Page 4 of Luna Ascending

Chapter Three

Freya's POV

As soon as I fall over the doorstep of my flat, I release my hair from its severe scrapped-back bun, and sighing lean on the door for support. Coppery curls spring enthusiastically all over the place, released from their prison.

A big puff of breath escapes me, and I roll my shoulders. It's good to be home, and even nicer the school had to shut early.

I quickly ditch my cardigan, skirt and hideously bobbled tights in favour of a large, thick and vibrantly yellow jumper which reaches my knees. Huffing to myself I retrieve the fluffy slipper-socks I'd stuffed down the back of the sofa and plop into the grubby seat. Home!

My fingers subconsciously play over the birthmark behind my ear– it's a comforting habit I've had since I was a little kid. It helps my migraines ease, a little at least. They're getting far more frequent and much more bloody painful. It's so frustrating. At least tonight it's not a full blown head-splitting migraine, just a simple headache.

The doorbell jangles, along with my last nerve, and I groan. Dragging myself from the sofa, where I'd planned to stagnate for at least an hour, I stomp towards the door grumpily and peer through the peephole.

“Liz!!!!” my own shriek makes me wince as I fling the door open “Where the heck have you been?!” I fling myself on Liz, my best and only real friend, smothering her in an enthusiastic abundance of yellow cable-knit.

Yanking Liz into the flat, avoiding exposing more of my bare legs to the neighbours, I eye her sleek curves jealously. Her immaculate dress skirts her bum daringly and plunges away at the neck, showing off far more leg and boob than I'd ever dare. Her silky blonde wavelets toss happily around her jaw line amplifying her delicate high cheek bones. My friend is stunning, and it's quite frankly sickening how much she knows it.

“Isn't it perfect!” Liz chuckles spinning around slowly “New dress! Great for in the boring old office and still perfect for a night out. Wouldn't you just love to shag me?!”

I sigh awkwardly. I love that Liz's appearance and manners are so incongruously at odds - a rich daddy's girl with expensive tastes, a seriously dirty mouth and very genuine heart - but I really wish she wouldn't try quite so hard to make me uncomfortable.

“Ahhh well....” I back away into an overflowing vase.

Liz giggles and cajoles me in her surprisingly gravelly tones “C'mon now Freya,” she jostles towards me, pushing her boobs out and making lurid kissing noises “Whady'a say? Wanna quick one?”

My headache forgotten briefly I laugh “Who would ever say no?!”

I mock smack Liz' ass and, typically, overbalance tumbling us both sideways into my pokey living room. Liz lands cat-like, not a hair out of place and stalks toward the kitchen, suddenly looking pensive.

“Well, he did!”

From my tangled mess on the floor I shoot her a confused look.

“Wait? Who did what? Liz?!” The sideways leap in the conversation leaves my throbbing brain scrabbling to catch up.

“He turned me down!” she pouts.

My eyes widen and I grab Liz's arm, pulling her onto the tiny mothball couch... “What happened?”

I'm not used to Liz being rejected. This is the only time I've ever seen her upset over a tryst. She's normally the one to walk away, or at least dive straight into the next high-action romance.

This guy did seem different. For a start he's from my side of town - not quite the high-class hunting grounds Liz normally frequents, but when she came across him hanging around outside my apartment 'they just hit it off'.

Until they met a few weeks ago I'd never seen her genuinely interested in a man, she'd always just used them as play-things while it suited her. My heart drops a little for her, seeing past the pretty-girl pout to genuine hurt in her eyes.

“Another along in a minute!” I chirp – it's one of her stock phrases, but it sounds pretty hollow today.

“I'm not so sure” Liz sighs “he seemed …” she pauses, her eye falling on a bottle of supermarket red perched precariously on my fold-out table “maybe that'll help!”

Urgh, red wine is not about to become best friends with my headache. I start to protest, but seeing Liz so bloody miserable I groan and relent. I'm way too soft for my own good when it comes to Liz.

After a brief fight with a maleficent corkscrew, we're both eventually clutching a glass of red in some very grubby tumblers.

“No wine glasses” I mutter apologetically.

“No, these are fine. Fine looking...Nutella glasses” Liz giggles, already cheered slightly by the company and heart-burn inducing red.

“You would bloody notice” I snipe “you eat too much of the stuff! Anyway, saves me spending money on shit I'll only break.”

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