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Unnatural Affinity (3)

A Paranormal Romance

By Troi McAdory Published about a year ago 12 min read
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via Unsplash_Marek Piwnicki

Three months later in July.

I woke with a start to the sound of movement in my apartment and the smell of good food cooking in my kitchen. It was too early to start cooking, and I knew it had to be no one other than my busybody mother checking up on me. I heard voices murmuring within the walls of the apartment and I knew right away it wasn’t just my mother who invited herself in but my entire family.

I groaned loudly, burying my face further into my pillows. I usually don’t invade my family’s minds out of respect for their privacy, but this morning I couldn’t help it. My mind still groggy from my final shift at the club, slipped into theirs listening to everything they had to say about this morning. I counted to ten before checking the time on my phone. It was ten-thirty. Okay, so it wasn’t ungodly early but for me it was and I wasn’t happy about it. As I stretched my limbs, bones popping and muscles burning, I began to regret giving my parents an extra key.

I trudged out of bed and yawned loudly to announce I was around the corner. Roland was the first to speak.

“You look like shit, Max.”

Dad hit him in the shoulder, though there was a tinge of humor in his eyes. Peyton covered her mouth as she giggled because Mom was about to start her rant on cursing.

“Mom, can you save it for another time?” I pleaded. “We’ve all heard it a million times and I’m sure Roland didn’t mean to say what he did. Right, Roland?”

“Yep!”

It was the most annoying thing to hear. She says we didn’t pick it up from her but my mom, Harper Pierre-Lucchesi, was no saint. We’ve all heard her curse multiple times over the years. I’ll admit my dad, Gabriel Lucchesi, was probably more of a potty mouth than she, but what did she expect? If neither of them cursed, we’d still be sailors who used every foul four-letter word in our everyday language. The world was a cesspool of knowledge stemming from the good, the bad, and the ugly.

When Mom turned to go back to cooking, I jumped into my brother’s head to lash at him and he fired back with enough curses to make the most seasoned sailor proud. He glared at me as a tiny flame ignited on the end of his hair. He immediately noticed it and stomped his foot in frustration with an angry growl. I growled back to mock him though Dad had to intervene before Roland pounced on me.

Dad then went to relax at the kitchen table and opened up his laptop screen. Peyton and Roland went to see what he was doing when typing was the only thing heard under the sound of Mom’s cooking.

“Why are you all here?” I asked, coming up to them. I couldn’t keep the agitation out of my voice if it killed me. I valued my sleep and my family knew my work schedule wasn’t traditional.

“Mom wants us all to have breakfast together to congratulate you on your new job,” Peyton piped up. Her mocha skin held a rosy hue dusted with light freckles that came strictly from our mother, yet the hints of blonde hiding in her mass of brown hair came from our paternal grandmother. She was a regal beauty in her younger days.

Coming from a biracial family, my mom Trinidadian and my dad Italian, if there was one thing we were certain of it was that we knew the cultures of both sides of our families. None of us ever experienced the feeling of not knowing where we belonged because our parents made sure we understood we were half of them, not one or the other. Family trips to our parents’ homelands put things into perspective for us once we got to see countries where the people looked just like us only in different shades of skin tone.

I was the spitting image of my dad with his sharp cheekbones and the same shade of dark brown hair almost like a deep mahogany only mine was curly. Our noses were slender, curving over a full mouth and our ears were shaped the exact same. The only difference between us was our eyes. Mine were honey gold like Mom and Roland. Peyton was the one who inherited Dad’s unique eye color of sapphire blue with flecks of gold.

Roland looked the most like Mom. His skin tone was the same mocha shade as Peyton and I, but his face was defined by Mom’s genes. His nose was wider, lips a bit thinner than mine and his hair was a black mess of curls around his head. His hazel eyes were striking against his skin, gaining attention from the girls early. He was tall and slender like Mom’s brothers, though his arms and legs were starting to fill out with muscle from running track and being on the wrestling team. I had to admit my little brother was growing into a gorgeous young man.

“Mom!” I whined. “Seriously, there’s no need to do this.”

She whipped her head at me, turning so fast that the flames from under the pan swayed too close to the fabric of her shirt. I tamed the flames with ease, locking them under the pan.

“I understand your work schedule is around the clock and you’d rather sleep your day away, but we are your family and we’d like to see you,” she said, her tone final, each word hitting my ears like ice. “If this is the only way to see my child and give her praise for her hard work, then this is how I’ll do it.”

I sighed, giving up the battle. I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to and it’d be terrible of me to try. Her heart was in it and I would let her bask in the moment even if I wasn’t outwardly appreciative.

“Max, look at this,” Roland exclaimed with a finger pointed at the laptop screen. “Look at the layout of this place.”

via Unsplash

I stood beside my brother to see the building he was fussing over. It was Webster Enterprises. That was the company I was going to be working for bright and early tomorrow morning. They were known for their great public relations team and the people who worked there always had great things to say about it, especially on social media. It was always known around LA as one of the top five companies college graduates gravitated to. It was part of the reason why it took me three years to get my application in. Looking back on it now, I can see I wasn’t ready for the opportunity. I would have spoiled it and wouldn’t have been able to truly appreciate the gift I’d been given.

The company within Webster Enterprises, Cambridge & Sons, was the one I’d be working for. According to the job listing, my duties would be to manage the image of Cambridge & Sons as a company while attending to the CEO—Mr. Webster himself—in terms of his schedule with press conferences, meetings, and whatnots.

