Desperate - Lucia

Lucia & number 4 from this list…

“Have you considered this isn’t good for you?” You ask stiffly, you gaze darting to the tequila and Lucia’s proximity to the edge of the roof.

“All the time.” She says, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

She doesn’t sound drunk, not even a little tipsy, but you still have the desire to yank her away from the pending free fall. You think she surely wouldn’t die like this, regardless. She has wings, even if she did fall she could save herself.

If she wanted to.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip hard. Would she want to?

“Then why do this?” The question comes out quiet, your voice hoarse.

“I don’t know what else to do.” She answers, shockingly candid, “I can’t be around Cameron like this. They worry too much. The hallways are crowded, and so is every other spot in this university. So to the roof I go.”

“Have you even touched that bottle?” You squint at it, trying to see if the seal has been broken.

“No,” She says, a slight bitterness in her voice, “I tried. If I take a drink, it’ll only come back up.”

“Why?” You raise an eyebrow, inching closer, “Scared of heights?”

She tenses, though, her wings rustling ever so slightly.

“Lucia,” You say as you finally stand beside her, glancing down at the top of her curly head, “Seriously.”

She still doesn’t respond, just gazing at the ground below vacantly. You kneel beside her, reaching a hand out for her shoulder-

Flinching violently, she jerks away from your touch. Her eyes dart around your face and her expression goes carefully still.

You don’t think she realized it was you. You wish, for just a moment, that you could see what was going on in that brain of hers. There had to be some explanation, some reason.

What happened after you were forced to leave? What happened well before you ever arrived?

“I’m fine,” She says, voice blank, “I’ll be down in a bit.”

“I’m not leaving you up here,” You deny instantly.

Her gaze darts over to you, and you’re shocked to find she looks reproachful.

“I’m not a child,” She keeps his voice carefully level, “And I don’t need a chaperone.”

“What about a friend?” You suggest, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth.

The past hangs heavy between you both as she stares at you like you’ve gutted her. You want to say that you meant it earnestly, that you do want to be here for her, that you’re scared to leave her alone-

She stands, not looking at you as she heads for the stairs.

“Lucien-“ You call out, but she simply waves you away.

“Don’t waste your time,” She mutters, “I think we both know I don’t make a very good friend.”

Then she’s gone, slipping down the stairs quietly and leaving you behind. At least she left the tequila, too.