The Faerie Slayer

Abby's Pov

Sunday morning rolled around and my parents were now back from their getaway. Along the lonely highway of Maple Woods was a strip of land bordering a peaceful body of water where my parents had bought land and built a small cabin over a decade ago. Since then, they'd spent a couple weekends a month at the cottage, away from the city and it's chaotic demeanour. I had missed them and they had missed my miniature dog even more. I was helping my father rid of the luggages they had packed when I felt the buzz of my phone in my back pocket.

"Helloo," I answered, dragging out the 'O'.

"What are you doing today?" Ben's voice was on the other line.

"Probably studying for the math test on Monday, why?"

"Or you could come have coffee with me at Matt's poetry slam performance at The Worm."

"I think I'd rather study."

"Come on Abs! Aren't you even a little bit excited for him?"

"I can't think of anything else I'd rather do less, Ben."

"Alright, it's at 2pm. Bring your snapping fingers."

Before I could respond, the line was dead. I sigh to myself and loaded the duffel bag over my shoulder and back into the house.

I departed my home at around 1pm. The Worm was a small coffee shop in the heart of New York City about an hour train ride from where I reside. On the outskirts of the chaos, sometimes I wondered if I was a fake New Yorker. When I finally arrived, I caught eyes with a cute boy who was stationed outside of the entrance. He had black hair teased with grey tips and fiery hazel eyes. In his grasp was a lit cigarette. I couldn't help a shy smile when he winked at me. I walked past him, mindlessly holding my breath and through the doors into the cafe.

I hope he's coming inside, I thought.

Ben's obnoxious group of friends were the first thing I had noticed and heard when I walked in. Plastic chairs were set up facing the small stage and in them sat about ten people. Matt was there, with shaggy brown hair and a shirt that holed from age. I approached the batch of teens, already dreading the nearing events. It was Ben that noticed me first.

"She came," he wrapped his arms around my head, blinding me into his chest," I never doubted you."

I pushed him away," this better be quick."

"I got you a coffee," he handed me a warm cup of dark liquid," black like your soul."

"It's definitely black right now," I mumbled and sipped.

Matt was getting ready to go on stage. His fellow friends cheered as he stumbled up there. Paper in hand, he struggled to meet the gaze of the audience.

"He's gonna choke," mumbled one of his other friends. I recognized him from a class we shared. Micheal.

Matt did not choke. Instead, he grasped hold of the microphone and pulled a cliche. He dropped the piece of paper and began his poem.

"Sad are the eyes, the eyes of the girl," his expression was making me uncomfortable," tears and giggles, enough to make one hurl."

I found difficulty in masking my distaste. I laughed into my elbow and felt Ben's foot kick at my knee.

"Be nice," he hissed.

"I'm trying!"

"Is she girl, or is she a spirit? If not both, I tell her to beat it."

Ten pairs of hands went up almost simultaneously. They all snapped as if what he had just said made any sense. This time, I could not hold in my laughter. I let it out, not loud enough for Matt to hear, and realized that I was not alone. Amongst the snaps, behind me was the sound of a chuckle. I turned to discover the black haired boy that had been smoking outside. His expression rendered him entertained but not impressed. He did not glance at me. He had one leg kicked back against the brick wall. His fingers toyed a new cigarette.

"I'm not the only one that thinks this is funny," I mumbled to a focused Ben.

"You're both assholes," he replied.

The rest of Matt's poem was an absolute mess. When he was done, the crowd stood from their chairs and cheered him on. I smiled when his eyes fell on us. Of course I would never express to Matt how bad I thought his poems were. He approached us minutes later.

"Well, how was it?"

"Dude, you killed it!" Ben slapped his friend on the back.

"You were awesome," I continued," you get better every time."

When Matt smiled, he revealed a few missing teeth.

"I think it was awful," the new voice was deep and husky. I knew who it was before I turned.

