Love Lines

Amoura Valentine Wilson has one, full name. One that she definitely lives up to, as she literally plays Cupid, wherever she goes. Her family moves around a lot. She isn't sure why- it has nothing to do with the kind of business her parents do. They could get jobs anywhere. She hears their hushed, urgent whispers to one another that make no sense to her. Perhaps, it has something to do with the crazy things that happened, when she was too little to understand what was happening.
She sneaks out to parties frequently, despite being a "good girl". She doesn't drink, smoke, or do drugs- but, a lot of the kids at the parties, do. No, she goes, for them, to use the gift she has, her knack for finding people's perfect matches. Then, tragedy strikes. She gets attacked, and her life, turns upside down. She learns a lot about herself, leaving her to question who the writer is that wrote the phony script she's supposedly living. Because, the things that they're telling her are just not possible.


2. Chapter One



       If only I’d thought tonight through…

       On a Friday night in Denver, Colorado, it is twenty-three degrees, Two A.M, and snowing. Here I am, walking alone, wearing a short skirt, tights, and the heels that Nanci had urged me into. It was a fight, trust me. I'm not one for parties; if it wasn’t for my “job,” I wouldn’t even be invited to these things!

       I wonder if I'd have any “friends” at all, if it weren't for my “gift”. I mean, who wants to be friends with someone named Cupid? Amoura-Valentine "Cupid" Wilson is my full name. Where, ironically, I was born on Valentine's day. If that has anything to do with my ability, I have no idea why. I have people call me More, Moura, or Val. I don't really like the party scene. Too crowded, and noisy. It takes forever for me to warm up and let loose around anyone that I hadn't known for years- which isn't a very high number. I'm not all that social, either, but I've gotten used to communicating with people, ever since it came out to the whole school that I had a ‘gift’. Every time we move, someone finds out. I don't know how this "thing" works, or, how to even explain it. I'm not some genius, and I'm not psychic, as I've several times been mistaken for. Honestly, it's more like, right place, right time. A coincidence.

       They call me Match Maker. 

        It starts as itches. A tingling sensation crawling at my scalp.

         Commence rubbing at my neck and shoulders.

         At this point, I turn my head, to rub deeper at the insistent, uncomfortable, recurring itch.

         That's when I see them. And somehow their "perfect match" immediately comes to mind.

         I don’t swoop right in and twist any arms. In fact, if it were up to me, I wouldn't do anything at all. But, my peers have since learned how to coerce me into it. Saying words they know I react to, like "happiness" and "belonging," the two things I've searched for, myself.

         My family and I, we've moved around a lot. More times than not, because of some unpleasant circumstances. Things are the same every time. Sometimes, I'm happy where we land. Sometimes, I'm not. But, every time leaves me feeling like something's missing. I can never figure out what, but I feel it there. An empty hole, not always gaping, but never full. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why, but helping people, making them happy... Well, it's a start.

        Even if it means breaking a few rules. Breaking legal curfew for a bunch of drunk, high, and crazy teenagers...

        Shivering, I wrap my arms tighter around my body, trying to shut out the gusts of wind. It's a cloudy night, dark fluff dancing on an equally dark canvas. Swiveling my head around, I can't even see the moon. The only lights were coming from the street lamps, the ones that actually worked. Between the foggy sky, and the deserted, late night streets, I try hard to not imagine being the star of a monster/ murder mystery movie.

         "More, why did you insist on walking yourself home," I scold myself. I'm only a few blocks from my house, that's why. And, most of the party-goers were drunk. Knowing my parents, I'm not sure what would be worse. Them knowing I'd gotten in a car, where the drivers were all under the influence, or, if they knew that I was out here at all. Sneaking out is one thing, but my parents were of the over protective sort. I don't blame them, given some of the things we've been through, but I'm eighteen years old. When are they going to let me live a little? I don't even have my license.

       They claim, it's because, I don't need it. "You have us! You'll always have us." 

       My dad was a survivalist. He is always prepared for some disaster to strike. Not like the end of the world could start at any moment, but because anything else, could happen. Tornadoes, earthquakes, fires. Car crash, home invasions, murders. Crazy things were always on the news- but, my mom always turned the news off when I walked into the room. She is always trying desperately to shield me from the ugliness of the world. But, that was life. She can't keep me locked up forever.

       My dad knows how to protect him self, something he doesn't show me. "I'll always be here to protect you, butter cup. Why would you want to know about such drastic, ugly things, anyway?"

       We go to school, so we can be prepared to enter the real, adult world. I go home, to be a prisoner in my own home, where the wardens are my own parents. I know that it's because they care, but it's pretty ridiculous. 

        I'll be graduating soon. Most kids my age are working toward collage, or already have jobs that will jump start ultra great careers that will carry them through life. Me, I'm told there's no "need." No need for me to do that. Because, I have "caring parents," who have everything taken care of, for me. 

       It's not that I expect that something will happen to them, but, these things do happen. It's that, this isn't normal. Parents are supposed to be looking forward to when their child will "fly the nest," and leave them alone! They'll call, and visit on holidays and weekends. Get married, have kids, and visit the grand kids. I've never even been on a date! Sure, I've been asked, but only a few times, and my parents were only okay with it, if they chaperoned. Needless to say, those dates, didn't go anywhere. 

       Sometimes, I dream of a prince charming pulling up and racing away with me in his white mustang, but they were only dreams.

        I sigh as I walk up the front path to the pouch of our small town, two story, country-style, townhouse. This would be my life. This is all I have to look forward to.

        I love my parents, but they suffocate me.

        I go inside as silently as I can, then punch in the alarm code, resetting what I'd disarmed before I left. Tonight 's escapade was another success. I pull the heels off, then scamper up to my room. I would need to return the clothes to Nanci, but, for tonight, I am off to bed. 

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