Cambridge & Sons was a company that’d been around for seventy years, staying true to the name. Calvin Cambridge gave the company to his only son, Marvin Cambridge, who soon plans to hand it over to his two sons, Jonathan and Jeremiah Cambridge. I’ve looked them up online before and they were in the running for LA’s new young bachelors. It didn’t help they were identical twins and the only way to tell them apart was through their eyes. One had blue eyes and the other had brown.

The building on the laptop screen was huge and stood out amongst the other surrounding buildings in shorter stature. It was charcoal gray and framed at a sharp diagonal angle near the top to almost signify the sharpness and power of the owner. The blue sky was reflected glamorously on the windows. Dad scrolled through several pictures of the building from different viewpoints.

“Honey, you’re going to be at the very top,” he marveled. “If you’re going to be working for the company partnered with Webster Enterprises you get to report straight to the big man himself. No wonder so many kids rush for entry-level positions.” He turned to me, his blue-gold eyes warm and inviting. “But you got beyond entry-level and you made it to the top with your persistence. I’m proud of you, honey.”

I shifted to pat my dad’s hand in thanks.

Dad moved from one picture to the next. Very few of them showed the inside of the office where I would be spending most of my time, though the lobby on the bottom floor was beautifully made with planters near the revolving doors and shiny tiled checker patterns between shades of light gray and black against a cozy brown backwash.

The lobby on the floor I’d be working on matched the outer layer of the building in sleek charcoal hues on the floor and reception area. The counters were delicate and smooth, and glass doors to enter the hallway leading to the lobby from the steel elevators on the far side near a security desk.

“Would we ever be allowed to visit?” Peyton asked, hopeful.

“No, dummy,” Roland said, smirking. His eyes danced in mirth. “She’ll be so busy slaving away for the new boss she won’t have time for us.”

I created another tiny flame, still on the tips of his hair, starting from the back, and let it move over the ends of his curls until he swiped furiously before it got too far. With only the fairest of his edges burned and enough that he could feel the heat, Roland huffed several times. His hands played in his hair, checking for possible bald spots or unevenness. He was at the age where he wanted to impress girls and his hair was everything to him. While checking his luscious hair for any faults, he accidentally hit Dad in the shoulder, which he obviously didn’t like, and grimaced as deep lines formed between his eyebrows.

“Really, Max?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. “He started it, Daddy.”

Dad sighed shaking his head, scrubbing a hand down his face as he ignored us. We pierced each other with daggering looks, trying to make the other give up already. Peyton, who usually managed to stay away from our squabbles, was always a daddy’s girl and hung on his every word. Together they searched through more pictures on the Internet.

Mom finished up breakfast with soft fluffy eggs, crisp bacon, and thick pancakes with orange juice as the choice of drink. After saying grace, we conversed about my new job and the bright future ahead of me. My parents reiterated to Roland and Peyton how important education was and began to ask them about their future aspirations. We all knew Peyton wanted to do anything with fashion. Her tastes were beyond a typical teenage girl keeping up with the latest trends. She truly enjoyed it and had taught herself how to sew last year after spending her summer watching a series of YouTube videos.

Roland still was undecided, which was fine. He had plenty of time and my parents didn’t pressure him to find an answer. He was very adventurous, loyal, and trustworthy. Things that could help him a lot in the professional world, especially if he ever found a career where he could be outside often. Despite this, Roland was also a hothead and forgetful. One of the reasons we argued so much, despite not fully growing up together, was because our personalities were so similar. I could tell early on in Roland he was looking for something to excite him, make his blood burn. Like me, he was searching for something to plug the hole in his soul so it could ignite passionately.

Even though I initially didn’t want them here, I relished their company. We lounged around my apartment watching movies and pigging out on the last two bags of popcorn. Dad and I shared a beer while trying to keep Roland from sneaking a sip. It eventually came to the point where I had to singe his hairline as a warning. He heard it loud and clear. I’m sure he’s had enough of his hair getting caught on fire in one day.

It wasn’t until after they’d gone and I was left with the familiar silence after a well spent Sunday, did I realize how much I missed them. I missed waking up at home to my parents being there all the time and the sounds of my little brother and sister arguing or trying to gang up on me. I’d gotten so caught up in the routine of making phone calls to them and having a schedule where I was a night owl that it hadn’t occurred to me I was missing out on important family moments. Roland had one more year of high school and he’d be away at college or out in the world doing some soul searching. Peyton would be soon behind him and then all three of us would be spread out doing our own thing.

Now that I’ve had the chance to see them, I can see why my mom was so ardent about this gathering. As our mother, she could see us all branching away long before we ever could. Because I was thinking of them so much, I couldn’t sleep. Plus, my nerves were shot and skyrocketing through my veins at hyper speed. Tomorrow was my first day on the job and in a perfect world I’d be well rested but I couldn’t get my mind to relax. As much time as I spent in other people’s heads, spending time with my own was always a challenge.

I started listening to the thoughts of my neighbors to soothe the working gears in my head. I know it was an invasion of privacy, but I needed to focus on something other than my issue. I created several fireballs in the palm of my hand, shifting their shape as I moved my fingers through and around them. By the time I was able to close my eyes for a decent enough rest, it was nearing three and I had to be at work in five hours.

advicerelationshipsnsfwliteraturefictionfeminismerotic
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About the Creator

Troi McAdory

A celestial hippie with Peter Pan syndrome. I write about the things I cannot always say out loud.

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