"Hey, that's not very nice man," Ben began at the black haired boy but he was not looking at him.

"It wasn't meant to be," he placed the cigarette in between his lips and lit it. His eyes were on me now. He winked and I felt as if I had melted. He was a jerk, but an honest one. I wanted to both punch him in the face, and kiss him.

"What didn't you like?" Matt continued.

The boy offered the smoke to Matt who took it.

"With all due respect, it made no sense."

"Hey," Ben placed a hand up in front of the boy," speak for yourself."

"No no, I want to hear what he has to say," said Matt.

"These are your friends?" He asked Matt who looked like a deer caught in headlights. He nodded.

"I'm gonna be a better friend to you right now then both of them. Get better, or find a new hobby."

He grabbed the smoke from between Matt's fingers and spun on his heels, heading outside of the door. Matt's face was now red and Ben's was vexed.

"Who the hell was that asshole!" He began.

"Right, never even seen him here before."

"Don't listen to that guy man, you just keep writing and getting better," Ben comforted his dear friend. I smiled to myself. Deep down, although Ben would never admit it out loud, I knew he thought that Matt had no talent. It never mattered though, because as long as his friend was content with making crappy poems, then so was Ben.

I decided to hang around for an hour or so. As Matt and the others were making chaos and making a mess out of the shop, Ben and I did some catching up.

"Did you ever get together with the girl from the club?" I wondered, having brief memories of his departing back headed towards a group of girls as I waited by the alley that night .

"Yeah, her name is Jessica."

"Have you guys met up yet?"

"We went on a walk this morning."

"And?" I could not understand why Ben was acting this way. He usually told me everything.

"She's cool."

"She's cool?" I repeated," what does that mean?"

"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders," she's cute. She's not really my type."

"Well, what don't you like?"

"I don't know, alright? She kissed me but I felt nothing."

"What were you expecting to feel?"

"Like butterflies or maybe an explosion or something. Isn't that what they right about?"

"I think Matt's poems are getting to your head."

He rolled his eyes and adjusted his thick glasses.

"Did you kiss Jack?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" His tone was sceptical.

"I don't remember much."

"That's reassuring."

I giggled and punched his arm. I left Ben with the rest of his friends who were waiting around for yet another slam poetry performance. I had enough of spoken word for the day. I'd much rather spend my Sunday laid out on my bed, book in hand and snuggled with Snowball. On the way to the train station, I noticed the grey tips atop black hair standing in the same position by an alleyway. I walked past the boy that had lit yet another cigarette.

"Hey."

His voice halted me. I stopped to peer at him.

"Me?" I asked.

He smiled. It was almost charming.

"Yes, you."

"Hey."

"Want one?" He offered me the cigarette.

"I don't smoke."

"I shouldn't either. It's a bad habit," he retrieved.

"That wasn't very kind what you said to my friend back there."

"You're right, it wasn't. But it's not as bad as cheering him on, letting him waste his time on something he's not good at."

"He's 17. He has plenty of time to waste on any hobby he wants."

"That's your excuse? He's got plenty of time kill so why not spend it being laughed at by your friends?"

I was suddenly out of words.

He's right, but still.

"You laughed too."

"I'm not his friend. I don't owe him kindness."

I rolled my eyes and began to walk away.

"Wait," he lifted himself off of the wall," I'm sorry. I'm Caleb."

"Whatever," I could not bother to give him the benefit of the doubt. In the hour or so that I had known this boy, he had already managed to offend both myself and my friends.

"Come on," he continued," what's your name?"

I studied his facial features,"It's Abby," I gave in.

"Abby. You're beautiful."

I had a flashback of Jack the night of the club. Just as then, my cheeks became crimson. I looked down at my feet and back up at the boy.

"You're so strange."

"Maybe you'll learn to like it? Can we hang out sometime?"

"You have to apologize to my friends first."

"Alright. Promise."

