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After finishing the editing of another video—a chapter of Tess of the d’Urbervilles—and scheduling it to be uploaded, July sat back in her desk chair to take a breath. She had been working all day, trying to catch up after some of her footage had gotten corrupted and she’d been forced to rerecord. After hours of nonstop work with her computer, she wanted nothing more than to sit down with pen and paper for the rest of the evening. She had a few different poetry submissions to work on, and since it was a Wednesday, there was no concern about Emma needing her any time soon. As usual, she had the night to herself.
“Sophi?” she called as she headed upstairs. “Here, kitty. Where are you?” But her cat didn’t respond, probably sleeping upstairs, sulking because July had been busy all day. Fair enough. She would come out when she was ready, surely.
July went into the kitchen, intending to make tea, but a glance out the window at the snow-dusted neighborhood stopped her. Snow wasn’t altogether uncommon for mid-January in Albany, but something about it in the setting sun was particularly charming today. Yes, I’m definitely in poetry-mode. Still, it was too nice out to stay at her desk for the rest of the evening. She’d been cooped up inside since Monday, so the prospect of fresh air and a change of scenery was especially appealing.
As she went to retrieve her coat from the closet, however, she second-guessed herself. Ever since her most recent encounter with Nytep, she hadn’t been able to go out without worrying she would run into him. Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from going out when necessary, but the thought always came to mind nevertheless.
She had called Valen that same day after he left, only to be sent to voicemail and receive a text of, Busy. I’ll call you back. Helpful as always. July had finished the shopping she needed to do for the wedding alone—somewhat grateful not to have her cousin hovering over her shoulder and critiquing all her choices—while trying to figure out what Nytep’s game was. Not once, not twice, but three separate times, he had shown up without warning, chatted to her for a few minutes, teased and prodded until he got a response, then strangely left without persisting any further.
Most of them would try to wear her down with one very focused attempt, then give up when they realized she wasn’t budging. Even the ones who tried multiple times tried until they completely exhausted themselves, or she went somewhere they couldn’t follow, or she called Valen to intervene. His strategy was something else entirely, and while she was sure it had the same unsavory ends, she was frustrated to not understand the means. Stranger still, when Valen had called her back, she’d lied and said that nothing was wrong. She still wasn’t sure why.
Trying to shake those thoughts out of her head, she swept one of her heavier coats out of the closet and onto her shoulders. She had promised herself years ago not to let the actions of any immortal keep her from living her life. This one was no different.
After checking her purse to be sure her usual Moleskine and pens were still inside, she took the next bus downtown to a small 24-hour diner she’d visited a time or two before. It wasn’t quite her style like her usual café choice, Organic Chemistry; their best tea offerings came in the form of Twinings tea bags and an electric kettle. But for one, they were open, and for another, the large windows on two sides of the building made it easy to admire the snowy atmosphere that had drawn her out in the first place. She took a booth in the corner, ordered a cup of Earl Gray, and took out her notebook to get to work.
She set an alarm on her phone for four hours so she wouldn’t sit there until midnight, but she got lost in thought quickly thereafter. Long periods of writing or reading tended to skew her judgment of time. Because of her sessions with Emma, she had found herself with more inspiration than usual but less time to exercise it, so this break in her workload was a welcome respite.
After finishing a first draft of one poem, a free verse piece she intended to submit for publication, she turned her attention to another that had been giving her trouble recently. It was an English sonnet, another she’d started for the sake of submitting it to a literary journal, but the form still seemed to disagree with her. July had never been particularly fond of writing form poetry, as she preferred to make her own structure in her work rather than adhering to someone else’s. But then, ‘sonnet’ was a part of the submission guidelines she wanted to meet.
