The Fated Mate

Lena Winters screwed her face up in a scowl at the canvas in front of her, a mass of dark color spread on the fabric in wild, chaotic swirls. She had no idea what she was doing anymore. The brush almost fall from her hand while she clear up the mess in front of her "What the heck is this?" she said, with annoyance, tossing aside the brush, her fingers covered with dark paints. She cleaned her hands with her jeans and raked her fingers through her hair. Her thoughts were just as dis-organized as the colors on the canvas. The voice of her so-called muse echoed in her head, "You're close, Lena.

Just keep digging." "Close to what?" she snapped. "Insanity?" The apartment was stifling, thick with turpentine and last night's pizza. Greasy take-out containers leaned against the walls, surrounded by piles of discarded canvases-each one a reminder of the elusive thing she was searching for. Whatever it was that had been tormenting her for weeks now. The door swung open suddenly, and Katie, her best friend, stormed in, arms loaded with two coffees and a box of donuts. "Your favorite artist is here," Katie declared, grinning as though she'd just saved the day. "And no, it's not Van Gogh. It's me, the donut fairy." Lena smirked. "Katie, if you're Van Gogh, where's your ear?" Katie laughed, plopping down on the couch and barely avoiding a wayward paintbrush. "Still painting your feelings or whatever?" "They're more like nightmares," Lena muttered, slumping back in her chair. She reached for a donut-the soft sweetness was a welcome balm to her frustration. "I keep dreaming about some ancient temple. And there's this guy. We have this connection, like we've known each other forever." Katie raised up an eye-brow. "So, basically, your subconscious is trying to write its Nicholas Sparks novel?" Lena rolled her eyes, her face unable to escape the trail of heat up the neck. "Ha ha, really funny, Katie." "Was he hot?" Katie leaned in, playing dumb behind a drippy playfulness hanging off every word. "Like 'shirtless in the rain' hot or more of a 'smoldering and mysterious' hot? Lena blushed. "I wasn't staring at him, Katie," she muttered, though her head did flash back to that dream. "Okay, maybe a little. But that's beside the point." Katie grinned. "Well, if you're going to dream about a boy, at least make it worth your time. I mean, come on, why have a bad dream if he's not dreamy?" Lena leaned back in her chair. "You're one-track-minded. "And it's shaped like a donut," Katie replied, holding up her jelly-filled donut as if some sort of reward. Katie had always known just how to lighten things up at exactly the right moment, yet these dreams were otherworldly, too real, drawing her toward something impossible to explain or escape from. Later that night, Lena came into Blackwood Coffeehouse, alongside Katie. It was quiet and reflective, a place she could get out of the crowd and think, try zeroing in on something other than her racing thoughts. There was a rich, heavy aroma of coffee that had thickly scented the atmosphere, soft and warm lighting that almost made it a haven. All of a sudden, she noticed a man who sat alone in a dark corner, his dark clothes melding with the shadows. He sat upright, eyes fixed on some point beyond her. And when their gazes met, a flash back sudden occured on her mind, she felt something primal and magnetic. It wasn't just attraction; it felt like an invisible thread tugging at her chest, pulling her toward him. She couldn't explain it. Katie elbowed her, and she was startled. "Earth to Lena. You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost. Or, I don't know, your dream guy?" Lena blinked, forcing herself to look away. "I'm fine. Let's just get our drinks." But while they waited, Lena couldn't help but glance back at him. He hadn't moved, still staring at his coffee as though waiting for something or someone. Katie sipped on her cappuccino and looked over the rim of her cup at Lena. "On a serious note, I'm starting to feel the chills. At least ask him what kind of coffee he's drinking, or something." Lena's heart skipped a beat. "What? No! I'm not talking to him." "What's the most terrible thing that can happen? Katie continued to press. "You're only staring at him from across the room, making it ultra obvious. Go introduce yourself before I do it for you." Lena groaned. "I am not mooning over some random guy, Katie." "Uh, yeah you are," Katie teased, leaning in with a mischievous grin. "At least make it worth it. What if he starts quoting Edgar Allan Poe? I'm calling dibs." "Let it go, Katie." A few more minutes of Katie's playful teasing and Lena stood up with her coffee in her hand, making her way toward the exit of the coffeehouse. She tried not to let any thought of the man in the corner enter her head, eyes upon her but then again, within that gaze, she just felt he knew her; yet that was impossible, wasn't it? As Lena stepped inside the studio, it felt even colder than usual. Thoughts flew inside her head and the studio was too far away from being a comfort space, an element in which she was taking part. She sat down on the sofa, trying to orient herself, while that sensation inside her tummy found its place within her. The buzz of her phone on the table tripped her out of her reverie. It was Katie: Did you ask him about his coffee or just silently pine like a weirdo? Lena rolled her eyes now, typing her response out with thumbs: Thanks for the support. This is pretty immediate: Girl, I'm staging an intervention. Next time you are talking to him. She put the phone down but was not focusing on her message or whom it was to; she was thinking about this dream, the man, and the temple, not quite able to rid her mind of this idea that there was something more to it than just some crazy dream. It had seemed so real, so alive, and like she lived a life. That night, the dream came again. This time, the temple was vivid, thick with incense and whispers she couldn't catch. She felt his presence before she saw him, a shadow in the room, powerful, so familiar. And when finally his face emerged, his eyes were burning, searching. "Lena...," he whispered, his voice low and almost hypnotic. "You know me. Don't you? She reached out to him with an anguished heart; again, his figure blurred, She awoke, covered in cold sweat, having a constricted chest. She had called his name out loud in her sleep. "Adrian. The following morning, she burst into her studio, worn and ripped. The dream would not let her be, yet this was the argument with which she could beguile herself. Still, the canvas that fronted her, still dappled and swirling from her brush's violence on it, now made other shapes, the outline of some ancient temple. And inside, there was a face. Her phone suddenly bussed again and she looked at the text. Katie: Don't forget. Coffee date at 3. Intervention pending. Lena stared at the painting, her fingers shaking. Something deep inside of her whispered this was not over, not until she unraveled what all this meant. She slowly exhaled and typed in: Okay. But no freakin' stunts. Katie: No promises. She looked again, stepped back from the canvas. It was just a feeling then, she wasn't walking away from this one, by a long shot.