Raven Blackwell

01. The Poor Puddle

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Chapter One

The Poor Puddle

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The woman in the puddle glanced back at me through the reflection. Her multiple-coloured eyes seem to sparkle with amusement. I didn't share her reaction.

"Useless," I told her. "It's your fault I got fired."

She raised a brow from the murky water as if questioning my statement. In my defence, it was entirely her fault.

As I sat down on the balcony's edge, the woman mirrored my movement. She raised a brow. "Don't look at me like that. Maybe if we had a reduction in our chest area," my hands motioned at my breasts. "Bad things wouldn't happen!"

I ran my fingers through my unruly black hair, trying to untangle the snow-white mid-length and ends. The strands seemed to have a life of their own, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance as I worked to smooth them out.

"I can't believe I got fired again." Glancing in the puddle, the woman's hair blew in her face. "Yeah, it's your fault," I said, removing the hair from my face and tucking it behind my ears.

The woman in the puddle seemed to be displeased at my accusations. In a way, I could say it was my fault since the woman is my reflection.

Your fault, Raven? Why on earth would you say it was your fault? It isn't like you crashed your boss's expensive car into the river and then had to get saved by emergency services, who all seemed to stare at your chest. And on the way to the office, you broke the elevator by accidentally spilling your boss's coffee over the panel, thanks to your breasts getting in the way, and once more had to get rescued.

Yeah, it totally isn't your fault.

Ugh! Shut up!

With my legs dangling over the edge, I felt a sudden urge to punch the puddle next to me. With a swift motion, I extended my arm and made contact with the water, causing a small splash that reached up my arm and soaked my bright red shirt.

"I hate you!" I told the now blurry reflection in the puddle.

"Pretty sure the puddle hates you, too." I heard my sister's laughter and turned to see her climbing through the open window. She joined me, sitting by my side, and her hazel locks of hair swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. "I just don't understand how you can sit without the worry of falling."

Placing my hands behind me, I leant backwards until my head came to rest on the brick wall. "I don't fear it."

She laughed. "You don't fear anything you mean."

Oh, she couldn't be more wrong. I indeed do fear, just not of falling. I'm afraid of lots of things. I keep it secret from those around me, is all.

"You know that isn't true," I told her.

At the age of ten, I used to have a deep-rooted fear of being left alone. It was like a constant companion, always lurking in the back of my mind. I felt like no one truly understood me for who I really was. My classmates saw me as an outcast, a freak who didn't fit in with the rest of them. They were all human, but I was not. I saw the world in a different light, and emotions affected me differently. Being different made me feel like an outsider like I didn't belong anywhere.

My older sister, Emy, however, never felt the way they did. She was my light when darkness took over.

Speaking of Emy, she glanced at her wristwatch, then at me. "Don't you have that job interview a little later?"