Meliora - Extricate - 20

[lady_mab]

Lysander Stavros

I stare down at the screen of my tablet, trying to make sense of the project I’m supposed to be grading.

It’s a lost cause. I’m quite certain I’ve been reading the same sentence for the last five minutes.

My teeth work at the tip of my stylus, an increasing unease welling in my stomach. It took me awhile to recognize what the problem was, but once I did, I couldn’t stop dwelling on it.

I’m nervous.

Ayn and I had a rocky friendship at best. There’s only so close you can become with a kid when their mother is trying to rehabilitate you.

I found her fascinating, more than I found a lot of other people. She was bright and honest, but not enough to make me want to stay.

When I left, it was without a second thought, and without any regret.

My nervousness stems from the fact that I never expected to see her again. I can pick up and discard things with no emotional attachment, because that’s always been the way I’ve gone through life. I’ve never held onto something long enough to bother wanting to see it again.

So here she is, once again.

“I’m such an idiot,” I mutter to myself. I close my eyes and slouch forward, tapping the tip of my stylus against my forehead. Anything to try and distract myself. My coffee has gone cold but I haven’t bothered to get another.

“I won’t say that I agree, but I haven’t had a conversation long enough with you just yet.”

I jerk to my feet, colliding with the table as I do so. “Uh.”

Ayn smiles, doesn’t flinch, holds my gaze steady. “You’re early.”

“I figured I could try and get some work done.”

She eyes my coffee, probably judging the slightly congealed look it has. “I see. You’re a teacher, right? Culture and Evolution.” She recites the words like they’re unfamiliar to her, but it could also just be the idea of me holding a steady job.

“Yes. Oddly enough.” I wave a hand at the table. “I didn’t get to greet you properly last time. You look well.”

Ayn sets a mug down on the table and slides into the seat across from me. “Six years makes a lot of difference. You look a little more solid.”

I can’t tell if this is a joke at me actually being here, or if it has to do with the fact that most of the time that I knew her I was rarely sober. I drop back down into my seat and push the tablet aside. “I had a lot of time to remember what it means to exist among humans.”

This earns a small huff of laughter from her. “I suppose that’s true.”

“I never thought I would see you out of New Ox.”

She busies herself with preparing her tea, pulling out the bag and dumping two packets of sugar and an abundance of creamer. Seems like her sweet tooth hasn’t changed. “I thought it was time for a change of scenery. I’m sure you understand.”

“Not from you.” I watch her, still fascinated by how little effort she puts into moving. Even at thirteen, she had an air about her that was undoubtedly due to her mother’s position in society. Grace was trained into her at a young age. “What, Jocelyn kick you out of the house?”

“Hardly,” she retorts, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I was accepted to the Eminence Ballet Troupe so I packed up and moved. I wouldn’t exactly say I ran away, but I didn’t quite leave with Mother’s blessing.”

There’s a vague memory about her and dancing. It was something she never shared with me. I do remember teasing her when I first saw her in a tutu. I press a hand to my chest and feign shock. “Really? Ayn Starling, running away from home?”

“I’ve had a few examples to follow.” Ayn hides whatever sort of expression she makes by taking a sip of her tea.

I don’t respond right away, because there is nothing for me to say. From her point of view, I ran away. Even though I made it clear from the beginning that I was not a person who would stick around. Even though I was “drug-addled riff-raff” according to her mother.

For some reason, she is still disappointed that I left.

Ayn casts me a sideways glance. I forgot how dark her eyes are, wide with implied innocence that hasn’t vanished after six years. “I thought I would have at least warranted a proper goodbye.”

I remember the night I left. I remember it with a clarity that I don’t often associate with my younger years. “I thought you would have categorized that as a proper goodbye. I thought you were into those sort of romantic dramas.”

This time, she doesn’t even try to hide the frown that mars the lines of her face. “That?! I thought you were teasing me.”

“I never would have teased you like that.”

Her eyes flash to warn me of her frustration. That look means that she knows very well that I teased her a lot while I lived in her house. About every little thing that I could, because it annoyed her, because it annoyed her mother. Because she was tiny and ignorant of so much.

“The entire thing was a joke to you, Lysander. Mother’s mission to help the youth of the streets. Her picking you as her star pupil. You never took any of it seriously.”

I fold my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair. This isn’t the time for me to get upset, because I know now how this has affected her. If it had been before Eminence, before I had to force myself to mature, I would have snapped right back.

We both never expected to run into each other again. And now that we’re here, we don’t know how to proceed.

So instead, I counter the only way that I know how. “I’ve been clean for four years.”

Ayn hesitates, then lifts her gaze to mine. We study each other in silence, and I’m unsure of what I’m supposed to be looking for. But then her expression softens. “Congratulations. I knew you had it in you. I’m just sorry that your experience at the hands of my mother made it more difficult.”

“That woman could definitely drive a man to vice.”

"Honestly, I'm not surprised half the time," she mutters and combs a hand through the strands of her hair. "She hasn't improved any, if that's what you're wondering."

"Seriously? In six years?"

