Destiny Gift

When I was little, my grandma told me, “Nadine, before the sun left us, you could look up and estimate what time it was just by the position of the sun in the sky.”

Holding my breath, I walked out of the subway station into the street and looked up. All I saw were tall buildings, most of them in need of some love and care, reaching up to thick, dark gray clouds, the same ones that had been a permanent fixture in the sky for my entire nineteen years.

I wasn’t sure why I kept trying.

Exhaling, I focused on my task, on why I was uptown and not safely behind the gates of the university. To be honest, I wasn’t letting myself think about it too much. Otherwise, I would freeze. I would turn back around and flee. I would go home and pretend everything was all right.

One measured step in front of the other, I walked from the subway station to the next block. All the while my eyes stared straight ahead, and I breathed through my mouth. Even then I caught a sniff of the rotting smells of the city; my eyes drifted to the broken sidewalks, to the fallen street lamps, to the dying trees and dry dirt, to the homeless people hiding at the edge of alleys.

I swallowed the fear building inside me. As far as I knew, this had been a nice neighborhood until a couple of months ago. As nice as a neighborhood could be in this world. Larger companies and businesses moved out as soon as it started getting bad—poverty and robbers and bats—but not everyone could afford to pack up and move.

Like the psychiatrist I had scheduled an appointment with.

At first, I pushed my problems aside. I ignored them. But now I couldn’t anymore, and this was the only psychiatrist from the over twenty I called who had an appointment available. The others wanted to put me on a wait list at least three months long.

No, thank you.

I stopped at a corner and waited for a green light to change. I glanced up at the tall building with a mirror-like exterior across the street, reflecting more buildings and the dark clouds. There. Right there was the psychiatrist who would be able to help me with my problem.

The faint sound of wings flapping echoed through the street, and everyone looked up. Including me. Among the reflection of buildings and dark clouds, I saw the blurred line of a bat cutting through the sky. Thankfully, it disappeared with my next erratic heartbeat.

These damn bats …

The people in the street seemed to relax all at once.

A sigh escaped my lips.

But the bats weren’t the reason I was here, coming to this shady neighborhood after a psychiatrist. I needed help because I had dreams.

Dreams was the word I used to calm my mind. Visions was a more appropriate term.

The first one happened right after my arrival in New York nine months ago. At first the visions came once a month or so, but now they assaulted me once a week. I blacked out every time I had one. I could be cooking, studying, walking down the street, and I would simply zone out. I saw whatever the vision brought me, then I would wake up as if nothing had happened, as if I had not spent the last thirty seconds or fifteen minutes daydreaming.

I was reluctant to call my visions hallucinations. Yet now, heading toward a psychiatrist’s office, I guess I should. Hallucinations could be stopped with medication, right? That was why I was here—to ask the doctor to put an end to them. The visions were hindering my life. Last semester, I failed a class because I had visions during too many lectures and exams. Three days ago, I dropped a tray on a customer at the café where I waited tables. My boss almost fired me, accusing me of being distracted all the time. I was losing control of my life, and that made me scared.

On the other hand, if I stopped hallucinating, I would stop seeing him.

Every time I forced myself to think about this, about the dilemma of my life, I felt my soul ripping into two big chunks. But, in the end, his chunk was always bigger.

I could feel the smile taking over my lips. It was impossible not to smile when thinking about my Prince Charming.

A shove cut through my thoughts, and I scrambled to keep my balance.

“Move,” a deep voice said. A big man walked by with long steps, rushing through the crosswalk.

“Crap,” I muttered, gathering my wits and hurrying before the light became green again.

There weren’t many cars on the streets anymore, but people had gotten crazier. More violent and aggressive. Drivers didn’t respect pedestrians like they used to. Or at least that was what I was told.

A shrill cry brought a chill to my spine, and I froze in place, halfway through the crosswalk. Oh my God, it could only be the bats.

“Rain!” someone shouted. “Acid rain!”

Screams rang all around me. Everyone started running.

