Flames At Midnight

01 | quentin miller

CHAPTER 01

What is going on with me?

All day I'd been having a hard time focusing and my head felt like it was splitting in half. There was a constant throbbing above my right eyebrow and it was driving me insane.

"Quentin, what's up with you?" Grace asked, looking up from her cell phone and settling her bright blue eyes on me. She had one hand wrapped around her coffee mug and her other twirling a pencil. As usual, there was a chewed-on swizzle stick in her coffee.

"Killer headache," I said, rubbing my temple. "Do you have any aspirin?"

She reached for her backpack. "Hold on. I think I have ibuprofen in here somewhere."

I watched her dig around in the bag. She pulled out a small white bottle and tossed it across the table to me. I popped off the cap and dug out a tablet, and then downed the small pill with some of my coffee.

I went back to my calculus homework, but it was hard to ignore the ache in my head. After trying to focus for thirty more painful minutes and failing miserably, I gave up.

The medicine just wasn't working.

With a sigh, I shut my textbook.

"Do you want to leave?" she asked. She looked more than ready to pack up her stuff and go.

"No. At least finish your homework first."

Then it was her turn to sigh. She seemed as distracted as I was. Throughout our study session, she kept checking her phone.

"I'll buy you a cinnamon roll if you can finish before my head explodes," I said.

She grinned. "Oh, you're on."

The café was unusually empty for a Thursday evening. Normally, it'd be a while before we could get a table near the outlets. It was probably because no one wanted to go out in this weather. It was pouring and gloomy. From looking out the windows, you couldn't even tell that it was only around four in the afternoon. It was completely dark out.

I loved weather like this, but Grace hated it.

Of course she would though. Grace loved to hate on the things that I like, and vice versa. It's actually a wonder that we get along so well.

"Forget it. I change my mind. I don't want a cinnamon roll this badly," she said, tucking her pencil behind her ear. "Can we go?"

"No."

She stared at me, her face devoid of all emotion. "You're the worst, Quentin."

The patter of rain could be heard over the faint music playing in the café. Usually, the sound of rain was calming, but right now it only heightened the pain in my head. I winced as thunder boomed in the distance.

Grace looked alarmed. "You alright?"

"Actually, maybe we should head back," I said, starting to pick up my pens.

"Hey, I got it. You relax," she said, grabbing the pens from my hand and stuffing them into my worn out pencil case.

I gratefully watched her close up our textbooks and slip everything back into our bags. We stopped by the counter for a cinnamon roll on our way out. Grace was so happy with her snack that she didn't even make a comment about the rain.