Forged in Stone - Alyssa Rose Ivy Page 0,1

down enough money to cover double my tab and stumbled out of the bar.

The cool night was a welcome change from the stifling heat of the overcrowded dive. It had been years since I lived in the city of Charleston, South Carolina, but one thing remained the same. They still insisted on pumping heat into buildings the second the temperature dropped south of sixty degrees. I doubted that most of the people at the bar could survive long where I came from.

The city portion of my walk should not have taken long, but it did. I guess that happens when you get pissed drunk. I knew Charleston well from the months I lived there in high school—and the few nights I spent there now. I spent most of my time in an altogether different place, a place that had stopped feeling like home years ago. A place that was literally another world.

I was far too exhausted to make it all the way back home, so I stopped at the one place I could in the city. I had no key, but I had another plan to get in. I went around back, taking one cursory look into the withering garden before starting my climb up the thick ivy that wound its way all the way up to the third story balcony.

The ivy swayed under my weight, but I made it onto the balcony without breaking my neck. I shook the doorknob with enough force to get it to budge. I pushed the door open, kicked off my boots, and tossed my shirt before collapsing on the queen sized bed. It was not my bed, but at the moment any bed would do.

2

AINSLEY

I was living the life of a TV sitcom friend. You know the type: the boring one that serves no purpose except to make the main character seem more interesting. I worked not one, but two dead end jobs. I didn’t know which was worse, serving frozen yogurt or working as an office assistant at a law firm. Neither had anything to do with my career goals, but as my mom always said, beggars can’t be choosers. My art history degree had proved as useful as it sounded. I couldn’t manage to land a job working in a gallery, let alone a museum. I’d eventually have to go back to school to get a degree in something useful, but the thought of spending time in a classroom wasn’t something I could stomach. At twenty-two, I was just happy to be paying the bills without moving back in with my parents. It was more than most of my friends could say. Or at least most of the friends I still had.

I waited impatiently as a couple stared at the flavor listing above my head. They’d been in the frozen yogurt shop for twenty minutes already. We only offered a dozen flavors. The decision couldn’t have been that hard to make. “We close at nine.” I used the most polite voice possible, but as it was 8:56 I figured they needed a reminder.

“That means you don’t let new customers in after nine. We’re already here. You can’t kick us out.” The guy wrapped his arm around his date’s waist. “Don’t worry baby, there’s no rush.”

I bit my tongue. Who did this clown think he was? If I wasn’t certain the guy would report me and get me fired, I would have given him a piece of my mind. Instead I started wiping up a sticky spot on the counter I’d overlooked earlier. Despite how boring the job was, it did pay decently, and I didn’t mind my boss.

“Can I try the vanilla again? I’m not sure I liked it.” The girl pointed at the hard yogurt in the case in front of her.

Seriously? Who tried vanilla twice? I mean everyone in the world knew what that flavor tasted like. I gritted my teeth. “Sure.” I picked up one of the small pink spoons and scooped a tiny amount. I handed it to her.

She tasted it. “I’m still not sure.”

I glanced at the neon colored clock by the door. It was two minutes after nine now. “I’m sorry, but I really have to close.”

“No you don’t. You’re going to let my girlfriend take her time and pick a flavor.” The guy puffed out his chest like that was supposed to intimidate me or something.

I sighed before glancing at the clock again. I was going to be late meeting my friends for drinks.