Another shove sent me stumbling back and into someone else. “I’m sorry,” I said, turning around to whoever I had bumped into, but the person had already dashed away.

My heart sped up and my hands shook.

Then it happened.

A little drop of rain fell on my cheek, burning as if I had extinguished the end of a cigarette into my skin.

The pain radiated over my face, jerking me awake and into action.

With erratic movements, I pulled my jacket over my head, trying to keep my hands under the leather, and raced back to the sidewalk. There weren’t many places to hide as most shops weren’t open to the public anymore, so I ducked under the awning of a small newsstand, pressing myself into a sea of bodies, just as the rain intensified.

The sizzling sound of the rain hitting metal and the people who still ran for cover was agonizing. I shut my eyes, wishing I could silence my hearing for a minute too.

Small and thin, I was easily pushed back and pressed against the cold wall of the stand. I laid my hand flat against it, realizing it was made of metal. I sure hoped there was something else underneath the metal, or that this specific kind of rain didn’t melt this kind of material as it sometimes did. It was impossible to know until after it started and caused damage. Meteorology was a profession from the past; no one could predict anything about the crazy weather or the world anymore.

Something bright above my head caught my eye and I looked up. A set of wooden numbers was nailed high on the metal wall. From the three numbers, only the eight shone as bright as a lantern.

“Help!” A broken scream reached my ears, and I forced my attention away from the freaky shining number eight. “Please, help me.”

I tried looking out through the crowd in front of me, but I was too short. Instead, I crouched down and saw it. A young woman, probably my age, on her knees right at the beginning of the crosswalk, howling in pain as she held up a backpack, trying to shield herself from the rain.

A gasp ripped from my throat, and my hand flew to my chest. Fighting against the rain washing over her and the water accumulating on the road, the young woman tried pushing herself up, only to stumble and fall on her knees again. Her foot seemed twisted.

“Help!” She croaked again. Her skin was marred with tiny red spots, her clothes were sizzling away, and her backpack was practically melting in her bruised hands.

I looked at the big men in front of me. “Do something,” I said over the heavy sound of the pouring rain. Nobody paid attention to me. “We have to do something.”

A tall man, who looked to be in his late thirties, looked over his shoulders, his eyes never meeting mine. “She’s lost. If you want to help her, it’ll be your doom too.”

I clenched and unclenched my hands as rage built inside my chest. I couldn’t believe these people would just stand there and watch.

I didn’t think; I just acted.

Adrenaline shot through my veins and propelled me as I pulled my leather jacket back over my head, pushed the big men aside, and ran into the rain. I rushed to the girl, who whimpered and trembled and cried desperately. Little droplets of rain singed the skin of my hands as I reached for her and, holding to her drenched clothes, pulled her up.

“Come on,” I said, biting back a scream of my own. “Help me so I can help you.”

I grabbed her arm and pulled it over my shoulders, not caring if it was over my skin or my clothes. Thankfully, the girl had more strength in her than I thought, and she carried most of her weight as I half-dragged, half-guided her back to the newsstand.

However, using their jackets and bags and even their shoes, the big men pushed us away.

“Hey, let us come under the damn awning,” I cried. But they just pushed us back again.

The rain continued falling, and my jacket was only scraps of fabric by now. My chest tightened as I realized we couldn’t stand here and keep fighting. The girl and I had to move. So, without wasting another breath, I tugged on her waist and guided her to the building behind the newsstand. There was no awning in sight, no porch or cover, and the ones I saw at a first glance seemed full of people. I didn’t want to waste time asking them to let us squeeze with them.

Instead, I went directly into the narrow alley beside the building. There had to be a place to hide in there.

I was right. The moment we stepped into the dark alley, the rain was gone. I looked up and saw balconies jutting out from both buildings, providing cover.

