swirling ripples. Beneath moonlight, round tables and chairs sit on individual platforms set half a foot underwater.
The boat reaches our table and Torin is quick to disembark to offer me a hand. Gingerly, I step out, the warm water whispering around my ankles. Sand sinks between my toes.
“This is incredible,” I say.
“Wait until you taste dessert. They make the most divine blueberry tarts. It’s almost worth skipping the main meal.”
He’s right. The tart is as decadent as everything else, the heady red wine and the softly battered scallops in a rich white sauce. The only shame is knowing the food is a clever collection of code.
Torin is the perfect gentleman to the point of being a tad boring, yet Hugo inadvertently helps out by standing behind my date’s chair and mirroring Torin’s every move with exaggerated finesse. My followers are at times confused over what I’m giggling about, but they’re enjoying themselves nonetheless.
“You know, Lenora, I’d planned a few topics of conversation for tonight,” Torin confides. My fans fall quiet in anticipation. “I was nervous we’d have nothing to talk about with our latest project being off limits and all.” He rubs the back of my hand with his thumb, drawing nonsense onto my skin.
“Oh really, Mr Hunt,” I tease, gently tapping my tongue against my teeth and watching his focus narrow in, his lips parting slightly.
“And another point to the femme fatale,” Hugo says, having kept a running tally all evening.
“Indeed, yet my worries were unfounded. It’s so easy being with you, here, just talking. Like I’ve known you forever. As though …” he trails off and, feeling bold, I lean forward, rolling my shoulders so he has a clear view of my cleavage. I’ve learnt sexuality is just another tool to help me get what I want.
“As though we’re Friends,” I state rather than ask … and there it is, the request I’ve been waiting for, hovering top right. I want to avoid appearing too eager so I wait, reaching for my wineglass with my free hand and taking a sip. I let one drop of wine settle on my lip like a shining jewel. Torin closes the space between us in a rush and kisses me, sucking my bottom lip and tasting the red wine with a soft groan.
“Nicely done,” Hugo says dryly. “You’ll make a fine actress one day.”
Torin kisses like a force of nature, commanding and bruising, determined to steal my and my followers’ breaths away. However, I’ve no plans on being won, and I’ve his fans to impress as well. As Torin’s lips part for a quick breath, I curl a hand around the back of his neck and tug him even closer, my fingers sinking into the soft hair at his nape as I slip my tongue between his lips, caressing, exploring, savouring. He sinks into the kiss and I think to myself, I win.
When we finally pull apart, Torin’s lips are swollen and wet, both of us panting, and I allow myself a little grin.
“How about some privacy?” I ask.
Before our followers can protest, we’re alone for the first time all night.
“I must say.” Torin trails his fingers along my arm. “You surprise me.”
“I do?” I queue a blush to avoid seeming too smug.
“You’ve such raw talent,” he growls, clasping my elbow and tugging me closer. “More potential than I’ve seen in years.” It’s a subtle reminder of how much older he is, how much more experienced. He’s too close and I fight to stay still as he studies me, his focus brushing over me like a butcher measuring a cut of meat destined for the dinner table.
“Thank you,” I say and seek out Hugo, needing his support. He’s moved closer, hovering behind Torin, tense in the way his hands are lax at his sides yet his fingers press tight together.
Torin leans in. His tongue flicks out to tickle the shell of my ear, his breath scorching, and I shudder. I’m almost afraid I’ll choke on my own heartbeat, so I shuffle back with a giggle and press the edge of the seat into my shoulder blades to steady myself. Torin huffs out a laugh, his chair legs splashing up water as he follows me around the table. “You’re going to go far, Lenora.” The with me is implied.
“And what if I choose another path?”
“I thought you, of all people, would know,” Torin smiles, lifting my hand to trace his lips over the sensitive skin of my wrist, the thin blue veins so fragile as he lightly scrapes his teeth across them.
“Wally,” I say tentatively. “What did you do?”
Torin’s eyes are dark, dark and cold, a snake’s stare, deciding how many bites it’ll take to devour me.
“Nothing, really. Just a tiny, well-placed remark.” He twists my captured hand to study the bones in my wrist, trace the tendons with his fingertips before flipping my hand over and following the lines in my palm. “You should know.”
“Me?” My fingers twitch in surprise.
“You did one better! It was impressive. Not a comment, not even a word! A single groan and a life demolished.” He bends his nose to smell my skin. Is he recording this, too?
“What do you mean?” I ask, yet I know. I remember Susie Benedict calling my name, my dismissal of her, and the forgotten coconut slice. Part of me had known what I was doing, enjoyed it even. Wally was right. I’ve just as much power as Torin, but I’ve become distracted when everything I’ve ever wanted has been handed to me on a virtual silver platter.
“Really, Lenora. I had never thought you silly – young, yes. Perhaps a little naïve – however experience will solve that. But not stupid.”
“What do you want from me?”
“It’s what I can do for you, Lenora. Stick with me and I’ll give you the world.” And he means it. As long as I do things his way.
I’ve been a fool. I thought I was winning but he’s been in control this entire time.
Hugo trembles with fury, white lipped and his shoulders tightrope-taut, capable of supporting the entire universe on a teeter-totter edge.
Torin’s Friend request hovers, not the ultimate achievement I’ve been led to believe, but a mark of ownership. By accepting, I’ll always be the one that submitted.
Do I have a choice? I send Hugo and his lips twist in his anger.
“You always have a choice, Nora. But to be honest, the alternative’s not worth considering.”
I can choose how though.
I reactivate live sharing and my followers chatter excitedly.
“Well, Torin,” my tongue darts out to wet my lips before grinning my cat-that-got-not-only-the-cream-and-the-canary-but-the-whole-aviary smile. Torin’s smile tightens, but a girl has to take what she can and at least I can pretend everything is going according to plan. “I always wanted the world. I trust you’ll not fail me.”
I Accept.
----------------------------------------