Mr. and Mrs. Granger sit at a far table in the hospital cafeteria as we arrive at the hospital, looking tired. But as soon as they see us, they shoot us watery smiles and straighten in greeting.“Hey, did you guys get any sort of rest?” I ask them, my voice gentle.“We certainly tried, but well, Coraline has still not woken up, so sleep was the last thing on our minds,” Mrs. Granger smiles ruefully, “but the doctors said that she’s going to be fine, although she will need therapy. Both for her leg and her psyche, if she so desires.”“I mean, if it were me, I’d definitely need therapy,” Mr. Granger mutters, “getting shot like that, on the side of the road…god, my baby girl.”His wife entangles her arm with his and leans into him in comfort. I feel bad for this couple who had to see their kid in the hospital twice this month, both of them being while in my company. A part of me wonders if this is my fault somehow. Am I the reason why Coraline keeps getting into these circumstances? Afte

Coraline stepped for a day more. The bullet had grazed her thigh bone, nearly shattering it, so her recovery period was going to be long. She was to stay in the hospital for at least a week.Coraline’s parents called me immediately to deliver the news of their daughter awakening, and at that point, I was in class.With everything that was happening, the summer semester was ending, which meant there was a set of examinations coming up. The campus was, therefore, abuzz with activity, with lecturers working to finish all the study material for the semester and students functioning solely on coffee and sugar in order to cram whatever they could in order to sit for the exams and get some decent grades. King’s College was a very competitive university, and with everyone attending being the best brains in the country, students had to go above and beyond to get on par with the syllabus.Fortunately, my class was ending when they gave me the call. I, of course, could not take it without riskin

The forum is taking place on the East coast, in New York, no less. And I for one, had never been to New York. In fact, I have never had the pleasure of leaving the west coast to visit anywhere else no matter how I wished, and my abysmal bad luck struck whenever there was a field trip organized for my class whenever there was something exciting going on. And that was saying something, considering how I rarely got sick. But the few times I did, it was almost always on days when exciting field trips were scheduled. Which meant that I got the visit some boring powdered milk and dairy product factory which was just a stone’s throw away from Clandestine city, but never got to visit New York in the eighth-grade field trip because I apparently got food poisoning from some bad shellfish after mom took me to an all-you-can-eat buffet the night before at a newly opened seafood restaurant. And I wasn’t even allergic to it. Those damn oysters had just not agreed with me. So, I was as excited as

“Breathe!” My brain orders me, and I force my nose to inhale some much-needed air. Only then do I realize the fire within me was coming straight from my lungs. I sit there on the floor where I fell ass-first to, almost paralyzed as my eyes keep locked onto the face looming above me. The dark hair, the shape of the eyes, the shape of the nose…they are all familiar features that I did not think I would see again, not after the last time. My heart stammers in my chest as I struggle to make a connection. This is not Aiden; he is much too older and broader in his frame to be Aiden. But there is no denying the haunting similarity this man has with Coraline’s missing ex-boyfriend. “Jace!” I hear Coraline’s voice come from behind me as the crowd dissipates. A pair of shoes clatter on the ground as she makes her way towards me, and then abruptly stops as she registers the man in front of me. I hear Coraline gasp, and that is enough to break me out of my stupor. I remember where I am, and

Music thrums from within the bar as well. It’s not as loud as the beats coming from the nightclub, but racy enough for many of the patrons to gyrate against one another in the small dancing space. The bar is nearly filled up with people, mostly young ones ranging from twenty-one to maybe forty, sitting on stools and sipping various colored drinks. The bar is long, and there are about three bartenders manning a portion of it. Their moments are quick and efficient. One of them performs an elaborate routine with a cocktail shaker, spinning it in the air, shaking it according to a rhythm, occasionally opening it, and adding ingredients. The other slashes a charming grin to a gaggle of ladies at one end of the bar. This bartender is model handsome, and the pearly teethed smile makes the ladies swoon. On the other end of the bar, there is a group of frat boys taking shots, and the bartender fills small shot glasses with an amber-colored liquid.The bartenders are all dressed entirely in bla