Relieved about our good luck, I helped the girl down to the dirty but dry ground, and she slumped against the wall. My breath caught as I knelt in front of her and looked over her. There were nasty red blisters everywhere, mostly second and third-degree burns. Her clothes were in tatters—her pants were gone from her knees down, and her shins were bleeding in several spots. Her shoes weren’t in much better condition, and I bet her feet were in even worse shape inside them. Even some of her hair seemed to have been burned away with the acid rain; blood soaked in her scalp. Her face … I gagged, realizing her face would never be the same.

“T-thanks,” she croaked, her eyes half open.

This girl needed medical attention right now. “Hang in there.” I fished my phone from inside my purse and—

Her hand shot up, grabbing my wrist and pulling it down. Her touch, still slick with the water from the rain, burned me and I bit back the scream that rose in my throat.

“T-talk to me,” she whispered.

“I would rather call for help.” I jerked my hand free from hers so I could call 911.

“It’s too late.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What’s your name?” I blinked. This girl was crazier than I was. Why the hell did she want to know my name when she was too hurt to even talk? “Tell me,” she insisted.

“Nadine. My name is Nadine Sterling. Now, just rest and hang in there. Save your breath. I’m gonna call for help.”

“I’m Rose,” she said, her voice a thin murmur. “T-thank you, Nadine, for coming for me. You’re a good person.” Then she closed her eyes. Heavy, her head rolled to the side and her body followed.

Mouth open wide, I just stared at her limp body. A sob rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. I hadn’t known this girl; I shouldn’t care. Except that I did. I always cared. I hated seeing innocents get hurt, and this girl had done nothing to deserve this horrible, horrible death.

I didn’t know how long I stayed there, staring at her, wishing I could have helped her sooner, wishing I had seen her before I had first reached the newsstand. Then maybe, just maybe, I would have been able to help her.

Eventually, the rain stopped, and the people and traffic started moving again. As if nothing had happened. As if they weren’t hurt at all by the few droplets of acid rain that had hit them, as if there weren’t debris of melted awnings or signs in the middle of the streets, as if there wasn’t a dead girl in this alley.

Hands shaking, I stood and took a large step back.

I inhaled deeply as something sharp prickled my skin.

“No sudden movements,” a deep, coarse voice said from behind me. I didn’t move, but I could feel him. A tall man with a knife in his hand, pressed against my back. I whimpered. “Hand me your purse.”

“Okay,” I muttered, trying to clamp down my fear. Slowly, I reached for the strap across my shoulders. I sucked in a sharp breath and prayed the man was paying attention to the hand over my shoulder, and not the one I snuck inside my purse. My fingers wrapped around my pepper spray, and I slowly drew it out before pulling the purse over my head. “Here.”

The sharp sting of the knife loosened, and I acted. In a rush, I stepped away from the man and turned around, swinging my purse in his direction. He raised his arms to block the attack.

“What the fuck?” he yelled, reaching for me. I had the pepper spray ready and sprayed it all over his face. “Bitch!” he screamed, clawing at his eyes.

I ran.

I ran for several blocks, zigzagging through sidewalks and streets, just in case the man wanted revenge, and finally hopped into the subway to go home. I sat down on an almost empty cart, my heart heavy, my mind jumbled, and my stomach in knots. What the hell had happened? A sob lodged in my throat as images of the girl dying in the rain filled my mind.

Five minutes into my subway ride, I gasped. I had left uptown without having set foot in the psychiatrist office.

My shoulders deflated. Damn it. All the trouble I had finding an appointment that didn’t conflict with my classes, lying to my roommate, and getting some time off work.

But maybe … maybe it was a sign. With the acid rain and the robbery to distract me, to stop me, I was almost convinced I wasn’t supposed to go to a psychiatrist and put an end to my visions.

Maybe I was supposed to be crazy.

Or maybe I was reading too much into the situation and should get off this subway and run back to the psychiatrist’s office before I lost my appointment and had to go through all this trouble again to get another one.

And just like that I was back in my dilemma: being crazy and having my Prince Charming, versus being normal and losing him.

I blew out a long breath, already sure of my choice.

