Read Online Stunned (The Lucidites Book 2) by Sarah Noffke - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah Noffke
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here is lying about something. I’m really tired of getting tangled up in all the drama that ensues from the treachery. I’m looking forward to returning to the land of the living, where people walk in real sunshine. Will you please pick me up at the GAD-C in Oklahoma on June 27 th . I’ll totally wash all your windows, repaint your house, mow your lawn, hell I’ll even clean the gutters—just say you’ll take me in.
Love,
Ms. Completely-Over-This-Place
I hit the send key with a silent prayer. If they don’t take me in then maybe I’ll join the circus. No, that’s just trading one band of freaks for another.
♦
Hemingway once said, “I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” Yes, old friend, I do know. That night sleep doesn’t come though. No matter how hard I try I can’t get the constant babbling in my brain to shush. I’m thinking of naming my inner voice Chatty Kathy. Or Katherine Chatterson. Or Chatty McChatterson. Having a name would at least give me a way to address her.
Hey, Ms. Chatterson, shut up already.
When I couldn’t take it anymore I dream traveled to some of my favorite places, but they all seemed lame right now. The hipsters in Portland were especially irritating. A nasty green moss kept washing up on the shores of the Florida coast. And the locals in my most loved Istanbul coffee shop weren’t flirting, fighting, or doing anything of particular interest. Most of them read their newspapers and sipped their coffees like they were intentionally trying to be boring. Again and again my mind returned to my troubles, without any suitable distraction. Morning brings a small bit of relief. At least another night has passed and I’m that much closer to leaving.
♦
The familiar rap at my door sounds as I’m pulling my brand new racerback tank—another present from Bob and Steve—over my head. I answer the door, looking forward to seeing that white mustache and the man on the other side of it.
“Hey, Patrick,” I say with a small forced smile.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He smiles and plays his air guitar with a letter in his hand. “I’ve got a note for you.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, surprised. Bob and Steve and I’ve been exchanging emails, not letters anymore.
“It’s a good thing you’re still getting hard copy correspondence, otherwise I’d never have the pleasure of bugging you.”
“You aren’t bugging me.”
“Of course I’m not.” He waves his hand at me. “Everyone likes the mailman. Hopefully today I’ve brought you good news.” He lays the letter in my hand.
“Thanks,” I smile.
“Well, sweetie, duty calls.” He tips his hat and trots away.
My stomach flip-flops when I realize who the letter is from.
Dear Roya,
You won’t listen to me if I’m standing in front of you. Maybe you’ll listen to me now. I told you before that our situation was complicated. I fear that because we have to be discreet about our relationship you doubt how much I really care about you. Please come by my lab today so we can talk about this.
Yours (and I mean it),
Aiden
I wad up his note and throw it in the trash. We don’t need to talk. Aiden and I need space. I’m thinking a few thousand miles should do the trick.
♦
At the breakfast table I find George eyeing me with a sensitive compassion, which is quickly threatening my firmness. He doesn’t say a word. Instead his eyes roam over me, like he’s trying to mend the emotional bruises with his gaze. My shield is down and I know he feels the dull ache in my heart. The disappointment. The sadness. The loss. And all I see in him is the same, like he’s mirroring my emotions. I almost want to feel this pain so I can allow him to fix me, which is what I think he’s offering, with his quiet stares.
“Do you want to talk now, Roya?” he says, pushing away the food he never touched. “If so, I’m here…but you
Love,
Ms. Completely-Over-This-Place
I hit the send key with a silent prayer. If they don’t take me in then maybe I’ll join the circus. No, that’s just trading one band of freaks for another.
♦
Hemingway once said, “I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” Yes, old friend, I do know. That night sleep doesn’t come though. No matter how hard I try I can’t get the constant babbling in my brain to shush. I’m thinking of naming my inner voice Chatty Kathy. Or Katherine Chatterson. Or Chatty McChatterson. Having a name would at least give me a way to address her.
Hey, Ms. Chatterson, shut up already.
When I couldn’t take it anymore I dream traveled to some of my favorite places, but they all seemed lame right now. The hipsters in Portland were especially irritating. A nasty green moss kept washing up on the shores of the Florida coast. And the locals in my most loved Istanbul coffee shop weren’t flirting, fighting, or doing anything of particular interest. Most of them read their newspapers and sipped their coffees like they were intentionally trying to be boring. Again and again my mind returned to my troubles, without any suitable distraction. Morning brings a small bit of relief. At least another night has passed and I’m that much closer to leaving.
♦
The familiar rap at my door sounds as I’m pulling my brand new racerback tank—another present from Bob and Steve—over my head. I answer the door, looking forward to seeing that white mustache and the man on the other side of it.
“Hey, Patrick,” I say with a small forced smile.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He smiles and plays his air guitar with a letter in his hand. “I’ve got a note for you.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, surprised. Bob and Steve and I’ve been exchanging emails, not letters anymore.
“It’s a good thing you’re still getting hard copy correspondence, otherwise I’d never have the pleasure of bugging you.”
“You aren’t bugging me.”
“Of course I’m not.” He waves his hand at me. “Everyone likes the mailman. Hopefully today I’ve brought you good news.” He lays the letter in my hand.
“Thanks,” I smile.
“Well, sweetie, duty calls.” He tips his hat and trots away.
My stomach flip-flops when I realize who the letter is from.
Dear Roya,
You won’t listen to me if I’m standing in front of you. Maybe you’ll listen to me now. I told you before that our situation was complicated. I fear that because we have to be discreet about our relationship you doubt how much I really care about you. Please come by my lab today so we can talk about this.
Yours (and I mean it),
Aiden
I wad up his note and throw it in the trash. We don’t need to talk. Aiden and I need space. I’m thinking a few thousand miles should do the trick.
♦
At the breakfast table I find George eyeing me with a sensitive compassion, which is quickly threatening my firmness. He doesn’t say a word. Instead his eyes roam over me, like he’s trying to mend the emotional bruises with his gaze. My shield is down and I know he feels the dull ache in my heart. The disappointment. The sadness. The loss. And all I see in him is the same, like he’s mirroring my emotions. I almost want to feel this pain so I can allow him to fix me, which is what I think he’s offering, with his quiet stares.
“Do you want to talk now, Roya?” he says, pushing away the food he never touched. “If so, I’m here…but you
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