He handed me his phone and I typed into it my number. Before I could retrieve my own actions, I bid him goodbye and ran out of there.

I thought about the strangenesses of his aura. He reminded me a lot of Jack, although they were opposites. Jack wore khakis whilst this boy wore black distressed jeans. They both seemed to float rather then walk. On the way home, I could not help but feel watched.

I had just stepped back into my house, the clock chiming at 5pm when I felt my phone buzz.

A text from a Brooklyn area code that read, 'Caleb, Incase you forgot'.

'Abby, Incase you did,' I replied.

Ding.

That was fast.

'What are you doing tonight?'

'Studying.'

'Do you want to go on a walk with me?'

'Yes, where?'

'Deadwood Creek. 9pm.'

I hadn't been able to get much studying done. The culprit were butterflies that homed in my stomach and made a mess of things fluttering about. I hadn't been on a date since last year when I had gone out with the kid that ate lunch alone. He'd been sweet but it was a friendly date at most. This time was different. I was attracted to this stranger so much that I had forgotten to ask basic questions like his what was his age. I wondered if he would kiss me tonight and blushed.

My phone rang and I didn't realize that I hoped it was Caleb until I was jolted with disappointment at the name on the screen.

"Hey Ben," I greeted.

"Why do you sound like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like someone pissed in your cereal."

"I'm going on a date."

There was a pause. I thought I'd lost him.

"With Jack?"

"No, with Caleb."

"Who the hell is Caleb?"

"The boy from The Worm."

"Not the jerk off with the white highlights."

"Yes the jerk off with the white highlights."

"Abby, he's not a good guy," Ben's voice had began to shake. I could make show of his attempt to hide his true disapproval. He was angry. This was always how it went with Ben.

"I agree, he came off as a jerk, but he's not so bad."

"Oh no? How do you know?"

"At the very least I figured I'd give him a chance."

"Why do you owe him a chance?"

"I don't."

"So you like him?"

"I don't know yet, Ben."

"How old is he?"

"I didn't ask."

Another deafening silence. I winced on the other side of the call.

"Hello?" I mumbled.

A sigh.

"You really piss me off."

"Ben-"

The line was cut short. He had hung up on me. I blinked my eyes a few times to rid of the tears that stung my vision. I could only excuse Ben's behaviour as protectiveness but I could never be this angry with him when he went out with other girls.

Does he feel like I would forget about him if I were to date somebody?

That would be the last likely outcome. Ben was my rock, since we had been children. I don't know how I could reassure him of that.

This wasn't the time for that. I was quickly running out of time. On top of my bed, I reached for my purse and headed down the stairs.

"Heading out?" My short mother was stationed by the kitchen counter, converting fruits into decoration.

"Yes!" I pecked her cheek," I'll be back in a few hours! Tell dad I said night!"

A train and a 10 minute walk later, I was slowly approaching the moonlit waters of Deadwood Creak. The wind teased at my hair and I reminisced on the last time that I had been here. Altered by the tequila in my system and my overwhelming lust for Jack, I would have dangerously done anything. I heard approaching footsteps and turned to discover Caleb.

"Hi," he was smiling but he was nervous. It was almost unsettling to see someone as bold as Caleb bear any emotion besides confidence.

"Hi yourself," I responded.

Behind his back, his hands unwinded to reveal a flower. A yellow tulip that he'd undoubtedly picked off of someone's lawn on the way over here.

"For you."

I reached for the gift and felt my smile widen.

"It's so pretty."

"No comparison to you, of course."

We paced down the shore of the creek, skin of our hands often pecking but both of us too timorous to do anything about it. We talked about anything and everything. I don't think I have ever met anyone quite as curious about my past as Caleb was.

"Tell me about your parents."

"There's not much to tell. My parents love me and each other very much. I don't have a traumatic or more interesting story to tell about my home life."