I didn’t care that every Saturday night my roommate gave me a lecture about being young and pretty and smart, about going out, having fun, and making out. I had happily exchanged those parties she’d wanted to drag me to just to see my Prince Charming. And I would do it again.

Saying goodbye to him scared me, but it wasn’t the only thing that made my stomach shrivel. What if I was really insane? What if I was sent to a clinic under heavy sedation? What if I was given those shock treatments horror movies pictured so often? I couldn’t be incarcerated in a freak’s clinic—not willingly at least.

And I couldn’t lose my Prince Charming either.

“Espresso at table six,” my coworker Adam said. He shoved the tray over to me, peering myopically through too-thick lenses, then wiped his hands on his button up shirt. “A chocolate cupcake too.”

I took the tray, an espresso, and one of the cupcakes.

Frowning, I went to serve table six. My frown dissolved once I saw Cheryl waiting for me in her usual spot. I’d met her my first day in New York, about nine months ago. At the time, she’d also been a newcomer, and we’d hit it off instantly despite our age difference.

Cheryl was gorgeous, with brilliant blond hair neatly combed into a bob and silver eyes. She was wearing one of her impeccable suits, a to-die-for designer purse, and matching shoes. She was now thirty-two years old, and I had asked her at least twenty times why she hadn’t become a model instead of a psychologist working for NYU.

Before going to the psychiatrist’s office—and running away from it—I considered talking to Cheryl about my visions. I’d given up when I realized she was one of the few friends I had and couldn’t afford for her to think I was crazy. She might never come to see me again. That thought scared me.

“Hello there.” Cheryl smiled and patted the chair beside hers. I glanced around. Adam was busy, and my manager was nowhere I could see. “Is spring semester over?” she asked as I sat, hiding my hands under the table.

I hadn’t told anyone about what happened last week—about me trying to go to a psychiatrist office and ending up caught in the acid rain. And witnessing a young woman dying from her wounds and almost being robbed. I still had nightmares about it almost every night.

Besides my ruined jacket and boots, my hands had been bruised and burned, but nothing some first-degree burn cream couldn’t take care of. I made sure to wear fingerless gloves on the first two days so my roommate wouldn’t notice it—thank goodness it had been chilly, and she didn’t question it.

“Not yet,” I finally answered. “One more exam tomorrow, then it’s over.”

Being accepted into NYU with financial aid made it possible for someone like me, who came from a poor background, to get a good diploma. Since it was rare to get financial aid to such an esteemed school, I figured my education should be the priority in my life.

“Deserved vacation, huh?” Cheryl munched the cupcake with inexplicable grace. Somehow she never got crumbs down her blouse the way everyone else did.

“Vacation?” I chuckled with a forced dreadful tone. “I’ll be working full time during the next two weeks, till summer classes start.”

“I get that you have to work.” She folded her napkin neatly, and I wondered if she had been a princess or a queen in a previous life. “So why not get a job doing what you like?”

“Like singing? In a bar or some other place?” I was in the pre-health program, but my true dream was to sing for a living. My voice was good, but I’d chosen a career path that would give me stability and guaranteed money. I felt like I owed it to my parents, like I should do this to please them and give them a better life when they got older. They’d sacrificed so much for me, and now it was my turn.

“I bet it pays better than waiting tables at the university café.”

I glanced through the large windows and sighed. It was mid-afternoon and the streets were already too dark, too full of creepy figures lingering outside the campus walls. I couldn’t risk singing in a bar, working until late at night, having a vision in the middle of a street, and waking up robbed, or raped, or being attacked by a bat.

So I offered my second excuse. “Most of my classes are early in the morning. I would never be able to keep up with them singing late at night.”

“That makes sense.” A slight crease appeared between her salon-perfect brows. “But you could work with something that added to your resume.”

“Like work in a medical facility?”

“I saw an opening for a Patient Care Technician at Langone in the newspaper and remembered you have that certificate.”

“I do.”

