Meet My Masked Saviour

September 2, 2011 by  
Filed under British Beauty, Pixie's Novels

14th November 2009

I wake in a small crowded room, surrounded by stacks of books and documents wrapped in brown paper and thick, beige coloured string. It’s very dim, the blinds are drawn and I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here; in this stuffy little room, with the biggest headache of my life. After a few minutes of straightening myself out, I feel my way around the cold, smooth surface of what I’m lying on… tables? I sit up far too quickly, my eyes are weary and the room spins before I can focus properly. The cream cardigan I’ve been wearing all day is wrapped around my body, my bra is undone with the straps hanging freely around my back; and there is a dark blue jumper- a man’s dark blue jumper- where my head had been resting before I pulled myself up. It dawns on me how bad this must look.

I strain my eyes through the dim lighting to see a figure sitting at the foot of the table. I gasp, drawing both legs up to hug myself. Garner? The messy brown hair and soft jawline of the figure looks unfamiliar to me, and I quickly realise the jumper on my make-shift bed must belong to him. “Hello there,” The boy laughs a little, more out of relief than humour; he covers his mouth with a clasped fist to mask his embarrassment. “It’s good to see you with us again,” “Um, what happened, tonight, last night- whichever night it is? I’m sorry… do I have anything to be sorry about?” My voice goes weak and croaky as I get a better look at his face. The corners of his eyes crease as he laughs; he has dimples in his broad cheeks; and he’s obviously a lot older than I am. He’s gorgeous, and I’m half-laying on a table in last night’s clothes, jumbling every word that comes out of my mouth. It’s not exactly the kind of first impression anybody wants to give, post-tragedy or not.

“Wait… so you don’t remember anything from last night? Anything at all? Phew, what a relief. It’s probably for the best. Oh god! God no… I didn’t mean. I didn’t mean anything happened between… you and I. If it did, there’s no way I’d want you to forget, believe me” The boy slapped his head playfully, cracking into another laugh, which sounds familiar to me already. I can’t see a lot of his expression through the dim room, but I catch a sparkle in his grin through the spaces in between his fingers; it makes me feel warm inside. I pull a face. “What I mean is… I was helping you. I’m Dyllan, by the way. It looks like we’re already past exchanging first names” My cheeks flush pink, and I hope the room is dark enough for him not to notice. “I guess we are. I’m Bethany”

I swing my legs around so they are hanging off the edge of the table, and tighten the bow around my cardigan to regain some of my decency. Dyllan has seen it all already, if he was the one who undressed me last night. “I better be going,” My toes feel chilly on the floor tiles as I stand up and gather my things together before I leave. “You’re going? Maybe you should relax for a little while, make sure you’re good before you start moving around again?” “I’m fine, really. I have to get going. Thank you though, for everything. Nice to meet you, Dyllan”

I didn’t stay long enough to wait for Dyllan’s good bye. It felt easier to turn and walk away without knowing anything else about him, to leave our meeting as simple as two strangers helping each other out. I pull the sleeve of my cardigan back to see that the wound on my arm has been cleaned up and wrapped in bandages. The thought of a sewing tack prising it open again makes my teeth cringe. I pass large panelled windows as I walk down a narrow stretch of the library corridor, I stop to look at my reflection half way. There’s a faded smudge of my own blood across my left cheek and throughout my hair where, presumably, I’d combed my fingers through it after clutching my arm last night. The blood looks vibrant in the midst of my light blonde hair; which is loosely tied up and looks as if it’s been slept on for three days.

Of course I remember everything about last night; I was wide awake, listening to the sound of Dyllan’s fist plunge into Garner’s face. Despite knowing everything, something inside me forced me to lie to Dyllan the moment I opened my eyes and saw him for the first time. I wanted to make the things we knew about each other unknown, because we only had one chance to meet as strangers. Two blissfully ignorant strangers, a boy and a girl saying hello and exchanging names. I instantly knew I didn’t want him involved. The trouble is… he already was. I walk past the main library, my bare feet still sticking to the tiles as I walk, and saw Dyllan’s laptop, dark burgundy and etched wide open, sitting alone on the table where he had left it. I strain my eyes hard to see the screen. “Isis- The Goddess of Protection and Magic”.

-An extract from the prologue of my novel, “British Beauty”

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