NEW REALITY — 1.2

The next day's lectures went straight over my head. They weren't as distracting as I'd hoped they would be when I dragged my weary self out of bed that morning. It was a relief when five PM rolled around, and I could escape the incessant chatter. 'Mythicals' this, 'Mythicals' that. As if it wasn't bad enough that the newsreels looped in the background of my internal monologue, but no matter where I looked or listened, it was all anyone seemed to be talking about. Some people hadn't shown up at uni, which sparked speculation. Was it out of fear? Or were they one of them? I wasn't scared, per se, because the impact on my life hadn't yet sunk in. I'd just anticipated that it would. All I felt was confusion regarding my current situation. It was a hard pill to swallow and raised more questions than answers. Due to the shock, I hadn't stayed on the phone long enough to ask any of them. I was frustrated that my parents had kept such a significant, life-altering secret from me for over twenty-odd years.

My friend Lindsay's room wasn't the sanctuary I had hoped for. Theresa let me in, and I was instantly engulfed in the very topic of conversation I had been hoping to avoid. My mind was a jumble, my nerves were frayed, and I couldn't even explain why to my closest friends. My mum had made me promise to keep my identity a secret until they had "figured things out," whatever that entailed. Luckily, Lindsay and Theresa believed me when my excuse for looking as drained as I did was because I hadn't slept well the night before. It was only a half-lie.

Looking at me from over her shoulder, Lindsay asked, "Did you hear about the killings in Moscow?" She sat at her dressing table, straightening her bleach-blonde hair into her favoured pin-straight style.

"What?" I retorted as though whiplashed. I'd just sat down on the bottom bunk of her bed and had barely gotten inside, and she went and asked a thing like that.

"You must 'ave seen it! It's all over the bloody news. There are riots in America, talk of revolution in Europe, and the East has reacted as badly as possible, which is no fucking surprise if you ask me. They're rounding them up like cattle for execution. It's total carnage!" she continued, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

"All this talk of 'us and them' is so medieval." Theresa rolled her eyes. I loved that she was Lindsay's opposite. Theresa was mild and of few words, yet whatever she said rang with profound wisdom. "When will everyone realise it's easier to get along if we've all got to exist on the same planet..."

"I bet it'll end up like another Holocaust or something," Lindsay replied nonchalantly, setting down her straighteners to refresh her eyeliner. "D'you reckon that bloke I've got my eye on will be at the club tonight?"

How easily Lindsay flitted from such a grotesque topic to wondering if she would get laid blew my already shattered mind. I blinked rapidly in bewilderment at Theresa. The short twenty-year-old with a cute, red pixie cut merely gestured to the back of her corset; she wanted me to fasten it. By now, we should have been used to our mutual friend's affinity for downplaying the devastating. In truth, Theresa was better at handling her.

"Subtle," Theresa whispered, shooting Lindsay a look to show how uncouth her comment had been.

"He's been there for the last three weeks, and you still haven't 'made a move' on him. Do you think tonight is the night you grow some and throw yourself at him?" I asked, attempting to be witty, which was an effort considering my mood. Usually, Lindsay wasn't the type to wait for a guy to approach her. She had a 'go get 'em' attitude that I admired. Although I was by no means a prude or a wallflower, I was pickier. I preferred boyfriends over fleeting sexual affairs. Admittedly, I was going through an agonising dry spell, having been dumped by my boyfriend of two years four months before. I still hadn't found a suitable rebound. The thought of getting involved with someone else left an unpleasant taste in my mouth. Unfortunately, keeping my 'inner goddess' at bay was getting more difficult. She was a hungry mistress and required male sacrifices to remain tame. Increasingly, she invaded my thoughts and filled my head with erotic and blush-inducing imaginary scenarios at the slightest thing and sometimes alarmingly inappropriate times. Sometimes, she made me feel like a predator hunting for flesh. Some nights, I wished I could let my hair down like Lindsay and be brave enough to search for the human touch I pined for—it was paradoxical to feel trapped by and not safe in the knowledge that wasn't a slut. Perhaps Lindsay fell into that category a tiny bit. She didn't even attempt to keep her lust in check. Here I was, stuck with a high libido that I struggled to keep up with while flying solo—some urges just couldn't be met by myself alone. 

All four of my past boyfriends had left a lot to be desired. I had made do dining at the table of sub-par teenage fumbles. Even if one of them had been the renowned high-school man-whore, he was a quantity-over-quality kind of guy. As long as he got his kicks, it didn't matter about mine. Still, underneath all the bravado, he was a sweetie pie, and I revelled in the fact that I had stolen him away from all of the 'popular, pretty girls' and had him all to myself. Apparently, I was alluring enough that it didn't matter if I was the unpopular grungey type associated with a clique of equally unpopular 'alternative' people. But it was also a little ironic that that was probably the extent of my allure—I was somehow 'exotic' to him.

Linsday's voice snapped me out of my reverie. "Could be!" she beamed, turning around from the mirror with a grin. I'm looking pretty fit tonight." She giggled as she squeezed her upper arms into her chest to show off her cleavage, which peeped through the mesh fabric of her top.

"You're not going to pull anything in that get-up, though, Ana," Theresa stated, eyeing my chosen outfit. 

She was right. It didn't do anything for me. I was past caring. But I wasn't in any mood to argue when Lindsay stripped me of my baggy band tee and threw a tiny velveteen garment my way. "Without. The. Bra." She demanded. "What's the point in wearing something sexy if your underwear screams grandma!"

 I looked at Lindsay with unsure eyes via her reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of the dormitory door. "So... This is better?" I asked.

Lindsay, all in black—black heeled boots, black fishnets, a black PVC skirt, and a black bra under a black sheer long-sleeved top—was completed by a black liner around her twinkly baby blue eyes. She agreed and nodded eagerly.

My two best friends and I huddled together and stared at our reflections. Sweeping my hands down my front, I supposed the gap between the hugging velveteen fabric of the crop top and my black acid-washed combat pants showed off my flat, toned stomach.

Tiny Theresa hugged my upper arm and reassured me, "You look hot, babe. Don't worry." 

But so did she! Her five-foot frame, dressed in a faux corset and frilly ra-ra skirt, but her platform heels did little to help her on the height front. Contrarily, I had chosen to stay in my flat combat boots. I was already freakishly tall for a twenty-one-year-old woman. Now I knew about my elven heritage; my five-foot-eight height and physique made sense—long pin-straight black hair, pensive grey eyes, porcelain skin and a svelte figure, neither pretty nor ugly, but I figured there had to be someone out there who thought I was breathtaking.

Pulling on my black denim jacket, I was ready to head to our bar of choice, Omen.