“I bet they have regular shifts.” Her gaze fixed on mine, as if she were trying to spy on my soul. “So, what’s holding you here?” Without a good answer for her, I shrugged. “Promise me you’ll at least look into the position.”

I knew she wouldn’t rest until I agreed. “I promise.”

Her eyes gleamed in victory before she abruptly changed subjects. “Now, why didn’t you go out last week?”

I gaped. “Raisa put you up to this, didn’t she?” My naughty roommate loved a good party, and she never understood my reasons for skipping them.

“She’s looking out for you. You’re young and beautiful. You should go out more.”

“No.” I raised my hand in protest. And quickly hid it away. The worse of the burns were gone, but if someone looked too closely, they would know. “Not you too, please.”

“Someday you’ll meet a guy who will rock your world. He’ll ask you out and you’ll barely be able to mutter a yes.”

“We’ll see,” I said, my mind yearning to meet with the guy from my visions. I missed him so much. I imagined him by my side, drinking coffee before my classes, his arm around my waist, pulling me close to him.

I glanced at Cheryl. While I imagined him with me in real life, I had never seen Cheryl with anyone. During the time I’d known her, she’d never mentioned a boyfriend, or talked about her family and friends. I’d never tried pushing her to tell me though. Who was I to demand the facts of her private life when I didn’t share all of mine with her?

She reached for her tablet over the table. I hadn’t noticed it there before, but now that she swiped her finger over the screen and the main page of CNN showed up, displaying many horrific headlines, I couldn’t stop staring.

“This is so sad,” Cheryl said, leaning in closer and allowing me a better view.

In Australia, a terrorist entered a train station and blew himself up, along with hundreds of innocent people. In Brazil, the gangs of favelas in big cities had declared war and innocents were caught in the crossfire every day. In Canada, rabid doves invaded a church, killed the priest, and injured several devotees. A new virus was discovered in Africa that seemed worse than Ebola. Everywhere, assaults, robberies, killings, and other horrific events plagued the world.

Perhaps I should have been used to the disasters, but I wasn’t. I was born into this world, this cruel, dangerous, dark world—the world of chaos, as my mother called it—and yet, I was always shocked by the tragic events.

Cheryl looked out the window. “I wonder if we’ll even see blue skies before we die.” She turned to me with a small smile. “My mother used to tell me that the rivers were clean, there were trees and flowers everywhere, and summers were warm and sunny. People could actually walk down any street and not be afraid of being robbed. Now we have to be careful of muggers and giant bats.” I flinched. Cheryl knew I had been robbed once and attacked by bats a couple of times. “My mother also used to say that God gave up on us. Thirty years ago. He left us and the world changed.”

Her words echoed in my mind, bringing forth an old memory. My grandma and little me strolled through the field where my dad worked. The lake had dried out, and the plantation was dying from lack of water and sun.

“The water is dirty but serves its purpose nonetheless,” she explained as our feet crushed the dead stems. “The owner doesn’t make enough money to keep paying for the sun lamps to warm the herbs and make them grow.”

The image was forever etched in my mind: the darkness of the sky, the grayish of from the ground. Even the rotten smell of dead vegetation made its way into my memories.

I had looked around, confused. This was my father’s job. How would he support our family if his work was dying?

“You know, dear, I believe God abandoned us,” my grandma continued. She halted and looked at the dark clouds. “I pray and hope He’ll forgive us and come back someday.”

“Don’t you think?” Cheryl’s voice brought me back to the present.

I shook my head once, clearing my thoughts. “I’m sorry, what?”

Cheryl rolled her eyes at me. “You and whatever is inside your head. You seem to always prefer it in there.” She poked her finger on my forehead. I shrugged, not wanting to lie to her. “All right.” She shoved her tablet inside her purse and stood. “I gotta work too, you know. See you later.” She threw me a kiss and left, strolling through the coffee shop like a famous actress crossing the red carpet.

And I went back to work.

