The night air was cool, the wind created whirlwinds of dust and leaves along the street, and there were stars, playing a mysterious game of hide and seek behind the flowing movement of the clouds. The moon was high and full, intermittently shrouded then unveiled, like the flickering effect of a fluorescent light going bad. Vi Leon snatched her car keys off the counter, stormed out the kitchen door, and climbed into her car. She backed out of the garage, her grip on the steering wheel so tight, the bony skeleton of her knuckles threatened to leave an indelible imprint. Impervious to the theatrics played out overhead, she snarled from between gritted teeth, “Damn it! Not again.”

Her face twisted into a mask of anguish as a heart-wrenching sob escaped her lips. Why was this happening to Marissa? The dreams, the phone calls, and the unlocked doors, now this -- Tristan shot. What the hell was going on? Wasn’t the last time more than enough for one person to bear, when years ago, Graham, the love of Marissa’s life, had died saving her? Was Tristan to be the next victim of Marissa’s chaotic youth? History sure had a cruel way of repeating itself. Marissa was finally happy, and it wasn't fair.

If Tristan died... Hell. What was she supposed to do or say to help her friend? For sure, she didn’t know any prayers, or know how to address Him if she wanted to ask for help, because she’d never had any particular religious bent. Her belief in God was iffy, but Marissa believed. She was Catholic and truly believed in God. So where was He when Marissa needed Him.

Anger and confusion such as Vi had never known coursed swiftly through her veins.

Marissa was her friend, for more than twelve years, her best friend. While she’d known Tristan for only several months, she really liked him, and they had grown close. Marissa said she and Tristan were in love, whatever that meant. Hell. Vi didn’t care what Marissa called it, if Tristan was necessary to her happiness, then nothing else mattered. More to the point, who was she to judge? What the hell did she know about love? She only had Marissa’s word it even existed, because she didn't have a clue, and sure as hell couldn’t fathom the concept of a relationship like Marissa and Tristan shared.

After observing them over the past several months, they almost had her convinced all the crap about love was true, as if it could transcend any boundaries. Yeah...well, at least she didn’t compromise her beliefs completely.  When it came to believing a relationship could happen as quickly, or become as intense as theirs had become, in such a short time, she would beg to differ, and remain a die-hard skeptic. Cynicism had become much like her shadow, ever present.

Marissa and Tristan’s relationship had to be rare. Although... If, by some stretch of the imagination, she could be made to believe there was such a thing as love at first sight -- true love -- then Marissa and Tristan were all that, which made their present situation so damn unfair. Thinking about the adage love conquers all, and Marissa's steadfast belief in God, all that crap didn’t mean jack now. Marissa shouldn’t have let down her guard. She sure as hell never would let hers down.

She arrived at the hospital armed with her seething fury. Ready to do violence, or whatever it would take to help her friend, she tracked down the charge nurse, and discovered Marissa hadn't arrived. So she asked about Tristan and the response only fueled her anger.

“You’re not family...we can't reveal that information,” she mimicked as she strode away before she did something she’d regret. Mumbling profanities under her breath, she stormed into the waiting area, pacing like a marathon walker until she realized she needed to calm down, for Marissa’s sake.

Oh, hell! Why didn't she stop kidding herself? Granted, she was upset about the situation with her friends, but it wasn’t the real motivation behind her righteous anger.

Hell-lo?

She stopped pacing.

Okay. The thing really frosting her ass was her gullibility. She almost let herself be converted -- hooked and reeled in by all that hokey shit about love. So, with that flash of wisdom identifying the underlying cause of her irritation, maybe she could calm down and focus on the real reason for being there.

Vi took a deep breath, forced herself to sit down, then she noticed the other two occupants of the waiting room. An elderly couple eyed her with fight or flight looks of trepidation. The warmth of embarrassment flood her face as she leaned back in her seat with what she hoped was some semblance of a smile. Lowering her eyes, she realized how foolish she must have looked, prancing around the room, and mumbling to herself.

Her attempt to put the other occupants at ease about her mental stability appeared to be working. The couple had relaxed, and they were conversing in an undertone, probably whispering about her, which brought her mind back to the point. This wasn’t about her. She was there for Marissa and her rage was nothing but a front for feeling foolish about her own naiveté. It was selfish and out of place under the circumstances.

Hell girl...think!

Vi jumped to her feet again. What good would she be to someone else, if she couldn’t control her own emotions? Worrying her bottom lip, she watched the couple flee the room, then immediately dismissed them from her mind. She had a more pressing problem than what strangers thought about her actions.

If for one moment, Marissa believed Tristan’s condition motivated Vi’s apprehension... Sure, most of the time, Marissa was cold and unyielding -- some people considered her a heartless bitch. But this was about Tristan and Marissa’s normal rationale might not hold up under that kind of strain. Was she ready to deal with an angry, unrestrained Marissa?  

Okay!

She could do control.

© Emily Wade-Reid