Page 69 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

THIRTY-FIVE

EMMA

As my sessions with James as my tutor progressed during the following weeks, a familiar pattern began to emerge.

Mornings would start off great. All my physical training had turned into a permanent excuse to touch and feel one another, yet the boundary of a kiss remained untouched, leaving me restless for his lips against mine.

Needless to say, all our interactions were now filled with not so innocent flirtations and the sexual tension between us rose to heights surpassing Everest's peaks and temperatures rivaling the depths of Hades.

Afterwards we would always practice my translation, which would still suck immensely. Which in turn we would bicker and fight about, with a kind of flair even Steven Spielberg would deem “too dramatic for his taste.”

After these heated exchanges, there would be an unspoken agreement to sweep the whole thing under the rug and move on, avoiding any discussion about it.

I was in way over my head. I was nowhere near where I should be with my magi training, I was starting to feel stuff for my trainer I hadn’t felt for anyone in a very long time, and I had no idea whether or not he reciprocated those feelings.

Each passing day only seemed to deepen the complexities of our relationship, leaving me stuck somewhere between the desire to excel in my magical studies and the overwhelming pull of my heart toward James.

As the lines between student and tutor continued to blur, I found myself standing on the brink of a precipice, torn between the uncertainty of diving into the unknown with James or retreat to safer ground by myself.

The very confrontational differences between my permanent “fish-out-of-the-water” status quo, and James’s status as Leader of the largest Collective in the world, enhanced every insecurity I was already desperately fighting.

But James turned out to be the most amazing man I had ever met. And after a while, all the other stuff just paled in comparison.

And then came the night… The night I left.

The day ended as usual, with a heated discussion about my nonexistent translation skills.

“Any news on the Radicals and their lame attempt at turning me into a vampire?” I asked casually, trying to change the subject from another inane discussion.

“Emma, stop fixating on distracting shit and focus on translation. You have to summon way more emotion; it’s never going to work if you keep deflecting every time a feeling threatens to surface.”

“You’re being very contradictory!” I answered him, frustrated (again). “On the one hand, you want me to summon as much emotion as I can, and on the other, I might die if I do.”

“I never said you would die if you summoned emotion! I said you could die if you don’t learn to control them. But you’re not even there yet; we’re still on the first step: trying to get you to feel something…”

“I feel stuff!” I said gruffly.

“Really? Like what?” he asked.

“Emotions,” I answered dryly.

“Great answer. Very helpful. Did you learn to be so vocal in therapy?" He rolled his eyes.

"Haha,” I answered, sarcasm dripping from my voice. I almost flipped him off. Almost. His eyes narrowed, as if he knew what I was thinking about.

Then he sighed. "Didn't you ever feel overly emotional when you were back in the Human World?"

"Yes, of course, I did!" I replied wearily.

"Okay, so how did you handle emotions over there?" His tone was still a lot more patient than I was used to by now, but his question still grated on my nerves.

"I handled them quite well," I snapped.

"Gods, Emma, could you not make everything so personal? I'm only trying to help you. But I can't help you translate, if you're adamant to match your emotional level to that of a godsdamn lobster."

"Funny. You should be on TV," I responded dryly.

"Well, I do have the looks for it," he quipped unexpectedly.

He did. My heart fluttered. Asshole .

"Too bad you miss the brains," I teased, attempting to match his lighter tone.

"Did you just call me pretty but dumb?" he asked, feigning insult.

"No, not pretty, no." I winked. Then I laughed at his indignation.

"Yes, well, I certainly had to dumb things down to train you," he teased back, though slightly below the belt as truth rang through his words. Ouch.

An awkward silence followed.

"So, uhm... Do you still feel your anger?" I asked, partly trying to change the subject, partly intrigued. "You didn't... I don't know, 'work' through it?"

He stilled, then mumbled softly, almost like a confession, "The anger is always there. Always. Palpable. Never really out but rather right beneath the surface... ready for me to use."

He straightened up, his words measured and weighted.

"That is, until I met you—you, who frustrates me more than anyone I've ever known.

I swear, sometimes, you make it almost painful to maintain control.

All the years I spent learning to channel the anger without expressing it," he huffed, "thanks to you, they’re all steadily going down the fucking drain. "

I wasn't sure if he was joking to lighten the mood or genuinely trying to explain his hot-and-cold behavior toward me.

"I'm sorry." I said apologetically, and he shot me that beautiful half smile. He didn't smile often, but whenever he did, he really took my breath away.

"So, what did you do when you were feeling sad or down?" he continued his former line of questioning.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes, I'd indulge in a massive stress-eating fiesta—lots of cake and cookies. Other times, I'd turn to music, I suppose."

"Okay, so you have an emotional connection with music?" he deduced.

“Yes, yes, I do.” I looked at him expectantly.

“Okay... so go get fucking your music and try!” He was losing his patience again.

I glowered at him. “You know what,” I said with irritation, “I’ll practice on my own tonight. Thanks for the tip.”

