Don't Believe your eyes (Part Two)

I wake in a large, soft bed. Unsure how long has passed, my gaze sweeps the room in search of a clock. The room is big, but mostly empty; a bed and dresser are the only furniture. A clock rests on the dresser, big red letters tell me it’s 5: 26. I sigh in relief and pull myself out of bed.

I make my way down the winding stairs to his living room, sending a glare at that damnable rug. Davon isn’t here. Should I look for him? It feels wrong to just search his place. He might not even be here, maybe he went back to wherever. My gaze returns to the swirling milky-way, a frown tugging my lips.

“So the lovely Ms. Foster is finally awake,” I whirl around at the sound of his voice. He strides over to me, his gaze inspecting, “How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” is my anxious reply.

“I would imagine,” he cracks a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, “You should leave. Ask Nora to take you on, I’m not a good fit for you. You need a caring hand, I can’t give you that.”

“But that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?” the words spill from my mouth without thought, the memory of his embrace still warming me.

He stares at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he turns on his heel, “I’m not right for you, go to Nora.”

He tries to walk away but I catch his hand, he refuses to face me. It doesn’t change my mind, “I want to be your apprentice.”

“Why?” he still won’t turn to me, a fact that leaves my heart heavy. Does he intend to brush me off no matter what I say?

Despite the sorrowful thought, I steady myself. I won’t give up without a fight, “Because, you fascinate me. I want to know more about you and this is the only way I can.”

He sighs, “You should know all you need to. Are you allowing your eyes to fool you again?”

“You make yourself out to be this bad guy, but I don’t think you are. You care, you just don’t like to show it,” I walk around him. Even if he won’t look at me, I want to see his face, “You said ‘it’s necessary’ when I asked you about Kimberly. Why? I want to understand. What’s so important?”

“You don’t need to know,” he snaps, trying to brush past me.

I grab his arm, “Let me into your head.”

He finally looks at me and I stare earnestly into his eyes. He seems to be evaluating me, the intensity of his gaze makes me nervous. I brush back a stray strand of my auburn hair, tucking it behind my ear.

I force my voice to work, to make one final plea, “Please, Davon. I want to know you, I want to find out if what I’m feeling for you is warranted.”

“It’s not,” he promptly answers, like a stab to the heart.

“Can’t I decide that for myself?”

He sighs, slouching in, what I hope is, defeat, “Fine.”

“Great!” I can’t contain my excitement, “Now, I have a few questions.”

“Of course you do,” He strolls to the teal couch like a man on death row making his way to the chair.

“What was that place?” I ask, skirting my way around the rug until I plop down in the brown, leather recliner.

“Which one?”

“The one I fell through,” I answer, thinking it obvious. I hadn’t gotten a look at the other, the place he’d pulled me to.

“A slip-void, they’re used for travel. They’re not meant for inexperienced wizards,” he tells me as though it’s the dullest thing in the world. It makes me feel dumb.

“Why?”

“It takes a high level of magic to keep the primordial darkness at bay.”

“Is the darkness dangerous?” he gives me a look that says ‘stupid question’, “Why did you leave it open then? Surely you could have kept me from entering.”

“I did, you just came through anyway,” he tells me, finally showing an interest, “How did you get into the void?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to follow you and then I was falling,” I tell him, shivering at the memory. I’m not sure how I’d survived the impact, it hurt so much I was sure I’d die.

“Interesting,” he tells me, “Your affinity must me high.”

My brows furrow, “Affinity in what?”

“Trans-dimensional magic,” he kicks his feet up onto the cherry-wood coffee table, “It’s a rare gift. Manipulation also seems to be your forte, considering you shed my clothes without a conscious attempt.”

“I only opened your shirt!” I’m sure a tomato would envy the redness of my face right about now.

He smirks, “I should be careful, next time you might strip me down to my boxers.”

“I hate you,” I tell him, lowering my head.

“So go to Nora.”

I jerk my head up, “No!”

He chuckles, “This might be fun after all.”

I roll my eyes, arms crossed at my chest half to put up a tough front, half a vain attempt to calm my thundering heart. His eyes shine with delight when he stands, flourishing his hand he bows deeply, dramatically like a prince in a fairy tale.

"What are you doing?" I ask, reason or suspicion waring with a school girl fluttering of emotions. I can't comprehend the feelings this man elicits from me.

He laughs again. The hair on the back of my neck stands out, a sense of danger and excitement bubbling up within me as he looks at me through wild strings of his glossy locks. "Why, I'm conceding to your wishes, Ms. Foster. From this day forward you shall be my lovely apprentice."