I'd preferred to keep the adopted information confidential for now, not for any reason other then the fact that to me, I only ever had one set of parents. Anyone else was merely a paper printed ghost.

The boy seemed to need to rethink his question.

"Where were you born?"

I supposed now I'd have to tell him.

"I don't know. We assume it's here in New York."

"What do you mean?"

"I was...adopted, more or less. Some of my birth documents were destroyed and my parents could never really find a record of me anywhere."

"Do you know anything about your birth parents?"

"I don't. Just that they must have been horrible people."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because they left me outside a porch in the middle of a storm."

"It's a shame that they aren't alive to defend themselves."

I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion at his assumption or what must be.

"What makes you say that?"

"Say what?"

"That they are dead. They could still be alive."

He nodded quickly as if suddenly guilty.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to say that. I guess I just assumed, you see, I'm also adopted."

Suddenly comprehending, I rubbed his arm as if to reassure him.

"Do you know if your biological parents are still alive?"

"I don't. I've found it easier to assume that they are not. That way, I never urge looking for them."

"Maybe it's a good idea for me to do the same, although I never really was ever curious."

"Why is that?"

"I can't imagine my parents being anyone else. If anything, I am convinced that I was born into the wrong family and destiny brought me to my rightful place. It's because of that, that I've always felt content and fulfilled. It's a rare occurrence that I ever an reminded that I am adopted. Like today."

"I'm sorry to have brought it up."

"Don't be sorry. It's not a dark memory for me. I would like to hear more about yours if you are willing."

"But don't you want to open that door just a little bit? Don't you wonder about what your parents were and what that might have made you?"

"I don't," I replied," the part of myself that was before i was united with my true parents doesn't exist to me and I don't want it to ever."

"You should change your mind. You may discover things about yourself that you never thought could be possible. Beautiful, life changing things. Or at the very least, be more open minded to it."

"You seem to be more interested in my biological parents then I am."

"I shouldn't be. I could help you, you know."

"With what?"

"Find out more about them, and yourself."

"I don't really think I'd be into that," I murmured and peered at the crescent moon. It was this reason precisely why I was never quick to bring up the reality of how my life came about. People made lies to themselves that I needed saving. Was it so hard to believe that I am perfectly and truly content? I wished he'd drop the subject.

"I never asked, how old are you?"

The boys gaze abandoned the dusky sky and met mines," I'm twenty. What about you?"

"I'm eighteen. I'm also still in high school."

"When do you finish?"

"This summer," I replied, suddenly hopeful that it wasn't too long for him.

He seemed to have to think about it.

"You don't look eighteen," he finally said. It was not a reassuring response. I could still not make sure of his feelings.

"How old do I look?"

"Older, but not by much. Your beauty is mature and your character is fledged."

Burgundy cheeks sent a wave of rushed heat through the skin of my face. I looked down at my shoes and back into his smouldering gaze. I wanted so badly to kiss his perfect mouth. I leaned in, hopeful that if I were to fall, he'd be there to catch me. When I was sure to be close enough to feel his lips, I opened my eyes. Caleb had taken a step back.

Immediately, the red in my cheeks became of embarrassment. I had assumed that there was a mutual feeling and that obviously was not the case.

"Sorry," he seemed to blurt out.

"Don't apologize-" my words stumbled over him.

"I just wasn't expecting it."

"I sorta read that moment wrong, I guess," with returned courage, I had hardly mustered the guts to lift my eyes to meet his. I didn't have a second to decipher his mood because before I knew it, his mouth had planted itself on mine.

It feels nice, to kiss someone whom you found attractive. It relieves a sort of pressure that you had mentally with no awareness built up. I did not want to stop kissing him. When he pulled away, he was not smiling like I was. If anything, he seemed lost in thought.

"Are you alright?" These are definitely not the words I wanted to use after a kiss. He wiped the trance from his face and lifted the corners of his lips.

"I really liked that."

Doesn't seem like it.

