Escapism (The Escapism Series) (10 page)

  As I walked through campus, breathing in the cool air, my phone beeped twice, alerting me of my last evening shift at work, which I nearly forgot. I texted Marla that I was leaving early.

  Taking a shortcut across the commons, I walked toward the student center where the bus terminal was. I boarded unsteadily, while the doors snapped shut behind me. It appeared the bus driver had fallen behind schedule as he cursed at the slow drivers ahead and picked up speed at every opportunity to beat afternoon rush hour.

  It was my last day working in clerical data entry at a small firm downtown. Thanks to my mother’s connection, I had made some decent bank over the summer, which went straight toward tuition, unfortunately.

  While at work, I entered endless files into a database. Boring, yes, but it sure beat customer-service jobs—the horror I had encountered the year before I was graced with this position.

  The shift flew by and I was the last to leave the office that night after five hours of solid work.

  On the subway, I breathed deeply, squeezing my eyelids tight at first and then allowing them to flutter naturally, remaining shut. When I reopened my eyes, my body sent an electric shiver from head to toe as the unoccupied seats before me were now occupied—I couldn’t help but stare.

  “What are you looking at?” said a teenage girl with pitch black hair and a pierced nose. There were at least ten others in the subway.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I replied anxiously.

  I rubbed my eyes a few times before I got off at my stop. The doors closed behind me and I peered over my shoulder at the unoccupied subway cart. Hallucinations were a clear sign of sleep deprivation. I needed a good night’s rest, is what I needed.

  Once I arrived at my doorstep, I unlocked the door and walked straight to my room. I dropped my bag on the floor, kicked off my shoes, disrobed, and crashed. So much for studying.

Abandoned Mansion Show

I awoke to the sound of drilling and hammering of construction. The water pipe had a leak and the city was repairing it by the curb. I felt extremely exhausted as if I had slept for only an hour or two, tops. I tossed and turned, mulling over the many loose ends in my life. In the kitchen, my mother brewed a pot of coffee and read the daily paper.

  “Good morning, dear.”

  “Morning, Ma,” I said, barely opening my eyes.

  “Didn’t sleep well?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Aside from the dark circles under your eyes and black coffee, no.”

  “Mom, is there something you’d like to tell me?” I asked, bluntly.

  “About what, Xeni?”

  “I don’t know—like, about our family history?”

  “Hmm,” she sighed. “You’d have to be more specific.”

  “Fine. Something that
runs in the family
.”

  “Oh right. My obsessive compulsive cleaning habits. You’re lucky, you just got the half of it.”

  She winced, turning a page of the newspaper and continued to read.

  I smiled, realizing it was hopeless—she was clueless.

  “I better get ready,” I sulked. I was disappointed by my fruitless  endeavor.

  “Okay, dear. Would you like me to pack you a lunch?”

  I veered a look of disgust at my mother and she quickly bounced back from her temporary lapse in judgment.

  “
Right
,” she said, reaching for her purse. “How
uncool
of me.” She left a twenty for lunch even though I had worked all summer and was somewhat self-sufficient. Heck, I was not about to refuse money.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She poured coffee in her travel mug, taking a call in the other room.

  I was eager to see Nicholas on campus today—I was always eager to see him. I called Marla to check on our ride status.

  “Is Cal picking us up?” I asked.

  “Yes. She has a mandatory tutorial at eight. Let’s see Miss,
I don’t do eight o’clock
, get out of this one.”

  “Lovely. Want to come over for breakfast?
Hello
?” The call dropped.

  I tossed my phone aside and lunged onto the hardwood floor. Five minutes later, I received a VT: “Ding-dong.”

  Marla stood at my doorstep looking disheveled in her PJ’s. “Good morning, Marla,” I chirped.

  She held her pillow by her side, looking just as tired as I felt.

  “Meh,” she uttered, walking past me. “There’s nothing
good
about this morning.
Sleep
is good.”

  She crashed on my sofa, and I sat beside her.

  “What’s for breakfast?” she mumbled with her mouth pressed against the pillow.

  “Cereal?” I replied, while checking messages on my beloved Cyclopod.

  “Uh-uh.” 

  “Waffles?”

  “Uh-Uh.”

  “Eggs?” I was just about to give up.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed.

  I was too tired to move so I did the next best thing. I hollered, “Ma! Can you make us some eggs? Ma!”

  Chrysanthe rushed into the living room. She took one look at us, and shook her head. “Are you girls coming down with something?” she asked, feeling our foreheads, flexing her maternal instincts. “You both feel fine to me. Come on, girls.  You only just started university.”

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked. He would have loved to make us breakfast if it meant he could reminisce about his college days.

  “He had an early flight to New York.”

  “Oh,” I replied, not surprised.

  My mother pulled the pillow from beneath us. “Let’s go. Time to get  up.” She went off to the kitchen to prepare us breakfast.

  I poked Marla. “Wakey-wakey.”

  “
No
. Stop it!” she growled. Just as I was about to poke her again, she gave in lethargically. “All right already.”

   We made our way to the kitchen.

  “Coffee?” Marla asked.

  “Follow me.”

  In the kitchen, there was a fresh pot of coffee and a basket of bagels. Breakfast was by far my favorite meal of the day. While we sat by the counter, we picked at the scrumptious bagels.

  “You look haggard, dude. What gives?” Marla’s sleepy eyes were now fully open.

  “You don’t look so hot yourself,” I snapped back. “I’ve been having these dreams lately—they’re pretty draining.”

  “Me too!” she bellowed.

  My mother placed the plates before us.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Sanders.”