"Well, okay." Ayn stirs her tea, if only to dislodge the chunk of sugar granules that are likely sitting at the bottom of her mug. I wince just thinking about what it might taste like. "She has stopped her 'Reforming the Streets of New Oxford' project. Now she's just back to her usual self, which is what I'm used to."

I snort and shake my head. "Fair."

Ayn continues to stir her tea, and it takes a moment before I realize that she's avoiding looking at me.

She might be acting like she's in control of her emotions, unlike the girl I left behind all those years ago, but she's just as nervous as I am.

I reach out for her hand, and she jerks back at my touch. The softness at the corners of her eyes hardens and she folds her hands on the table before her. Out of my reach. I crossed a line I didn't know she had put in place.

I struggle to find something to say, to break the budding tension.

To my surprise, she beats me to it.

"Some of my friends are doing a thing for my birthday." Ayn says it so casually that it takes me a minute to realize the lifeline for what it was.

"Even though it's a Tuesday?"

She rolls her eyes, and lets out a huff of laughter. "Because they'll still be hungover from Halloween so they need something to ease them back into the rest of the week."

This startles a laugh out of me, and she smirks at her accomplishment. "If you've turned to a life of debauchery and drunkenness, I don't know if I want to claim responsibility for that."

Her hand waves in the air between us to dismiss the idea. "Of course not. I still am a college student, and there are still certain experiences that I must adhere to." She drums her fingers against the table top before saying, "You are welcome to come if you would like."

A part of me had been hoping that she would invite me. As soon as she brought it up, I hoped that she would give me a chance. "Oh?"

"At a club. I can text you the name of it later. They haven't settled on one yet." She twirls the strands of hair around her fingers as she talks. Her gaze is focused elsewhere, but it's been like this our entire conversation.

If I wasn't so fascinated by the way that she's grown up over the years, I would be avoiding looking at her too.

"I'd suggest Temple Fusion, but if I'm going, then please no." I grin when she gives me a confused look. "My friend runs the place. I don't want him asking questions."

Her eyebrows lift and her smirk quirks in understanding. "I'll let them know." And then her entire expression shifts. It opens into something a little more familiar and relaxed.

Before I can even get the chance to look, a dark-skinned young man slides into the seat beside her. "My apologies for the interruption," he says, voice soft and extremely polite. He pointedly ignores my look of confusion. "I was earlier than I intended, and it seems that you haven't finished your meeting."

"It's alright," Ayn says, glancing at me to let me know that it is alright, even if I want to argue that it isn’t. “Lysander, this is Fletcher.”

His gaze finally flickers to mine, and after a moment, he reaches his hand across the table. “Pleasure.”

I accept the handshake, taking a moment to study him. He’s dressed in dark tones, with a turtleneck and shaded glasses over cold amber eyes. He looks like he could be a beat poet. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

He shrugs and leans back. “I have one of those faces.”

He doesn’t. I’ve seen hundreds of faces in my travels, but there is something about his that niggles at my thoughts. The broad forehead and the rather flat, sloped nose.

Failing to place the recognition, I turn back to Ayn and finally allow myself to show a bit of irritation. “We’re having a reunion and you invite another man?”

Ayn’s lips press into a thin line, but it’s Fletcher who answers. “We’re going to the theater. Had I known that this would be such an intimate affair, I would have remained outside until she was finished.”

Somehow, just listening to him talk wedges irritation further under my skin. “You two sleeping together or something?”

The sound that Ayn makes is offended and frustrated. She doesn’t even flush, like she might have when she was younger.

Fletcher looks at me -- really looks at me for the first time since sitting down. He’s trying to figure me out, and the feeling is mutual. He looks like he wants to say something but Ayn places a hand on the crook of his elbow and he shuts his mouth.

“It was good to see you again, Lysander,” Ayn says, voice steady. “I’ll text you the details to the party, so I hope that you let me know if you’ll come or not.”

Fletcher takes that as his cue and slides out of the booth. He stands aside and lets her slide free without offering a hand. She wouldn’t have accepted it, and it bothers me that he knows this about her.

“It was nice meeting you, Lysander.” There’s not an ounce of emotion behind this phrase He says it for the simple act of saying it -- because that’s how you end a conversation with someone you just met.

Well, I’m feeling petty and annoyed. So I grin and say, “I’ll see you around.”

He’s unphased, and casts a quick glance down at Ayn. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

She watches him go, waiting until he’s out of the coffee shop before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” I lean back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest. “Afraid that he would get the wrong idea?”

“About what?” She lets her hands fall back to her side. The look she gives me is tired. She looks a lot like her mother when she stands like that.

I drop my gaze.

“I’ll see you on the first,” I try, hoping it sounds like an apology.

Ayn accepts it for what it is, and leaves me with a parting smile.

I wait until I hear the chime of the coffee shop door, then scrub my hands over my face and back through my hair. “Good job,” I grunt. “Prime way to start being friends with someone again.”

I stare up at the ceiling for a moment, then push myself to my feet and gather up my tablet. I’m not getting any work done right now. Maybe I’ll go hang out at Temple to let Kaito distract me from my problems with his own.

Whatever does end up happening, though, I make a mental note to text Ayn back for details about her birthday on the first.

I have another chance to get to know her, and this time, we’re both in a better place. Maybe this time it won’t be such a disaster.

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