A few minutes had passed with her pen hovering above her notebook without making contact. She had six lines but was struggling to finish her second quatrain. Being away from home helped her (or rather, forced her) to focus on only what was in front of her, but it didn’t make generating content any easier. She took off her glasses and glanced out the window to her right, hoping that taking a break for a moment might help refresh her mind. Concentration wasn’t usually a problem for her. Maybe the events of the past few months had given her more to think about.
“Coffee sounds fantastic, thank you.” The voice that broke through her distraction was one she begrudgingly recognized, and she knew she must have the absolute worst luck on Earth. She kept her eyes locked on the glass, hoping he wouldn’t see her. That he hadn’t approached her immediately was a surprise in itself. She chanced a look up and found her most recent stalker a few booths ahead of her, back turned. That was a relief, but it wouldn’t bring her guard down. And that certainly wasn’t conducive to her writing. Maybe if she was careful, she’d be able to slip out without his noticing. She put her glasses back on and took another sip from her second cup of tea, resolving to simply keep her eyes open for now.
“Anything else I can get you, hon?”
July went rigid when she was approached by the only waitress working at the time, but she tried to smile in response nevertheless. “No, thank you,” she said quietly, glancing back at Nytep’s table to see if he’d heard her. She knew her own voice was easily recognizable due to her pointed enunciation. In her videos, that was useful. Here, it was dangerous.
The woman noticed her darting gaze and asked, “Someone you know?”
“Unfortunately,” July muttered without thinking. “I mean. No, not really.”
“Oh, I see. It’s complicated.”
No, it’s pretty simple. He just doesn’t listen. “Something like that.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be around.” Once she was gone, July turned her eyes back down to her notebook.
Focus.
ABAB rhyme schemes had always struck her as a little too much like a nursery rhyme, particularly in iambic pentameter. But that was part of the reason she was forcing herself to do this; she wanted to prove she could execute it in a way that didn’t come off as childish. She hadn’t proven any such thing so far.
“Thank you, my love.” His voice again, and she sneered by reflex. Why he chose to look Egyptian but present as English, she didn’t understand. Didn’t that cause some cognitive dissonance for his victims? Most American women might protest a stranger using such familiar language, but he was probably an inexplicable exception. A pest and a womanizer? It wouldn’t have surprised her in the least, especially after how easily he’d charmed Aniyah (who had grilled July about their nonexistent relationship while doing her hair before the wedding). Or that might’ve been, as he’d suggested, a bid to make her jealous, one that had fallen flat just like all of his other tactics.
All except one, maybe. Interesting that he hadn’t used any of those standbys—love, darling, my dear—on July herself but had set up and smoothly delivered that ‘Summer’ line instead.
Why was she still thinking about this? Because it’s easier than forcing myself to work. True as that might be, she had nothing to gain from sitting there analyzing him all night. She should go home. She could try working on this again in the morning. But she hated the idea of leaving because he was there. Part of her wanted to stay out of spite—not an uncommon motivation for her actions.
Ignore him! She looked back down at her writing.
The subject of her poem was (vaguely) the persecution by immortals she’d dealt with for the past nine years. No, ten now. As of November 28th, it had officially been ten full years since she’d first learned about this ‘gift’ of hers. Although she’d had the past few months free from most of its unfortunate side effects, she was still having a hard time adjusting to her new circumstances after so long used to being hunted. Used to having her guard up every time she left the house. Used to not leaving the house often for that reason. And the moment she’d started to get more comfortable with going out…
She gripped her pen tighter and raised her eyes to glare at Nytep over her glasses. He didn’t strike her as dangerous so much as annoying, and maybe he hadn’t asked for anything (yet), but his presence, his unwavering interest in her despite her rejections was taking away from her newfound sense of safety. Couldn’t she have one thing without them finding a way to ruin it?
As if he’d felt her gaze, he raised his head and surveyed the room around him. She turned her eyes back down and tried to banish him from her mind, hoping she hadn’t actually drawn his attention. No such luck.
“Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be out so late.” He slid into the booth in front of her, and her frown hardened.
Damn.
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