  “Thanks, Ma.
You da best
.”

  “Eat up, girls. You don’t want to be late, although I highly doubt you’ll both be attending lectures this week.”

  Marla giggled, nodding favorably and I smacked her arm.

  “Ouch!” Marla hissed. “It’s not my fault your mom called us out.”

  I smiled, thinking how great my mother was. Always there for me even with her busy schedule. She was running late for work and rushing for her bag and keys.

  “So what kind of dreams have you been having? Are they sexy dreams?” she nudged and winked.

  “I wish!
Are yours
? I can barely remember them once I get up.”

  Marla snorted, “
No
.” She took a bite of scrambled eggs. “For the most part, yes.”

  “Really? Who do you dream of?” I asked, peaked.

  “They’re usually faceless,” she explained. “These eggs are
so good
.”

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed, giggling. “I think we need to start exercising more often—get those happy hormones circulating.”

  “I exercise.”

  “
Marla
. Walking to the fridge to grab a snack isn’t exactly exercise.”

  “Hey, I run every now and then. For instance, I’m going to run home  and get ready for school,” she snickered, heading toward the patio doors. After Marla left, I cleared the plates.

  In a hop, skip, and a long stretch of wardrobe, hair, and makeup, I was nearly ready. It wasn’t long before Calliope picked us up. She honked her horn twice, and grinned ear to ear. I jumped into the backseat of her silver Mercedes-Benz, a lavish university gift from her parents. To Calliope, it was a tidbit of her many gifts—or payoffs—to complete undergrad and attend a post-grad something or other.

  It was a short day for us. We all had three lectures with two electives strategically planned for a midweek reunion. Calliope had to justifiably convince the professors to sign her late registration forms, in order to switch into the two lectures I had with Marla. The number of students fighting for a spot grew each day, and only those with proof of requisite and fervor were granted late acceptance.

  I found it exceptionally difficult to pay attention in lecture. Although I physically attended every lecture, I thought of Nicholas and the things that Kiran had revealed. My mind was racing from one to the other. Before I knew it, lectures were over and we were on our way to the parking lot.

  “Mr. Roylin is hot. Did you guys notice when he went off on a tangent about consumerism, he looked over in my direction?” Marla asked.

  “What’s with you and older men? Like seriously, Marla,” I teased. “What? So I have a thing for authority figures. I can’t help it,” she sighed, theatrically.

  “He’s only in his late thirties,” Calliope said. “Besides, he merely glossed you over. He was admiring me.”

  “What are you two delusional kids doing now that lectures are done with?” I asked.

  “I’m going to the gym,” Calliope responded.

  “Like
obvi
,” Marla replied.

  “What about you, Marla?” I asked.

  “I’m chilling with Landon. I ran into him the other day and he has a
media gav
for my Cyclopod.”

  Cyclopod’s could only be activated by scanning the owner’s fingertips allowing the solo eye to unlock the screen. Mgav’s were the latest in multimedia transfers. A drag of a finger over the folder could transfer media files from one Cyclopod to another. The digital imprint attached to the individual’s fingertip lasted only a few seconds. The amazing technology was convenient and safe for the user.

  “He bought
Mgav’s
? He should’ve waited. In a month or two, music transfers will be so much faster.” Calliope was always up to date with technology.

  “Cool. I guess Cal will have to give us a lift home before she hits the gym.”

  “
Right
,” Calliope sneered. “I forgot about that. Let’s get going then.”   The air was crisp and the drive home was quick. Once she dropped us off, Marla went straight home to prepare for a quasi-date with Landon. I planned to catch up on sleep before my date with Nicholas—it turned out, I wasn’t scheduled to work after all. Yay.

  Once home, I placed my bag on the floor and hung my jacket on the antique wooden post my mother acquired through one of her many shopping ventures. I made some tea and rested in the living room, shutting my eyes briefly before I was disturbed by loud ringing.

  “Hey, Z,” Marla greeted merrily. “Landon says hello. We’re having sundaes.”  

  “That was fast,” I responded, taken by surprise. “Hey, wait a minute! Why was I not invited for sundaes?” I was mildly offended.

  “Talk to Landon—it was his idea,” she quickly handed the phone over.    

  “S’up, Z. Thought I’d ask Marla out for some dessert seeing as how busy you’ve been lately. You don’t exactly return my calls.”

  “You called? When?” I asked, glancing at my phone. I saw four missed messages in my inbox from Landon.
Whoopsie
.

  “You guys have fun. I too, have a date tonight,” I boasted.

  “And who shall I say is the lucky guy?” he asked.

  “Nicholas Wyles,” I hummed, spellbound.

  “Ah,” he replied, with a jealous-riddled tone.

  “Have fun tonight,” Marla chirped in the background.

  “I will. Talk to you guys later.”

  I rested my head on a pillow and, before I knew it, I was fast asleep. When I reopened my eyes and stretched out my limbs, I was surprised that it was a quarter to seven. It appeared as though I had repeatedly hit the snooze button on my phone and was running late. I jumped up from the couch and ran to the washroom to get prepped as quickly as possible.

  My Cyclopod beeped twice, signaling a VT. “Hi, Xenia. I’m running late. Be there in twenty minutes. Sorry,” Nicholas said.

  Even his VT’s made me blush like a schoolgirl.

  I looked in the mirror, wiping steam away with a towel. I quickly applied some lip-gloss and primped my hair a little before I VT’d back, “Take your time.” I was relieved as I needed all the time I could get.

  I poured myself a glass of white wine and took a sip, savoring the flavor. I deeply sighed, feeling a nervous wreck.