Caleb did not take me home. We walked all of the way into the train station and bid our goodbyes with an awkward hug at 168 street. I was drowned in worry and anxiety at how quite the rest of the night had been. I wondered if he'd suddenly lost interest in me. Of course, I picked at myself first. Was it something that I had said, did I offend him? Did the breeze alter my hair in a direction that made me look distasteful and was I feeling like this because I liked him so much? I had to remind myself that I was being a teenage girl and that boys tended to do this. By the time I had made it outside of my front porch, I had already decidedly convinced myself that he was a jerk and not worthy of my time and that more then anything, I hated his guts. My fingers jittered with my phone angrily. I was ready to call Ben in tears, ready to declare that he had been right about Caleb all along when the 'ding' of a text message intervened.

'I'm sorry if I was acting weird tonight. It must have been talking about our parents that got me all quite. I hope you got home safe.

Caleb'

It was almost as if he'd flushed away the past 45 minutes of my thinking. My fury washed away and was replaced with compassion and understanding. I wanted to comfort him and let him know that I understood and that It must have been my lack of mindfulness for those who have been adopted but do live with constant and no doubt, haunting questions about their biological parents. Just because you're okay, doesn't mean that others are, I reminded myself. I could not help but be slightly disappointed. I could call myself indulgent amongst other understanding and thoughtful things and it was rare that I'd ever failed to commemorate a situation through the perspective of someone else's. How could I have missed it? And then of course I reminded myself that we are often blinded in more then one way when when it came to those whom we cared for and even especially more to those we grew attracted to.

'I totally understand. I'm home now.

Goodnight'

I did eventually call Ben, later that night after a chapter of The Tempest. My first intention was to apologize but as soon as I heard the tone of his irritated voice on the other end, I rolled my eyes and decided that I would not be apologizing.

"You're clearly still mad," was my reply to his exasperated 'hello'.

"How was your date?"

"It was-different to say the most."

"To say the most? Does that mean that he flunked it?" Ben sounded as if he had predicted as much.

"He didn't flunk it, it's not a math exam Ben, it was a walk."

"By Deadwood Creek? Why do you keep dating guys that wanna take you to that creepy place?"

"I don't know. Maybe they think it's romantic."

"Well it isn't, it's weird."

"He was really curious about my biological parents though. He kept asking why I didn't want to know more about them."

"Did you tell him that it was none of his business?"

"More or less. He insisted that he wants to help me."

"Help you find them?" Ben sounded surprised.

"Yes. But I don't think I'll take him up on that offer."

"You've never asked any questions Abs. Maybe it's alright to."

I smiled to myself. My tone was less harsh now. "I never asked because I never cared to. It wasn't because I felt guilty or like I was doing something wrong."

"I get it. So are we kicking this asshole to the curb then?"

"No. I like him. I even kissed him."

I heard a bang and the sound of the phone as it clashed with the ground. More banging later and Ben was back on the call.

"What was that?"

"You kissed him?"

"Well," the events of the controversial kiss rewinded in my head. I figured Ben didn't need to know all of the details," yes, I did."

"And?"

"There were no butterflies and fireworks but it was nice."

"So you would see him again?"

"Yes. I think I really like him, Ben. I haven't had a crush on somebody in a while. My thoughts and emotions are all messed up."

"It's not gonna last," was his immediate response that made me frown.

"I appreciate the support, pal."

"I'm just saying. He's what, like twenty five?"

"He's twenty, and he's really sweet if you would just give him a chance."

"Whatever. I gotta go finish up the English reading."

"Yeah me too," the line was dead before our usual goodbyes. I did not feel settled or resolved afterwards, I still felt as if Ben had gone to bed that night upset with me. For the life of me, I could not understand why. My phone buzzed again with the alert of a text. I'd hoped it was Ben, but it was Caleb wishing me a goodnight. I slept with a hopeful smile on my face and butterflies in my stomach.