I recognized a lot of the faces that came for a coffee, a snack, or simply to hook up their laptops and work all day long, even if I didn’t officially know them all. But there was another girl I knew here today.

I approached her table and smiled at her. “Hi Sarah, what can I get for you?”

She looked up at me from her laptop. “Hi Nadine. Just a black coffee. Got keep my energy going while working on this paper.”

As a fellow pre-med student, Sarah Cunnings was in most of my classes. Though we had never exchanged more than small talk, she seemed like a very nice girl. If I hadn’t had so many walls around myself, I thought maybe, just maybe, we could have been good friends.

I dipped my chin in a nod. “I hear you. I’ll be right back.”

After grabbing Sarah’s coffee, attending to some other tables, scribbling down orders, and passing along the requests, I returned to the back of the café, inhaling deeply. I loved the strong and rich coffee scent of the place. I was crazy about coffee and blamed my addiction on my mother, who made the best black coffee I had ever tasted. She always had a mug ready whenever I wanted one. Because of it, my parents’ kitchen had a permanent coffee aroma. Delicious.

I peeked out the door. In the front, Adam talked to the girl working the cash register. The manager was out again. I could hide out for a few minutes.

With my chemistry book under my apron, I sneaked into the dark and humid storage room and closed the door. I shouldn’t be studying during work, but I still had one more exam before I was done with spring semester. I had to study if I wanted to pass organic chemistry this time.

I opened the book to chapter eight, ready to read about Aliphatic Hydrocarbon. The number eight shone, almost floating off the page. I disregarded it. Another hallucination probably. I read, trying to concentrate.

A light stab inside my chest spiderwebbed through me, carrying warmth and a rush of adrenaline down my arms and legs, tingling all over my skin. The world spun around me, enveloping me in darkness. I blinked and let the pull the vision carry me.

Butterflies danced in my stomach. What type of vision would this one be? Maybe it would be a ghost-like vision where I only observed other people’s actions, or maybe one where they interacted with me. I preferred the latter, of course, but I was always happy with the ghost visions too, since I was able to watch over the man who had stolen my heart.

All my visions were about the same perfect and gorgeous guy. My dream Prince Charming was named Victor Gianni. He was twenty-three, tall and athletic, with light brown hair streaked by some natural honey-colored highlights, brilliant sea-green eyes, and a smile that always made my heart somersault.

Yes, Victor lived only in my visions, but I was in love with him.

I had been seeing him for nine months. Because of him I had blown off too many dates, said no to too many guys. I had become unsociable, buried in my own fantasy world. But I didn’t regret it.

One simple flicker of my eyes and I found myself transported to the world my visions created. The scene adjusted and I smiled. I was in a candlelit ballroom. Harmonious music came from violins and harps. A beautiful, deep red gown replaced my usual jeans and tee.

Curious, I touched my hair. Two side braids met at the back of my head. The rest of my long, light brown hair fell loose in soft curls.

I was here, in the world where Victor existed. I’d made the right choice leaving that psychiatrist’s office. I needed to be with him. Always.

“Is anything wrong with your hair?” His melodic voice came from behind me.

My heart flipped furiously. I turned to face him and took in the perfection of his body clad in his black tuxedo and his honey hair, gelled back to show his face. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Hello, my favorite girl.” He flashed one of his award-winning smiles. “How are you?” He came closer and took me in his arms, sweeping me into a dance without asking. He knew he didn’t need to ask.

It was so easy for him to render me breathless. “I’m better now,” I whispered, falling into step with him, letting him guide me through the ballroom.

“I’ve missed you.” Serious now, his eyes bored into mine.

“I’ve missed you too.” I stared up at him, struggling against my own mind so as not to lose myself in his face. He let go of my waist, guiding me through a graceful spin under his arm, then caught me again, pulling me back to him.

“Is your grandmother any better?” I asked.

Despite the fact that the world in my visions was not real, he had a life and a history in here. The setting where we found each other—a ballroom, atop a mountain, a classroom, a cruise ship, a bistro—changed often, but his daily life remained the same, in a world of his own, inside my mind.

