Page 13 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

“This is the magic. The magic leaves, returns to you temporarily, and we wait here in the dark for our flicker of light to reawaken us.” He handed me the purple flame, letting it hover close since I refused his offering. Then he pointed to himself again. “In other words, the persona stays.”

It made sense, more or less. I’d summoned countless manifestations, but they were always me. It wasn’t some new identity I’d conjured. They didn’t dress differently or act differently. They were simply tools. Eyes for me to peer through when sending them into the deep recesses of another person’s mind.

The only problem was…

“One of you already proved that manifestations don’t stick to the subconscious.”

“That’s because of his persona, Doppler Dorian and all that. Narcissism, arrogance, cockiness. Obsession. Let’s be honest, just a whole bag of dicks. Who would’ve thought all your bad habits wrapped into one big asshole would ever happen? I mean, the odds, right?”

“Most of us are only interested in your wellbeing,” a young, light voice said.

It startled me. Shook me to the very core. That voice.

“Nico,” I said, having a mountain of memories hit me all at once.

I hadn’t thought about Nicholas Jenkins since I was a little kid. He’d left. He’d never really been there.

“Imaginary friend or helpful persona to a child in need?” the gothic manifestation asked teasingly. “Sorry to burst the bubble of cherished childhood memories.”

“I created you.” I stared at Nico, taking in his appearance.

He was small and lanky with shaggy brown hair and missing one of his front teeth, which didn’t lessen the smile on his face. Unlike me, he never shied away from a smile; he never allowed the world to intimidate him into boxing away his feelings.

“Nico worked as a proxy, the first manifestation you created, but unlike the rest of us, you interacted with him.”

I remembered that. We used to do everything together back when my parents were still married. God, I must’ve been four or five. It was so long ago.

“Nico helped shield you from the immense force of everyone else’s thoughts.”

“He always had a secret to share.” I half-smiled, recalling all the things he used to whisper about people we’d never met. He had a thousand stories, and they were always filled with jokes.

“Until he shared the story about your father,” the persona said. “The one where he’d found love. A new romance. A life fulfilled.”

“A cliché mid-life crisis with his secretary of all people.” I bit back a snarl because that man was not worth my anger, my energy. I’d already dedicated too many youthful years wondering if he’d return, if he missed me, if he ever cared. He didn’t.

“I wish I could’ve helped more.” Nico kicked his feet into the shadowed flooring the same way he used to in the dirt outside when we played.

He was really just a figment. A piece of my magic manifested. I couldn’t believe it.

“So, everything Nico told me, every secret he whispered and shared, was just my way of comprehending the thoughts of everyone around me?” I asked, realizing how simple things were with Nico around. My head never hurt. But when he told me about my father. I ground my teeth, ignoring the flashes of our argument, the surfacing memories I wanted to keep buried. He’d tried to tell me what he had learned about my father, what he’d learned about my parents, why my mom was always crying. I didn’t want to hear it then. I had yelled at Nico, blamed him for everything. “That’s when Nico left.”

“I didn’t leave.” He grimaced. “You sent me away, sent me here.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled, so bright and cheerful it practically illuminated the shadows of the subconscious.

Even being cast into the depths of darkness because of my childish tantrum couldn’t wash away the kind, joyful spirit he had. Did I make him this positive, this happy? Did he learn that outlook on his own?

“I made a lot of friends here,” Nico said, reminding me more and more of Milo and Finn with every passing second.

Old memories continued to surface. Flashes of every conversation, from the silly topics we had in my bedroom to the reassurance he offered when my mom would drag me to the park all the way to every instance when the presence of another person frightened me, overwhelmed me, stressed me out. Long before I mastered the art of a scary scowl to force someone to distance themselves from me, I relied on hiding my face, my feelings, my fears.

Nico kept me calm during those days. In fact, it was his absence that taught me how to push others away through intimidation. Still, I missed my old friend, one I’d literally tucked away into the subconscious of my memories. Nico’s thoughts radiated with bold confidence and friendly encouragement.

Had this imaginary friend sparked my interest in genuinely happy people, or was that something I’d always been drawn to, seeking the friendship and company of the cheerful? People like Milo, like Chanelle. And Finn, who held my heart but not my grief.

Nico continued, sharing anecdotes about the personas he’d met over the years deep in the darkness. Solemn souls who expressed my passion for poetry. Yuck. Athletes who were obsessed with the joy and health benefits of fitness. Exhausting. Every word built my trust in these personas, even if only in the smallest ways. I trusted Nico. He spoke fast, like a whirlwind trying to get every thought out of his head as if there were an expiration date on our conversation.

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