Morph
1. Mentor

Its cold here, too cold for the flimsy material of my green aero-postal jacket to shut out. Every fiber of hair on me stands with one swoosh of the winds that flow carelessly through each hole in the wall. If you could even call it a wall. Its a lost cause, probably why most lost causes hang here and smoke away their life.

I wouldn’t say it takes me long to find what I’m looking for, longer than I wish to breath the same intoxicated air as these junkies, but not long since I have a zero tolerance for that in which their pumping their bodies full of. Nick hands me my books and with a nod I make my way to the door. Smoke tries to push its way to my lungs, I hold my breath. The shabby cream door is in sight for but a few seconds before I’m swinging it open, the air is much worst out here, but the scenery is better.

Even the with the sting of the cold stale winter wind, the sight of the naked trees with their frail branches and the Christmas decors that the people of this town never fail to put up in the middle of November, I feel better here then behind the door I just walked from. It wasn’t a problem for me, to let Nick copy all my work from this week, he did me a solid just last year, so if he needs three pages of homework its really no big deal, its the area he has me pick my things up from. The vile smell of pot filling every nook and cranny and a group of hipsters and junkies crammed in each corner. To say I have a problem with drugs would be an understatement, its more of a pure hatred that stems from my mother and her use during my short lived childhood. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

When you see your mother with a needle pushed down her vein you have to grow up quicker, learn to deal with your emotions quicker, learn that sometimes there is no room for emotions. Her face, a face of pure pleasure as the substance started running through her bloodstream still haunts me at times, but I’m nothing like the scared little girl I used to be. Tears falling as I rushed to cover her up, pretending she was fast asleep but all the while knowing she was completely out of it. Too out of it to hide her sins from her five year old daughter. Too out of it to remove the needle from her lower arm, remove the proof of her wrongdoings, so I did it for her.

The wind only blows harder as I reminisce. I removed the needle from her arm so many times, slowly just like the doctors always did when they gave me shots. The first time it ever happened I was confused as to why mommy was giving herself shots, since that was in fact the doctors jobs. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know what I know now, that I still was that oblivious toddler who covered her mother up thinking she had simply passed out from the pain of giving herself a shot. Boy how wrong was I, but no matter, later I watched, I observed, and I stopped seeing things as a child. Way too soon, way before it was time for me to do so.

My house comes in sight, breaking me from my train of thoughts, and I’m thankful for it. There’s a sleek black car that I’m not familiar with parked in the driveway behind my father’s light blue pickup truck. Its way too expense to belong to any of my relatives, and its definitely not ours. The gravel crunches beneath my shoes, I wonder who could be here, we rarely have visitors.

Just like the wind, the door knob is freezing, the coldness spreads through my body and all the heat that was once there disappears. No one is in the living room, by instinct I travel to the kitchen.

When I come face to face with the back of someone wearing a suit just as sleek and expensive looking as the car outside its obvious who the car is for. But confusion of who it is exactly is now upon me.

“Serenity, come.” My father’s voice cuts through the silence of the room and my eyes dart from the strangers back to meet my father’s stormy blue orbs, the same blue as myself. With his auburn locks flowing down my back, and the deep blue of his eyes swimming in my scull people often think we’re twins, rather than me being his daughter. The age difference can be seen but the small minded people that litter the world only let the scenario that our parents had some mishap that caused my birth so late after my forty year old older brother. They never think to realize that I’m his daughter since I’m the spitting image of him.

For years I have been thankful for his hair and his eyes, it keeps me from having my mother’s face stare back at me every time I take a look in the mirror. “This is Gemini, he’s my mentor for today. He came with the promotion.” They share a laugh at what seems to be in inside joke hidden inside a truthful statement. My father had told me last week of his promotion and how he would be getting a mentor to run down the basics of his new position to him. “Gemini, this is that twin I told you about.”

I roll my eyes at how he refers to me, enveloping him in a hug. “Congratulations old man.” His sensual chuckle fills my ears as he hugs me back.

“If I were getting old, I’d spend the light bill on wrinkle cream, don’t tempt me.” An awkward cough cuts family time short, we both turn to the man, my father’s one day mentor. Our eyes lock, his eyes are unlike any I’ve ever seen, their pitch black, just like his suit, just like his car. I skim and scan for even the slightest speck of green or brown, but there is none. There’s not a speckle of color in them other than the pure white balls that they are in the center of. Like pools of darkness waiting to corrupt the air that doesn’t know of evil yet. “It is nice to meet you Serenity.” His voice isn’t even that deep, its soft as ever but still sends chills through me.

“And you.” I hold my hand out to him, no matter the situation, my father has raised me well and I will not embarrass him. A lonely strand of Gemini’s golden hair falls onto his forehead as he extends his hand out to me. I take it into mine, the coldness that bit at my hand before fades into oblivion as he grips my hand, shaking it, never letting his eyes leave me, almost like he’s studying me. The way his hair is golden, giving off an innocent look, but his eyes black as the depths a pit makes him look like an angel with demon tendencies.

I drop his hand and look away, making my way to the door in one swift motion. “School calls.” I mumble the excuse for leaving the presence of the black eyed mentor. A cold feeling follows me, a freezing feeling. Nothing like the harsh winter winds, but worst by a tenth-fold, and its eating me from the inside instead of biting at my skin.

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