If he was losing his patience with me, I certainly wasn't going to endure his tone.

Of course, he was annoyed by my slow process—even I was irritated with myself! But excuse me for trying to catch up on the last twenty-three years in a few weeks' time.

I gathered my stuff, attempting to suppress some harsh words I sensed brewing. I wasn't about to explode again, so I rushed out of the training room without uttering another word.

As I closed the door behind me, I heard him sigh in disappointment, yet again.

Lying in bed later that night, I obsessed again over how I’d gone from being the best to feeling like a failure all the time. Why was I not getting this? It was just conjuring up some emotions, something humans do on a daily basis. Why was I having such a hard time with it?

Tossing and turning, it was almost one in the morning when I checked my Nexus for the time. Sleep still eluded me massively. My mind focused on James’s eyes. I loved thinking about those eyes.

I checked the yellow drops once more. It was now one fifteen in the morning. On a Friday night.

My human life started flashing before my eyes. How I would've pitied those lying in their bed alone on a Friday night… I smiled at the idea of Lisa and my other friends at a bar, drinking and laughing. Contemplating whether they would go out and ruin their Saturday with a hangover or…

I jolted upright. Holy shit. There was a short cut to call to my emotions… an insanely risky way but I was desperate. Under no circumstances was I going back to training with James the next day without any progress. And this idea was… well, stupid and reckless. But also… exhilarating.

My mind was racing. I wasn’t allowed outside of Cyclos so I’d have to sneak around. If the Council found out about me venturing out on my own in the Human World… but how would they? My translation wasn’t traceable.

I felt an immense pleasure at the prospect of outsmarting the Council.

It would require some planning, but not an excessive amount—I'd pulled off similar schemes numerous times as a teenager. Admittedly, escaping my parents felt significantly less daunting than misleading the Council, but the rush of adrenaline it generated was very reminiscent.

First things first. I realized I would have to find a red portal to transport me to the Human World. No way I’d take the risk of navigating myself in limbo with a green one. Luckily, there was a red one in the Scola library with a destination just outside of the First Layer.

Next I had to locate a human club, one with a DJ spinning some EDM or Techno, situated conveniently close to my portal destination, which was luckily far enough from Boston, making sure I wouldn't accidentally bump into anyone I knew.

It had to be a club with low security, preferably an underground club, where there’d be a supply of the stuff I needed.

I'd bring my Nexus along and nex Enya after I was done.

I was ninety percent sure she'd come for me. Well, maybe eighty percent. To err on the side of caution, I decided to text her upon my arrival at the club, giving her enough time to organize my "retrieval,” hoping she wouldn’t get too upset.

I had told her about my “malpractice,” so she would understand. I hoped. Dearly.

With the device gripped firmly in my hand, I activated the yellow drops, my energy signature transforming them with a subtle flourish, reconfiguring them to gather intel on the nearest club.

As the drops synchronized their information, pointing unanimously to "The FUSE," I frowned, unfamiliar with the name.

Holy shit, was I really doing this? Was I sneaking out of Cyclos on my own? I pondered for a second. Heck yeah, I was doing this! The adrenaline alone would probably give my translation a real boost.

I slipped out of my bed, got dressed for clubbing, did my hair and make-up in less than twenty minutes and then silently opened my door. I peeked through the hallway before leaving my room, my heart already bouncing off the charts with nervous energy.

Each step I took echoed in the silence of the Winter’s Palace, and every creak in the floor beneath me sounded like a thunderclap. I pressed myself against the walls, moving like a shadow, my breath caught in my throat with every passing second.

The soft glow of the moonlight filtered through the windows, guiding me as I tiptoed past closed doors.

Each turn in the corridor intensified the drumming of my heart, amplifying the hidden nature of my nightly escapade.

The anticipation of the adventure awaiting me outside collided with the fear of being caught, creating a thrilling yet nerve-wracking energy, coursing through my veins.

When I eventually made my way into the library, the clock displayed around two in the morning. There, in the right corner, stood the ominous red portal. My nerves kicked into a higher gear.

What if I got caught? Was I insane doing this? Doubt started creeping into my mind and I seriously contemplated pulling the plug on this whole idiotic plan.

But then, James’s face came to mind. That beautiful face, with disappointment forever etched on his features, solidified my resolve.

I stepped toward the portal.

The prospect of portaling alone sent a wave of uncertainty through me—even though I had witnessed it done before and had accompanied James a few times.

Encouraging myself to proceed, I focused on the fact that, unlike the green portals, which required navigation, red portals had a fixed destination.

Easy breezy. All I had to do was step through and this particular one would transport me instantly to a location about a twenty-minute walk from the Fuse.

"No time like the present," I mumbled to myself, forcefully pushing away those persistent doubts that threatened to undermine my resolve. I took a deep breath, attempting to steady the rapid beats of my heart.

Then, with a swell of determination, I stepped through.