They say life teases and pulls at people from all sides; when you think you have one problem sorted, another just springs up from nowhere. Take the 'normal' people: it's "what should I have for breakfast today?" or "do you think the new boy at school will notice me?" However, normality never did favour me...and neither did fortune.
If I were asked what the most common question pertaining to love had been before I had taken a fateful bus-trip two months ago, it would have been: "that man, the gorgeous, cheeky man who just happens to teach me Religious Education, do you think he knows what I feel for him? Do you think he feels the same when he looks at me with those sparkling eyes?"
However, that bus-trip had shown me a universe of difference. Thrust away from my friends and family, I had discovered that there was more to life than running through the haze of it, and that the one person I had treasured the most was willing to give up his entire ordered life to keep me safe.
Now that was the reason that I had returned to this vehicle which gleamed with nostalgia: a desire to get away from the drudgery of normality, a desire, beating, to return to the time when I had been innocently thrown into what had been insanity in a race to get away from my future. Going back to England, a place that once had a home for me, didn’t seem the right thing to do…despite the ties of family that pulled my companion back there. He would never understand how little family mattered to me.
Now insanity had become my normality, and wisdom took the part of ignorance. Even so, I had not the skills, nor the nerve, to admit to the world who- what- I was succeeding. It was a secret that lay, deadly, burning under the cross I had draped about my neck in a casual fashion. I let them see that I didn't care, when instead my fear was carving me to pieces from the inside out.
In the instant of lifting my feet up those rubbery steps, I wondered if this was the same bus which I had left all too long ago; the stench of beasts of fiction and immortality lingered in my nostrils, the images of a twisted scene were played out once again in my eyes. I didn't know whether the other passengers stirred as I wandered down the aisle, keeping my eyes on my boyfriend who strode behind me. They would have taken in the dishevelled side of Meggan Greene, Satanic 'Princess' (if I could call myself that without assuming the title and place as my own): more than the occasional smear of dirt across my face, leaves entangled in hair the colour of gold that had rusted. What a contrast my 'make-up' would seem with the emerald dress that clung to my short figure. It remained a positive part of my past, an illuminated gift that had now lost its lustre from a time of self-hatred.
My eyes rolled between the seats; choosing where to sit, whilst being the least of my problems, was still a question in itself.
"Meggie...here will do." Aidan Bible, thirty-five-year-old, former Religious Education teacher for St. Christopher's College, Oxford, whispered into my ear. His breath was soft and delicious as it left a tickling trail into my ear-drum.
Obediently I sat and, having no luggage since the disastrous escape from America, began to make a mental note of the other passengers who had arrived, including those who had slipped on after Aidan and I.