So along with my usual fare, I've managed to find time for this story. I started it ages ago and then I let it sit. Recently, I got back to it, tweaked it and did what I could to it. Now it's ready for posting.
This story is a bit different for me. It's a genre I've never tried and honestly, choosing which genre to put it in was a challenge because it's not a typical fantasy or non-human story. In any case, I hope you enjoy it and as always, take care and happy reading!
M. ;)
****
The dream was always the same.
The tide pushing, pulsing with need and then ebbing. My body felt the tug and rolled with it, like a piece of driftwood cast away. I didn't fight the feeling. I was limp, empty of the strength to swim, or even float.
The water pulled me under and there were flashes of light, and bright color. They might have been fish, maybe the reflection of the sun off the shallows.
I didn't know, didn't care to know.
The water eased over and around me, tugging with infinite gentleness. I soared, shifting, sliding, sinking deeper into it until my senses left me.
Then, for a long time, nothing.
****
Like every morning, the urgent bleating of my alarm clock woke me and shook the dream from my mind. I yawned, stretched and smacked my hand down on the 'off' button.
"Shut up." I rolled over to bury my face in my pillow. I indulged myself for only a minute before throwing my covers back.
Shower first, then clothes, and after that, I hurried downstairs for breakfast. The house was quiet; usual since I'm the last one to rise every morning. My two roommates worked odd shifts - both of them nurses - and were the first ones up, or the last ones home in the morning. My job was less taxing; I worked as a designer for a new home builder. I worked Monday to Friday, had weekends and holidays off and rarely worked overtime.
As I scanned the newspaper, I munched on a piece of toast. After licking my fingers clean, I glanced at my wristwatch. The time showed half past five. I scowled and looked up at the digital clock on the stove. 7:34.
Dammit.
I undid the clasp of my watch.
Another one.
I have terrible luck with watches. I buy them, I wear them and they die. I used to try to replace the batteries, but that never worked. The watch would run for a few weeks and then die. No amount of battery replacing would change it. Someone once suggested that I spend a little more on a watch; her theory being that I bought crappy watches for twenty bucks, and that's why they never worked for longer than a year. I refused to spend a hundred or more dollars on something when I couldn't be guaranteed of success.
So I'm a cynic; sue me.
With a sigh, I tossed this latest bit of machinery in the garbage and scooped my purse up from the counter. I drew my jacket on and slid my feet into shoes. In minutes, I was driving through rush hour to my office in the industrial quadrant of the city I lived in. Calgary was a booming hub in the western prairie.
The company I work for, Landbourne Homes, has been a fixture in the homebuilding market for over twenty years. They're family-owned and operated but occasionally, an outsider could rise through the ranks. I didn't hold onto to such an ambition but it was a pleasant place to work. The managers were strict but fair and overall the company was run like a well-oiled machine.
I'd worked for them for five years, starting as a temporary receptionist. They'd worked around my school hours as I got my degree in interior design and offered me a job in their design center when I finished. I'd been doing that job for almost two years now and, while it didn't fill me with a complete sense of joy, it was a good job; low stress, well-paying, and it afforded me the chance to meet new people every day.
Today passed much the same as all my other days. I organized my files and started seeing customers at nine. A break at noon - lunch and a book at the picnic table out front - then back to another client meeting at one. I drove home through afternoon rush hour again at five and started making dinner.
As I was browning the chicken, my roommate, Angela, strode into the kitchen and inhaled deeply.
"Oh, thank God, you're cooking!"
I returned her smile and opened my arms for a hug. Angela was the most affectionate of the three of us, undoubtably the reason she was such a fantastic nurse. She towered over my five-foot-three frame by six inches but she was lithe and willowy instead of robust. She kept her dark blond hair short, cropped close to her head, and it liked to stick out in every direction. Her eyes were a bright blue, almost always crinkled at the corners as she smiled or laughed.
She released me from the embrace and turned to the stove. "Mmm, smells fantastic. What is it?"
I laughed and bumped her hip - or rather, the muscle below her hip - with mine. "It's chicken and garlic right now. In about a half hour, it'll be a stir fry with veggies."
"Awesome!" Angela took another deep sniff before leaving me alone in the kitchen again.
I resumed dinner preparation and was just dishing it out when my second roommate, Harlowe walked into the house. His name was Isaac Harlowe, but he refused to answer to his given name. So, Harlowe it was. He shuffled into the kitchen and one glance told me he'd just come off of a double shift. Harlowe worked as an ER nurse and he was exhausted most days.
He smiled a greeting at me and slumped at the kitchen table, folding his arms under his head for support. His dark hair was messy, the normal curls flat and dull. His dark, long lashes swept his cheek as he blinked and yawned. I carried the first plateful of rice and chicken stir-fry to the table, setting it down in front of him.
"Eat."
He snapped upright, as though I'd just woken him from a deep sleep. He blinked at the food in front of him and blew his breath out. "Thanks, Nerina."
As always, his smile - weak or not - was enough to give me a few butterflies. I smiled back and started serving up a second plate. Angela blew into the kitchen, dressed now in her pajamas and bright pink fuzzy slippers. She chattered away at about a mile a minute and it was all Harlowe and I could do to keep from bursting into laughter.
We sat together around the small kitchen table and ate. We shared what happened during our days and relaxed in the living room afterward.
I sat on the couch with Harlowe stretched out beside me, his feet against my thigh. Every now and then, I glanced over at him to see his eyes drooping and his chin dropping to his chest.
He really was a very handsome man; I'd already admitted that he gave me a fluttery feeling in my stomach on occasion. Nothing so grand as full-on jitters, but I could easily admit that he was good-looking. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, broad-shouldered, kind, a good sense of humor - when he's not fighting sleep after two twelve hour shifts.
"Jeez, Harlowe, why don't you just go to bed?" Angela's exclamation startled him so badly he kicked me.
"Oh shit. Sorry, Rina," he mumbled as he sat up and swung his long legs off the couch.
"It's all right." I lowered my eyes to the book in my lap.
"You scared me, Ang." Harlowe turned to our roommate.
"I know," she replied from her spot on the floor in front of her chair. "I meant to. You've been up for almost thirty hours. Go to bed."