After nine months having these visions, I didn’t question their authenticity anymore, or why they felt so real and normal. They were a part of my life, like going to class or work.

However, his world wasn’t quite perfect. His grandma had stomach cancer, and the diagnosis wasn’t good. She was the only family he had left.

His face fell a little, but he kept spinning me across the floor. “She woke up better this morning, but the doctors want to transfer her to a larger hospital. One with a specialized cancer center.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do? If they think the move will be better for her, we’ll go.”

“The scholarship you were offered to join that school’s research team … It was for cancer research, wasn’t it?” He was finishing his second year of medical school. Three months ago, he’d grown excited about the scholarship, but had not accepted the offer. He didn’t want to leave his grandmother alone. At his nod, I added, “You could talk to them.”

“I already did. I explained the situation, and they agreed to take my grandma. We’ll be moving in about ten days.”

“Good.” I smiled and my breath caught. How could I have thought of leaving? I could never, ever stop having visions with him.

He spun me around once more. “Still, I’ve been worrying.”

“About your grandma?”

His brows knitted. “About my purpose,” he said simply, knowing I would understand his words. Since my first vision, Victor had stated his presence had a purpose. He wasn’t here just for my enjoyment. Though I knew, we barely talked about it. We’d much rather spend quality time together.

“You don’t know what your purpose is yet.”

“That’s what worries me,” he said, slowing the pace. “The fact that we don’t know. I’ve been feeling like I should know it already, like I should be acting on it. And that feeling only grows.” He paused, caressing my face with his smooth fingertips, making me shiver. “I feel like something is going to happen. Soon.”

“Something?” I forced myself to forget his warm, soul-flipping touch and focus on what disquieted him. “You don’t know anything? Not even a clue?”

“Nope.” He stopped dancing, but his grip around my waist tightened. “I have this feeling.” He paused and put his hand over his chest. “This increasing sensation we should be ready.” He chuckled, startling me. “Though don’t ask me for what. I don’t know.” Lowering his head, my Prince Charming kissed my forehead. “You will be by my side, won’t you?”

“You know I will. Always,” I whispered, closing my eyes and relishing the touch of his warm lips.

“Sing for me?” he asked in a low, husky tone, his warm and fresh breath brushing against my skin. I shivered. “I love it when you sing.”

“I will.” I wanted to do this for him. Give him this gift of music he loved. I wanted him to feel my love for him through my voice, my singing. I inhaled deeply and prepared my throat to voice his favorite song.

“Nadine!” My eyes shot open, and I let out a yelp. A furious Adam stood before me.

Oh no, please, I wanted my vision back. I wanted Victor back. I put my hands over my temples and willed my mind to drift away, to go back to my Prince Charming. I tried to force the vision to take over, but I couldn’t control it.

“What is up with you?” Adam asked.

This wasn’t the first time he’d found me during an episode. He could tell our manager I had spaced out during work hours. If I wasn’t fired today, it would certainly be another day if I continued like this.

“Nothing.” I hid my chemistry book behind me. Yeah, like Adam would care about my studies after seeing me completely out of it. “Did you call me?”

“Yes! These freak shows are getting longer, Nadine. I’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. He didn’t know why I zoned out, but based on past experiences, he knew it wasn’t something he needed to worry about and call for help since he had seen me like this a hundred times.

I stood and took a deep breath. Love and hate were truly only separated by a thin line. I loved having my visions and spending time with Victor, and I hated I couldn’t control when they happened and the inconvenience they caused me.

“Get back to work before I tell the manager you were hiding.”

Why he didn’t rat me out and laugh while I got fired, I’d never know. Perhaps because he knew, like him, I needed the money.

I left the storage room under his she-is-such-a-freak gaze and went back to waiting tables, planning to study tonight, even if I had to stay awake until morning.

That is, if a vision didn’t rescue me.